' YALE >
CENTER

BEQUEST OF
FREDERICK WHILEY HILLES

THE LIFE

DAVID GAKRICK;

FROM ORIGINAL FAMILY PAPERS, AND NUMEROUS
PUBLISHED AND UNPUBLISHED SOURCES.

PEECY ^ITZGEEALD, M.A., F.S.A.
AUTHOR OF *'THE LIFE OF STERNE," *' THE DEAR GIRL," ETC.

' An abi-idgmcnt of all that was pleasant in man. '' — Retaliation.

IN TWO VOLUMES.
VOL. IL

LONDON:
TINSLEY BEOTHEES, 18, CATHEEINE ST., STEAND.

1868.
[^The Right of Translation is reserved.']

T3r^^«W Ar4-

LONDON :
BRADBURY, BVANS, AND CO., PRINTERS, WHITEFRIARS.

CONTENTS. — ? —
BOOK THE FOVRTR— (Continued).
THB MANAGES.
CHAPTER VIL
PAGE
THE "EOSCIAD,"  DE. BO-VTEE (1761  1762) .... 1
CHAPTEE VIII.
STAGE EEFOEM (1762)  21
CHAPTER IX.
FITZPATEICK (1762—1763)  30

BOOK THE FIFTH.
ACTOR AND TRAVELLER.
CHAPTER I.
A EOTIND OF CHAEACTEES (1763)  48
BOOK THE SIXTH.
CHAPTER I.
ON THE GEAND TOUE (SEPT. 1763)  113
CHAPTEE II.
PAEIS (1764—1765)  134

vi CONTENTS.
BOOK THE SEVENTH.
THE MAN OF SOCIETY.
CHAPTER T.
PAGE
EE-APPEAEANCE  "THE CLANDESTINE MAEBIAGE" (1765 
1766)  162
CHAPTER II.
COLMAN  CO-TENT GAEDEN (1766 — 1768) .... 181
CHAPTER III.
DEDEY LANE — GAEEICK IN SOCIETY (1768  1769) . . . 195
CHAPTER IV.
THE SHAESPEAEE JUBILEE (1769) ..... 210
CHAPTER V.
SAMUEL FOOTS AND SAMUEL JOHNSON (1769) . . . . 235
CHAPTER VI.
THE ADELPHI— COUNTEY -VISITS (1770) . . . .267
CHAPTER VII.
JUNIUS  KENEICK's libel  MUEPHY  HAMLET, -WITH AL
TERATIONS (1771 — 1772)  273
CHAPTER VIII.
THE GEEAT ACTOES (1772)  295
CHAPTER IX.
IN THE GEEEN-EOOM (1772)  . 322
CHAPTER X.
MOSSOP's END  GOLDSMITH — HENDEESON (1772 — 1775) . 343
CHAPTER XI.
THE LAST SEASON (1775 — 1776) . . , . . . 373

CONTENTS. vii
CHAPTER XII. PAGE
THE LAST ACT (1776)  389
CHAPTER XIII.
THE GAEEICK CIECLE — CHAHACTEE (1776) .... 398
CHAPTER XIV.
ILLNESS AND DEATH (1778 — 1779)  427

EPILOGUE  452
APPENDIX  469
INDEX  487

vi CONTENTS.
BOOK THE SEVENTH.
THE MAN OF SOOIETY.
CHAPTEE I.
PAGE
EE-APPEAEANCE  "THE CLANDESTINE MAEEIAGE" (1765 
1766)  162
CHAPTEE II.
COLMAN — COVENT GAEDEN (1766 — 1768) . . . .181
CHAPTER III.
DEUEY LANE — GAEEICK IN SOCIETY (1768 — 1769) . . . 195
CHAPTER IV.
THE SHAKSPEARE JUBILEE (1769)  210
CHAPTER V.
SAMUEL FOOTE AND SAMUEL JOHNSON (1769) . . . . 235
CHAPTER VI.
THE ADELPHI— COUNTEY "VISITS (1770) .... 267
CHAPTER VII.
JUNIUS  KENEICK's LIBEL  MUEPHY  HAMLET, -^ITH AL-
TEEATIONS (1771—1772)  273
CHAPTER VIII.
THE GEEAT ACTOES (1772)  295
CHAPTEE IX.
IN THE GEEEN-EOOM (1772)  322
CHAPTER X.
MOSSOp's END  GOLDSMITH — HENDEESON (1772 — 1775) . 348
CHAPTER XT.
THE LAST SEASON (1775 — 1776) . . . . . . 373

CONTENTS. vii
CHAPTER XII. PAGE
THE LAST ACT (1776)  389
CHAPTER XIII.
THE GAEEICK CIECLE — CHAEACTEE (1776) . . . . 398
CHAPTER XIV.
ILLNESS AND DEATH (1778 — 1779) ... . . 427

EPILOGUE  452
APPENDIX  469
INDEX  . . 487

THE

LIFE OF DAVID GAEEICK.

BOOK TEE mJJBTE— {Continued).
THE MANAGER.

CHAPTER VII.
THE " EOSClAIl "— DR. BOWER.
1761—1762.
A GREAT critic — one whose strokes were those of
an exquisitely trained boxer, as compared with the
feeble buffeting of women and children — was now to
step out of the crowd, and command the attention of
the whole ring. Beside this masterly effort, the flutter
of weak pamphlets and impotent libels, came down
like a cloud of feathers. Here were real swinging
knocks, planted with marvellous scientific skill, aimed
at the sorest and tenderest places, making every one reel
and stagger ; and the satire, the splendid rhyme, the
fine close English, " the wit, the strong and easy verse,
the grasp of character, and the rude free daring of the
Rosciad," were now to burst upon the town, and teach
mere scribblers with what deadly point and person
ality true genius can strike and kill.
In this wonderful onslaught was found room and

2 THB LIFE OF DAVID GARRICK. [1761—
time for all. Nervous and impetuous as was its s-wing,
it could be leisurely and measured in its stroke. No
one was too high, nor no one too low : though each
was dealt with according to his degree, and those
whom he disdained to level with a blow of his muscular
arm, he could degrade with a passing and contemp
tuous kick. The whole world of stage players was
aghast. They ran about like a flock of frightened
sheep. " The Rosciad" had fallen on the playhouses
like a shell; and the crowd of pasteboard kings
and queens, the heroes and heroines, and the comic
men and women, who had loftily given the town laws,
were now coolly and deliberately sat in judgment upon,
and dissected with the finest and most pitiless strokes.
They little dreamed, that, for the past two months, a
careful and laborious observer had been coming to the
theatre, almost regularly every night. Perhaps the
moneytakers, or officials, may have noticed a burly
figure always finding its way to one special place —
the front row of the pit, nearest to the orchestra
" spikes." But they could not have dreamed what a
deadly missive was being manufactured all that time.
This steady tenant of the front row was the Rev.
Charles Churchill, taking careful notes of every actor,
from Garrick down to Packer.
The author of this wonderful piece — a big burly
man — in " a black coat and a black scratch wig," *
had been seen about town; and only a few weeks
before, had got rid of both his causes of complaint —
" the wife he was tired of, and the gown he was
displeased with ; " and as he said in the strange, and
* O'Keefe. Taylor saw him at Vauxhall in a blue coat, edged with gold
lace, black silk small clothes, aud white stockings.

1762.] THE "ROSCIAD." 3
little known letter, he wrote to a friend, " I feel myself
in the situation of a man that has carried a d — d
heavy load for a long time, and then sets it down.
So much for my wife and gown." * In this temper
he was not likely to deal gently with anything he set
himself to criticise.
In March, '61, just before the theatre closed, the
satire appeared. The players writhed under it. Their
profession was described for them, in terms more
degrading than Vagrant Act ever used. They were
formed contemptuously into a procession, in which
their theatrical accessories were only made to add to
their degradation :
"Then came drum, trumpet, hautboy, fiddle, flute.
Next snuffer, sweeper, shifter, soldier, mute.
Pantomime figures then are brought to view,
Eools hand-in-hand with fools, go two by two.
Next came the treasurer of either house,
One with full purse, t'other without a sous, "f
They were to choose a judge ; but how were the arts
of ordinary election to be carried out in so beggarly
a field ? " What can an actor give ? in every age,
Cash hath been rudely banished from the stage.
Wine ! they would bribe yon with the world as soon,
And, of roast beef they only know the tune."
Then as the actors go by, he criticises them with de
lightful, and most easy touch. There was " poor Billy
Havard," whose obscurity might have saved him, yet
whose — " Easy, vacant face proclaimed a heart
Which could not feel emotions, nor impart"
— with Davies, the actor-bookseller. Never was there

* This extraordinary letter is given in Peake's Colman, vol. i. p. 129.
+ From this singular rhyme we can see he was not very skilled in French.
B 2

4 THB LIFE OF DA^VID GARRICK. [1761—
such contemptuous praise — ^nor such a criticism, com
pressed into four lines :
" With him came mighty Davies — on my life.
That Davies hath a very pretty wife !
Statesman all over ! in plots famous grown.
He mouths a sentence as curs mouth a lone."*
Holland was a mere imitation — " I hate e'en
Garrick thus at second hand : " and King was a
shameless exhibition that " shines in Brass." Yates
could be dismissed very briefly : —
" Lo, Yates ! without the least finesse of art.
He gets applause. / wish h^d get his part.
When hot impatience is in full career,
How vilely ' Hark'e,' 'Hark'e,' grates the ear." +
"Woodward was put very low indeed, a mere —
" Squeaking harlequin, made np of whim,
He twists, he twines, he tortures every limb."
A humbler Jackson was happily ridiculed —
"One leg, as if suspicious of his brother.
Desirous seems to run away from t'other.''
And Ackman and Packer, obscure nobodies, were noni-
cally complimented as unrivalled in "humour" and
" sprightly ease." Sparks was to be found at a glass
" elaborately dividing frown from smile;" while
" Smith, the genteel, the airy, and the smart,
Smith was just gone to school to say his part. '
Ross, a handsome man, of good breeding, would grow
* Mr. Isaac Taylor saw Davies play, long after ' ' The Rosciad " had appeared,
and noticed the "hollow rumbling" of his voice. He had also seen the very
pretty wife sitting in the shop, neat, modest, and with an air of meek dejec
tion, and a look as of better days. Friends, this gentleman heard, had to pay
the expense of Davies's interment, and the "pretty wife " died in a workhouse.
+ Yates's memory improved in afterlife ; but he was in the habit of repeat
ing sentences several times, like this, "Harkee, Polly Honeycomb," to give
himself time to think. He was very indignant at his wife being dragged into
" The Rosciad," and summoned Churchill to meet him at a tavern. George
Garrick hurried after them, aud succeeded in reconciling satirist and actor over
a bottle of wine.

1762.] THB "ROSCIAD." 5
indifferent and languid as he acted. He was roused
with a couplet : —
" Ross (a misfortune which we often meet)
Was fast asleep at his Statira's feet." *
Moody, and Moody's country, received a fine com
pliment ; and the vulgar stage Irishman, who has
had not a Httle to do in forming the English judg
ment of that country, was thus branded : —
" Long from a nation, ever hardly used,
At random censured, wantonly abused,
Have Britons drawn their sport with partial view,
Form'd general notions from the rascal few ;
Condemn'd a people, as for vices known,
Which, from their country banish' d, seek our own.
Taught by thee. Moody, we now learn to raise
Mirth from their foibles— from their virtues praise."
Austin glistened in French silks. Foote was not
spared. He was dismissed as a mere mimic, and not
even a good one : —
"His strokes of humour and his bursts of sport
Are all contained in this one word distort. "
Macklin was coldly, but not cruelly, disapproved of;
but the whole venom of the satire may be said to be
concentrated in the portrait of Murphy. Colman and
Lloyd, Churchill's friends and companions, had written
down the luckless Murphy, and now Churchill came to
niche him into his " Rosciad." This dreadful carving,
and the portrait of Fitzpatrick added later, are certainly
the finest bits in the whole. Murphy came : —
"What though the sous of nonsense hail him sire,
AUDITOE, AtriHOK, MANAGBE, ANI") SQ"niEB ;
His restless soul's ambition stopped not there,
To make his triumphs perfect dub him plater."

¦* He was asked who the Statira was, and said it was Miss Bellamy. Taylor
recollects his being also quickened by an angry audience.

6 THE LIFE OF DAVID GARRICK. [1761—
He will admit he had a good figure —
" "When motionless he stands we all approve,
What pity 'tis the thing was made to move.
When he attempts in some one favourite part
To ape the feelings of a manly heart,
His honest features the disguise defy,
And his face loudly gives his tongue the lie.
Can none remember, yes, 1 know aU must,
When iu the MooE he ground his teeth to dust.
With various reading stored his empty skull.
Learned without sense and venerably duU.''
Why did he not take to city pursuits and trade ? He
might have done well. Perhaps,
" Pbubent DtTLNESs marked him for a matoe."
Better than all was the hint at the beginning of the
satire. When there was a debate about choosing a
judge :— " For Murphy some iew pilfering -wits declar'd,
While FoUy clapp'd her hands and Wisdom star'd.
*****
Could it be worth thy wond'rous waste of pains
To publish to the world thy lack of brains ?
Or might not reason, e'en to thee, have shown
Thy greatest praise had been to live unkno-wn ?
Yet let not vanity like thine despair ;
Fortune, makes Folly her -peculiar care."
In those days, when every gentleman carried a sword,
it argues little for Murphy's courage, that he could
have put up with this outrageous affront, and not
have attempted to call to account, or chastise the
man, who had described him m such scandalous terms.
When we think how he could bluster, and hector
the tolerant Garrick, with the most intemperate lan
guage, this suspicion is scarcely without warrant.*
* The only notice he took was a poor retort, called "The Fleet Ditch "
which, as compared to Churchill's poem, was as that dull and stagnant nuisance
itself, to a fine and flowing river. In it he talks of the "foul-mouth'd"
Rosciad, and of Churchill bowing his "brutal form." Colmau, with equally
refined satire, he called " the low-born Colman." '

1762.] THB "ROSCIAD." 7
The portraits of Mossop and Barry are too well
kno-wn to be quoted. These were more elaborate
than the rest, and more amusing. Mossop, was so
" attached to military plan," and kept his eyes fixed
on his right-hand man. Barry was unfairly dismissed
with the fine climax, " conned his passions, as he
conned his part." The veteran Quin found his tra
ditional reputation rudely questioned and examined,
and was thrust back with the folio-wing cang^ : —
"Parrots themselves speak properly by rote,
And iu six months my dog shall howl by note."
So with Sheridan's " stages " and methodised tactics:
" Why must impatience fall three paces back ?
Why paces three return to the attack ?
Why is the right leg too forbid to stir
Unless in motion semicircular ?
Why must the hero with the naUor vie.
And hurl the close-clench' d fist at nose or eye.
In royal John, with Philip angry grown,
I thought he would have knock'd poor Da-vies down.
Inhuman tyrant, was it not a shame
To fright a king so harmless and so tame ?"
To Barry he was cruel, and it is surprising that a man
with Churchill's nature could have been so unjust.
His choosing the " well-applauded tenderness " in
" Lear," and praising a character in which the actor
was inferior, was an artful shape of depreciation. He
affected to see in him nothing but artifice, or art;
and yet it was notorious, that there was no such pas
sionate " lover " on the stage.
With the women he was more lenient and gentle.
Cibber and Pritchard received high and elegant praise.
So did Clive and Pope. In Yates a certain tame-
ness and sameness, with a want of nature, were dis
covered ; but on a more obscure Miss Bride, he lavished
far warmer praise. It is indeed so charming, and at

8 THB LIFE OF DAVID GARRICK. [1761—
the same time so extravagant, a portrait, that we may
suspect the satirist had some partiality for this favoured
lady. Yet- at the present day. Bride is a name about
the least known to those, who take interest in the
stage. The whole is delightful reading. The sound of
these terse close couplets, as full of meaning as of good
English, is like the stroke of a good sword on armour.
It was read ajid read again ; edition after edition was
called for. TKe common mode in which satire is re
ceived by the world, is for every one to discover an
application in any direction but their own. But, as
Mr. Forster acutely remarks, the reception of " The
Rosciad" was on a reverse principle, for every actor
had to own his likeness, and was led by a morbid ex
citement to dwell upon his own disgrace.
Roscius was extravagantly lauded. The depre
ciation of the others, was made subservient to his
exaltation. For here was the point of the panegyric,
— awarding the palm to Garrick. The praise itself
cannot be styled extravagant. It seemed to be called
forth by the snarling of critics, who with Sterne's stop
watch in their hand, found hypercritical fault with the
" unnatural start " and " affected pause." He admits
that "the best things carried to excess are wrong.
The start may be too frequent, pause too long."
Actors, just as monkeys mimic man, may by their
absurd and overdone imitation, spoil the scenes they
mean to adorn. But this should not affect the true
thing : — " When reason yields to passion's wild alarms,
And the whole state of man is up in arms
What but a critic could condemn the play'r,
For parsing here, when cool sense pauses th'ere ?

1762.] THB "ROSCIAD." 9
'Whilst working from the heart, the fire I trace.
And mark it strongly flaming to the face, ;
Whilst in each sound 1 hear the very man,
/ carUt catch words, and pity those who can.
*****
Hence to thy praises, Garrick, 1 agree,
Andpleas'd vrith Nature, must be pleas' d with thee."
And at the finale, bringing forward Shakspeare, who
has seen the histrionic troupe go by, he makes him
present Roscius with] the palm, in words burning and
genuine, and which most happily describe Garrick's
gifts and special charm :—
" If manly sense ; if nature linked -with art ;
If thorough knowledge of the human heart ;
• If powers of acting, vast and unconfined ;
If fervent faults with greatest beauties joined ;
If strong expression and strange pow'rs which lie
Within the magic circle of the eye ;
If feelings whioh few hearts like his can know,
And which no face so well as h^ can show.
Deserve the preference — Garrick, take the chair— -
Nor quit it till thou place an equal there ! "
Words surely which should have their place upon the
monument in the Abbey, instead of a Mr. Pratt's
feeble praise, and fustian compliment.
At this time Garrick actually did not know the
author, though he might have noticed the unpleasing
form over the " spikes " of his pit — ^that rude figure
for which Churchill himself found a place in his bitter
pasquinade :
"Even I, whom nature casts in hideous mould,
Whom having made, she trembled to behold."
It was given out that the players would revenge
themselves, by chastising the author; but the bold
satirist avowed himself at once, and walked pubficly in
the Covent Garden Piazza, past the coffee-houses, to
give them an opportunity. They never seized it.

10 THE LIFE OF DAVID GARRICK. [1761 —
Yet Garrick's situation, though his vanity must have
been unusually gratified by this powerful and public
testimonial, was not a little awkward. Sympathy with
his fellows, and esprit de corps required not merely
that he should take no pleasure in the tribute, but that
he should affect a little dissatisfaction. He even was so
foolish as to say, that he believed it was a bid for the
freedom of his theatre. This may have been a mere
green-room whisper ; for that freedom was cheap
enough, and enjoyed by very small creatures indeed.
Indifference of this sort is a favourite and complacent
affectation of flattered humanity. But the news of so
ungracious a welcome was soon borne to Churchill, who,
inflamed by the attacks of reviews and the hostile cries
of the actors, had his bludgeon in the air again, and in
a very short time produced " The Apology," — a sequel
to the former work, but in a far more savage key. He
was infuriated with all, and fell on both critics and
players in bitter verse, not waiting this time for polish
or antithesis. Hence have we now, the fine Hogarth
picture ofthe " Strolling Players," which Mr. Forster,
so justly, puts immeasurably above Crabbe's pendant
on the same subject. It touched Garrick indirectly.
For he came to the great actor himself, and though
he spared him the humiliation of naming him, there
was a savage roughness in the " shaking " he gave
him — a hint there was no mistaking, and most signifi
cant for the future : —
" Let the vain tyrant sit amid his guards,
His young green-room -vpits and venal bards,
"Who meanly tremble al a puppet's frown,
And, for a playhouse freedom, lose their own ;
In spite of new-made laws and new-made kings
The free-born muse with lib'ral spirit sings."
It thus seems as if some one had carried Garrick's

1762.] THB "ROSCIAD." 11
remark about the freedom of the playhouse to Churchill,
and this was a savage hint that he knew what had
been so indiscreetly said of him. '
Roscius was now confounded. The mortification
was in exact proportion to his previous exaltation. He
first thought of writing a letter of expostulation to the
satirist, but was "wisely dissuaded. Garrick, in fact,
thought everything could be done by a " good letter."
There were plenty to enjoy his situation. He had been
indeed warned by Lloyd, that Churchill was displeased
¦with him, but he could not have reckoned on such
punishment. Lloyd — who had himself written a poem
which furnished a hint to Churchill — wrote in great
distress to Garrick : for it might be supposed, he said,
that he could have checked the satirist. But Garrick,
in a letter, in which he honestly confessed how much
he suffered, bade him set his mind at rest. He knew
enough, he said, of Churchill's spirit and writings, to
see that he would not tolerate any interference with his
purposes. Wisely, therefore, thinking of the future
more than of the past, he humbly told his friend, mean
ing of course that what he said should reach other ears,
that if there was real resentment at the bottom of the
attack, he was sure there were no grounds for it ; but if
it was done because he was " the Punch of the puppet
show," and could not be well left out, the matter was of
necessity. Mr. Churchill was heartily welcome. Yet
for all this he was very " sore." In "The Rosciad,"
he added, he was raised too high, but in " The Apology"
he may have been sunk too low, Churchill " making an
idol of a calf, like the Israelites, and then dwindling an
idol into a calf again." However, he would bear it
all pleasantly. He was Mr. Churchill's great admirer.

12

THB LIFE OF DAVID GARRICK. [1761-

but still not quite pleased with Lloyd ; for he thought
when the latter found that Churchill was angry, he
should have vindicated his absent friend, if he con
ceived him not in the wrong ; or if he thought Garrick
was in fault, he should have come straight to him and
given warning. This was, indeed, a wise way of
accepting correction, and quite characteristic. Both
found their account in it. The satirist had not gone
too far, but had only given a hint of what he could do
and would do; and Garrick's manner of receiving it
was highly flattering. The result was an intimacy;
but Garrick scarcely met him with the warmth of his
other friendships. His allusions to him in letters are
tranquil ; and he received the news of his death very
calmly indeed.
When Mr. Churchill chose to visit the playhouse
now, all eyes watched him ; and only a few months
later, about the first night of the season, when Garrick
was in his great part of Richard,, the terrible critic
showed, by unmistakable and unconcealed signs, .that
he was weary and "sick" of what had now ceased
to be a novelty. Yet Garrick, with a restraint worthy
of an ascetic, sent his regards, and a gentle mes
sage that he was sorry to see that he had been
bored. Before long Churchill was applying for money
and obtaining it. Garrick, though pinched by a pur
chase he had been making, supplied what he wanted.
When Hogarth pubhshed his dreadful picture of
"The Satirist," Garrick, in sincere distress for an
artist he loved, used the obligation to beg for indul
gence. " I must entreat," he wrote, " by the regard
you profess to me, that you do not talk of my friend
Hogarth before you see me. You cannot, sure be

1762.] THB "ROSCIAD." 13
angry at his print. There is, surely, very harmless,
though very entertaining, stuff in it. He is a great
and original genius. I would not, for all the politics
and politicians in the universe, that you two should
have the least cause of ill-will to each other. I am
very unhappy at the thoughts of- it. Pray, make me
quiet as soon as possible." But Churchill's genius, as
Garrick had, with great penetration, divined, disdained
any direction. He had his way, and sent out this
" most bloody performance." Garrick was deeply hurt
by it. It seemed to him shocking and barbarous.
But the wretched man, for all his genius, sinking
deeply every day, was to receive many more favours
from the same hand. There is no more dreadful
letter, for its length, in the annals of debauchery, than
the following appeal : — •
" My Dear Mr. Garrick, — Half drunk, half mad,
and quite stripped of all my money, I should be much
obliged if you would enclose, and send hy the hear &r five
pieces, by way of adding to favours already received
by yours, sincerely, " Charles Churchill."
A miserable death at Boulogne — and what are said
to have been his last words, " What a fool I have
been " — was not long in foflowing. The satire re
mains a model for attacks of that class ; and some
fifty years later, when a Dublin wit, in far less nervous
lines, brought out " Familiar Epistles on the Irish
Stage," the success was not less decided, and the
sensation on and off the stage, not less tumultuous.
If the experiment were repeated now, there would
be no such result ; such an attack would be received

U the LIFE OF DAVID GARRICK. [1761—
with indifference. The men and women of the stage
then held a position which they had earned and
worked up to, by labour and education. Now the
carpenter, the artist, and the dressmaker, the pretty
ankle, the dicollete neck, the slang song, the piice
d femmes, are becoming the cheap glories of the
English stage. The poet who would waste his
time and talent, on satirizing the smaller fry of our
London theatres would be partly unintelligible, from
dealing with names and creatures that no one knew
of or cared for; the petty indignation behind the
scenes would be unnoticed ; and the thing itself would,
perhaps, be unread.
When the season ended, Garrick had begun to think
of setting about some important alterations in the
arrangements of his house. Foote and Murphy, how
ever, had entered into a strange partnership, and came
to him with a proposal for taking the theatre during
the " slack " summer months. Foote had been antici
pated at the Haymarket by some " dancing dogs," and
had no place to exhibit his mimicry. Garrick good-
naturedly agi-eed to help his two friends, and let them
have the theatre at a very moderate rent. Yet ia
their opening prologue, Foote sneered at Roscius,
who had locked up all the daggers and bowls of
tragedy, and presently showed excellent taste in
bringing a pantomime of Bentley's called "The
Wishes," which Garrick, though pressed exceedingly,
declined, in the most positive manner, to bring out.
For this he was attacked by the author's friends
in the usual strain. A pamphlet was published in
which his judgment and taste were held up to
infinite ridicule for rejecting a piece of so much wit

1762.] THE "ROSCIAD." 15
and ingenuity.* This was only the old story. With
Foote, also, it was presently to be the old story.
Lord Melcombe, who was the patron of this perform
ance, had a private performance at his villa, where
Foote was received and entertained hospitably. The
" wit " improved the occasion by taking careful notes
of his host's peculiarities, and on the first opportunity
brought out a finished portrait on the stage, which
everybody knew !
The next season was unmarked by anything
worthy of note. He celebrated the crowning of the
new king by an absurd pageant, one of his favourite
processions, which he was acute enough to see that
the to-wn was fond of He now indulged the popular
folly in these matters to the fullest bent. And it must
be said, that he had done his best to please iujthe more
legitimate course ; but was bound to do so no further.
There can be no doubt, but that a little pamphlet,
entitled "The Muses' address to D. Garrick, Esq.,
with Harlequin's answer," was written or prompted by
Garrick himself It is a protest from Thalia and Mel
pomene, and the preface is suspiciously like the
manager's hand, or at least his tactics. "As our
theatrical monarch's partiahty in favour of Harlequin,
not-withstanding his intention to the contrary at the
beginning of his reign, has been often made the topic
of conversation, it was thought the publication,"
&c., and it was hoped that the reader would not
too readily join in the accusation "that though such
misconduct might, in others, proceed from an error

* Harlequin was hanged in sight of the audience, and even the author him
self when he saw his own catastrophe, whispered a friend, ' ' If they do not
damn this they deserve to be damned themselves. "

16 THB LIFE OF DAVID GARRICK. [1761—
of judgment, in Mr. Garrick it must be considered
an error of will."
Then it addresses him as " the favourite of Apollo
and the Muses," tells him, that he is to fix the glorious
era of Shakspeare and the Muses. Harlequin is made
to plead that the people of position prefer him to all
his rivals, and during the performance of Shakspeare,
Otway and other writers, are seen talking to each
other, and " rivalHng the actors in noise."
There was a rival procession at the other house,
got up with infinite magnificence. But Garrick -with
due thrift utilized all the old dresses of his esta
blishment. To add to the effect, the back of the stage
was thrown open, and showed the audience a real
bonfire blazing, the fumes from which suffocated the
actors, while the draughts gave them colds. Windows
looking into the Lane were let at good prices. The
show " ran " for forty nights. This was the last effort
of Rich, who died this year, successful to the end. He
had certainly carried on the contest -with spirit, and
gave up the ghost in a blaze of glory, "with pageants
and processions, and gorgeous transformation scenes
still before his dim eyes. Yet Garrick's behaviour to
him had always been marked by an honourable
rivalry, he forgot some unhandsome attempts to
injure him, and, shortly before the old harlequin's i
death, was taking counsel with some private friends
as to how they should get the King to divert a little
of the royal patronage from Drury Lane to Covent
Garden. This wonderful man could be above even
his own interests.*
* Warburton remonstrated against this act. " Were the Kiutr's usinc
your house intended as matter of mere favour to you, your modesty and gene
rosity would be well employed to serve your neighbour. But since the King

1762.] BOWER. 17
His domestic peace was now to be disturbed by
a little matter, which to one so sensitive became a
serious annoyance. A Doctor Bower had been attract
ing public attention, as a " distinguished convert from
Rome," with stories about his treatment by the In
quisition, &c. He was a man of some learning, and
much industry, and when he was selected for one of
the booksellers' speculations then fashionable, a bulky
" History of the Popes," in quarto volumes, his sub
scription list showed how fashionable he had become.
Among other houses, he was made welcome at that
of one of his warmest patrons. Lord Lyttleton, Gar
rick's friend. But his account of his "conversion"
was felt to be so curious and inconsistent, that sus
picions were aroused : some of his supporters began
to look coldly on him, and he found himself excluded
from houses, where before he had been very wel
come. One of these was Mr. Garrick's, where he had
been received by Mrs. Garrick, " Cathohc though she
was," and where Garrick himself " was witness to the
contradictions, prevarications, and falsehoods, which he
endeavoured to impose upon her." Unfortunately, too,
Doctor Douglas, later to be Bishop of Salisbury, had
sent out a most damaging pamphlet, written in the
good old "bludgeon" style of controversy, in which
there was plenty of rough language, and pitiless con
clusions drawn. The exposure was nearly fatal ; and
a story of a money transaction, into which he was
said to have entered with " his old friends the Jesuits,"
injured him still more. Stung by these suspicions, he
in this only consults the gratification of his own amusement, which your
acting is necessary to, modesty and generosity would seem to be misplaced in
hinting anything in behalf of the other house." — 'Warburton to Qarrick,
Feb. 1761.
vol,. II. 0

18 THB LIFE OP DAVID GARRICK. [1761—
added to one of his bulky volumes, a defence of him
self, as rough and violent as had been the attack, and
in which he replied to an unfortunate expression of
Douglas's, who had said that he dared not show
his face at various houses, and " had not ventured of
late to visit the lady and gentleman mentioned," —
adding that "the lady's principles, and religion are
well known." Bower did not let this pass. "Now
that foreigners," he said, " may not think that I dare
not show my face at the house of any real gentle-man
or real lady, I beg to inform them who this gentleman
and lady are. The gentleman, then, is Mr. Garrick,
an actor who now acts upon the stage. The lady is
his wife, Mrs. Garrick, alias Violetti, who within these
few years danced upon the stage. To do them justice,
they are both eminent in their way. The lady
(though no Roscius) is as " well-known and admired "
for her dancing as the gentleman is for his acting, and
they are, in that sense, j5a?" nobile. That I dare not
show my face in that house is true ; nor dare I show
it in any other house, the mistress whereof is a Papist
(whose religion and principles are loell-hnown), and
consequently bound, if in the least acquainted -with
me, to contribute her quota to the common stock of
scandal, and not only to betray, but misrepresent, if
required, private conversation."* This was certainly
unchivalrous, and the sex, at least, of one of the parties
might have shielded her from such treatment. It
touched Garrick to the quick, always sensitive on the
score of his social position ; but proved to be a fatal,
as well as an ungallant proceeding, for Doctor Bower.
* Bower, vol. v., Appendix, p. 168.

1762.] BOWER. 19
Lyttleton had held by him firmly, and when some
letters of his, opening negotiations with the Jesuits,
were produced, joined with Walpole in pronouncing
them forgeries. But on the publication of this attack,
Lyttleton' s first step was to send word to Garrick,
repudiating all protection or encouragement, of its
author. Garrick had felt the attack acutely, and wrote
back gratefully. His Lordship's delicacy, he was sure,
must have been shocked to have seen the ilHberal
way in which Mrs. Garrick was mentioned. She
had very innocently told the conversation she had
had with Bower, without the least intention of having
it pubhshed, or of adding to his shame. " Nor would
she, though a Papist (as he calls her) vary a tittle
from that or any other truth, though commanded by
the Pope and his whole conclave of cardinals. . . .
He calls out for Protestant testimony, and he shall
have it ; and I flatter myself that it will have its
weight, though it comes from a player. The world
must determine which is most to be credited : he who,
though upon the stage, has retained a sense of honour,
veracity, and religion ; or he who, though bred to one
Church and converted to another, seems to have lost
them all in his passage between both." But Mr. Gar
rick's next idea was not so dignified. He proposed to
revenge himself, by bringing his enemy upon the stage.
He had always thought him even a richer character than
Molifere's Tartuffe. This would be the retort plea
sant, he thought. Such a weakness may be justified
by his indignation at the attack on his unoffending
wife, for he himself was tolerably accustomed to such
onslaughts. Still the retaliation he meditated was
more in Foote's fashion, and it certainly would not

20

THE LIFE OF DAVID GARRICK. [1762.

have served him with his friends, or with the public.
Happily, Lyttleton took this view, and warmly dis
suaded him from so unbecoming a step.*
Thus it would seem, that no one's hfe was so
checquered, or to know such a wholesome discipline,
in the way of correction. If he was exalted, there was
not long afterwards an unpleasant chastisement. Yet
under such alternations, he preserved a mind surpris
ingly "even;" — never lost his head a moment, from
praise, flattery, or success ; and never sank into depres
sion. He was presently to be more sorely tried.
* Mr. Garrick showed Davies, Lyttleton's reply, " comprised in very polite
and condescending terms." Da-vies at the same time insinuates as the motive
for abandoning this step, "that it might be attended with some little un
easiness to himself."

1762.J STAGE REFORM. 21

CHAPTER VIII.
STAGE REFORM.
1762.
"The Two Gentlemen of Verona" was the new
revival for the new season ; and, indeed, the theatre
was already suffering from the superior attraction at
the other house. English opera, and the charming
voice of Miss Brent, had been thinning the boxes and
benches of Drury Lane, and Young Meadows and
Rosetta were more followed than Hamlet or Estifania.
Then were heard, for the first time, the cheerful, pas
toral, simple melodies, " We all love a pretty girl
under the rose," " When I have my dog and my
gun : " and English opera was a distinct school, not a
mere '"'' rechauffe" of Italian and French models. In
vain Garrick made attempts in the same direction,
engaging a "Master Norris," with other pupils of his
friend Arne. The receipts began to fall off, and his
Gwn attraction to fail mysteriously. And from that
time he began to think seriously of an important step,
—either of complete retirement, while he could do so
without loss, or, at least, of a temporary "withdrawal
from the vexations which were gathering thick about
him. For this was the most fretted period of his life.
During the recess Garrick and his partner deter
mined to carry out some new theatrical arrangements
which they had long meditated. No one could

22 THB LIFE OF DAVID GARRICK. [1762.
prove that there was "stinginess" in anything that
concerned their management : the performers were
paid liberally, and the scenery and dresses were always
handsome. It was, of course, the fashion to hold him
up as niggardly and " shabby " in what concerned his
theatre, as well as in his private life. Only a few years
before, he had decorated and rearranged the house,
yet he was now busy with fresh alterations, which
amounted to an entire remodelling of the theatre.
Under liberal management the number of performers
had increased to one hundred, and the charges of the
night "before the curtain rose" had mounted up from
sixty to ninety pounds a night. This was a serious
deduction from the profits ; and though prices had been
increased, as Ave have seen, on particular occasions,
still the margin was not a little precarious.
He was also determined to seize the opportunity to
strike boldly at another abuse — the practice of crowd
ing the stage on benefit nights, when actors had their
" building on the stage," — an amphitheatre crowded
with select friends, and with those who could not find
room in the boxes. The absurdities this very familiar
custom gave rise to, may be conceived; its worst
result was, that it kept the door open for admis
sion behind the scenes, on other nights, and brought
about irregularities, which made it hopeless to keep
strict discipline on the stage. But there were enor-
inous difficulties in the way of reform. Sheridan,
indeed, succeeded in Dublin, but at the fatal cost of
tiot, of the utter sack of the theatre, and of his ovni
tuin. There were yet greater dangers in- the way at
Drury Lane. The young bloods atid men of the first
fashion wolild resent being driven from tlie coulisses.

1762.] STAGE REFORM. 23
which they considered their proper parterre, and the
young clerks, and persons of lower degree, were glad
to get a seat on the stage, to see the actors and
actresses closely. These classes did not care for illu
sion. The thing was carried to an absurdity on the
benefit nights of the actors, which came very often,
when there was that "building" on the stage, the
great circus, that rose in tiers to the .stage clouds,
while the floor in front was covered with spectators
sitting or lying down. At the top fluttered dirty
pieces of canvas ; the wings were all blocked up
with crowds of loungers who could not get seats, and
who sometimes prevented the actor coming on. In
front, the stage boxes, which had taken the place of the
good old stage doors, were "built out," with two or
three rows of seats, which prevented those behind
from seeing. Sometimes the Ranger or Archer, or
conventional gallant of the piece, had to " escape " from
a balcony, or to scale one ; and it was in the regular
course of things for him to intrude himself into the
side box, with many apologies, to the great disturbance
of the tenants. These ridiculous shifts, contemp
tuously accepted by the audience, were not likely to
increase the respect for the players. It was even more
absurd on Mrs. Cibber's benefit, to see that charming
actress, in the centre of a crowded ring, with scarcely
room to turn, prostrate on the tomb of the Capulets,
which was an old couch covered with black cloth.
More absurdly still, when Mr. Holland came on as
Hamlet, through a similar crowd, and according to the
strict tradition, made his hat fall, as though lifted
off by his hair, in terror at the ghost, one of
his admirers, a woman in a red cloak, got up and

2i

THB LIFE OF DAVID GARRICK. [1762

replaced it. This, however, caused a universal roar.
Such famiharities were fatal to all respect, and to all
illusion. When reform came, came also, as a matter of
course, rich dresses and better scenery. Then the
Cibbers, and Bellamys, and Barrys, revelled in, and
extorted from reluctant managers, those rich, gorgeous,
and elaborate robes, in which they looked like true
" tragedy queens." They were " inhabitants," as Steele
would say, of the most sumptuous structures, stiff,
spreading, encrusted with trimmings and furbelows as
stiff. Their heads towered with strange and nodding
edifices, built and entwined with rows of pearls and
other jewels. To turn over the old stage pictures,
and come upon Statira and Roxana, the rival queens,
fronting each other, one Cibber, the other BeUamy,
and call up the sweet and melodious chanting, and the
lofty and pretentious language — poetry sometimes —
the sad and tender complainings, the fierce but mea
sured rage and despair, it must be admitted, that, in
such an ensemble, there was something grand, and even
magnificent. With such accessories, and recollections
of the majestic demi-chanting which even now obtains
on the French stage, we might almost accept this
rococo school, as a type of something grand and elevat
ing. These stage royal ladies were usuahy attended by
pages, even in their most intimate and domestic scenes,
who never let down the sumptuous trains of their
mistresses. There could be none, therefore, of that
" crossing " and recrossing which make up the bustle
and movement of modern drama. Nor was this style
of decoration made subservient to the interests of
the play. Mrs. Cibber played her Jidiet in white

[1762. STAGE REFORM. 23
satin, hoops, and furbelows ; so that Don Ferolo's
heroine was right in becoming " distraught " in white
satin. Clive or Woffington, when doing the "pert"
part of a waiting-maid, or the more gauche one of
a farmer's rustic daughter, presented themselves in
white satin shoes, and with their hair dressed accord
ing to the gorgeous canons of the London fashions.
These contradictions were not noticed ; and it must
be said, that there was a certain standard of dress
accepted for each part, like the conventional lions of
old architecture, which, perhaps, really conduced to
idealize the drama, much more than the present
minute and "realistic" production of the ' commonest
and most earthly objects in life.
The modern taste for this fatal " realism " is utterly
antagonistic to stage effect. This may seem a para
dox : but even in the days of Garrick — when the lime
light was undreamed of, and scenery very rude — there
was a better air of delusion. Because the more per
fect and vivid, the more like real life, effects become,
the more the spectator is inclined to be on his guard,
and to challenge what is presented to him. There is
a point beyond which stage imitation should not go ;
and there should be certain conventional shapes of
scenery, which should more indicate than represent.
The Greeks, with their heroic pattern of mask — one
for comedy, one for tragedy — and their unchangeable
scene of a temple or street, understood this principle.
The truth was, acting, mental action, and -witty and
humorous dialogue, were considered the proper busi
ness of the stage, and were what people went to see
and hear. And the smallest reflection will show that
this is the entire foundation of the pleasure that

26 THB LIFE OF DAVID GARRICK. [1762.
brings us to the . theatre. The excitement is from the
play of mind on mind, not in the vulgar accessories of
" fires," coal mines, imitation water, " bending trees,"
and the like. These poor devices are usurping the
place of,^what they are intended to set off.
It was time indeed that some reform should be
made in the " ordering " of the house. The effect of
Garrick's alterations and improvements, when he took
Drury Lane, was only to give it a patched air. Thea
trical buildings then scarcely fell within the province
ofthe architect; and the theory of sound, or of con
venient approaches and issues, were not dreamed of
At Drury Lane, the galleries to the upper boxes were so
contracted, that people trembled to think what would
happen in case of a fire. If the box-door was opened,
it would be impossible for any one of the tenants to
squeeze by. In the pit, the "fast men" were accus
tomed to gather at the entrances, and prevent the
decent citizens from seeing or hearing. Sometimes
they talked and laughed, to show their contempt, and
were saluted with showers of sucked oranges, skins,
and half-eateii' pippins from the galleries. At Covent
Garden the scenery was of the rudest, oldest, and
shabbiest sort. There was an old faded Spanish inte
rior, which had done duty for tlihty or forty years,
and even in the year 1747, its familiar "wings"
and rickety folding-doors, would wheel on "regularly
in the ' The Fop's Fortune.' " The old dresses, too,
cast off by noblemen and ladies of quality, were used
again and again. There was no fitness of character
attempted ; all that was required was that they should
be " fine," or as fine as stripes of tawdry tinsel could
make them. This all came of the contempt in which

1762.] STAGE REFORM. 27
actors were held. The audience thought such deco
rations quite good enough.
The look of the interior of Drury Lane was more
that of a Music Hall, having deep galleries supported
by pillars. It was almost square, not horse-shoe
shaped. On grand nights, it was ostentatiously put
in the bills, that " the house would be fit with wax ; "
but later, Garrick substituted for the chandehers a
great central one, which was considered a triumph of
workmanship. We might wonder how the later dim
" floats " could throw a sufficient light to show the
workings and play of feature, but I have discovered that
there was hanging over the stage in front of the curtain
no less than six enormous chandeliers, each containing
twelve candles, in brass sockets, with a great deal of
iron„" flourishing" at the bottom of each. This prin-
"j.
ciple' ,jOf lighting from above, and as from the sun,
was far more philosophical than the present system of
casting an unnatural glare from below, on the faces of
the actors'. ':, When the piece was over, these chande
liers were' let down, as a signal for the audience
to depart. In Garrick's day foot-lights were un
known. Yet vnth all Garrick's attention to scenery, and his
unwearied efforts to secure the newest improvements,
the absence of a light like gas must have hindered any
thing in the shape of real effect. A letter to the
manager, about his scenery, shows that they felt this
very difficulty. They had " a sun much such as they
had at the opera, only larger. Gsetano has about con
vinced me that it is impossible to give a colour to fire.
He has tried coloured glass, and it does nothing.
Spelter, he says, is very good ; sulphur does not succeed ;

28 THB LIFE OF DAVID GARRICK. [1762.
Stars he makes now without thimbles."* This was so
early as 1747. The secret of our grand stage confla
grations, where practicable houses seemed to be be-
wrapt in flames, actually lies in the use of this coloured
glass, which '.' Gsetano " found a failure, and of jets of
gas. In mere mechanical effects and changes they were
more forward. They had the little models, which every
scene-painter now makes, and preserves. There was
one grand " set piece "for a " Feerie " which he got
over from Paris, the description of which is highly
curious, as showing the " transformation-scene " of a
hundred years ago. It was called the " Palace of
Armida." The painted stones were put together, with
handles at the back ; these were drawn away from the
bottom ; thus the whole came down in ruins. Traps
were opened " when the change of the fiery palace was
commencing," down which the facade began to
descend, the groups of Graces changing also at the
same moment, while fi-om above were thrown down
what seemed to be heavy beams of timber, but which
were frames of wicker, covered with painted canvas.
The conflagration, however, was managed in a rather
primitive fashion. Strings of tow were wound on
long " perches " held at all sides, and were set on
fire ;f the car of Medea then crossed the stage, sur
rounded by little demons carrying torches, and firing
the palace. There was then "a rain of fire " made of
sulphuric firework composition. In short they had not
yet learnt that the true secret of dramatic effect con
sists in deception, and that real objects seen on the

* Forster MSS.
f This rude aud ineffective fashion obtained at our theatres until a few
years ago.

1762.] STAGE REFORM. 29
stage are most unlike what is real.* The rest of the
effect was worked out with red agate-coloured columns
and " gilt beams," and a great deal of gilt moulding.!
Another matter, which really required ordering, was
the regulations about taking seats. The custom was
for ladies to send their footmen before the play began,
dressed up in gaudy liveries, who sat in the best
places, for two or three acts, and thus kept the places.
This was an incongruous sight enough ; as ladies of
the first rank often found themselves seated, through ¦ a
whole piece, beside a servant. But there was a worse
abuse. The fine footmen often preferred the tavern to
the play : and the " Sir Harry " or " My Lord Duke,"
whom Garrick had so happily ridiculed, often went
away and left as his deputy a dirty, ill-dressed porter
— a more unbecoming contrast still to his neighbouriS.
It was suggested to Garrick that the simple practice
of numbering the seats would remedy all this. But he
does not seem to have adopted it. Mr. Varney, the
box-keeper, was a very important personage with all
persons of quality and condition. All these improve
ments were Gwing to Garrick's o-wn unwearied atten
tion and watchfulness. He kept his eye on the French
stage ; and it is surprising that, with the whole in
tellectual department of the estabHshment on his
shoulders, he should have found time to busy himself
with matters like these.

¦* Thus real fire, real water, real furniture are not nearly so good for effect
as .the imitative articles.
+ Loutherbourg was his scene painter, and contrived some ingenious effects
by placing screens, of various coloured silk and tiffany, in front of the side,
and head lights. It was he who invented the "effect" of Harlequin in a
fog, produced by hanging dark gauze between the figure and the audience.

80 THB LIFE OF DAVID GARRICK. [1762—

CHAPTER IX.
FITZPATRICK.
1762—1763.
This clearing of the stage from the loungers was to
be fraught with great difficulties, and even danger.
Above all, the fiercest opposition would be raised by
his own company, who on a benefit, would lose as
much as a hundred pounds or more, by being curtailed
of this privilege. Garrick, however, always on the side
of propriety, was content to brave the first dangers ;
and the happy device of enlarging the house, and
gaining in front, the accommodation that was sacrificed
behind the curtain, took away all excuse for dissatis
faction among the actors. These alterations were done
so judiciously, that the theatre gained, not only in
size, but in beauty, and noAV held a receipt of £335
a-night.* The opposition, and displeasure of the men about
town, was more perilous still. They could not readily
accept their dismission. Unfortunately, too, Garrick
had been drawn into an open quarrel with their
leader, "Thady" Fitzpatrick, the "fine gentleman"
of the coterie, who affected a superior tone, from
his West End connection. He would seem to
have carried the extravagance of dandy dress and
¦* Murphy.

1763.] FITZPATRICK. 31
airs to its farthest limit — and the bitter satire which
Garrick some years before had levelled at the fops of
the town, was applied in a special degree to this arch-
exquisite. It has been mentioned that he began by
taking Mossop's side, in that actor's discussion with
Garrick, as to a choice of parts, and artfully inflamed
his irritation, by exaggerated praises and representa
tions, that his abilities were kept down. He had now
himself found a personal cause of quarrel with Garrick.
At the Bedford, one night, among a group of
Shakspearean admirers, it was proposed that some
testimonial of honour should be offered to their " idol."
The shape was being discussed, when a gentleman
interposed, and moved that the matter be postponed
until Mr. Garrick should be present, who, as the
poet's finest interpreter, was surely the best authority
on such a point. This was reasonable. But Fitz
patrick, filled with sudden spite at this compliment
to a person he so disliked, said absurdly that " he
wondered how any one could think of putting off the
business of the club, to suit the convenience of its
most insignificant member." This public insult was
reported to Garrick, who called on him for an explana
tion. Meetings and conferences took place, which only
inflamed the matter : when Fitzpatrick, overflowing
with venom, and knowing as all the world knew, the
weak point of his adversary, took the usual course of
assailing him with anonymous slanders in print. These
were kept up unceasingly, and might well goad the ma
nager to desperation. There was a yet more offensive
mode of showing this enmity. Often, when the great
actor was in the middle of one of his finest parts, his
eye would fall on his enemy a little below him in the

32 THB LIFE OF DAVID GARRICK. [1762—
pit, " attended by some noisy set." He would see the
cold stare, and shrugs of contempt, and actually hear
his remarks, and his loud laugh at some fine burst in
Lear, When all the house was in fits at Brugger,
Fitzpatrick's face and his companions', composed to a
stony gravity, must have had a damping effect on the
actor. This was a serious matter, for the critics of the
pit were known and watched, and there were ground
lings enough in the house to be influenced by such
behaviour. As a matter of course, Fitzpatrick found
coadjutors among Garrick's own treacherous depend
ants. There was a certain haberdasher in Cheapside,
one of his green-room followers, who would come to
sympathise with him, and consult as to what was
to be done, and then repair straight to Fitzpatrick
with fresh hints and information, for a new onslaught.
Garrick soon found out this double dealing, and
chasstd him promptly. The crowd presently began to
discover that the person of the great Roscius was no
longer sacred, and this never-flagging series of criti
cisms began to raise up at the coffee-houses and other
places a train of little pretenders, who found an agree
able occupation, and some claim to consideration, in
detecting his faults. The paper which was chosen for
these attacks was " The Craftsman," in whose columns
now appeared the most vindictive and malignant cri
ticisms on Garrick's acting and manner. These were
signed " X. Y. Z.," and soon attracted attention fi'om
their perseverance. Later these worthless criticisms
were gathered up into a pamphlet, which was called
" An Inquiry into the Merits of a Certain Popular Per
former ; with an introduction to David Garrick, Esq. "
and was then known to be Avritten by Fitzpatrick.

1763.] FITZPATRICK. 33
Nothing rnore offensive could be conceived. They
dealt with his age, voice, figure, and manner. The
abuse was "carried so far as to say that " he never did,
or never could, speak ten successive lines of Shak
speare with grammatical propriety." Copies of this
production were sent round diligently, to all Garrick's
friends. Sensitive as the great actor always was to such
discussion of his failings, he was never slow, when once
roused, to meet an enemy with all arms. His rather
incorrigible taste for facetious rhyming led him to
think of a tempting retaliation. The result was
" The Fribbleriad," a lively and personal description
of his enemy, which was largely sold, and made the
town laugh. Fitzpatrick offered tempting openings
for ridicule. His face, pale and wan, spoke of an
effeminacy almost ridiculous ; he had the mincing air
and gait of all the beaux of the town. And the
frontispiece, an absurd caricature, meant for a portrait,
ofa bowing and posturing "maccaroni," as grotesque
as one of Callot's figures, was significant of the enter
tainment within. The portrait was introduced with
a motto — " Vir, femina, neutrum," — the text which
was to supply Churchill with the hint of his far more
deadly satire. In his preface, too, the author quoted
a little epigram from the "Ledger," but which has
the mark of his own touch : —
" TO X. Y. z.
" Indeed, most severely poor Garrick you handle,
No bigots damn more -with bell, book, and candle ;
Though you with the town about him disagree —
He joins with the town in the judgment of thee.
So dainty, so devilish, is all that you scribble,
Not a soul but can see 'tis the spite of a Fribble."
VOL. XI. D

34 THE LIFE OF DAVID GARRICK. [1762—
In the plot of the little poem is worked out a sort of
discussion embodying the motto —
" Tlie creature's male, say all we can —
It must be something like a man.
*****
What of that -wriggling, fribbling race,
The curse of nature and disgrace.
Whose rancour knows nor bounds nor measure,
Feels every passion, tastes no pleasure ?
So smiling, smirking, soft in feature,
You'd swear it was the gentlest creature.
But touch its pride, the lady-fellow
From sickly pale turns deadly yellow—
MaU, female, vanish — fiends appear.
And aU is malice, rage, and fear.
What in the heart breeds all this evil
Makes man on earth a very devil :
Corrupts the mind, aud tortures sense,
Malignity with impotence.
This is something in the key of Churchill, and it does
not seem improbable that it had been submitted to the
satirist. There is a compliment to the open, courageous
fashion in which he dealt his blows, as compared with
the Fribbles, who pricked with their needles in the
dark : — " With colours flying, beat of druni —
Unlike to this, see Churchill come.
And now like Hercules he stands,
Unmasked his face, but armed his hands,
Alike prepared to write or drub —
This holds a pen and that a club.
'Mine is the Rosciad — mine,' he cries ;
' Who says 'tis not, I say he lies. ' "
But the gi'eat satirist was not merely to figure in
this harmless shape ; for in the preface was an alarm
ing announcement, that the task of exhibiting Fribble
in his proper colours was not to be completed there.
"A much abler hand'' was very soon "to expose and
detect his designs." Not a few guessed that this
heralded Churchill.
The poem described a sort of conventicle held

1763.] FITZPATRICK. 35
on Hampstead Hill, with Fitzgig in the chair, and
attended by Lord Trip, -Phil. Whiffle, Captain Patti-
pan, and Sir Cock-a-doodle, to devise means for
annoying the great actor. The others propose various
schemes ; but Fitzgig's system of libels is adopted : —
" Their malice wakes in X. Y. Z.
And now bursts forth their treasured gall,
Through /im, Cook Fribble, of them all ! "
There were some touches about " our stage hero,"
and praises of " Roscius," more implied than ex
pressed, put in to divert suspicion, which later gave
him some qualms. Yet these seemed almost unavoid
able from the subject and treatment. " I never in my
life," he wrote, a few years later, "praised myself
knowingly, except a little matter in ' The Fribbleriad,'
which always pinched mei" Warburton was delighted
with " The Fribbleriad." He thought it excellent in
its fable, its sentiment, and wit. He had his own
Fribbles to plague him, and could think of Pope, who
had called the "Cock Fribble" of his day, a gilded
bug. This satirical personality affected Fitzpatrick keenly.
He made no protest just then, but presently found an
opportunity for revenge, and had the satisfaction of
obtaining a public victory over his enemy in his
enemy's own theatre. An opening soon came. There
can be no doubt there was great dissatisfaction
abroad at the late changes. To this feeling, in part,
must be set down the attack that was made on the
first novelty of the season, produced before Christmas
—Mallet's " Elvira."*
* Murphy puts it after the riots of the next year, and in a diverting
attempt to be exact, says : "As soon as the damages done to his theatre had
been repaired, he brought it forward." D 2

36 THE LIFE OF DAVID GARRICK. [1762—
A pleasant story, at the expense of the manager,
accounted for the acceptance of this extraordinary
play. The author was supposed to be busy -with an
important life of the great Duke of Marlborough, for
which the duchess had left a sum of a thousand pounds.
On this retainer, very handsome in those days of hack-
writing. Mallet for many years assumed airs of impor
tance, gave out periodical reports of his progress, and
excited a sort of expectation. Having a dull play by
him, he laid an artful trap to secure its acceptance, and
waited on Garrick to tell him, that he " had contrived
a niche for him in his work."* The manager's eyes
sparkled vfith pleasure. But how could he be
appropriately brought into the history of the great
duke. " That's my business, my dear friend," was
the other's reply. " I tell you I have done it."
"Wefl, faith, you have the art of surprising your
friends, in the most unexpected and the politest
manner ; but why won't you now, who are so wefl
qualified, write something for the stage. You should
relax. Interpone tuis — ha ! you know ! for I am sure
the theatre is a mere matter of diversion to you."
The other at once took his tragedy from his pocket. It
was a most absurd piece. | During one of the many
* The effrontery of this class of adventurer is amusing. Only a short
time before his "Eurydice " had been brought out, and though weU played by
Garrick and Cibber— had been an utter failure. The author sat in the
orchestra, and loudly "bestowed his execrations on the players," on whom he
laid the blame of this fiasco.
t A very diverting criticism on this piece was published in a sixpenny
pamphlet. Almost every scene, it said, was an interview and a tUe-d,-t^te.
''The king wants to see his son, the queen wants to see Elvira, Elvira wants
to see the king— all the thoughts were poor and stolen. ' Dryden said
that Ben Jonson was everywhere to be traced iu the snow of the ancients ;
we may say that Malloch is everywhere to be traced in the puddle of the
moderns. Instead of selecting beauties, he has , everywhere picked out what
is despicable ; like a pickpocket who dives for handkerchiefs, not for gold and

1763.] FITZPATRICK. 37
dreary pleadings and harangues before a court, a wag
in the pit cafled out "encore;" and in the fourth act
the piece had surely been damned, but for the admi
rable acting of Garrick, who, as a critic said, "like a
second ^neas, carried the old doting and decrepit
father on his back." It dragged on its nine nights,
and the author had the profit of his three nights ; " like
the rascals who plundered Lisbon after the earthquake,"
said his pleasant critic again, " he will extract guineas
out of rubbish."*
But a more suitable opportunity had now come round,
which gave Mr. Fitzpatrick an opening for retaliation.
One of the rules, said to be an innovation, had abolished
the half-price during the run of a new play, but
restored it, whenever the regular stock-pieces were
played, where Garrick's strength and attraction lay.
This had been the old custom, and was certainly not
unreasonable ; but it furnished the occasion that Fitz
patrick was looking for.
On the twenty-fifth of January, 1763, the coffee
house frequenters were attracted by placards, posted
up everywhere, in which their attention was called to
this gi'ievance. It was represented as a great hardship,
and one that should be resisted ; but, it was added with
an ostentatious moderation, without any violence, or
contents himself with what he finds in our great-coat pocket, without attempt
ing our watch. He has introduced a rebellion unparalleled in any history.
The Prince enters an apartment of the palace, with a drawn sword. This
forms a rebellion. The king enters the same apartment, without a drawn
sword. This quashes the rebellion. In the fourth act the whole board of
Portugal's Pri-vy Councillors are melted into tears. Indeed, it is to the lenity
of the King of Portugal that we owe by far the greater part of this amazing
play. The good man lets his rebellious subjects out of prison to chat with
hvm. In the fifth act two young children were brought in -vi-hom the Wng
embraced, the prince embraced, and Elvira embraced."
* Davies says this part of Don Pedro was the last new character attempted
by Garrick. It will be seen he is wrong.

38 THB LIFE OF DAVID GARRICK. [1762—
outrage on law and order.* They should assert their
rights firmly.
A theatrical community is never slack to accept
an invitation of such a kind. There is an excitement
— with a security and immunity, not to be found
so cheaply anywhere else. " The Two Gentlemen
of Verona " was being played, with some alterations
by Victor, and had reached its tenth night", when it
was to be performed for the benefit of the author.
When the curtain rose, the uproar burst forth. The
house was packed with the conspirators, and the noto
riously wan face of Mr. Fitzpatrick was seen in the
boxes. In a moment he, was haranguing them. Beside
him was his aide-de-camp, the Cheapside haberdasher.
With fierce and excited language he told them, it was
now their time to fix the price, and exhorted them
not to submit to the imposition. The confusion brought
out the manager, who was received with yells and up
roar. They would not give him a hearing. Yet he
was prepared with a reasonable case. He would have
shown them how the expenses had mounted from sixty
to ninety pounds a-night, though this was hardly the
point involved. I But in truth he was -wrong, or had
* The tone of this document is very insolent, and it must have come from
Fitzpatrick. "Permit me to rouse your indignation, " it said, "by remind
ing you that formerly we could see, for four shillings, a ^Za?/ performed by
Booth, Wilks, Dogget, Norris, Johnson, Oldfield, and Porter, and are now
obliged to pay five shillings for half a play, performed by Garrick, Solland,
, O'Brien, Packer, &o. Perhaps our lord and master wOl require opera prices."
It then invited aU to attend the playhouse, and demand an explanation. The
reason, it added, for addressing the town in this manner was, that all com
munication with the public, through the channel of the newspapers, was cut
off through the influence of one of tlie theatrical managers.
f I have discovered in an old magazine a copy of the " pay list" of Drury
Lane, of only two years later. There were a hundred performers on the books,
and the total amounted to within a few shillings of the sum Garrick had
named. The salaries are good for those days. Garrick had 21. 15s. 6d. a
night ; Yates and wife, Zl. 6s. 8d. ; Palmer and wife, 21. ; King, 11. 6s. 8d. ;

1763.] FITZPATRICK. 39
raised a wrong issue. For " The Two Gentlemen of
Verona " had been played before, with its alterations,
and was not, in that sense, a new piece. He was just
allowed to say, that all should be explained in the
newspapers of the following day, and was summarily
driven off, — ^then the rioters proceeded to the next
regular step, in theatrical dissatisfaction. They fell
on the theatre and its fittings, broke up the lustres and
girandoles, and Moody, the popular actor of Irishmen,
snatched a light from a ruffian who was in the act of
firing the theatre. After this destruction of property,
the curtain was let down, the money actually retm-ned
to the rioters, and the house cleared.
The following morning, in the journal he was sup
posed to influence, appeared a short notice, promising
an answer — stating that he believed what they had
done was no innovation. This temperate appeal had
no effect. That night the house was crammed to the
ceiling. At the " third music," the audience furiously
interrupted, — demanded "Britons Strike Home,"
and " The Roast Beef of Old England." They were
gratified -with these tunes. Then Holland came out
to speak the prologue, but was hissed off. This
looked ominous, when suddenly Garrick himself ap
peared, and confronted that hostile audience, literally
packed with his enemies. The uproar that greeted
him could not be described. It was noted that the fine
face betrayed mortification, anger, and hniniliation.
Some voices roared, "Sear him!" others, "Hear

tarsons, 6s. Bd. ; Mrs. Cibber, 21. 10s. ; Mrs. Pritchard, 21. Bs. M. ; Mrs.
Clive, 11. 15s. ; Miss Pope, 12s. id. ; the Italian dancers, 11., and 11. 3s. id.;
the " Fund," 11. 15s. ; ahd the nightly Charity, 3s. &d. Thete is rather a
"bill of costs' " aii- about these charges.

40 THE LIFE OF DAVID GARRICK. [1762—
the pit!" Suddenly the pale-faced Fitzpatrick, his
henchman, Burke, by his side, stood up, and there
was silence. He called out ; " Will you, or will
you not, charge half-price for every piece, except
a pantomime?" The humiliated manager wished
to explain, but his enemy called on him to say
yes or no. He again attempted to make a state
ment, but was drowned in fresh yells. Then, in
a tone of agony and impatience, he called out
"Yes!"* This submission was against his own
judgment, but he was persuaded by the cautious Lacy.
The house was taken by surprise ; but a victim they
were determined to have. Ackman, a humble player,
who had displeased them the night before, was
ordered to come out and beg pardon. He did so.
Then Moody was called for, and required to beg
pardon on his knees, for what he had done the pre
vious night. This strange demand he met in bur
lesque way, by saying, in the tone of one of his stage
Irishmen, "that he was very sony he had offended
them, by saving their lives." This trifling only in
furiated them, and the cry was " Down on your
knees ! " Moody boldly said, " By God, I will not,"
and walked off the stage. Though Garrick em
braced him and applauded his spirit, still, to save his
theatre, he had to engage that Moody should not play
any more, until they gave permission ; but he assm-ed
Moody in private, that his salary should go on.
Flushed with their triumph, they repaired to Covent
Garden, where they pursued exactly the same course ;
but Beard, one of the patentees, with more spirit,
* This is from a curious newspaper catting.— Bullock Col.

1763.] FITZPATRICK. 41
declined to agree to their demands. His theatre was
accordingly sacked ; but he was able to secure some
of the rioters, and bring them before the Chief Justice.
Meanwhile Moody, with good spirit, presented him
self at Fitzpatrick's chambers, and demanded satis
faction for these injuries. The natural pusillanimity of
the beau was said to have shown itself ; he shuffled,
turned pale, proposed an amende, and actually agreed
to bring about a reconciliation between the actor and
the public. He was said also to have written an abject
apology to the manager. There was to be a greater
humiliation : when the rioters were brought to Lord
Mansfield's house, he was obliged to attend also. * His
unnaturally pale cheek was seen to turn yet paler, as
the Chief Justice administered to him a stern rebuke,
saying that if a life had chanced to have been lost in
the fray, he would have been held responsible. With
judicious vdsdom he allowed the matter to be accom
modated, and after a wholesome warning allowed aJl
to go ; but he told Fitzpatrick that he was astonished
to see one, who looked like a gentleman, mixed up in
such an affair. The history of theatrical riots would
make a curious narrative, and not the least curious
feature would be the almost invariable leadership of
persons of condition.
From Garrick, too, came one more stroke at the
unlucky Fribble. The manager found another opening
for his incorrigible taste for comic rhymes, a turn that
was the result of his " fussiness" and belief, that the
town was engrossed with everything that concerned
him. This, too, led him into the questionable step of
* Murphy says that he was brought there as one of the rioters ; Davies's
account is, that he merely attended.

42 THB LIFE OF DAVID GARRICK. [1762—
puffing himself a little, as it were to carry out the
fiction that the piece was by another hand. There
now appeared a ludicrous parody on Dryden's famous
Ode, a favourite shape of humour ; hardly so now, as,
it is to be feared, there is no such popular familiarity
with the Ode, as would make a burlesque of it intelli
gible. It was called " Fitzgig's Triumph, or tlie Power
of Riot." " 'Twas at the rabble rout, when Mima won,
Through Fitzgig, Fitzgig's son !
Below, in awkward state,
The blustering ruffian sate
On his audacious throne.
His noisy peers were placed around,
No footpads in the dark are found.
The blarneying Burky by his side. ''
Then was described Garrick's appeal. "He runs with
rapid skill through elocution's bounds." Shakspeare
had, indeed, here stamped an image of himself — a
Garrick .^r the world —
" The sons of taste admire the lofty sound,
A present Shakspeare, hark, they shout around."
.a
Then the riot begins —
" Revenge, revenge ! then Burky cries.
So the plunderers rise.
See the sconces they tear ;
How they clash in the air.
Behold a dirty band.
Each a club in his hand.
* * * 1^ *
Behold how they toss up the benches on high ;
How they break the orchestral abodes,
And his instruments shatter by loads.
The rufiians applaud with a furious joy,
And a buck seized a candle, with zeal, to destroy,
Burky led the way.
To guide them to their prey.
*****
Let judgment, then, resign the prize.
And mourn her mangled crown ;
She raised a Shakspeare to the skies,
He threw a Garrick down.
The plunderers rend the roof with loud applatise,-
So merit lost, and riot won the cause."

1763.] FITZPATRICK. 43
• By this trifling, Garrick seemed almost to condone
the outrageous treatment he had received. Bat he had
an ally more terrible, who, at once, took the task of
chastisement mto his own hands. This was Churchill.
"The Rosciad" had run through some seven
editions ; and now came out the eighth, in which was
inserted that tremendous portrait which has been so
justly called " one of the masterpieces of English
satire." This friendly service may be taken as an
amende for the little tartnesa of " The Apology," and
supports the view of Churchill's having a hand in
Garrick's Fribbleriad ; for if he did not suggest, he
certainly worked out elaborately, the same idea. Every
one knows the lines —
' ' A motley figure of the Fribble tribe.
Which heart can scarce conceive or pen describe,
Came simpering on, to ascertain whose sex
Twelve sage impannelled matrons 'twould perplex.
Nor male nor female — neither, and yet both,
Of neuter gender, though of Irish growth,
A six-foot suckling, mincing in his gait,
Affected, pee-rish, prim, and delicate ;
Fearful it seemed, though of athletic make,
Lest brutal breezes should too roughly shake
Its tender form, and savage motion spread
O'er its pale cheeks the horrid manly red!'
It must be said that in spite of all this imputed effemi
nacy, Fitzpatrick had not been afraid at the proper
time to take a bold and conspicuous part, and lead
on the theatrical riots with a conspicuousness scarcely
in keeping with this Eastern portrait. But this blow
crushed him, and we hear of him no more.
Within a few days he had to appear in a new piece,
whose perfect and legitimate success may have con
soled him. Sheridan was not reconciled to him, but
Sheridan's wife had written a comedy,- which had been

44 THB LIFE OF DAVID GARRICK. [1762—
put into his hands. Indifferent to enmities and inju
ries, he now engaged Sheridan to take a leading
part, set off the comedy to the best advantage, and
went himself to the trouble of studying Sir Anthony
Branville, which proved to be the last new character he
was to appear in. It is a gay, bright piece, and reads
pleasantly, to this hour.* It was greatly rehshed, and
was played some seventeen nights — then a prodigious
run. Garrick's picture of an old beau, formal and
precise, was inexpressibly mirthful ; and it was some
thing new, and not less diverting, to see that wonder
ful face producing effect, even when become solemn,
and discharged of all expression. Not content with
this warm support of the wife, he liberally gave the
husband a second night for his benefit, though he
was not engaged at the theatre. We may wonder
how the Fitzpatricks, and others of his professional
slanderers, accounted for such behaviour.
Still the rude shock he had received, had sunk
deep into his mind. The mortification of that
defeat, that public insult on his own boards, had
gone home. The respect, the popularity of " the
great Garrick" and "Roscius" seemed to have
decayed. These numerous attacks- — Fitzpatrick's,
Churchill's — were wounding and disgusting him.
It was scarcely wonderful that he should recal

* This sprightly lady had sent him a comedy — very likely this one — so far
back as 1743, which he had strongly condemned. There was no fable— no
humour — no connection — no interest. The lady defended her piece, in' one
of the pleasantest letters. She believed Mr. Garrick had read it too " hastily,''
and not "finding himself pleased on the whole, would not allow himself
time to separate the good from the bad," and in the warmth of his disappoint
ment, had pas.sed upon it a sentence like Victor's description of Rantavau,
"where he found neither meat, drink, washing, nor clothing." This gay
woman's letter is given in the Gar. Corr. vol. i. p. 16.

1763,] FITZPATRICK. 45
Sterne's picture of the eagerness of French friends to
welcome the great actor. He was actually thinking
of final retirement, as he had done after the Festival
Riot. His eyes were turning towards the continent,
and to quiet. Peace between France and England was
now estabhshed. The Duke de Nivernois, the newly-
arrived ambassador, had been most courteous, gave
him a splendid entertainment, and, no doubt, promised
introductions. Mrs. Garrick's health, too, was failing
and he himself wanted change and repose. A tour
seemed inviting.
The unpleasant season closed at the end of May.
It brought not only mortification, but loss. Even in
the present' century, there were still living those who
recalled the waning attraction of the great actor — the
thin pit and empty boxes of Drury Lane Theatre.
Sir Waller Pepys often described to Mr. Rogers this
humiliating show, and it was even said that Garrick
and Mrs. Cibber had sometimes played to a house of
twenty pounds, and once actually to one of five. This,
however, was the single " bad house " of his life.
It was not surprising he should begin to think of
escaping from such mortifications.
Now came a very warm letter from Chatsworth,
pressing him to come and meet Quin, and see the Ascot
Races. It shows us Quin in a very agreeable light,
driving out " in his one-horse chaise to get his nag in
wind," and receiving the present of an umbrella to
defend himself from the sun and rain. Garrick "wrote
a hearty and delighted letter to Quin, written in that
vein of gaiety which always sat so well on him : "if
they had but a tithe of the pleasure they had in their
last meeting, it will be well made." They were to

46 THE LIFE OF DAVID GARRICK. [1762—
exchange pictures — Garrick sitting to Hudson, Quin
to Gainsborough. Garrick looked forward -with
great delight to their meeting ; the only draw
back was, he told him, pleasantly, " that Mrs.
Garrick took more pleasure in hearing of it, than was
quite agreeable to the temper of a prudent husband.
The news, indeed, was told her a little abruptly, and
she broke out into a kind of transport. My good
friend, as you are stout, be merciful."* The Duke
was eager to welcome his two friends. " Remember
to come by Derby and Matlock. If you he at Derby
you may, with great ease, be with me by dinner ; it is
all good road. Remember to come over Rowesley
bridge, so up my grounds, which shall be open."
They had the most charming time, "all mirth,
bagatelle, liberty, and a little drinking at times."
Garrick, one of whose charms was to try and have
some little bonne bouche for his fi-iends, or in some
way make them sharers in his present happiness, took
care to let Colman know that their host was often
speaking of him, and had the greatest desire to know
him personaUy. At this house he saw Churchill's
attack on his friend Hogarth, which disturbed him
much. He thought the description of Hogarth's age
and infirmities " surely too shocking and barbarous."
Soon the Duke of Cumberland was expected, and they
had to leave.
¦* Quin's taste for turtle and venison was a standing joke. Even his friend
could be merry on it.
" Let me embalm this flesh of mine
With turtle fat and Bordeaux wine.
And spoil th' Egyptian trade.
Than Humphry's Duke, more happy I,
Embalm'd alive, old Quin shall die
A mummy ready made."

1763.] FITZPATRICK. 47
They seem to have stayed about a week at Chats
worth, and met good company there. Mr. Garrick
turned some pleasant verses on some ladies — the
Duchess of Rutland and two others, who were alwavs
inseparable.* After this pleasant excursion they came
up to town, and began to prepare for the " Grand
Tour," which, as then made, was one of the most
agreeable iucidents in the noble or wealthy English
man's life. As this little defeat, and the subsequent
temporary retirement, forms a sort of epoch in his life,
we shall pause here for a short time, and enter on
another department of his history.
* See this odd baUad — quite in the taste of the day — in the "New
Foundling Hospital for Wit," vol. ii. p. 164. Davies makes Garrick's and
Quin's reconciliation take place at this visit, and is circumstantial about
"Quin's kind inquiry, after dinner," about Mrs. Garrick, which was the
cause. But they had been reconciled before.

48 THB LIFE OF DAVID GARRICK. [1763,

BOOK THE FIFTH.
ACTOE AND TEAVELLER.

CHAPTER I.
A ROUND OF CHAEACTEES.
1763.
This stage of the actor's career will, perhaps, be
found the most convenient opportunity for taking a
view, in detail, of those wonderful gifts, which made
so deep an impression on the audiences of his day.
Beyond the mere general notion, that he took Nature
as his model, we, of the present time, know little of the
characteristics of his acting. This is the unhappy
fate incident to great musical, and dramatic, reputa
tions. As compared with the more enduring glories
of the painter, and the writer, they have a more
splendid audience, — a grander and more dazzling re
ception ; but their life is but for the life of the men
and women of their time. Their career is bounded
by the few generations of their ovm course. Descrip
tion can only give a faint idea of a great actor's gifts
— his expressions, his motions, his eye. Still it cannot
but be interesting to have something beyond the mere
tradition that David Garrick was one of the greatest
players the world has seen, and with this view I have
diligently searched for, and coUected all contemporary

1763.] A ROUND OF CHARACTERS. 49
accounts — the later recollections and traditions, and
from these materials can furnish a tolerably complete
series of sketches, exhibiting him in nearly all his lead
ing characters. This will be entertaining to the thea
trical reader, and perhaps useful to the professional.
Nothing, too, is so difficult as to find some common
standard of comparison between players and singers
of a past generation, and those of the present. The
judgment of the old, who may have heard both, is dis
turbed by the prejudices of the aged, and coloured by
the old and golden light of youth and enjoyment, now
gone for ever. The favourite comparison ofthe old men
of Garrick's day, was to put him beside Booth, and Bet
terton — to whom, of course, they made him inferior. It
is hard to make out exactly what Betterton's style was
— for the well-kno"wn description, in The Tatler, dwells
on his natural acting, his pathos and passion, and, in
parts, might be accepted as a description of Garrick.
But he Tnust have belonged to what has been con
sidered the Old School of acting. He might have
been " natural " and easy, compared with his contem
poraries, but still bound by the conventional rules
then popular. The best test is, that Quin had not only
studied with Betterton and Booth, but admired them,
and was considered to be grounded on their style ;
and what Quin's style was has been sho-wn. Quin
himself, speaking to Selwyn of Garrick's early days,
owned that Betterton would not go down then. Old
Cibber, too, had come from the same school, and
every one knew what his style was ; even allowing
both in his, and Quin's case, for the mannerism and
exaggeration that comes on with age and repetition.
It has been mentioned how the testimony of the Duke

50 THE LIFE OF DAVID GAURICK. [1763,"
of Argyle and of Lord Cobham, who had seen both
players, was for Garrick. Leigh Hunt, in his plea
sant gossip over the list of players, has suggested
that though Shakspeare made a protest against the
vices of mannerism in players, he may not have
objected to the elevated and artificial style, as im
parting a certain state and grandeur. Genius -will
pierce through all such heavy folds ; and it may be,
that Betterton made his splendid gifts apparent in
company with such disabilities. Garrick himself
had opportunities of judging. He had met Mrs.
Porter, Mrs. Oldfield, and even Mrs. Bracegirdle, the
heroine of Lord Mohun's tavern brawl. This was
going back far enough. Yet he used to teU, how he
had heard her once, in company, repeat some lines
of Shakspeare in a way that convinced him, she could
never have deserved her reputation. What Mrs.
Porter thought of Garrick we have seen ; and she
seems to have approved what was opposed to all her
experience, and traditions. The conclusion, therefore,
we should draw is, that Garrick must have been a
true reformer, and his style almost superior to all
that had gone before.
Few men had such natural advantages to lead them
to the stage. The popular notion that he was " little "
was one of the vulgar topics of depreciation insisted
on, to wound his nature, well knovm to be sensitive
to such attacks. He had great and expressive play
of feature. He was "neatly" and elegantly made;
handsome, with a French grace, yet combined with
perfect manhness. His fi-ame had a surprising flexi
bility, and even elasticity, which put all his limbs
under the most perfect control ; there was an elegant

1763.] RICHARD. 5 1
freedom in every motion, regulated by the nicest pro
priety, answering every turn of his mind, as a ship
might her helm. He was a gentleman by birth, and
training — a useful accident for an actor. His fea
tures were wonderfully marked : the eye-brows weU
arched, ascendiag and descending, with rapid play ;
the mouth expressive and bold; and the wonderful
eyes bright, intelhgent, and darting fire. To these
features, intellect and practice had given the same
flexibility as to his figure. His mind travelled so
quickly, that his look seemed in advance of his words,
and the spectator read in his face the very senti
ment he was about to utter.* His voice was harmo
nious and pleasing, always distinct, and clear, though
naturally weak. He was an elegant, fervent, elaborate,
and overwhehning lover, though he wanted the sweet
and pleading tenderness of Barry, and the "profusion
of softness " for which that actor was famed. But
in the mixture, and whirl of passions, lay his real
strength ; when rage, terror, grief, and even madness
followed each other, in gusts as it were, he was unap
proachable. His fault, perhaps, was a certain restless
ness ; on the stage he could never stand still. His
enemy, Macklin, insisted that he never could act the
gentleman's part, nor even dress with propriety.
" The part of crook'd-backed Richard," as it was
called in the biU, was to be like a picture, which
he touched and retouched. Friends remarked that
every night he mended. Reference has been made
to the extraordinary effect produced on the audience
by so simple an action as his flinging away his
¦* Cumberland. % 2

52 THE LIFE OF DAVID GARRICK. [1763,
prayer-book, after the Lord Mayor had retired.*
The idea seemed to be, as Mr. Taylor thought, that
from that moment the old stagy manner was doomed.
It was a miracle of acting. What struck all present
was, that he seemed to be so thoroughly identified, not
only with the general type, but with the changing
shades of hypocrisy, malice, venom, rage, fury, and
hatred. Before there had been but the one broad,
conventional delineation of " the wicked tyrant," who
was savage and furious, and nothing more, merely
raging like a maniac. Even at his opening speech,
something new and characteristic was presented; for
instead of " chuckling " over his own deformity, and
taking a pleasure in being so odious to his fellow-
creatures, he showed himself pained and uneasy when
he dwelt on these defects. That reflection seemed
to be only a fresh incentive to avenge himself on those
who were more blessed by nature. He himself, in
Richard, struck on a good emphasis :
" Have you seen Anne my wife ? "
" My lord, she is exceeding iU."
' ' Rich. Has my physician seen her ? She'll mend shortly. "
In his love-making to Lady Anne, his ardour was so
earnest and passionate that the audience for the
moment forgot it was mere hypocrisy. Here again,
what a contrast to the mouthing, scornful advances
of the older school, which ought to have made
audiences wonder how a lady could receive, even with
* " It was accompanied, " says the pompous biographer Davies, " with the
loudest gratulations of applause." It was noted as an odd feature in the
comedies of the time that ladies and gentlemen reading in their garden, and
interrupted by a visitor, would throw away their book into the scenic ditch,
or pond, or grove.

1763.] RICHARD. 53
a show of favour, so unpleasing a suitor. The famous
tent scene, which was much talked of, and which
Hogarth painted, seems to have deserved all this
admiration. When he started from his sleep, his face,
attitude, everything was a picture of horror and
terrors. He called out boldly, as if in the battle :
" Give me another horse ! " then paused — and with
dismay in his face, came forward, crying out in misery,
" Bind up my wounds ! " then dropping on his knee,
prayed in the most piteously tender accent : '
" Have mercy, heaven ! "
When Catesby came in, his terror and relief, and
his gradual restoration to confidence and bravado, were
again points all new to the audience. All this had
been lost in the monotonous plain chaunt of the exist
ing declamation. There were some little defects, how
ever, but they were merely on the surface. A fi'iend
remarked that as soon as he had laid down, he started
up almost at once, without giving a proper time to fall
asleep and dream. When he said, too, in answer to
Lady Annds question, "What' have I done?"
" To me the worst of crimes — outlived my liking I "
it was thought he should have changed his voice at
the last words, into an angry burst. But his reading
was far more judicious — a slight pause — then speaking
the words in the same key, but a little louder. This
suppressed calm and concentrated spite, was infinitely
more effective.
In the battle scenes he was as loud, fierce, and
furious as could be imagined. When the news of

54 THE LIFE OF DAVID GARRICK. [1763.
Buckingham's being taken was brought in, he uttered
Cibber' s — not Shakspeare' s — famous,
" Off with his head ! So much for Buckingham ! "
with such enjoyment and heartfelt delight, that the
audience burst into perfect shouts of applause. Yet
it was noticed that, in some of these early per
formances he was often almost hoarse and "run
out," by the end of the play, fi-om this fierce shouting
and declamation. This was an honest ardour which
made him reckless in the expenditure of his powers.*
Later he learned to husband his lungs and strength,
with a judicious economy. The death scene, too, was
made a terrible spectacle.
Richard Brinsley Sheridan said "he thought his
Richard was ' fine,' but not terrible enough." " God
bless me," said the great actress, Siddons, " what
could be more terrible ! " She then told how at re
hearsal, he had bade her, as he drew Lady Anne from
the sofa, follow him step by step, so that he should
keep his face to the audience ; as he acted much with
his eyes. During the performance, she was so over
come by the fearful expression of his face, that she
forgot her instructions, but was recalled to herself by
a look of reproof, which she said, she could never think
of without terror.
Garrick's Lear was, perhaps, the finest that has ever
been seen on the stage. Sheridan, the actor's son,
thought it the best of his whole round of characters.
From the pictures by Wilson and Houston, there
* This was noticed in one of the pamphlets of the day— not merely in his
" Eichard," but in "Venice Preserved "—so that when he came to the grand
upbraiding of the Senate, he was quite inaudible.

1763.] LEAR. 55
would, seem a little too much of the conventional old
man, in his dress and " make-up," his hair being too
white and woolly. The "curse" was the nlDst tre
mendous bit in the play ; and Foote, in his pamphlet
on "The Suspicious Husband," gives us a picture of
how this was done : " You fall precipitately on your
knees, extend your arms, clench your hands, set your
teeth, and with a savage distraction in your look,
trembling in all your limbs, and your eyes pointed to
heaven (the whole expressing a fulness of rage and
revenge), you begin —
' Hear, Nature, dear Goddess,'
with a broken, eager, inward utterance, and from
thence rising in every line in loudness and rapidity of
voice, till you come to — ' And feel
How sharper than serpent's tooth,' &c.
Then you are struck, at once, with your daughters'
ingratitude ; and bursting ' into tears, with a most
sorrowful tone of voice you say, —
' Go— go, my people ! ' "
O'Keefe, when a young man, saw him in this fine
part, and was infinitely touched by his exquisite pathos,
his putting his finger to Cordelia's cheek, —
" Be these tears wet ?— Yes, faith ; "
and then looking at his finger. His saying bitterly—
" I will do such things—
What they are I know not,"
went to every heart, from the sudden and piteous
exhibition of helplessness. It was natural he should
make- so remarkable an effect in this play, as he long

56 THE LIFE OF DAVID GARRICK. [1763.
after told Mr. Cradock, he considered it " the , finest
tragedy." On atiother occasion, one of the soldiers, whom
it was the privilege of the house to have on the stage,
was so affected at the distresses of the old king that
he could not restrain his tears. It used to be told as
a " good thing " against the actor, that his vanity was
so tickled, that he sent for the man to his room after
the play was over, and gave him half-a-crown. To
others the story would seem to have a different com
plexion — a most natural gratification at seeing his
talents produce such an effect on a man of that class,
with a wish to encourage him.*
That curse was so terrible, the audience seemed to
shrink away, and cower from it, as from a blast of
lightning — and the preparations — his throwing away
his crutch, clasping his hands, and turning his eyes
to heaven, inspired a strange forecast of terror. But
it was in the transitions of fury to grief and hope
less wretchedness, for which this play afforded such
openings, that he produced such a magical effect.
Some critics thought he was too slow and measured,
in his delivery of the imprecation ; and it was recol
lected that Booth hurried it over more impetuously.
When he said — ' ' Old fond eyes
Lament this cause again, I'll pluck ye out,"
his tenderness and piteous agony made every eye in
the theatre fill with tears. " I never see him," said an
admirer, " coming down from one corner of the stage,

* It is astonishing how in this matter all gosslpers must follow the same
cue. "Rainy-day" Smith, who tells this story, puts it, "Garrick, who was
as fond of a compliment as most men. "

1763.] LEAR. ^ , 57
with his old gray hair standing, as it were, erect
upon his head, his face filled with horror and attention,
his hands expanded, and his whole frame actuated by a
dreary solemnity, but I am astounded, and share in all
his distresses. Methinks I share in his calamities ; I
feel the dark drifting rain, and the sharp tempest, with
his 'Blow, winds, till you have burst your cheeks.'
It is here that the power of his eye, corresponding with
an attitude peculiar to his own judgment and proper to
the situation, is of force sufficient to thrill through the
veins." It was of course played in the shape to
which the profane mangling of Tate had reduced it,
in which Edgar is made to be in love with Cordelia,
and the whole to end happily. Yet these alterations
were done with a certain stage tact ; and Tate's scene
between the lovers never ended without vociferous
applause, and was one of the "strong" places of the
play. Another dramatic "alteration," Lear's battle with
the assassins, furnished Garrick with some acting
which was long recollected by the playgoers. His
leaning against the side of the scene, his panting and
exhaustion, . and his sudden recollections of what he
had done, and reply to the fellow who said that the
old king had slain two of them, " Did I, fellow? " was
wonderfully done. And when he called out in rapture,
still in Tate's language, " Old Lear shall be a king again ! "
the enthusiasm and dehght of the audience knew no
bounds. And, at the close a special compliment was
often paid to this play, of the audience renewing their

58 THE LIFE 0^' DAVID GARRICK. [1763.
plaudits again and again, after the curtain was down,
as a testimony of how their feelings and sympathies
had been worked on.
Some cavillers objected to his playing with straws,
and to his weeping so much. Foote defended him
by quoting Cordelia's speech — his taking " a straw
for a sceptre," and another passage where he says
"I will weep." But in the fourth act, Foote thought
he should have changed his dress, for Cordelia asks,
"Is he arrayed ? " and he thought it a mistake saying,
" Dear daughter, I confess that I am old," in real
seriousness, for it was meant to be ironical. The
progress, too, of returning reason, was wonderfully
effective ; though, indeed this grand play is so fur
nished with dramatic life and changes, that it all but
acts itself; and when, after kneeling to his daughter,
and not recognizing her, a glimpse of light begins to
steal on him, he said : —
 " Do not laugh at me.
For as I am aSian I think that lady
To be my chUd Cordelia, "
the audience, who had been in a tumult of suspense
and pity, now broke out into loud lamentations.*
He adopted Macklin's view of declaiming "KiU!
kill ! " with intense fury and vindictiveness. We
have the testimony of another enemy also as to this
marvellous performance. Chve was seen one night
standing at the wing, abusing him, and weeping by
turns, until angry with herself for being so wrought
* Later, Mrs. Cibber became his Cordelia, which she performed, as she
did all such characters, with true' sweetness and tenderness. He thought
at one time of having Woodward in the Fool, and that actor promised to be
discreet, and restrained in his humour ; but Garrick grew' afraid, and hesitated
to trust him.

1763.] LEAR. 59
on, she turned away impatiently with a " D — n him,
he could act a gridiron!" Once, when he was down
at the fi'ont of the stage, in one of his tempests of
agony, he unconsciously pulled the white wig to one
side, and exposed his own black hair underneath. With
any other actor, this would have been fatal, but the
working of his face and the light of the wonderful eyes
held the audience spell-bound.*
When later Garrick and Barry were playing Lear
against each other, the latter, with all the advantages
of his fine figure and bearing, could not approach him.
Garrick's conception of Lear can be best shown by a
comparison with this actor, which was not nearly so
delicate. In the pathetic passages, the latter's passion
and feeling told well ; but, in the mad scenes he took
long strides, stared about him, in short gave the conven
tional stage notion of unsettled wits. Garrick became
a weak old man, still retaining his air of royalty ; his
size, too, fell in with this notion. In the mad scenes,
there were no starts, no striving or violence, his
gestures were slow and feeble, hopeless misery was in
his face ; he moved his head in the most deliberate
manner ; his eyes were fixed : or if they turned to any
one, he made a pause, and fixed his look on the
person, after a little delay; his face at the same time
telling what he was going to say before he had uttered
a word. Through the whole character he was an im
personation of woe and misery, and a total alienation
from any idea but that of his unkind daughters.f
* " Gentleman's Magazine," V. 93, p. 63. It appears to be given on Mrs.
Garrick's authority.
+ This is the result of Murphy's observation, who saw him often in the cha;
racter. Its justness and nicety redeems some of Murphy's many short
comings. "Such violent starts of amazement, of horror, of indignation, of

60 THE LIFE OF DAVID GARRICK. [1763.
The Hamlet of Garrick when he was a graceful
"sprightly" young man, must have come upon the
audiences of his day with infinite surprise. At that
time the muscles of his face were free, and the won
derful eyes possessed their fullest lustre. We can see
him almost as he then appeared,* in a dress of the
most conventional type — the decent black suit which
clergymen wore, the waistcoat with flaps, the black
breeches and stockings. He seems to have worn his
own hair ; and we can understand what an impres
sion his "reading" made. It was remarked that he
improved almost nightly. As he grew older he altered
and modified his conception of various passages.
Critics sitting in the pit both of London and Dublin
theatres, watched him narrowly, and sent him, anony
mously, some really acute and useful hints, which
the sensible young actor was most thankful for, and
adopted with gratitude.
At his first few representations, there was a certain
exaggerated warmth and "testiness," a tendency to
raiUng, which he afterwards toned do-wn into a calmer
and more meditative humour. It was thought this
gave a sort of meanness and earthiness to the character.
There was also noticed a kind of irregularity in his
pauses, which seriously interfered with the sense.
paternal rage ; such a perceptible yet rapid gradation from these dreadful feelings
to the deepest frenzy  -with such an exact attention to propriety, it is
still the passion and the madness of a king. These possessed by turns all your
frame, and appeared successively in every nerve, and yet more iu every ges
ture, but most of all iu every look and feature. Even a French lady, who had
been used to all the polite frigidity of the French drama, was moved and
melted in the most terrible way." So wrote Dr. Fordyce to him. He had
seen him with rapture and astonishment. He could imagine nothing higher.
Murphy, too, could not get over the impression for days. King Lear would
seem to have been his most striking and varied performance.
¦* Later he wore black velvet.

1763,] HAMLET. 61
Thus he would stop, and suspend his voice at the
end of a hne like —
" As if increase of appetite had grown — "
instead of hurrying on with the next line —
" By what it fed on,"
So in the well-known passage —
" Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer —
The stings and arrows of outrageous fortune,"
it was objected that he lowered his voice at 'the end
of the first line, and made a long rest. Yet it may be
questioned if such be an injury to the sense ; as the
object is to produce a sort of surprise, and pique the
audience into a little impatience. But the practice
shows what novelty there was in Garrick's reading,
and how he thus employed every art to break up the
old established, monotonous, "plain chaunt," which he
found in possession of the stage. Another little art of
his, at this time, was the hurrying on to the close of a
sentence and then letting the voice fall ; and where a
number of substantives were to be spoken together,
they were huddled, as it were, one on the other, in an
impetuous torrent. This was heresy for the old de-
claimers, who spoke in the most measured way of
"truth — justice — honour," &c. On the other hand,
where there were long words of several syllables, he
was inclined to break them up, like —
" Ye hur-ri-oanoes, spout !"
Garrick was not a mere revolutionist, but showed
sound discretion in keeping up such traditions as
seemed to be really good. When the Ghost appeared,
his face expressed all the workings of horror and

62 THE LIFE OP DAVID GARRICK, [1763,
terror, and he addressed him with a trembling, awe
struck voice. Thus, as was acutely remarked, he acted
for the Ghost also, and made it as terrible to the
audience as it was to him. This was Betterton's way,
and was said to . be a tradition of Shakspeare's own
teaching.* Macklin and others practised a bold,
defiant style of address, as if they had succeeded in
subduing their fears. But everything in Hamlet is so
delicate and so finely modulated, that the first reading
seems infinitely more in keeping with the reverence,
as well as with the tender nature, of the Prince.
After he had said —
' ' Angels and ministers of grace defend us ! "
he fefl into such a pause of silent stupefaction, that, at
Dublin, many thought he had forgotten his part. It
is amusing to think that the ear of the audience had
become so attuned to the sonorous declamation, that
even an undue pause should have been a surprise.
At the beginning he seems to have adhered to a
rather absurd custom, which was almost de, rigueur
with every actor, namely, that of dra-wing his sword,
when Horatio wished to detain Hamlet from following
the Ghost; but on the latter saying, —
" 1 am thy father's spirit,"
he, with a respectful bow, put up his weapon. Which
seemed to have the comic effect of conveying that if
the ghost had not turned out to be one on whom he

* Some of these old traditions were truly absurd, and more worthy of a
Richardson's Show than of a Royal Theatre. The " first murderer's " face was
always chalked, and contrasted with a, heavy black wig and black whiskers
to make him ghastly.

1763.] HAMLET. 63
could depend, he would not have sheathed his sword.
So, too, when he said —
" Methinks I see my father's spirit ! "
and he gave a sharp sudden start of surprise, it was
objected, that his action expressed too pointedly that
the spirit was before him, whereas it was only present
to his "mind's eye, Horatio." It was suggested that
the true conception was more a tender respect, with a
languid and affectionate tone of voice— a view that he
entirely adopted. Indeed, this feature was remarked
all through the performance. He conveyed an idea of
deep filial piety and reverence, which was surprising in
those days of Shakspearean ignorance, and shows what
a delicate instinct he possessed.
When the Ghost entered, he was held by his two
friends, and made violent struggles to set himself free —
a piece of the "business" which his great taste soon
tempered down, as it was much more natural that he
should remain awe-struck and motionless.
When he played it in Dublin, he followed the esta
bhshed unmeaning precedent of leaving out the speech
to the players. When he came to London, he restored
it ; but he always gave it a. little too pedantically, and
like a pedagogue teaching, instead of a philosophic
prince, carelessly speaking to his inferiors. Here was
the weak side of Garrick, as it has been of so many
other great actors, namely, in giving the very common
character of a gentleman. In this, to the end of his life,
he never quite succeeded. When the player spoke his
speech, Garrick iUustrated it by gestures, and as it
were acted with him, which seemed a little mean in the
son of a king. In his scene with Ophelia he was a

64 THE LIFE OF DAVID GARRICK. [1763,
little too rough and violent, and forgot that he was
the lover of Ophelia. Indeed, when he first acted
it, there was found to be a want of softness and
interest, and he seemed to be "a hot, testy fellow, for
ever flying into a passion," even where there was no
provocation in the world. Thus, when Polonius came
to tell him the actors were arrived, and he stops his
mouth hastily, it was done too roughly and impatiently,
for a generous, kindly nature such as Hamlet's was.
Again, when Polonius speaks of using the actors
according to their deserts, there was the same pettish
and excited way of contradicting him.
The panegyric on man : —
" How noble in reason ! "
was delivered with a fine enthusiasm and energy. His
self-upbraidings of cowardice and pusillanimity in the
soliloquy, where he plans testing his uncle to the
quick — the mixture of contempt and derision — were
beyond measure effective. The deliberation, and sud
den change in his voice and look, when he said : —
" 1 have heard
' ' That guilty creatures sitting at a play " —
were so marked as to hold the audience breathless,
while he unfolded the plan. He rested on the words,
"kindless villain ! " with a pathetic softness and regret
that went to every heart.
In the famous soliloquy —
"To be or not to be,"
his play of expression, the variety and change of voice,
yet all not exceeding the bounds of a simple medita
tion, was one of the most remarkable features of

1763.] HAMLET. 65
the performance. He seemed to make all stages of
the train of thought quite clear and distinct. The
Irish critics were dehghted with his scene with
Ophelia, and that with his mother. One said it was
all "played so inimitably well, and with such strict
justice, he never saw anything to equal it in his life."
The same judge suggested his leaving out the
" abominable" soliloquy, when Hamlet puts off killing
the King at his prayers, for fear 'he should go to
Heaven. Garrick at once adopted the advice, and
from that day it has never been restored. It was a
pity he did not break through the stale old tradition
of Hamlet's pulling out the two miniatures, instead of
the finer notion suggested by Davies, of having them
on the tapestry — or the better idea still, of seeing them
with his mind's eye only. Nothing could be finer than
his playing in this scene. His reproofs to her were
stern, yet tinged with a filial respect, and regret for a
mother so misled. This was varied by his address to
the Ghost, full of awe, and yet of grief and tenderness.
His eyes followed the spirit as it passed by, and
expressed all these passions. Then came a change to
sternness, as if he had awakened from a dream. When
he said " some must laugh, while some must weep,"
&c., he was fond of a bit of questionable stage business;
namely, walking backwards and forwards, and twirling
a white handkerchief all the time. With the Grave-
diggers he was, at first, too sententious, and had too
much the manner of a lecturer. This was pointed out
to him, and he became much more dSgage and natural.
When he was told the grave was for Ophelia, he at
first took an odd view, and said, with seeming un
concern and surprise, —

66 THE LIFE OF DAVID GARRICK. [1763.
"How, the fair Ophelia?"
whereas it was shown to him, that he should give a
sort of frantic burst ; or at least utter it, in a faint,
low, agonised tone, which was most likely what he
adopted. Instead of aiming at the rather sepulchral
character of aspect which is the conventional type, he
came on, vs^ith colour in his cheeks, and omitted the
pompous music, to which the prince used to make his
entry. All these little points show a happy instinct,
and a hostility to the strained, unnatural, and buckram
stage traditions which he inherited.
Some of his pronunciation, too, was a little uncer
tain. It was objected to him in Dublin that he did
not give the letter a its full open sound (as in ca-i), but
that he said maytron instead oimattron, Isrel instead of
Tsrael, villin instead of villain, wind instead of unnd;
and, above all, that he sounded appal as if it were the
word appeal. From this oddity, it seemed he had not
yet shaken himself fi'ee of the old school pronuncia
tion, which had once exposed Quin to a droll mistake ;
who, at rehearsal one day, gave orders to his Roman
Guards that they should "lower their faces," — and
this word being pronounced in his theatrical fashion,
Hke " fasces " — every symbol was bent. At his first per
forming, too, he talked oi tropically ; but on its being
shown to him that the o was the short Greek o (not oi),
he at once amended it.
It may be well conceived that Garrick never found
an Ophelia like Mrs. Cibber. The character was
almost uninteUigible until she took it up, and tender
ness, with a mixture of melancholy and madness, was
never so rendered before. Indeed, it may be doubted
if any modern actress ever approached her in these

1763.] THB ACTOE. 67
gifts. He was not so fortunate in Mrs. Clive, with
whom he once played it, which was an iU-judged and
undignified selection.*
Towards the close of Garrick's career, an intelligent
German, named Lichtenberg, with exceUent powers of
observation and description, came to England on his
travels, and made a perfect study of the great actor, in
most of his leading parts, I What struck him was
the perfect ease, the fi-ee play, and grace of every
limb and muscle, which he had seen only in French
men who had lived about Courts. When Garrick came
on the stage, without having to speak, or express by his.
face or action any particular ' emotion, even then, he
drew away attention, by his air of life, and animation,
and interest. He was still part of " the action " that
was going on. The other actors beside him, seemed
puppets. The acute German noticed, too, the harmo
nious character of all his motions, as illustrating what
he said ; they were so easy, natural, and nicely gra
duated — the shrug of his shoulders, his folding his
arms, or moving his hat, now bringing it down, now
cocking it with a touch, to show his forehead. There
was nothing in excess, and all was done, as if from
the suggestion of that moment. His nimbleness and
activity on the stage, were very remarkable. And this
testimony shows that those who were struck by the
decay of his from, or who ill-naturedly called atten
tion to the stiffness of age and bulkiness of figure, were
only comparing him with his former sprightly and
vivacious self. The new observer, putting him beside
¦* Doctor Monsey said it was a most ludicrous performance, and likened her
to a shrimp.
f Mr. Tom Taylor called attention to these remarkable sketches in the
early numbers of the " Victoria Magazine." F 2

68 THE LIFE OF DAVID GARRICK. [1763.
what he had seen, was struck, even at that late stage,
by his infinite superiority.
" Hamlet appears in a suit of black. Horatio and Marcellus are with him,
and wear uniform ; they are expecting the ghost. Hamlet has folded his
arms high upon his breast, his hat o'ershadows his eyes. The theatre is
dark ; the whole audience of some thousands is hushed, and every face as
fixed as if it were painted on the wall. The fall of a piu might be heard
throughout the house. All at once, just as Hamlet walks down -the stage,
somewhat far back and to the left, with his face from the audience, Horatio
starts and exclaims : ' Look, my lord, it comes ! ' and he points to the right,
where the ghost stands motionless, before any one had become aware of it.
At these words Hamlet turns suddenly round, at the same moment flinging
himself two or three steps backwards. His knees give way under hira ; his
hat falls to the ground ; the two arms, particularly the left, are thrust forward,
the hand as high as the head : the right arm is more bent, and the hand is
lower, the fingers are apart, the mouth is open. Thus he stands, in a graceful
yet fixed attitude, as if petrified, supported by his friends, who, more acquainted
with the apparition, fear he -will fall. In his whole mien there is so much
terror and amazement, that even before he spoke, a feeling of awe repeatedly
came over me. The almost fearful stillness of the house probably contributed
not a little to this state of mind. At length he says, with tremulous voice
and expiring breath, 'Angels and ministers of grace, defend us ;' words which
crown a scene, the grandest and most terrible of which the stage is capable.
The ghost beckons him. You should see how he works himself free of his
friends, who warn and restrain him from following, his eye always fixed upon
the apparition, even while speaking to his companions : at length, impatient
of their interference, he tears himself -violently from them ; and, -with a rapi
dity which makes one shudder, draws his sword against them, exclaiming,
' By Heaven, I'll make a ghost of him that lets me!" This is enough for
them ; and he now turns the point of his sword towards the ghost, uttering
the words : ' Go on, I'll follow thee.' The ghost goes off the stage. Hamlet
remains a few moments still, with his sword out-stretched, to increase the
distance between them. At last, when the ghost is no longer visible, he
begins slowly to follow it, pausing now and then, his sword stiU held out
before him, his eyes fixed upon the ghost, breathless, his hair dishevelled; and
thus he too disappears behind the scenes. You may imagine the burst of
applause which accompanies this exit. It begins -with the disappearance of the
ghost, and lasts tiU Hamlet quits the stage  "
The reader wiU think of Partridge at the play.
When he came to say —
"Break, my heart, for I must hold my  tongue,"
his arm fell violently, as if to give force to the word
"tongue ; " but tears came, and he could hardly pro
nounce it. Thus there was a pause for a second,
before it was heard. This was art indeed.

^^763.] MACBETH.

69

In the early part of the play, he was in the ordinary
" French" dress of the day, and in mourning. With
the first stage of madness, he appeared with his hair
disordered, part of it on one shoulder ; one of his
black stockings faUen down, showing a white under
stocking, and a red garter, with a bow, down also on
the calf. With one arm supporting his elbow, and his
eyes on the ground, he spoke — "To be, or not to be,"
in a low voice ; yet every word was perfectly distinct.
His Macbeth was a no less astonishing performance,
and evidently new to the town. It was remarked
that he threw a certain and dejected air over the
whole, instead of the daring and intrepidity, and per
haps cant and bluster, of the older conception. It
was fuU of long pauses, "heart heavings," piteous
looks, with " a slack carriage of body." This shows
how delicate and refined, was his colouring of a part.
Thus— ' ' Prithee, peace ;
I dare do all that may become a man, "
was spoken in the same dejected key.
More admirable was his marking the shades of pro
gress from eager ambition, kindled in him by the
witches, to his gradual yielding to his wife's per
suasions. But he was supported by the incomparable
Pritchard, and their united exertion long made the
play the most wonderful exhibition of dramatic power.
Pritchard and Cibber he almost trained in his own
principles, and they caught a great deal of his manner.
He took enormous pains to make Mrs. Pritchard read
the letter naturally in Lady Macbeth. One httle
green-room anecdote is a proof of the wonderful effect
he produced, even if we accept it with the more

70 THE LIFE OF DAVID GARRICK, [1763.
than ordinary large grain of salt necessary in the re
ception of theatrical anecdotes. He was one night
playing it, and when he said to the murderer in the
banquet scene, —' ' There is blood upon thy face, '
the other, as he acknowledged himself, was so thrown
off his guard by the intensity of the look and earnest
ness of the manner, that he put his hand up, with a
start, and said, "Is there, by G — d?" thinking he had
broken a blood-vessel.
Long after, when Garrick was at a little Italian
court, and the Duke asked for a specimen of his
powers, he threw himself into the attitude of Macbeth
looking at the visionary dagger. The horror and -vivid
sense of real seeing, marked in his wonderful face, per
fectly conveyed the meaning of the whole situation to
the foreign company who were present.* In the scene
after the murder, his acting could not be surpassed.
Even the description causes a thrill. His distraction
and agonising horrors were set off by his wife's calm
ness and confidence. The beginning of the scene,
after the murder, was conducted in terrifying whispers.
Their looks and actions supplied the place of words.
The poet here only gives an outline to the consummate
actor : — " 1 have done the deed, . , , .
Did'st thou not hear a noise ? "
"When! did not you speak ? ' . , , ,
The dark colouring given to these abrupt speeches,
makes the scene awful and tremendous to the auditors.
¦* Quin's almost ludicrous way of performing this famous scene, has been
mentioned— a series of violent "clutches," one after the other, in various
directions, as though he were catching a blue-bottle fly.

1763.] MACBETH. 71
The expression of despair and agony and horror, as
Garrick looked at his bloody hands, was long remem
bered. His face seemed to grow whiter every instant.
So, too, when the sudden knocking at the door came,
his disorder and confusion and hopeless grief, and his
reply — " 'Tis a rough night,'
was in a tone of affected unconcern, under which could
be discovered fear and misery. These were exquisite
strokes, altogether new to the audience.
The famous Ghost scene was a triumph for Mrs.
Pritchard. Her by-play, her efforts to distract the
attention of the company from her husband's extra
vagances, her assumed gaiety and courtesies — were
not mere " points " worked out by an ingenious
and clever player, but true flashes of genius, and
intended by the poet. Great actresses have since won
applause by a heightening and repetition of these
" points," but it was Pritchard who led the way. The
whole play was thought by the players, to give
but a feeble opening for any acting. Garrick, when
they were discussing the matter, said he should have
very poor gifts indeed if he was not able to keep
up the audience's attention " to the very last syUable
of so animated a character." In his behaviour to the
ghost, he was, on the first nights, too subdued and faint
when he said — " Avaunt, and quit toy sight ! "
—still carrying out his idea of Macbeth being utterly
oppressed, and overcome by the sense of his guilt.
But an anonymous critic pointed out to him that
Macbeth was not a coward ; and with that good sense

72 THE LIFE OF DAVID GARRICK. [1763.
and modesty which always distinguished him, he
adopted the advice.
It is curious to thiak that even twenty years later,
another anonymous critic wrote to him, to object to this
amended view, and said that Macbeth should show
signs of terror. But Garrick recollected his old critic's
argument, and reproduced it in answer to his new one.
" My notion," he says, " as well as execution, of the
line are, I fear, opposite to your opinion. Should
Macbeth sink into pusillanimity, I imagine that it would
hurt the character, and be contrary to the intentions of
Shakspeare. The first appearance of the spirit over
powers him more than the second ; but even before it
vanishes at first, Macbeth gains strength —
' If thou canst nod, speak too,'
must be spoke with horror, but with a recovering
mind ; and in the next speech with him, he cannot
pronounce ' Avaunt, and quit my sight ! '
without a stronger exertion ol his powers. I certainly,
as you say, recollect a degree of resolution, but I never
advance an inch; for, notwithstanding my agitation,
my feet are immovable." This admirable analysis
shows how thoroughly the great actor had studied
the character. " Out, brief candle 1 "
was given, accompanied by two starts, and a strong
action ofthe hand. A "prodigious" emphasis was
laid on the " was" in the line —
' ' And such an instrument I was to use ; "
the propriety of which he defended in the same happy

1763.] THB ACTOR. 73
way. The vision represents what was to be done,
"not what is doing, or what had been done; but in
many passages like this, aU wiU depend upon the
manner of the actor." And in the gorgeous passage
where he thought how " this my hand will rather
The multitudinous seas incarnadine.
Making the green one red, "
he at first gave it as it was actually fashionable to
"pomt"it—
" Making the green one, red ;"
but afterwards adopted the true reading —
" Making the green — one bed."
In this play he was fond of suspensions, which the
coarse ears of the audience, not attuned to delicate
modulations of voice or emphasis, would at times take
for full stops. Thus, in " Hamlet," they insisted that
he made a full stop in one line —
" I think it was to see — my mother's wedding."
So, too, in " Macbeth," at the line —
" Plead like angels — trumpet-tongued, "
The critics objected that by this pause the epithet
"trumpet-tongued" was transferred to the "virtues"
that came before. But Garrick could defend himself :
• — "I really think the force of these four exquisite
lines and a half, would be shortly lost for want of an
aspiration at angels. The epithet may agree with
either, but I think it more elegant to give it to the
virtues, and the sense is the same." It was objected
to him also that he put a pause improperly in the
lines — " My thought, whose murder yet is but fantastical.
Shakes so my single — state of man,"

74 THE LIFE OF DAVID GARRICK. [17C3.
"If I do SO," said Mr. Garrick, " it is a glaring fault ;
for the sense is imperfect. But my idea is this : Mac
beth is absorbed in thought, and struck with horror of
the murder, though but in idea ; and it naturally gives
him a slow, tremulous undertone of voice. And though
it might appear that I stopped at every word in the
line, more than usual, my intention was but to paint
the horror of Macbeth's mind, and keep the voice sus
pended a little." This is reasonable and original, and
shows a nicety in Garrick's conception. He was
always partial to this "trick" of suspension.
In preparing to play for the stage he left out a
scene or two, and pruned others, but with great judi
ciousness and tenderness. This was very different
from the vulgar " mauling " of Davenant or Cibber.
But at the end, with less taste, he put in a speech
for himself. He knew that the convulsive actions
and gasps of the dying man afforded him one of
his most effective openings, and he could not resist
the temptation. Indeed, he almost " overdid " these
spasms ; and Foote, in his " Tea," used mahciously to
"take off" the great actor's long-drawn-out convul
sions, as in Lothario — "Adorns my fall.
And chea-chea-chea-chea-chears my heart in dy-dy-ing I" *
The wits — always in ambuscade for the success
ful man — exercised their pens on these changes,
Garrick did not relish this- reception, and, a little
alarmed, began a rather absurd series of tactics to
which for many years he adhered, in the belief that
by such coquetting, he could deprecate the hostility of
his enemies, and the ridicule of the indifferent. His
* Cumberland's portrait of hiin in the "Fair Penitent" has been already-
given.

1763,] MACBETH,

75

device was to anticipate criticism by an overdone
attack upon himself, in which the exaggeration was to
be his defence and his protection. This was but a
fooUsh and doubtful policy; for there are but too
many of the dull pubhc who wiU accept as strict
truth the finest distortions of irony. But for many
years his sensitive and harmless vanity made him take
fondly to these childish shifts.
With this view a pamphlet was sent out, with the
following title : " An Essay on Acting : in which
win be considered the behaviour of a certain faulty
and fashionable actor ; " and it was introduced with
this motto, from " Tom Thumb " : —
" So have I seen a pigmy strut.
Mouth and rant in a giant's robe."
" 0, Macbeth has murdered G  k."
The soi-disant fault-finder then objects to some
trifling blemishes of costume. Macbeth and Banquo
should change dresses ; for Macbeth should have scarlet
and gold lace, and not silver lace — ^not " a tye-wig " but
a "major," and a showier hat. When he comes in, in
his night-gown, it should not be a " flowered " one.
The Ghost, too, should not wear " a tye-wig," for thus
the address, " Why dost thou shake thy gory locks ? "
became a little absurd. The ghost was altogether
played badly, and was ludicrously slow in stalking off
the stage ; and it was suggested that Garrick should
follow him off step by step — a hint which he later
adopted in playing Richard with Mrs. Siddons. It was
Garrick who first introduced all that garnishing of his
plays with little incidents and accidents, which gave
so much more the air of life. When the Ghost
came back again, he dropped his wine-glass on the

70 THE LIFE OF DAVID GARRICK. [1763,
ground. But the stage-banquet was of the most
meagre sort, and the board of a great noble would
hardly be set out with only a few apples and oranges.
In this hrochure he dwells on the unsuitableness of
his own height, calling himself " our puppet hero,"
and adding that the idea of Macbeth required a figure
six feet high, and " an Irish leg." This was an
artful shape of dispraise ; for it was a mere physical
imperfection, which it was only the greater credit for
his surpassing gifts to triumph over. He was always a
little sensitive about this matter of height, and thought
that by perpetually himself alluding to " our little
hero," and " little David," to draw off and disarm
ridicule. There can be no doubt that it was by his
" inspiration " there was written a letter some four
years later — 1746 — on this particular point of size,
in which he is described as being of " elegant figm-e."
Reference is made to the picture: of Richard, and
which presents him " big as the life," and of the
average size of men. If we come to comparisons, it
said — " Mr. Garrick is of a taller proportion than Mr.
Quin," as being much slighter in figure. And then
a rather ludicrous " scale " is given, with a back view
of both Quin and Garrick. And it is shown that
though both are the same height, Quin's broad shoul
ders and thick legs make him appear shorter in
reality. Garrick's figure does certainly appear slight,
graceful, and elegant by comparison. It certainly was
notorious that everybody spoke of " little Garrick ; "
and yet no one ever said " little Hogarth," though
the artist was half a head shorter. But this notion
may have been forced on the public mind from the
actor's always appearing on the stage with taU men

1763.] MACBETH. 77
— like Barry, Woodward, John Palmer, William
Smith, and others. Hogarth always maintained, for
the reasons just given, that Garrick was relatively as
tall as Quin, and certainly in the scene from " Abel
Drugger," which Zoffany painted, he only looks small
by the exceeding height of the other actors.
During the scene with Banquo before the murder,
his playing showed a wonderful delicacy. " You dis
sembled indeed, but dissembled with difficulty. Upon
the first entrance, the eye glanced at the door : the
gaiety was forced, and at intervals the eye gave a
momentary look towards the door and turned away in
a moment. This was but a fair Qontrast to the enacted
cheerfulness, with which this disconcerted behaviour
was intermixed. After saying, ' Good repose, the
while ; ' the eye fixed on the door, then, after a
pause, in a broken tone, ' Go, bid thy mistress,' &c.
Pray observe that as you assume a freedom and gaiety
here, it will be also a contrast to the fine distinction of
mind, and behaviour, in the night scene." This was
Murphy's " well-painted picture " in a letter to Gar
rick himself He said, however, that " Doctor, the
Thanes fly from me," should be spoken in a burst
of melancholy. But let us see how exceUently the
actor knew his subject. " Macbeth is greatly heated
and agitated with the news of the Enghsh force
coming upon him : his mind runs from one thing to
another, all in hurry and confusion : would not his
speaking in a melancholy tone be too calm ? ' Come,
put my armour on.' 'Give me my staff.' 'Seyton,
send out.' 'Doctor, the Thanes fly from me.'
' Come, sir, despatch.' ' Pluck it off.' " This was
far ou in his life— not long before his retirement, yet

78 THB LIFE OF DAVID GAEEICK. [1763.
he could write modestly, " I shall profit by your criti
cisms this evening, if I am in order." Then added,
almost with wit, " I am an old hunter, touched a little
in the'wind, and somewhat foundered ; but stroke me,
and clap me on the back, as you have kindly done,
and I can make a shift to gallop over the course."
This great actor and Mrs. Siddons were often so
affected by the emotions of their parts, as to weep and
sob. No one, indeed, was so filled with the true and
correct instincts of playing. Here was a golden prin
ciple which every actor should lay to heart : — " I
pronounce that the greatest strokes of genius have
been unknown to the actor himself, till circumstances,
and the warmth of the scene have sprung the mine,
as it were, as much to his o-wn surprise as that
of the audience." This is the true way to combine
variety with frequent performance, and avoid same
ness. Another of his characters was the King in the
Second Part of " Henry the Fourth." As his fine
eyes were turned up to heaven, at the exclama
tion — " How 1 came by the Crown, 0 God, forgive me ! "
the anguish and terror in his face, went to the
hearts of all. Hotspur in the First Part did not at
all suit him. He wanted the physique, and always
failed in parts where soldierly bluntness was required.
To improve it he restored a scene in the thud act
that had always been cut out, but found it ineffectual.
When the tedious but time-honoured " business "
of Falstaff's getting Hotspur on his shoulders, was
being carried on, Garrick seemed like a pigmy near

1763.] HOTSPUR.

79

Quin.* His voice was too flexible for the rant and
defiance required by the part. His dress was truly
absurd, a laced frock and Ramillies tye-wig. f
Garrick had played two parts in "King John."
The King and Faidconbridge. Barry had attempted
the Bastard, but made a strange failure. It was
remarked that, with all his fine person, and melodious
voice, he was out of his line. There was no huniour,
no ease, no grace, no gallantry. At one point he
faltered, could not get on, and had to leave the stage.
It was said that, for manly boldness, a strong mus
cular figure, a gallant fearless bearing, and a rough
but tempered humour, no one had approached " Tom
Walker," the original hero of the " Beggar's Opera."
Yet it may be reasonably suspected that anything of
the Macheath school would be a little too coarse for
the Shakspearean character. But here again Garrick
found himself overweighted by the part, to which
there was the same objections as to Hotspur — its
military frankness and fearlessness — where Garrick
was always deficient.
To make up for his personal defects of height and
general bearing, Garrick had recourse to a little
artifice which may seem trifling, but which, in one of
his nervous temperament, as to all that concerned
the scene, became excusable. He selected for his
Robert Faulccmbridge, a poor miserable Scotchman
out of his troupe, called Simpson, whose shrunk and
pitiful appearance became an excellent foil. These
little shifts were pardonable, but scarcely dignified.
* On the other hand, it was ludicrous to see Quin tugging and struggling
with the tall figure of Barry.
t The public found fault with this costume, not because it "ivas inappro
priate, but because it was too "insignificant,"

80 THE LIFE OF DAVID GARRICK. [1763.
It was remarked that in Faulconbridge' s defiance to
Salisbury, — ' ' You had better gall the devil, Salisbury,
If thou but frown at me," &c.
which was one of Walker's best " points," whose
air of challenge, knitting his bushy brows, and
fearless laying his hand upon his sword, brought
down' a tumult of applause, Garrick produced no
effect at all. He was weak and poor. At the same
time these " soldier-like " parts are most difficult. As
the King he was far more effective. Nothing could
be finer than the gloomy and despairing air he threw
over the later scenes ; especially in the interview
with Hubert, where the King, by indfrect looks and
hints, solicits Hubert to murder Arthur. Sheridan
was considered to surpass the other three actors who
had played his part. Quin's solemn and mysterious
whisperings — yet perfectly distinct — sent a thrill
through the audience : yet he somehow fell short.
Mossop's lusty declamation was superior. Sheridan's
passion and powerful declamation gave him an advan
tage which is quite intelligible. But in the pathetic
part, when Hubert came in, with news of Arthur's
death, and showed the King' his own authority for
what he had done, Garrick asserted himself before all
competitors. The air of being utterly overwhelmed;
his speechless actions ; his hands crushing up the fatal
warrant ; his grand eyes turned to heaven, and filled
with despair, and agony, and terror, made a splendid
picture. So, too, in his dying scene. The agonies of
a man expiring were marked in his face, and every
word of Faulconbridge' s story seemed to give him a
fresh stab of agony. The whole struck terror, and

1763. J JAFFIBR. 81
horror, into the hearts of the spectators. Such success
and mastery, in so grand a part, should surely dispose
of the charge that he forced it on Sheridan, to secure
Falconbridge for himself
In that most pathetic play, which is all tears and
tenderness and passion, clothed in the richest and most
melodious poetry — Otway 's touching " Venice Pre
served " — it is curious to note, that he did not at first
choose the greater and more vaiied part of Jaffier;
and many of his friends, even in the first few months,
pointed out to him this mistake. But as soon as he
sat down in the manager's chair at Drury Lane, he
perhaps recollected his friends' remonstrance, and took
up Jaffier, Not wholly for the reason given by Davies,
because Barry was so much taller. " I will not bully
the monument," Roscius said, though such "trifles
light as air " had often a serious effect on Garrick's
sensitiveness. The truth was, Barry's character had
always been Pierre. Any one who wished to see the
passions purged by grief and terror, according to the
Greek definition, would have a true feast in this most
melodious, tender, and enchanting play, every chord of
which thrills to the moumfuUest, yet sweetest, melody.
" I've now not fifty ducats in the world ;
Yet stiU I am in love, and pleased -with ruin.
Oh, Belvidera ! Oh ! she is my -wife !
And we -will bear our wayward fate together.
And never know comfort more."
When he delivered this despairing passage, and others
like it, there was not a dry eye in the house. Indeed
it was noted, that he called on that harmonious name,
" Oh, Belvidera ! " with a sort of wail that went to every
heart. When, too, she was urging him to betray his
fellows — and it was Cibber that so urged him — ^the
VOL. II. , a

82 THB LIFE OF DAVID GARRICK, [1763,
struggle in Garrick's heart was made so plain by his
wonderful changes of expression, that even a deaf
person among the audience could have almost under
stood what was going on. The effect of his phrenzy,
when he saw his friend in imagination suffering
torture, sent a thrill of horror through the house, who
fancied from his face, that they saw what he saw :
"He groans;
Hark, how he groans ; his screams are in my ears
Already ! See they've fixed him on the wheel !
And now they tear him ! murder I
Perjured senate ! murder ! "
Stage custom at this date required that the two ghosts
of Pierre and Jaffier should appear, in tangible shape
to Belvidera, and it is a pity it was not Garrick's
taste — ^but Barry's long after — that had courage to
abolish this apparition, and make them apparent only
to the " mind's eye " of Belvidera. There were
other absurdities which were later abolished. Indeed
nothing can be conceived more ridiculous, or more
inflexible, than these stage traditions. They are more
absurd and more difficult to " scotch " than legal ones.
It was a sacred custom that, when Pierre addressed
the conspirators —
" Or thou ! with that lean, withered, wretched face ! "
a ghastly shrunken object should come forward and
excite the derision of the audience. So with the
Apothecary in " Romeo," who now religiously " makes
up " into a sort of pantomime caricature. To this
hour we hear of "gags," and buffooning interpolations,
actually written out-and-out, and handed down from
one "comic countryman" to another.
In another play of Otway' s, " The Orphan," and
which is a good deal in the same impassioned key, he

1763.] CHAMONT. 83
took Chamont, a part that had hitherto been despised
by previous actors. This was not so surprising
when they could set down Macbeth as a poor acting
character. Garrick's delicate sense saw what could
be made of Chamont, whose character, offered him
fine openings for what was his strength — contrast,
changes from rage to calmness, from roughness to
tenderness, and from these passions again to jealousy.
In his first season a friend wrote to him from New
Bond Street on his performance in "The Orphan."
He was^ sorry " that my sister had disturbed you."
He had remarked a hoarseness, yet was charmed with
"the sudden starts of passion," and quite in raptures
at his fine recovery out of it. Then adds this corre
spondent, with a true critical instinct, " you were not
made for tragedy only ; but for the sock as much as
for the buskin." *
Romeo, as we have seen, was one of the parts he
resigned. It was one of his unequal characters, and
a laboured success. It was curious that the point in
which he was considered most effective was in the bit
of " sham Shakspeare" at the end of the dying scene.
Long after, when old Macklin was about giving
lectures on the drama, he told Mr. Cooke how he
would iUustrate the question of the best Romeo. "I'll
teU you, sir; in the garden scene, Barry comes in,
great as a lord, swaggering about his love, and talking
so loud, that by G— , sir, if we don't suppose the
servants of the Capulets 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
• Forster MSS.

84 THE LIFE OF DAVID GARRICK. [1763.
that the family are at enmity with him and his house, he
comes creeping on his toes, whispering his love." " In
the garden scene," wrote Potter to the actor, " when
you find Juliet in the balcony, you express a glad
surprise — ' 0 Heaven, she speaks ! ' and on this you
work up to the highest pitch of rapture. Still, there
should be a little more variety, and she should not
stand in one attitude to the end of the soliloquy." In
the masque scene, the same critic thought his misery
was too much that of a rejected lover.*
It might be thought, perhaps, that the grand tumult
of tenderness and jealousy in " Othello " would have
made that play a fine opening for his genius to work
on ; yet when we come to think of the negro, coal-black
face, with which it was played then, and the short
figure, no ability would be sufficient to get over such
impediments to heroic conception. It is said he only
attempted it two or three times, and was conscious
of the failure, for he never repeated it. A gentleman
who saw the performance, gave this opinion of it a day
or two later, which was duly reported to Garrick, who
always wished to hear criticisms on himself and profit
by them. He was frankly told that it was only a fair
performance. The elocution of the well-kno-wn speech
to the senate was faultless, but it was accompanied by
too many gestures, which were inconsistent with the
natural modesty and dignity of the situation. In all
the -passages, too, where his jealousy was at work, the
same fault was noticed, there being too many " little
wincings and gesticulations of the body," which had a
petty air.
Though Quin's smart and ill-natured critique was
* Forster MSS.

1763.] LUSIGNAN. 85
going round, and must from its severity have gaUed
Garrick, yet he was not the man to yield to a smart
thing, where his judgment was concerned. It is more
likely that this true guide whispered that his strength,
neither physical nor moral, lay in the part, and that it
were wiser to resign it. Later, to aid Barry's benefit,
he tried the part of lago.
He played abundance of smaller characters — sketches
rather than characters — ^perhaps for training. He did
the Ghost in "Hamlet," we may suppose with the
traditional " listen shoes " and tall plume which had
come from Booth's habit ; Coster Pearmain in " The
Recruiting Officer," though he very soon took up
Captain Plume in the same play ; and Fondlewife in
" The Old Bachelor." In this, it was said, he over
did the humorous business, " trotting about too much."
Lusignan was another of his favourite parts. An
old play-goer, who remembered the great actor
during his later years of acting, and who told his
recollections* some five-and-thirty years ago, once
described his first impressions. He was a young
Irish student just come to London, and he was
looking forward eagerly to see the famous player
of whom he had heard so much. He noticed that
for the first two acts, during which the hero does
not appear, there was a general, buzz and inattention,
but the instant the old Lusignan came on there was
the most rapt attention : a pin could have been heard
to faU. The young spectator was astonished, and
confounded by the excellence of what he saw. As
he said, the idea in his mind aU through was an utter
¦* Given in " Blackwood's Magazine.''

86 THE LIFE OF DAVID GARRICK. [1763.
unconsciousness of Garrick — it was the old King him
self, with whose troubles he became identified. Every
tone, look, gesture, was in harmony, and carried out the
plot and character. He was struck also with the exqui
site elocution, so varied, so changing, so expressive,
and yet so unstudied and unconventional. Yet this
was in the last days of the actor, when he was close
on sixty years old. In comedy, too, the same spectator
was equally struck. There was the most buoyant
humour, yet not a particle of buffoonery. It was all
regulated, and regulated by the most perfect propriety.
The wonderful eye, and its strange power, had still the
old charm ; and its spell was so strong, that he seemed
often to disconcert and " put out " the other actors, by
fixing it on them. So buoyant, so racy and natural
was his flow of comedy, that his fellows, by contrast,
became quite awkward near him. One night he played
Ranger, to the delight of the young Irishman, and by a
mere chance, the same play was fixed at Covent Garden
for the following night, with Le-wis, a good comedian,
also, in the same character. The youth went with a
prejudice in favour of his o-wn countryman, but owned
that the whole was the most insipid, flat performance
that could be conceived, after the glorious fi'eedom of
the other.
Dorilas was another character of his, in the duU
"Merope," in which it was said, "he looked and
played hke an angel."
He never acted "Julius Csesar," though he often
talked of it, wishing to play Cassius himself; the
parts were even said to have been got ready : but he
was always cautious in experiments of this sort, the
result of which might be critical. He had actually

1763.] . THE ACTOR. 87
transcribed the character from Plutarch. And this
was the nice distinction he made. He readily took a
part in one of Whitehead or MiUer's dreary pieces,
and would do his best for it, — its mediocre success
or languid failure would make little matter : but with
a play like " Julius Csesar," and a character hke Cas
sius, it was wholly different. It was a trial — a test of
strength — and at the news of its being in rehearsal
the critics would be sharpening their pens. For the
"King and No Kmg" of Beaumont and Fletcher, he
had the same attraction and the same indecision. The
parts were given out, and he was to have played
Arbaces, — a fine part, alternating in perfect whirls of
passion and repentance. It is characteristic of book
seller Davies' instinct, that the "point" of this
character was too delicate for him to see ; he thought
it mean, " ridiculous," absurd, and what not. Wood
ward was to have the fine comedy part of Bessus.
But with every fresh reading in the green-room, the
manager liked it less and less. He seemed to think it
was " ticklish," and might escape the intelligence of
the audience, among whom there were many Davieses ;
and at last, it was given up. So was it with other
plays : so was it with the fine part of Lord Ogleby,
which the same hesitation prevented his taking.
Never had the stage such a loss, and he bitterly re
gretted the sacrifice he had made.
All this was but one side of his genius. That
portrait of Reynolds, where he was placed between
Tragedy and Comedy (and which the French print-
sellers transformed into " L'homme entre le Vice et la
Vertu"), was no empty compliment. Carefully re
viewing the traditions, criticisms, descriptions of this

88 THB LIFE OF DAVID GARRICK. [1763.
great man's acting, it is almost difficult to pronounce
on which side lay his strength : for — great, new, and
original as was his tragic force, which had taken
London by storm, in Richojrd — ^the freshness, broad
solid humour, and healthy comedy discovered in
him later, was no less new, striking, and original.
Abel Drugger and King Lear were separated from
each other by a gulf; and no one man, it would
seem, could dream of giving even a hint, that would
be effective, of both : yet these were his master
pieces. Abel would have made him the greatest
comedian of his day, as Lear had made him the
greatest tragedian. It was unsurpassed. No actor
before or since has ever been able to snatch up the
comic, and throw down the tragic mask, alternately.
There have been, indeed, within our time, players of
a grotesque school, in a special class of parts, im
ported from France — which runs mainly upon the
changes and turns of old men — semi-comic and semi-
pathetic ; but from France cannot, unhappily, be
brought a genius like Frederick Lemaitre, and with
us, the whole becomes a mere trick of imitation. The
true test would be to cast any of this school in an
heroic part, like Lear, or Richard, or Hamlet; the
result would be almost ludicrous.
What a round of comedy characters, and what a
round of true comedies — what shades, too, degrees,
and divisions in his genius ; for here was Drugger,
of the broad, rich, Munden order and humour ; Archer
and Ranger, dashing heroes of airy comedy — light,
elegant, and full of a gaiety the stage knows not
now; with Sir John Brute, the romping, boisterous,
roystering, roaring rake; Leon and Bayes — this

1763.] BAYES. 89
latter a whole treasury of varied fun, humour, and
satire. Bayes — that capital bit of burlesque — was one of
his freest, most natural, and spirited characters. There,
his wonderful strength of comedy, which lay in variety
and vivacity, had boundless play. Cibber, the son,
was "in possession" of this part, and had brought
in " hobby horses," and such additions ; but spofled
the whole with grimaces and tumbling, and arrant
buffoonery. Garrick took a very different view. He
was quite in' earnest, seemed to think the whole quite
a serious matter, and to be rather taken aback at the
merriment of the audience. This is one of the secrets
of humour ; but at that time it was a new revelation.
Cibber dressed it as a coxcomb or extravagant "fine
gentleman." At first Garrick took this view, and in a
little water-colour* we can see him in a huge flowing
exaggerated white wig, a scarlet coat turned up
with black, and long gold peaks at the comers
of his waistcoat ; but he afterwards dressed himself
¦with more absurdity, in a shabby coat that had once
been ve^ry fine, a little hat, a large brown wig, high
topped shoes with red heels, a mourning sword, and
" cut-fingered gloves." For a time he had worn a
large grotesque hat, which covered the fore-top of the
¦wig; and, at first, he omitted the spectacles, in reading
the inscription on the coffin. If he was the Whitfield
of the "stage, he could now seize the opportunity to
spread his doctrines, and exercise the wholesome
power of ridicule in the direction of reform. When
his actors in the tragedy were rehearsing before him,
* In the British Museum.

GO THB LIFE OF DAVID GARRICK, [1763.
Bayes checked and corrected them, and showed them
how to deliver their speeches, in what he caUed the
true theatrical manner. Thus he would retire to the top
of the stage, and drawing his left arm across his breast
and resting his right elbow on it, would raise his finger
to his nose. Then nodding his head solemnly, and
striding largely, would come slowly down with long
stretches, declaiming as he did so —
" So boar and sow, when any storm is nigh,
Snuff up and smell it gathering in the sky.
Boar beckons sow to trot in chestnut groves.
And there consummate their unfinished loves.
Pensive in mind, they wallow aU alone.
And snort and gruntle to each other's moan."
The declamation of these wonderful lines was so
faithful, that the audience was never a second in
recognising its grand stage hero, Delane. Presently
he would change to a kind of soft languishing strain,
but without the least relief or expression :
" How strange a captive I am grown of late ;
Shall I my love accuse or blame my fate ! " ,
And everybody knew Hale, the official lover of the
stage. * Then came another change. He fell into a
tremulous raven-like tone of speech, now shrill and
sharp and now solemn : —
" Your bed of love from dangers 1 -wiU free.
And most from love of any future bee.
And when your heart-strings shall with pity crack,
With empty arms I'll bear you on my back —
A pick-a-pack, a pick-a-pack ! "
This bombast was meant for Ryan, one of the veterans,
vfho had played in Mr. Addison's "Cato." The whole
* Audiences used to show in a very marked way they knew who was
intended. When Wilkinson gave his imitations in Dublin, gentlemen in
the boxes would call out with delight, " Sparks— Sparks of London," &c.,
or other names, according to what each bit of mimici-y was intended for.

1763.] BAYES. 91
was original, and an idea entirely his own ; it was a
rough way of reforming. It is infinitely to Garrick's
honour, that when some time later the actors remon
strated with him on the injury he was doing them,
he gave up his imitations, and never resumed them.
Such an expostulation might have in vain been ad
dressed to Foote. To the end of his life he jeered at
and ridiculed every one ; but how inferior even in this
walk he was to Garrick may be conceived by com
paring the spirit in which he attempted his mimicry
of actors. It was truly delicate of him to select the
infirmity of Delane for ridicule, who was said to have
only one eye. He brought him on as a beggarman in
St. Paul's Churchyard—" would you bestow your pity
on a poor blind man ?" Ryan had met with an acci
dent in his mouth, which gave his utterance a peculiar
discordance. This infirmity was also fair game ; and
he was held up as a razor-grinder, " Razors to grind,
scissors to grind, penknives to grind." Woodward
was a more difficult subject to ridicule ; but he could
say something bitter at his expense. He was brought
on as Sir Fopling — " Wherever I go, they say, there
goes a gentleman — upon my life a gentleman — and
when you have said a gentleman — why — why  "
here Foote assumed his own voice — ''''you have said
more than is true." This is characteristic, and it
is fortunate, and most illustrative of each nature,
that we can thus set them side by side iu the same
part. Some of the touches in Bayes were capital ; nothing
was better than the " contempt for Mr. Smith's judg
ment," and his astonishment and distress at the
players having gone away to dinner. Foote made his

92 THE LIFE OF DAVID GARRICK. [1763.
piece a sort of peg to hang his personahties on. Gar
rick merely varied his, with an "occasional" allusion.
But here again set the two players side by side. Foote
dragged in wretched creatures, like Squires or Canning,
or some more wretched stiU, like Mrs. Dodd. But
Garrick finds that one of his company. Hurst, has
lately set up in the spirit trade. "Sir," he said, ex
temporising as Mr. Bayes, " you are an actor, and I
understand a brandy merchant ; now let me advise you
to put less spirit in your liquors, and more in your
acting, and you will preserve the health of your friends,
and be more relished by the public." This was a good-
natured advertisement, and had success.
Sir John Brute was another metamorphosis ; the
audience had seen him, in nothing like it before. As
soon as he entered, his very look bespoke the change.
He contrived to turn the deep recesses of his eyes into
rough caverns. He became the very personification
of rudeness and coarseness. His very voice changed
into hoarse sulky tones. Zoffany has handed him
down to us in the scene with the watch, where the
savage husband, disguised in woman's clothes, is busy
" thrashing the watch " — a masterly picture — in which
the likeness is admirably preserved, and yet there is a
hint of its being the face of a coarse and dreadful
woman.* There was always something delicate, that
distinguished Garrick's acting from that of his rivals.
Though Quin had a great reputation in the part,
indeed he said Garrick would be only " Master
Jacky Brute," not the manly Su* John, — it was
noted that in the " raking " and drunken scenes, he
* This fine and spirited picture is in the possession of Mr. Hill, of Rich
mond.

1763.] BRUTE. 93
lost all trace of the baronet, whereas Garrick still
retained something of the gentleman, or man of con
dition.* In the bacchanalian orgie with Lord Rake
and the others, it was a perfect triumph of roaring
spirit and intoxication. It increased every instant.
There was infinite variety in his rioting, which had an
electric effect, and kept the house in a roar. His
marked features — the eyebrows, and his eyes — never
ceased to play. The corners of his mouth were drawn
down, as the fit increased, throughout the whole play,
which gave him a most drunken and debauched look.
He never forgot himself a moment ; and as the drunk
enness increased, the mouth opened more and more ;
with more drunkenness, his wig came do-wn more
and more over his face, which became flushed, with a
" greasy "air of affection. The scene in his wife's
room was marvellous in its detail ; his leaning heavily
against the door, his swimming head, his tipsy efforts
at pronunciation of hard words, " and the way in
which he moves his lips, so that one cannot tell
whether he is chewing or tasting, smelling or speaking"
— all this detail in the representation were carefully
noted by the acute Lichtenberg. The points of costume
were not forgotten — the waistcoat open, garters loose,
the shoes not paired, and a sort of a clodhopper " bill
hook," which was struck on the floor to emphasise
every word.
He was not quite so good in the " closet scene " with
Constant and Heartfree. But taking it all in all, it
must have been his most characteristic and spirited part,
and the one which must have delighted an audience
* This idea struck two different obse'rvers, Davies and the German critic
and traveller.

94 THE LIFE OF DAVID GARRICK. [1763,
most.* Lord Bath, however, thought Quin the best
Sir John, and placed Garrick second, and Cibber the
last and worst.
What a piece it must have been when played
by Garrick, Mrs. Cibber, and Mrs. Abmgton! Old
play-goers looked back to it with a sort of wistful
rapture. " 0 how perfectly," says Mr. Cradock,
" was that comedy at that time performed! "
The picture, by Zoffany, of his Abel Drugger,
clear, solid, rich, and firm, like the humour it repre
sents, is one of the most characteristic of dramatic
portraits. The short, dumpy figure, with the shock
hair and bullet head, the round, red face, the oafish
grin, the fancied slyness, and sense of conscious
humour, are given with the delicacy of a photograph
and the humour of a Hogarth. He seems almost
about to speak, and is bursting with stupid enjoyment,
as he fills his tobacco-pipe. Merely to look at this
face gives us a hint of what playing was. The other
figures, too, are full of gaiety ; the gay, bright colours
of their dresses add to the animation ; and the whole
has a free, unstudied air, rarely found in a theatrical
picture. We can see him again looking from a window,
with a spade under his arm, with the same absurd ex
pression of boorish humour, and self-sufficient cunning ;
and again, with his coat off and a sort of stable-boy
look, offering to fight. Like his Hamlet, he had pre
pared this character by dihgent study, and many private
¦^ It was during its performance when at this delicate passage of "falling
asleep," that Cervetto, the leader of his orchestra (known to the gods as
"Nosey") gave a loud yawn, which at once provoked the facile hilarity of
the gallerj', and spoUed the situation, Garrick sent for him to the green
room, and with infinite sweetness expostulated with hira on thus destroying
his best bit, and with perfect good-humour accepted the rather comic excuse,
that the offender always yawned when he was particularly pleased.

1763,] DRUGGER, 95
rehearsals, before friends like Macklin. The most curious
part was, that it was afready a character famihar to the
public, and in possession, as it were, of the younger
Cibber ; and yet, ¦with wonderful inspiration, he struck
out a new idea, and made it altogether a new character,
and the true character. This was, indeed, what he
was to do with every character. Drugger in Cibber's
hands was a mere grimacing clown, that buffooned,
and grinned, and "gagged," as it is caUed, at the
galleries; it was all " squinting and winking," and mere
tumbling of the most wretched sort. One of the critics
of the time described very graphically Garrick's first
entry — " his dread of offending the Doctor, his saying
nothing, his gradual stealing in further and further,
his impatience to be introduced, and his joy to see his
friend Face." They thought the whole "ridiculous
beyond conception." When he first opens his mouth,
the features of his face seem, " as it were, to drop upon
his tongue : it is all caution ; ' timairous, stammering,
and inexpressible. When he stands under the conjurer
to have his features examined, his teeth, his beard,
his little finger, his awkward simplicity, and his con
cern, mixed with hope, and fear, and joy, and avarice,
and good-nature, are beyond painting." This is all
expressed in Zoffany's painting. In the bOxing-scene
he seemed to run and skip, now poising himself on
one leg, now on another. In Abel Drugger, Weston's
" point " was a comic face of stupid awe and petrified
astonishment, which excited universal mirth by its
stolidity ; but Garrick, by a play of face, expressed a
whole tide of feelings and emotions, simplicity, exul
tation. Thus, when the astrologers made out the name
Abel Drugger in the stars, his secret delight, his

96 THB LIFE OF DAVID GARRICK. [1763.
chuckling simplicity and complacent absurdity, were
all conveyed without a word.
One night he dropped the jar he was carrying, and
his admirable presence of mind converted what was an
accident, into an admirable " point; " for he affected a
stolid attitude of innocence and indifference, so marvel
lous and truthful, that on every future occasion the
audience were offended with its absence, and the
breaking of the jar has now become part of the esta
blished " business " of the piece. We can quite under
stand the story which Cooke had from Dr. Johnson,
and the latter from Peter, David's brother, of the
Lichfield grocer who came up to town with a letter to
the great actor. The evening of his arrival he saw
Garrick's name in the bills for Abel Drugger, and
went to the two-shilling gallery to see him. For a
time he could not believe his eyes or ears, until he was
convinced by what the people about him were saying.
He came home af|pr transacting his business, -without
ever presenting the letter. He was pressed on his
return by David's brother as to the reason of his
strange conduct, and, after some hesitation, said,
"Well, by G — , Mr. Garrick, though he be your
brother, he is one of the shabbiest, meanest, most
pitiful hounds I ever saw in the whole course of my
life." His Lord Townly was scarcely so free and spirited
as his other characters. It was constrained — a con
straint he always found in playing "a gentleman."
What shall be said of his hghter characters ? — of his
Ranger, which Mrs. Siddons, who only saw him at the
close of his hfe, said, with rapture, was " delightfiil ? "
Of his delightful and airy conception of BenedicM

1763.] DON FELIX,— LORD CHALKSTONE, 97
The eager anxiety of his look, when listening to the
conversation about himself, was real, and deUcious
comedy. So, too, was his grave reasoning himself
into a resolution, to fall in love with Beatrice, and his
smirking self-flattering air, caused by her speech to
him. " If I don't pity her I'm a villain."* Then the
variety ; the change to his gay-spirited raiUery against
matrimony, so elegantly vivacious. By these little
graces, too airy for the coarser grasp of preceding
actors, he literally gave to every character he
attempted, the air of being an entirely new one.
Don Felix, in "The Wonder," was dangerously
hke Kitely, for both are jealous characters, Yet it
was marked, that this wonderful artist made both hap
pily distinct, and conveyed the nice difference, between
jealousy as it would affect the plain, sober mind of a
merchant, or disturb that of a gayer Spanish noble
man. There is a philosophy and instinct here, above
the " trade " of a mere actor. In " The Wonder "
there was always a country dance, which he danced
with infinite grace and agility to the end.
It was at Bath or Tunbridge, that he picked up the
character oiLord Chalkstone — a type ofthe day — one
of the debauched and vicious old noblemen — who,
though wrung with gout, and a complication of disor
ders of all kinds, still went through his old round of
pleasure with indomitable spirit. His manner of walk
ing, acting, and speaking, was so full of detail and
colour — so rich in touches all in keeping, that it is no
wonder a clever critic said it was " the highest enter-

* A graphic description of great players in comedy, comes very near to
comedy itself. I suspect that Bensley's Benedick, known to us from Lamb's
fine description, must have been based on Garrick's.
VOL, 11, H

98 THE LIFE OF DAVID GARRICK, [1763.
tainment of the theatre " he ever enjoyed.* There is a
sketch of this old nobleman, with a huge glass at his
eye, "ogling" some one, and supposed to be saying — -
" Pshaw, d — n the gout ! " f
All this applies more to the old early days of his
playing. His buoyant spirit and genius then carried
him forward ; he had no restraint to check, or make
him " stiff," but that of judgment and good sense. It
must be the hardest thing in the world for the great
actor to retain this fresh spontaneousness, in which
enthusiasm and eagerness, gives a certain novelty to
the details of each night's performance. But with
years, comes the fatal upas of conventionalism ; and the
repetition, and monotony from repetition, brings on the
destroying " staginess." It is easier and less fatiguing
to have by heart the old tricks of voice and gesture,
than to work up to an original enthusiasm. So it was
to be with Garrick, but to an infinitely less degree
than with others.
Grimm's own sentiments about Garrick, written to
Diderot, are testimonies to his vast dramatic merit. He
can hardly find words for his praise. The English, he
said, were apt to exaggerate absurdly the merits of
their heroes ; but in this instance they had not in the
least exceeded reality. He was struck by his won
derful face, and the marvellous powers of the eye.
He, too, like other rational Frenchmen, was attracted
by this new style of acting, which was no more than
* Wilkes, the same judicious observer, says justly ;—" Future times will
scarcely credit the amazing contrast between his Lear and Sclwolboy, or his
Richard and his Fribble. He gives us not resemblances, but realities.
t Yet some might reasonably say that there is a sort of ill luck attending
the ridicule of human infirmities ; and it is a little like retribution, that to
his death ha was to be harassed with gout, and tortured with that more
dreadful malady, which the name of the old nobleman was made to hint at.

1763.] LEON. 99
nature, as contrasted with the artificial chanting of
their own school. It seemed to him, as to others,
a great discovery, that "a person should try and be
the thing he represented." Neither was there in
Garrick's wonderful face, the grimaces and contortions,
with which ordinary comedians altered their expression
or imitated others. The Englishman, he remarked,
could make for himself a new face ; so, too, when he
was doing the dagger scene in "Macbeth," and fol
lowing the spectral dagger with his eyes, it struck the
company what a handsome inspired expression came
into his face, instead of the traditional disagreeable
contortion, by which such an emotion would be ex
pressed by others.
He could not do the mere unmeaning rdles of
coarse fun. In "Rule a Wife" the old stage critics
delighted in the Copper Captain ; it was the test for
every comedian. It could be worked on like a pic
ture, and new readings given. Here it was admitted
that Wilks was unrivalled. Garrick, when he revived
the play, was much inclined to take up the Copper
Captain, which he could have made a fine and varied
part of; but he had to choose between it and Leon,
"the Wittol ; " and his excellent judgment, and con
sideration for the interest of the play, made him put
aside this desire.
Woodward, to whom he gave it, was long to be
associated with the Copper Captain. Garrick is said
to have rehearsed it several times ; but found a
stumbling-block in a certain stage " laugh," given
when the jewels are discovered to have been false.
It -was the conventional usage that there should be
here a fit of unbounded merriment, in which Wood-

100 THB LIFE OF DAVID GARRICK, [1763,
ward revelled ; and this he could not do to his own
satisfaction.* There was no appropriateness in it,
a smile would have done as well, but Woodward tickled
the " wittols " of the gallery, and the unmeaning
merriment became the grand "point" of the part.
Garrick found his reward in the fine piece of comedy
he gave in Leon. His dulness and stupidity, mixed
with a sly archness, were admirably assumed, and not
in the least overdrawn ; and his change to the gallant
manly bearing of the true man and husband, his
natural dignity and firmness, and humour, were a
triumph of acting. " I think," says Davies, " I never
saw him more universally captivate the eyes and ears
of an applauding theatre. The warmth of his spirit,"
adds the same critic, who is sometimes very acute and
happy dn his remarks, " was so judiciously tempered ;
his action so correspondent to his utterance, and his
whole deportment so significant and important."
When the Duke said, at the end of the play, — " I
pray you, sir, use your wife well  " Garrick's
sheathing of his sword, and most expressive look
and action, as he replied, ¦with a mixture of high
courtesy, delicate reproof, and self-respect — " My own
humanity will teach me this," — was a new revelation to
the audiences of the day.
The exuberant part of Archer was another of his
delightful comedy parts. All owned that " there never
* Yet there was "a laugh" for whioh he was famous — a sort of hollow,
forced laugh — ia Kitely, vhere Barne Kitely a.sks "if he was ever jealous.''
" "What ? ha ! never ! never ! ha, ha, ha !
She stabs me home ! jealous of thee !
No, do not believe it— speak low, my love. "
It will be remembered that all Garrick's "points" were of a refined sort,
and very different from the traditional "points" of great actors that have
been handed down to us, like the famous " Zaire, tu pleures,"

1763,] ARCHER, 101
had appeared so genteel a footman, or a complete gen
tleman ; the one fit to triumph over the pert airs of an
inn-keeper's fair daughter, the other inspired with that
happy impudence, so timely corrected by a most pro
found respect, as not to be resisted by the finest woman
in the world, languishing under the neglect of a cruel
husband." Refinements and delicate nuances of this
sort must read almost uninteUigibly to our actors.
The German traveller's account of the scene in the
" Beau's Stratagem," where Garrick was disguised
as a " fine servant," and Weston the miserable .
waiter, at a miserable inn — is a perfect photograph.
The description itself is like a bit of the comedy it
describes : —
"Garrick wears a brilliant light blue and silver livery, a rich laced hat
with a red feather. His shapely calves are resplendent in white silk stock
ings ; his shoe buckles are in the height of the mode ; he is altogether a
fascinating fellow. Weston — poor devil — overloaded with his multifarious
and dirty duties, presents a, perfect contrast to Garrick, He wears a sorry
wig, with the curl taken out of it by the rain, a green jacket, which per
haps thu-ty years ago, might have been cut for a wealthier paunch, red
woollen stockings, and a green apron. Mingled astonishment, and respectful
admiration overconie him, at the sight of this grand gentleman's gentleman.
Garrick, bright, brisk, and knowing, his smart hat cocked airily a little on
one side, and not in the least overshadowing the brilliant face, comes forward
merrily, full of confidence in his calves and his new dress, with firmness and
decision in every movement. He feels himself a head taller beside the
melancholy Scrub. And Scrub, at all times short enough, seems to lose some
of his few inches by A rclier's side ; his knees tremble with the terrible feeling
of the threefold contrast between the poor drawer, and the triumphant valet.
With fallen chin, in a kind of adoration, he follows every moment of Garrick
¦with his eyes. Archer, who wants Scrub to aid him in his schemes, soon grows
condescending. They sit down together.
"Anyone who wishes to study the irresistible power of contrast on the
stage, should see this scene. With the easy grace peculiar to him, Garrick
throws himself into a chair, rests his right arm upon the back of Weston's
seat, and leans forward for a little confidential chat. The skirts of his
splendid livery hang down gracefully, and in the folds of the coat and the
person of the man, one line of beauty succeeds another. Weston sits on the
middle of his chair, as beseems him, but somewhat far forward, a hand on
either knee. He seems dumfoundered, and his cunning eyes are fixed on
Garrick, ' If anything is expressed on his face, it is the affectation of dignity
struggling with the paralysing sense of the horrible contrast between him, and
his companion, I here remarked abit of business by Weston which produce

102 THB LIFE OF DAVID GARRICK, [1763,
a capital effect. Whilst Garrick lolls easily in his chair, Weston, with stiffened
back, tries by degi-ees to out-top him, partly from feelings of respect, but
partly, too, that he may now and then steal a comparison, when Garrick is
not looking him in the face. When Archer, at length, in his easy way, crosses
his legs. Scrub attempts to do the same, and, at last, but not without some
assistance from the hands, he happily accomplishes this feat. All tliis is
done with eyes either fixed, or looking stealthy. At last, when Archer begins
to stroke his splendid silk stockinged legs, Weston almost instinctively
imitates the action over his miserable red worsted stockings, but immediately
after collapses in his chair, and, with a feeling of humility that calls forth
one's pity, quietly gathers his green apron over all. lu this scene, Weston,
with his natural expression of stupidity, his simple, restless looks (whioh gain
not a little from the unaffected husky tone of his voice), almost has the advan
tage of Garrick, and that is saying a gi'eat deal."

These little pictures are so minute, that they have all
the air of truth, and show us plainly that he might
have fairly continued on the stage for many years
more, without incurring the reproach of lingering there
after decay had set in. Weston's playing was so ex
quisitely droll in this scene, that Garrick owned to
friends, it was all he could do to keep his countenance.
Indeed, he never would attempt Scrub again. When
he played Archer first, it was of course not so fuh in
colour and detail as it afterwards became.
In Marplot, in the " Busy Body," he was considered
not so good as Woodward. The boy, Charles Fox,
told his father that Gamck could not look foohsh
enough. Stockdale, the clergyman, came to him one
morning, loud in his praises of Woodward's playing
Marplot. There was a large company, and with a
sad want of tact, he began to extol Woodward's
Marplot, saying that he thought that part could not
be performed with a more masterly perfection. He
thought the reply " envious and ungenerous." Gar
rick gave him a grave and earnest look'—" Your
opinion of Woodward may be very just, but it was aU
beaten into him." Every one present knew that Gar-

1763.] VIRGINIUS. 103
rick had failed in the character, and the actor wished
merely to assert for himself the merit of instruction.
Another part of his was in Mrs. Sheridan's "Dis
covery." It was a delightful piece, and worthy of a
Sheridan. It had the most perfect success, and gave
great enjoyment to the audience. Young O'Keefe
was there the first night, and long remembered
Thomas Sheridan stalking in, as Lord Medway,
in a suit of rich crimson velvet; but Garrick, in
Sir Anthony Branville, left the deepest impression
on his mind. His fantastic dress, and his speak
ing impassioned sentiments, with the calmest face
and most placid voice, fiUed the house with delight
and enjoyment. The grandmother of one of our lead
ing novelists, herself a Sheridan, was taken as a child
to see the play, and on her mind remained the impres
sion of Garrick's charming acting as the old beau. It
was the perfection of elaborate and deliberate court
liness, and she recalled his calm and leisured prepara
tion for taking what he called " a chaste salute " from
one of the young ladies of the comedy. The taking off
his gloves, the arranging of his hair, the general prepa
ration of the old beau, took many niinutes, and filled
the theatre ¦with enjoyment and dehght.*
In Crisp's duU play of "Virginia," he made one of
those famous " points," which used to be classed with
the " Zaire, tu pleures ! " and which indeed are not of
the highest class. When Claudius was claimnig Vir
ginia, Garrick, as her father, was standing on the
opposite side, next to the stage-door, his arms folded,
his eyes on the ground, apparently insensible to what
* Da-yies utterly condemns this character, which he turns into Sir Antmiy
Bramble.

104 THE LIFE OF DAVID GARRICK. [1763,
was going on. He was then asked what he had to
say in reply, but still remained, his figure .impassive, his
face working with all manner of emotions. The audi
ence was spell-bound. At last he slowly raised his
head, paused, turned round slowly, but without turn
ing his eyes away from Claudius, and finally, in a low
deep, broken voice, that penetrated to every corner of
the theatre, said, " Thou Traitor ! " Again I say,
this seems like speaking of a lost art. Such refinement
does not fall within the province of the stage now;
no actor would think that sort of "business" worth
cultivating; the muscles of the untrained face could
not convey those delicate ripples of expression, and
the groundlings above would be eagerly expecting the
sensation scene — the house in flames, or the real cab
"rattling" across the stage.
To Garrick is due the introduction of all legitimate
stage " business." No one knew better the valuable
aid to be derived from such illustrations, and he did
not allow it to take the place of what it is only meant
to Ulustrate — the present vice of the stage. To him is
owing most ofthe traditional Shakspearean " business."
Though, indeed, that seemed a little over refining in
"Hamlet," where the legs of the stage-chair were
shortened and drawn under the seat, so as to fall over
at a touch, to express the actor's surprise at the
entry of the ghost. The " combing of the wig " in
"Archer," the throwing away the stick in "Lear,"
and innumerable bits of by-play, have been aU care
fully handed down, and are considered drops, as it
were, of the immortal man. But he also reformed
innumerable extravagances of the same description.
It was essential that every actor of an " heroic " part

1763.] THB ACTOR. 103
should enter with an enormous plume of feathers,
to import dignity. This practice, with others, he abo
lished. There can be no doubt, that to the very end
there was but little decay in his gifts ; for the simple
reason, that his acting was not the result of a mere
vulgar instinct, which may be corrupted and overlaid
with vanity and meaner vices, but of genius, corrected
by sound judgment, good sense, and study, which at
sixty were flourishing. Ffarington, the painter, had
never seen him until the last season, when he went to
see "Hamlet," and found himself but a row or two
from the stage. He was a little shocked at the oldish
face, the bulky figure, the enormous heels made to
give him height, and the almost grotesque air of
decay. He expected a very lamentable exhibition of
failing powers, but was surprised, delighted, and
almost confounded at the spirit, truth, and power of
the acting — presently had forgotten the paint and
wrinkles, the high-heeled shoes, and the bulky figure,
and saw nothing but Shakspeare's Prince.*
Still it should be mentioned, that an old Doctor
Mudge told Northcote, that at the end of his career
Garrick was not nearly so free and original, as he was
at the beginning. Perhaps he meant, not so fresh ;
and the town had now begun to know him by heart.
, It indeed almost seemed that at his death a sort of
reaction had come, and that there was a return to the
old rugged declamation of the Quin days ; for certainly
the traditions of the Kemble acting seem to be a
dreary preaching, and a strange, dry, stilted pronun
ciation, coming from what Hazlitt so happUy called
* Taylor.

106 THE LIFE OF DAVID GARRICK. [1763,
" Kemble's foggy throat." It seems to have left its
mark on our own day. We need only glance round
our theatres — walk into a house of average reputa
tion, to see tragedy declaimed, according to a weary,
monotonous, strictly observed canon, which might be
a hundred and fifty years old. But it is certainly a
little curious, that one with such a reputation, and
who had trained up a whole school of actors, on his
own principles, should have left so little mark — more
wonderful still, that the dreary Kemble elocution should
be the established model for existing stage diction,
and be always followed. The reason may be, that
it is easier for the common, untrained mind, to " pick
up " and copy that conventional system, than to study
for itself, the bright and varied principles of nature
and character. Quin was laughed at for his strange
and affected pronunciation, sounding " face " like
" farce ; " but this was not a whit more ludicrous than
Kemble's "ferse" and "bird," for fierce and beard,
his " aitches," and almost comic perversion of every
sound in the language.
Macklin, in a malignant criticism found among his
papers, but which at the same time gives us some
traits of peculiarities in Garrick's acting, says that he
restored " that shameful scene of the epilepsy in the
fourth act of ' OtheUo,' " to give himself the opportunity
of some "business." Another reason, he said, was
that he knew Quin could not let his bulky figure faU
without a ludicrous effect, whereas he was slight in
person, and there -^vould be no such danger. He
speaks of his " strange manner of dying, and griping
the carpet ; his writhing, straining, and agonizing : aU
which he has introduced into the profession." In

&

1763,1 THE ACTOR. 107
other words, Garrick substituted for the solemn and
monotonous singsong, and regulated gesture of the old
school, a variety and liveliness of illustration. " His
art in acting consisted in incessantly hauling and paw
ing the characters about, with whom he was concerned
in the scene ; and when he did not paw or haul the
characters, he stalked between them and his audience,
and that generally when they were speaking the most
important and interesting passage in the scene — which
demanded, in propriety, a strict attention. When he
spoke himself, he pulled about the character he spoke
to, and squeezed his hat, hung forward, and stood
almost upon one foot, with no part of the other to the
ground but the toe of it. His whole action when ho
made love, in tragedy or in comedy, when he was
famUiar with his friend, when he was in anger, sorrow,
rage — consisted in squeezing his hat, thumping his
breast, strutting up and do"wn the stage, and pawing
the characters that he acted with. . . . He iatro-
duced sleep into Lear — showed how the body dreamed
in Richard. He also introduced sleep into his Sir John
Brute, and for.' many minutes, to the extravagant
satisfaction of the audience, cut the faces of an idiot,
a lunatic, a stupid : so expert was he in all the tricks
of the face, which the good people acknowledged
as his imitation of a drunken man falling asleep."
Through all this perverted view — and the private
character that accompanies it is shocking from its
malignancy — can be discerned the true characteristic
of Garrick's acting, a lively vivacity. It was said,
too, that he had not a good ear for emphasis, and
often misplaced it. An instance has been already
given as to his reading of one of the commandments.

108 THB LIFE OF DAVID GARRICK, [1763.
A Colonel Pennington, who had seen him, acutely
observed another mistake — "and will speak daggers,
but use none;" Instead of ''^ speak daggers, but use
none." Yet he may have been right in this, as the
emotion and passion of the situation might require an
exceptional force on the word daggers.
His Hastings, In " Jane Shore," was one of his
most elaborated characters. An admirer, who attended
one of his last performances, was careful to note, on a
copy of the play, every turn and inflection of the part.*
This curious "report" becomes valuable, and gives a
mmute and excellent idea of Garrick's manner of
working up a situation.
In the first scene he entered gay and courtier-like.
He describes Alicia's present condition, warms up gra
dually, and pleads for her fervently —
' ' Now sunk in grief,
 She never sees the sun. "

When he sees Alicia, he puts on a cunning and cold
air, speaking with a sort of deference —
 " None has a right more ample.
To task my power than you. "
When she made a violent outburst, and attacked him,
he walked up to her, met her eye, steadily, and
poured out a number of bitter questions —
" Ai'e you wise?
Have you the use of reason ? Do you wake ? "
With sudden anger —
"Why am 1 thus pursued from place to place ? "
Then giving her friendly counsels, he gradually
* This copy has fortunately been preserved.

1763.] HASTINGS, 109
softened, took her hand, seemed to press it with his
forefingers, and when he had finished gently threw it
from him, and walked up the stage. As he begged
ironically, to be preserved from her tongue, his tone
was so dry, cold, and petrified, that a burst of applause
came from the audience. When he said —
' ' Soft ye now ! "
his voice became tender and agitated, he kindly taking
her hand, and touching the ground with his knee.
His voice altered again, when he asked —
' ' What means this peevish and fantastic change ? "
as if piqued at the little success of his efforts, and
gradually grew almost brutal, crossing the stage two
or three times, as he said —
"'Tis wond'rous well, I see my saint-like dame ! "
Then followed his two spirited speeches. And though
Gloucester had a line interposed between, he caught
him up and replied so smartly, that it seemed almost
one speech. It worked gradually to a climax.
In the council scene in the fourth act, when he was
condemned to the scaffold, the gloom and settled
despair in his eye was very intense. He was full
three minutes — says this true stop-watch critic — in
saying no more than six lines. As he congratulated
himself in not living on, to see the miseries of his
country, he wept profusely. His speech to Alicia —
"Thy reason has grown wild,"
was spoken with a sort of absent distracted air. The
last scene was a triumph of elaborate suffering. The
adjuration —
" Now mark and tremble at Heaven's just award ! "

110 THB LIFE OF DAVID GARRICK. [1763.
was delivered quite calmly, and In a deep tone full of
pathos. As he asked her forgiveness, he knelt and
appealed to Heaven with energy and great firmness.
His farewell — " Good angels visit thee,"
was most affecting. He then moved very slowly to the
wing, stood there a moment, said his last two sen
tences with a broken voice, and passed out to tremen
dous applause. Then returning with the guard, as
Alicia said her last few words, he came up, took her
hand most tenderly, and motioned back the soldiers,
— led her off, as if to be still more In private, put up
his prayer In a sort of whisper until he came to the
line — ' ' 0 should he wrong her ! "
when his voice swelled, but sank again, then left her,
got slowly backwards to the wing, looked back, and
said, " Remember ! " with a tone that seemed to the
audience like the last utterance of a dying man.
All this shows a surprising study, not of mere vulgar
"points," but of judicious contrast and effects.
Walpole had a poor opinion of his acting ; but
Walpole, as a judge of stage matters, is notoriously
astray. He thought him " a very good and various
player," but that Quin's Falstaff was quite as good as
Garrick's Lear. Mrs. Porter and the Dumesml were
far before him in tragic passion. He was inferior to
Quin in Brute and Macbeth, and to Cibber in Bayes.
His Bayes was indeed original, but not the true read
ing. Cibber made it the burlesque of a great poet ;
Garrick the picture of a mere garreteer. He was " a
poor Lothario, a ridiculous Othello,^ a woeful Lord

1763.] FALSTAFF. Ill
Townly, and Hastings." Ranger he thought suited
him best, and though the town did not rehsh his
Hotspur, he thought he succeeded in it better than
anything. In this extraordinary opinion, he says he
was supported by Sir C. H. Williams, and Lord Hol
land. It was the fashion to talk of Quin's Falstaff,
but Reynolds, who had seen it, owned he was disap
pointed. Garrick often thought of taking up this
part : and during the Jubilee gave a specimen, that
delighted all who saw it. It would have suited him
admirably, and have made a fine pendant to his Sir
John Brute. But the physical creation would have
been too much for him, and he would have been over
powered in the artificial corpulence of the character.
It is hard to say what was his cheval de bataille,
'Not certainly his Romeo, not Othello, not Falcon-
bridge, nor Hotspur. If we were strictly limited to
the choice of two parts, we might name Lear and
Drugger; and yet we should have liked Kitely or
Ranger, Brute or Archer. Macbeth, Richard, or
Hamlet we might not have cared so much for. Fox
thought Barry's Romeo much finer ; a judgment, how
ever, that loses all value, when he could think the
prodigy, " Master Betty," superior. StUl he was an
enthusiastic admirer, and in the boxes at Drury Lane,
during Garrick's Lear, he was seen ohe night holding
up his hands iu wonder and delight. One morning
Gibbon called on Reynolds, after seeing Garrick's
Richard, and thought he was inconsistent ; for in the
first part he was too " mean and creeping," and even
" vulgar," and in the last quite the contrary. Cum
berland thought Lear his finest part.
The characteristics of his acting, outlined by his

112 THE LIFE OF DAVID GARRICK. [17G3,
enemy, David Williams, are very remarkable. "In
tragic parts, your execution is masterly. It is much
improved within the last few years, Your province
lies principally where the passions are exhibited by
the poet, as agitated or wrought up to a high
degree ; your perfection consists in the extreme. In
exaggerated gesture, and sudden bursts of passion, given
in a suppressed and tender manner, you are inimi
table. In the struggles and conflicts of contradictory
passions, or in their mixture and combination, and
when his effects are drawn by the author to a 'point
of instant and momentary expression, there you are
often excellent." -
His fine reputation is bound up with the literature
of the country ; and readers of Fielding, and SmoUet,
and Sterne, wUl see how delighted those great -wi'Iters
were to record, how they had been affected by the great
actor. In short, in this wonderful man's case, com
pliment seems to have exhausted all its shapes.*
* Admirers of "Tom Jones" will recal Partridge at Drury Lane, during
Garrick's Hamlet. '"WeU, if that little man there, upon the stage, is not
frightened, 1 never saw any man frightened in my life. Ay, ay ; go along with
you ! Ay, to be sure ! Who's fool then ? WiU you ? God have mercy upon such
foolhardiness ! , , . FoUow you? I'd follow the de-vU as soon. , . , 0! here
he is again I No further ? No, you have gone far enough already. Nay, sir,
did you not yom-sclf observe, when he found it was his own father's spirit, how
his fear forsook him by degrees, and he was struck dumb with sorrow ? '
" 'He the best player ! ' said Partridge, with a contemptuous sneer. ' ^Why
I could act as well as he, myself. 1 am sure if I had seen a ghost, I should
have looked in the very same manner, and done just as he did. ' " — Tom Jonts,
bk. 16, ch. V.

1763.] ON THE GRAND TOUR. 113

BOOK THE SIXTH.

CHAPTER I.
ON THE GRAND TOUR.
SEPTEMBER, 1763.
After this pleasant visit, he returned to town, and
was busy with his preparations for the journey they
were about to make. The " grand tour," if it was then
a delightful progress, had also its responsibilities. He
was really going for a holiday ; he certainly took with
him the resolution of never appearing on the stage
again — unless the remedy for his temporary unpopu
larity was successful. He had a fond hope that it
would be. Before going, he had appointed Colman to
look after his interests in the theatre ; he made
arrangements for the appearance of a clever clerk,
whom he had heard " spouting " at the Wood Street
Debating Club, beyond Temple Bar, and who, he
thought, would fairly support lover parts, during
his absence. He did not dream that the terrible cry,
" a rival ! " would be raised. Finally, on the 15th
of September, the very night his theatre opened, he
and Mrs. Garrick, and their little dog, set off down to
Dover. As we have seen, nearly two years before, he had
told Sterne, then starting off for Paris, that he was

114 THB LIFE OF DAVID GARRICK. [1763.
soon likely to visit that capital. Roscius, indeed,
delighted in good company, and had long since
discovered the truth, that the "finest" company is the
most agreeable. The startling success of Sterne in
Paris, whom the wits and " elegans " of Paris were
loading with attentions — honours written home to
Southampton Street, In a sort of rapture, stimulated
his eagerness : and when he heard from his friend
that at " two great houses" his own gifts and genius
had formed the staple of the conversation during the
whole of a dinner party ; all wondering how he could
be so great in two such opposite walks of acting, it
was very natural he should look forward to coming
and receiving this homage in person.
He found little change in the state of the people
from his first journey, though this time, he took a
different route for variety. He came up by, what is
now the beaten track, St. Omer and Arras. The ac
commodation and Impositions were nearly the same :
" for which the English may thank themselves ; they
wish to appear rich and generous," and in consequence
were charged above double what the French paid.*
As they posted along, the country parts appeared to
him more thriving, the roads good, and every acre
cultivated, though there was but little enclosure.
The poverty of the people was very remarkable ; and
the carriers, whom he often talked with on the road,
complained sorely of the oppressive taxes.
At Calais he put up — not at the famous Desslin's, but
at the Table Royall" a good and reasonable house,
with civU and obliging people." Here he was waited
* MS. Journal.

1768.] ON THE GRAND TOUK. 113
on by that notorious little barber, who seems to have
seen — or shaved — every Enghsh person of note who
came through ; for he is described by Mrs. Radcliffe,
is found simpering in a corner of the Sentimental Jour
ney, and was now come to shave the great actor. A
conceited prattling petit maitre, who told him that
the officers there received no pay, and were really
destitute. They had a very pleasant journey, met with
no accidents, and were entering Paris in high spirits,
when they were stopped at the barrier by the custom
house officers; and though their trunks had been duly
plombid at Calais to ensure through transmission,
they were searched en personne, and having mislaid
their passe, were led off with indignity to the custom
house, to have their trunks opened once more. But
the director of the customs, M. D'Aguemont, treated
them 'with great civility. This was the evening of
Monday, September 19th.*
In a day or two he bought a little blank book,
which he determined to fill with notes of his travels ;
a journal, in short — "meant to bring to my mind the
various things I shall see in my journey into Italy." —
Properly it was to be a record of his " opinions and
feelings." " For," he writes, " I shall always put
down my thoughts immediately, as I am struck —
without the least attention to what has been said by
writers of great and little repute. — D. Garrick."
Which is indeed the true plan to make a journal of
any^ interest ; but for all this official declaration, the
journal began to languish very soon, and covers but a
few pages. Very soon the seductions of dinners, and
¦* MS. Journal. — A rapid journey.

116 THE LIFE OF DAVID GARRICK. [1763.
parties, and excursions, absorbed all his time, — the
pleasures that have past always seem poor, and not
worth recording, beside those that are-coming on.
Undoubtedly, the most singular feature of the time
was the "Anglo-mania," then raging. It seems quite
ludicrous. In the shops Shakspeare and Swift were
to be bought, like ordinary French books ; and it
was almost comic to find eager Frenchmen poring,
and blundering, over the great English poet, and
straining hard to fancy in themselves something
like admiration, for what they could not understand.
Sterne's Count, who took the Sentimental traveller
for the Yorick of " Hamlet," was but the type of
more serious blunderers. But, allowing a good deal
for the mere fashion of the thing, it was natural that
English company should be relished, for the English
that travelled were not the English that have traveUed
since. There were but three classes who at that time
travelled or made the Grand Tour : Englishmen of
rank, for whom it was the last term of their university
education ; Englishmen of wealth ; and Englishmen of
wit and genius. Getting to Paris was expensive,
and the "grand tour" was a yet more costly luxury.
Everyone setting out, took with him letters to every
Court ; at every Court was treated handsomely, perhaps
welcomed into Royal society, stayed his six weeks,
enjoyed himself delightfully, then got out his chaise,
and "posted" on to another Court. Paris had been
lately full of such men as Lord Shelburne, Lord Car
lisle, Mr. Fitzmaurice, Wilkes, Sterne, Walpole, Foote,
Garrick, Hume, and many more ; and the year Garrick
was there Lord Hertford, the ambassador, entertaioed
nearly a hundred English, on the King's birthday.

1763.] ON THE GRAND TOUR. 117
There were many coteries or societies all ready to
welcome him. First, that of Baron D'Holbach's, who
gave his little dinners every Sunday and Thursday.*
Here was to be met the most dehghtful company
possible, and the guests ranged from ten to twenty in
number. The host's fancy was to discover clever and
distinguished strangers, and this must have given his
parties their charm. The regular habitues were re
markable ; Grimm and Diderot, Helvetius and the
mercurial Abb6 MoreUet, who was so lively in discus
sion. The dinner was good, but a little grosse. There
was excellent wine and coffee ; it began at two, but the
guests often remained until seven. The conversation
was made up of the liveliest discussions, but without
warm or angry disputes. Madame D'Holbach sat in a
corner, talking in a low voice ; while the greater esprits
decided greater questions. Helvetius had the Wednes
days, with very much the same elements ; but the re
sult was not considered so good. For though Madame
Helvetius sat listening, like Madame D'Holbach, she
was very pretty, and drew round her chair the grands
esprits, thus demoralising the serious tone of the society.
Madame Necker secured the Fridays ; Grimm, who
lived in the Faubourg St. Germain, had his night;
and Madame Geoffi-in a yet more remarkable circle
of her own.
The moment Garrick arrived the universal homage
set in. He was at once made free of " the synagogue
in the Rue Royale," and the " little sanctuary in the
Rue Neuve des Petlts Champs." He was heaped with
honours ; he was almost ashamed to write home the
* The year before he had three dinners a week, according to Sterne's
experience.

118 THB LIFE OF DAVID GARRICK, [1763.
distinctions he had met with at their hands. Before
he had been there a fortnight, he knew every one, of
every degree. Naturally he first devoted himself to
cultivate the actors.
On the night after his arrival, he set off for the
Com^dle Frangaise, which at his first entrance seemed
" dark and dirty." The play was the " Gouvemante,"
with Dumesml, who, it seemed to him, had expression,
but who "made use of little startings and twitch-
ings, which are visibly artificial, and the mere mimicry
of the free, simple, and noble working of the passions."*
A Mdlle. Dollgny, " a young beginner, with a pleasing
look and sweetness of voice," gave him much pleasure.
But the French actors presently found out their dis
tinguished brother, and the " company of comedians"
sent their compliments, with the freedom of the house,
not excepting His Majesty's own box, when not
used by him. This is only the old story, and the
old way of ordering things better in France; the
compliment being put in this official shape, acquired
double value. On the same morning, he called on
Clairon, and spent a long time with her. With that
incomparable actress and spirited woman, he had
a long talk. She surprised him by telling him that
her appointments were only £250, having besides
to "find herself" in everything. He thought of Mrs.
Cibber at home, as a comparison, who had received
from the theatre as much as £700 a-year, besides her
benefit, and dresses — everything found for her, ex
cepting the " mere garniture of her head." Another
night he went to see PrevUle, and on the first
* MS. Journal.

1763.] ON THE GRAND TOUR. 119
occasion thought him a great conaedian, — "he certainly
had comic powers." But on the second and third,
he did not see the variety he expected. " He has
the same looks in every part." He was struck with
a peculiar ',' look of folly " the actor could throw into
his eye, which in certain parts would have a fine
effect, but was not to be used continuously.*
A very characteristic story is told of one of Garrick's
first visits to the theatre, when he took his wife to see
the great actress. She had a great disinclination to
see her ; and her coldness during the early part of the
performance excited the impatience of Garrick, who
was in raptures. Gradually, however, she grew
attentive, then excited, and finally broke into the
most extravagant expressions of delight and admira
tion. Garrick, it is said, then grew impatient and
discontented, and ended by being quite out of sorts.
This has been interpreted as unworthy jealousy. But
jealousy it was not, in the common sense of the term ;
it was more an uneasiness lest the wife he so loved and
admired should admire any one more than himself.
The whole, however, is exceedingly characteristic, and
a capital trait of human character.
Clairon, with her natural enthusiasm, took him up
with fureur. He had known her on his first visit. A
few days after his arrival, was brought out Saurin's
"Blanche et Guiseard,',' founded on an Enghsh story.
It was given out that " the Clairon " had condescended
to take lessons from the English actor, and had re
hearsed Blanche before him ; but it was also said that
she had never played worse. Garrick was delighted
* MS. Journal,

120 THB LIFE OP DAVID GARRICK. [1763.
with his new pupil, and wrote home that the " Clairon
was great;" but added, that she had her. faults,
" between you and me." He took care, however,
not to say this publicly, "for she idolises me." * He
went also to see a new piece at the Italian Comedy,
taken from Goldoni, called "Les Amours d'ArMquIn."
This seems to have had far greater success ; but this
French-Italian sort of farce was a special feature of the
day, and more relished than anything else.
The actors exerted themselves greatly ; but it was
remarked that he was cautious and diplomatic in
giving his opinion, confining himself to the mere
generalities of approbation. Great paius had been
taken with the "mounting" of the play; the actors
had visited the Royal Museum of Engravings to
study the proper costumes. Before it came out,
expectation was naturally excited ; what " intrigued "
the public most, was how the Constable was to
stab the wife, he supposed to be faithless, with true
success and grace ; for the weapon to be employed
was of an awkward and conspicuous length. These
trivialities were actually a subject of grave specula
tion for days, in the salons.
" Blanche " reached but the third representation.
The only thing that saved it was the admirable
manner with which Belcour, the jeune premier, did
vanquish the poignard difficulty — thus quieting public
anxiety — appearing to transfix "the Clairon" as
she lay extended on the floor. " iZ fa pousse (the

* It is a sort of proof of how absorbed Garrick was with the amusements
of the place, that he saw these plays about the 27th of September ; but
the letter in which he describes them was not sent away untU the Sth of
October.

1763.] ON THE GRAND TOUR. 121
sword) avec toute la grace possible." It is odd to
think of such a feature as this exciting attention ;
but at this season anythiug like violence on the
stage was almost revolutionary. The story was based
upon Garrick's "Tancred and Sigismunda," and a
large crowd of English, who were present, and had
seen the original, were loud in condemning the
coldness and barrenness of the piece. Even the
" Clairon " was said never to have done worse. It
was curious to think of the original Tancred, who
had drawn tears from many eyes, sitting in the boxes
and looking on. Everybody was pointing out the
celebrated Enghsh actor, and whispering his name.
Everyone, too, was quoting his critiques, favourable
to this and that actress ; but only a few, says Grimm,
did he trust -with his real opinions. It must have
been for this performance that he tried to get tickets
from the " Clairon" for some lady-friends ; but every
place was taken. She bade him, in a pretty little
note, take them to the parterre, where ladies could
readily go. " Good night, dear friend," she wrote :
"you know how much I like you."
One night, at the house of an English gentleman,
a Mr. NevUle, took place the most curious scene,
that could be well imagined.* He had collected many
of the leading wits and literary characters — Mar
montel and d' Alembert amongst others — and invited
. the great English actor and the great French actress,
to sup. What took place is well known, and has
passed uito all the anecdote collections. Clairon
stood up and volunteered to declaim some passage
* Murphy supposed that this party took place after Garrick's return from
Italy, instead of before it.

123 THE LIFE OF DAVID GARRICK, [1763,
from "Athalie," which, said Garrick, she did "charm
ingly." But this was done, not to show herself off,
but " to bring out Roscius," whom aU were eager to
see. It was a trying exhibition in a foreign country,
with foreign eyes looking on, and foreign ears that
could scarcely understand. But Garrick had confi
dence in himself, and with excellent tact and good
sense, chose such specimens of his art, as would
appeal to the general inteUigence of all. He began
with the " dagger scene" in "Macbeth," passed from
that to the " curse " in " Lear," and finished with the
" falling asleep " of Sir John B^-ute. These were
delivered in the one common language of the human
race. The effect was tremendous — the success com
plete. Murphy adds the ghost scene in " Hamlet" to
these specimens of his powers. But the actor does
not mention it in his own letter ; neither does he
himself mention, as his biographer does, his telling the
company Avhence he had obtained the idea of his
wonderful representation of madness, produced by
grief,— suggested, as is well known, from an old man
who had dropped his child from a window. Those
who have written Garrick's life, say that this took place
in a street near Goodman's Fields ; but Grimm, on
whom the representation seems to have made a most
extraordinary impression — (" I saw the poor man him
self! ") — says, that Garrick told him it was in Ireland,
The philosopher was not likely to have fixed such a
scene, in such a country. He passed from that to
another favourite delineation of his, that of the poor
pastry-cook's boy, who had let fall his tray of tarts, In
the street, and whose face expressed all the transi
tions from stupid astonishment to surprise, terror, and

1763,] ON THE GRAND TOUR, 123
hopeless grief. These were but a part of what he
called "giving his rounds." That night was long
remembered. Marmontel It seemed to have haunted.
Next morning he wrote the English actor a flattering,
but genuine letter, full of the most ardent admiration.
Macbeth was what struck him ; and he makes the just
observation, that if they but followed the same prin
ciple, their scenes would not be so tedious, and they
would do more by the eloquence of sUence, and by the
expression of face and eye, than by long speeches.
" Vous serez done pour moi," he wrote, " un sujet con-
tinuel de regrets." He owned that this was the only
real style of acting; it was quite new to him. This
was much from a Frenchman. He must have, almost
then and there, sat down to commit this enthusiasm
and admiration to' writing, for he eagerly bids his
friend look later to the " Encyclopaedia," article
" Declamation," where he would find his true views on
this point.*
Thus welcomed — ^thus f^ted — and loaded with civi
lities and homage of the most flattering sort, the actor
set off, a little after the 28th of September, having been
in Paris nearly three weeks. He was to make the Grand
Tour, but promised his French friends to return to
them soon.
They reached Lyons in about four days,, and were
treated with great courtesy by all in authority ; but, as
usual, were greatly imposed on by extortionate inn
keepers and post-masters. In fact, a Frenchman told
Mr. Garrick, that when an English chaise went by,
all winked' and laughed, and put their tongue in
* "We can do this also, but we find not a word about Garrick,

124 THB LIFE OF DAVID GARRICK, [1763,
their cheeks. The Savoy part of the journey was de
licious, and they enjoyed it immensely, revelling in the
noble scenery. At Pontbeauvoisin, where Mr. Sterne
was stopped by the floods, and which he termed Beau-
pontvoisin, and aU through the Dauphin6, the great
mountains " topp'd with snow," so -wild and barren ; the
fields exquisitely cultivated below, the winding rivers,
the small farms, actually like gardens, were delightful
to look on, and quite charmed them. They lay at
Aiguebelles on the 10th of October, and found the
crossing of Mont C^nis very agreeable, in such fine
weather. They had one little desagrement, in their
coach breaking down. Indeed, as he wrote home on a
scrap of dark rude mountain paper, he was "in raptures
with Savoy and its scenery." Compliments still attended
him on his route. The demi-god of Ferney was gracious
enough to send him a message, hoping that he might
see him, and putting his little theatre at his service ;
throwing in, however, his old dislike of Shakspeare,
who, he was pleased to say, had more of the bar
barian than of genius. " The d — d feUow ! " said Mr.
Garrick, characteristically to his friends. But to M.
de Voltaire himself he -wrote, almost obsequiously, as
being the first genius in Europe, instead of "a d — d
fellow." " Could I have been the means of bringing
our Shakspeare into some favour with M. de Voltaire,
I should have been happy indeed." Though the visit
never took place, Mr. Garrick being obliged, from the
state of his health, to post home to Paris, the great
genius often spoke graciously of him to the guests who
came to Ferney, and would send a sort of royal sen
tence of recollection, or approbation. Turin they found
very neat and clean — a perfect city of palaces. Two

1763.] ON THE GRAND TOUR. 125
pictures there, by Guido and Guercino, struck him
greatly, possibly because of a dramatic sort : " The
Prodigal Son" and "David and Goliath;" for in the
former grief, contrition, and expression were all exhi
bited without a feature being seen.
Then they hurried on to MUan. These were, indeed,
but the official stages of the Grand Tour. They put up
at the Tre Re, and, like a thousand travellers before
and since, posted off at once to the Cathedral. There
they lighted on a true, courteous, and most hospitable
friend. Count Firmian, to whom they had letters, who
insisted on their dining with him every day, who could
talk and was deeply interested in English subjects.
For with this nobleman, the days of Anglomania were
fast drawing on. Mr. Garrick promised to send him
over pictures of himself. In every character.
On the 2nd of November they set out for Genoa by
boat, and, like many a traveller who has entered that
port on a gorgeous summer morning, were "ravished"
with the enchanting panorama ; the slow saUing on
the cobalt waters, the mole, the lighthouse, and the
shipping, and the coloured terraces glittering in
the morning sun, as if roofed with gold and sUver,
or built of blocks of mother-of-pearl. "What more
I think of it," -writes Mr. Garrick very confidently
in his journal, " shall be wrote do-wn when I have
examined it." But now came the friends, and the
parties of pleasure ; and not a hne more was added to
the little record.* He visited Florence, where he
met AlgarottI, on whom he made a deep impression.
The poet was ill ; and Garrick recommended him, the
-* He just put down a few memoranda of English commissions for his Italian
friends.

126 THE LIFE OF DAVID GARRICK. [1763.
fashionable English remedy, tar-water. He also 'wrote
home to England in favour of his verses. KnoAving
that the actor was to visit Bologna, AlgarottI sent him
letters to the leading coterie of the place- — the Marquis
Monvi, the Marquis Scappi, and the Cardinal Legate.
" You wUl see," he wrote to his friends, " that his
amiability Is on a par with his merits."
Mr. Garrick then hurried on to Rome, where he only
stayed a fortnight. He got there about the beginning
of December. The night before he entered it, he
hardly slept, thinking of the sensation of entering the
Eternal City. As he drew near it, the excitement,
and the thrill, and the suspense that have come on
so many travellers, before and since, came on him;
but the Porta del Popolo brought the established dis
appointment and disillusionnement. He only saw a
" dirty, ill-looking ' Place,' with three crooked streets "
branching off. His spirits sank at once. But in the
afternoon he was taken away to see the Pantheon, and
the sight raised him into perfect enthusiasm. He said
afterwards that he " never felt so much in his life." It
made him " gape " with wonder and astonishment.
The Colosseum delighted him : and he made the sensible
remark, how infinitely better these ruins look In reality,
than in pictures ; while with the more modern build
ings he found the reverse to be the case. The whole of
his fortnight he devoted to churches, ruins, and objects
of curiosity, and not to waiting on great personages.
He then posted down to Naples — a miserable journey,
having come in for the heavy rains, which attended
them all along the road. They suffered inconveniences
and distresses that were almost ridiculous, and with
which he proposed afterwards entertaining his friends

1763.] ON THE GRAND TOUR. 127
at Hampton. They arrived on the 17th, and kept
Christmas charmingly,- with the windows open, the
Mediterranean at their feet glistening in a sultry
sun, and — green peas on the table ! With all their
distresses the joumey had improved his health, and
the whole party, including the dog " Biddy," were
" in the highest spirits." He was charmed with the
climate, and with the people ; and it is characteristic of
so great an actor, that he should have found enter
tainment as well as profit, in going among the strange
and highly dramatic beings that make up the Neapo
litan lower class. There he found good models for
eccentric gestures, picturesque attitudes, and that
strange play of feature in which he universally ex
celled. The great theatre of San Carlo almost con
founded him, filled as it was to the roof, and blazing
with lights. But it was too large for the singer's
voice. There he heard the famous GabrieUi, one of
the syrens of the opera, more insolent and more fickle
than the Clairon, and not to be tempted to London by
any amount of English gold.
At this gay place, he met with all imaginary kindness
from distinguished country people of his own. Lady
Oxford, who had great Influence at the Neapolitan Court,
exerted herself for him in every way. With Lord and
Lady Spencer, he went to see Herculaneum and its
curious rehcs, and afterwards ascended Vesuvius. The
King, who was always favourable to the English, and
had a company of actors, as a mark, of special favour,
aUowed the English actor to be present. As a
yet higher compliment, he was allowed to test their
extraordinary ability in this way : he was invited to
write do'wn the outline of a plot, and they engaged to

128 THE LIFE OF DAVID GARRICK. [1763,
fill it up, supply dialogue, and perform the whole ex
tempore within twenty-four hours. The feat was
actually executed.
He was nearly three months at Naples. He
thoroughly enjoyed himself there ; for, as he said, he
was now " out of their clutches" in London, and was
going to " make a meal, and a good one, in Italy. I
shall never return." No wonder, for never was he " in
such fashion," or made so much of by the great people,
who in a vUleggiatura like this, were more famUiar
and gracious than at home. This was the weak corner
of "Davy's" nature, and he was supremely happy.
" I laugh from morning until night. I am always with
Lord Spencer, Lady Oxford, and Lord Palmerston,"
Mrs. Garrick took her share in their pastime, and
would go to the parties, though she had a bad "hum-
atiz." "I scolded and phyzed; but if she can wag,
she goes." * Yet in Naples there were dreadful scenes
going on, from the famine, which he remembered after
wards "with horror." But the English had their sport
— two balls a week, parties, and suppers and dinners.
Mr. Garrick was everywhere — at Lord Exeter's, the
minister's, — the consul's. The only thing that annoys
him, is that bit of "nonsense" which some indiscreet
friend sent home to be inserted in the " St. James's
Chronicle," ''''about my dancing with the Duchess of
Devonshire" — again the old weakness, and "dearly
loving of a lord or lady." Many such little inspired
paragraphs, at which he " pished" a little impatiently,
were to find their way to the papers during his
life. Here he met Sir William Hamilton, later to be
-* Forster MSS.

1763.] ON THE GRAND TOUR. 129
the husband of the fascinating Lady Hamilton. In that
coterie, they had all sorts of pastimes — among others the
fashionable one of " charades;" and to Sir William, he
addressed a little poem, called the " Charader's Re
cantation," two lines of which were —
" If Spencer nod, or Jersey smUe,
How could I but obey."
But he was dyiug to be at Rome again. He thought
it, of all places in the world, "the one most worth
coming to and writing of." They were back there, by
the beginning of April. Never was a man so much
above the more debasing associates ofthe " shop." His
whole heart was now in the antiquities, books, &c,, and
he was seen, from morning till night, hunting up the old
curiosity shops, with Mrs. Garrick " dragging her lame
leg" after her. Even the Duke of Devonshire wrote
out to him from England, "rallying" him on his
abandonment of the drama for the more captivating
attractions of virtu, Rome did not agree with him so
well ; but when the rains began to fall — which they
did "in pailfuls" — he grew better. The sun came out,
and he was "as frisky as the poor flies, who were so
woefully damped by the wet weather, but are now as
troublesome and as pert as your humble servant." *
The Duke of York, who had been " Prince Edward"
until lately, was at this time on his travels, visiting all
the courts of Europe. This was the royal personage
who was so fond of pleasure, and of music, who used
to go out to parties in London, and play a little on the

* "I scarce know," he wrote home to " a lord, " "what sensation to call it,
but I felt a strange, unusual something at entering the very city where the
great Rosdtas exerted those talents which rendered him the wonder of his own
age," &c.
VOL. ir. K

130 THE LIFE OF DAVID GARRICK. [1763.
"bass viol." He seems to have been an amiable, and
attractive prince, fond of the society of those below
him ; with a wish to be Intimate with such men as
Sterne and Garrick. He was treated with distinction
everywhere, and loaded with honours ; the courts had
all their grandest shows for him. At Rome some little
difficulty was found about his reception, as there was
one of the Stuarts there, as Cardinal Duke of York.
There was a coldness between him, and the King at
home ; but he consoled himself by fetes, and music, and
dancing, and at last died in the service of the pleasures
he so loved, of a cold caught from excessive dancing.
There was something almost piathetic in the cuxum-
stance of his death : in a lonely little principality, far
away from home, whence he sent a message, taken
home by an aide-de-camp, asking forgiveness from his
brother. Garrick, knowing him so well, naturally
adapted the stages of his tour, so as to fall in with
the festivities given in honour of the Duke. He
came in for some of the honours. His friend
Mr. Beauclerk was also foUo-wing in the august
wake. Early in May, the actor reached Parma, the
Duke of which court had caught some of the
" Anglomanie." He had, of course, "read Shaks
peare" (the fore-ordained victim for the experiments
of all foreign students), and could speak English toler
ably well. The English Duke entertained the prince, at
the hotel Pallavacini, and had Garrick, Lord Spencer,
and the Minister Tillot, as his guests. To be asked to
so select a party was certainly a high compliment. After
the dinner was over, the Italian Prince showed a little
anxiety to hear the English fashion of declamation, and
expressed his wish with so much feeling and delicacy.

1703.] ON THE GRAND TOUR. 131
that Garrick at once stood up. This proves how tho
roughly the actor deserved the favours, and friendship
he received, and how far above he was the almost
childish sensitiveness, which too often belongs to a
position so equivocal.
He gave a short sketch of the story of " Mac
beth," to prepare them for the situation, and then
went through his famous dagger scene. He did
it with more than usual effect.* The Duke was so
delighted, that he sent him, next morning, a gorgeously
enamelled snuff-box, and ordered apartments for him
in the palace. Snuff-boxes indeed were to be a special
shape of homage to his genius. Later, when he was
coming home through Germany, the Duke of Wurtem-
burg presented him with another, in acknowledgment
of the pleasure he had received from these recitations.
Long after, when Garrick was in his library at home,
showing these tokens to two of his actors, one of them,
Holland, broke out a little coarsely with, " And so you
went about the Continent mouthing for snuff-boxes!"
Garrick, with that good humour which was his cha
racteristic, only laughed, and took not the least
offence. He then posted 'on to Venice, to be in time for the
shows given in honour of the Duke, who had arrived
on the 26th of May. That city enchanted him, as it
has enchanted many, at first ; but a month's stay, he
said, was like a honeymoon, in bringing you to a tem
perate consideration of things. He was dazzled and
fatigued to death with the series of shows, which

* Murphy seems to hint that no one present understood a word of what he
said, which added to the triumph of the exhibition ; but three at least, out of
the four guests, understood English. 1 2

132 THE LIFE OF DAVID GARRICK. [1763.
transcended even the wonders of the " Arabian
Nights." But the famous " Regate," a specialty of
Venice, astounded him. At Venice were Lord Ossory,
and Mr. Beauclerk again, and Mr. Arden, a clergyman,
whose house he afterwards visited In England. Venice
was then a very wild and disorderly city, peopled with
adventurers of all sorts. When Garrick came away
his friends did not go with him ; they had fallen into
the hands of a gambling marquis and a Don Pepy, two
adventurers, who, in one night, stripped them of ten
thousand pounds. These were the days of costly
follies ; and fashion made the young Englishman of
quality the favourite victim. The scandal took wind,
and travelled all over Europe. He was now, how
ever, beginning to grow restless and eager for home
again. His heart was beginning to turn back to
Drury Lane. Even In his walks on the Rialto, he
fancied himself keeping an appointment with Pierre,
though, strange to say, not expecting to meet a Bassa
nio and Antonio ; for when the real Venetian nobleman
came by, dressed like an attorney in one of the
Spiritual Courts at York or London, the Shakspearean
spell was rudely broken. He was gettiag models of
Italian scenery made, and sending them home. He
was looking out for dancers. Above all, he was
naturally disquieted by the rumour of a star that had
risen up in his absence, and whose brilliancy was,
perhaps, magnified by distance. The name of this
star was Powell, the young fellow from the Spouting
Club, who, he heard, was now fascinating the town
with his Philaster, and passing from Philaster through
the whole round of parts. This alarming news trou
bled him. The success had been overwhelming. The

1763.] ON THE GRAND TOUR. 133
town was as " horn mad," as it had been in the old
delightful transport of Goodman's Fields. Tall, thin,
as he was, he was quite of the Barry order ; and his
voice in tragedy, went to all hearts, and drew abundant
tears. The pit stood up, and shouted, in spite of Foote,
who sat in the boxes on the first night, and affected to
jeer at the whole. Somehow, wherever there is an
act of grace, such as would be the welcome of a young
actor, or at the Shakespere jubilee later, those sneering
features are sure to be seen in the crowd.*
Garrick's uneasiness is plain to us. Yet he behaved
admirably, and with true magnanimity. In Garrick's
letter of advice to Powell, so often quoted, and his
anxiety about his " doing Alexander" and " playing
himself to rags," is. to be seen that very pardonable
dread which a really magnanimous mind often expor
riences, of being thought meanly jealous of a rising
competitor. He, indeed, wrote that he had no joy
in thinking of the stage, and affected to consider that
he was to be "baited" if he returned there. But his
heart, it is quite plain, was fluttering at the wings
of Drury Lane.
* When Digges first appeared at the Haymarket, this ungracious man was
again in the pit, and when the new actor came out as Cato, dressed in " gilt
leather and black," Foote's voice was heard, " in a pretended undertone " —
" A Roman chimney-sweeper on May day 1 " The laughter produced by this
"sally " had nearly shipwrecked the actor.

134 THE LIFE OF DAVID GARRICK. [1764-'

CHAPTER II.
PARIS.
1764—1765.
He stayed at Venice until the middle of June.
He filled in his time by ransacking the curiosity, and
booksellers', shops. He was writing dra'wlng-room
verses for the Marquise Ligneville. He was stIU
longing to be at home ; and nervous as to what
people were saying of him. Yet Mrs. Garrick's health
was still bad, and the sciatica so violent, that he could
not think of returning as yet. They had tried all the
fashionable and even absurd nostrums, then in vogue,
Baretti, whom he had met in Venice, asked him,
"Have you forgotten the black hen?" — the same
remedy that was prescribed for Sterne and SmoUett at
Montpelier. She had tried a Venetian plaster, but
fruitlessly ; and finally they both set off for the famous
mud baths of Albano, near Padua, and which Baretti
prophesied would certainly restore her.
The " mud baths" had the happiest effect, and she
was soon able to throw away her stick. By the
middle of August, they had got on to Munich, but there
he was seized with a dreadful bilious attack, which
kept him in bed for a month. Luckily he had an
English doctor near him, who kindly broke off his
own tour, to stay with him, and who gave him better
remedies, than the "flayed cocks" and "black hens"

1765.] PARIS. 13.5
of the foreign faculty. It wasted him to the last
degree, and we can see the famous Roscius, effective
even in his emaciation, described comically by himself:
— " I have lost legs, arms, belly, cheeks, &c., and have
scarce anything left but bones, and a pair of dark
lack-lustre eyes, that are retired an inch or two more
in their sockets, and wonderfully set off the parchment
that covers the cheek-bones." The wonderful eyes,
under such conditions, must have been like fiery coals.
Yet his strong constitution helped him over such an
attack; perhaps, too, his native good humour, cheer
fulness and buoyancy. He did not love to whine over
his sufferings. " You desired me to vsTlte," he says,
" and invalids wUl prate of their ailments." His
spirits sank very low, and he had a narrow escape,
indeed. In this state he wrote some lines genuine
in character, but very desponding in tone, and which
may be taken to be a faithful picture of his past life.
He called it " His own Epitaph : " —
" Though I in fraUty's mould was cast,
By passions hurried on.
Though aU my days in folly passed.
No crime has blackened one.
Some sins I had — for who is free ?
Of pride, few mortals less ;
Not those, I fear, who have, like me,
Small merit with success.
One pride_that -with myself shaU end.
That pride the world shall know,
Much-honoured Camden was my friend,
And Kenrick was my foe." *
But there was a more significant warning in his
having an attack of the malady, which was later to
carry him off: the malady which came of " full port"
and rich living, and which carried off so many men of
* HiU MSS.

13G THB LIFE OF DAVID GARRICK. [1764—
letters and delightful social gifts. He was ordered
the Spa waters — to " The Spaw," as it was caUed —
then, as now, one of the most delightful nooks of
Europe ; but the season was too far advanced.
During his iUness, two of his best friends .dropped
away, that Duke of Devonshire, to whom he was
so sincerely attached, and Hogarth. "The best of
women and wives," as he affectionately called Mrs.
Garrick, strove hard to keep such distressing news
from reaching his ears ; but the news of the first had
nearly "cracked" his nerves. He loved the painter
" In the greatest confidence." ChurchiU, too, was
dying at Boulogne. Voltaire, receiving all the tra
velling world at his little retreat at Ferney, had sent
him, as we have seen, a complimentary message.
Garrick, on his return, intended to turn aside, and
pay his homage at the shrine, but the serious Ill
ness that seized him at Munich, had weakened him
so much, that he dared not tarry on the road. From
Nancy he wrote his excuses to the ''''Roi Voltaire"
— in scarcely one of his happiest letters. A friend,
who later, was honoured with a seat beside "the King"
at dinner, said that it would be the best news in the
world for Mr. Garrick, to know that M. de Voltaire
was in good health, and that he hoped he might write
so. "No, no, sir," replied the host, "do not write
an untruth, but tell him, je suis plein d'estime pour
lui."* * P>ound the poetwere a whole circle of chattering nieces and nephews. Clairon
had just left, and the night before they had played one of the host's own dramas
at the private theatre. Every one was vociferating her praises, absolutely
dinning the ears of the Englishman. Voltaire sat in the centre, placidly
nodding now and again, and signifying his approval. The whole is one of
many characteristic pictures to be found in the bulky Garrick correspon
dence.

1765.] PARIS. 137
He reached Paris again, about October, 1764 —
in a very shattered condition. His pleasant French
friends could hardly recognise him, until he spoke.
But in the delightful Paris air, he began to mend at
once, to fill in, and grow round, until, in about a
fortnight, he could pass for a tolerable Frenchman. It
was wonderful indeed, how he got through ; for, as he
said humorously, he had been under no less than
eight physicians, two of whom had been Enghsh — one
perhaps Dr. Gem, of Paris. Three German and three
French doctors were indeed a variety of medical aid.
The French prescribed I' exercise de cheval, beaucoup
de dissipation, and the universal James's Powder —
which, curiously enough, was later to kill Sterne and
Goldsmith. Not much had taken place in his absence.
But there were letters waiting for him, with more news
of Powell's success — scarcely a pleasant medicine.
PoweU had gone from one triumph to another. Phi
laster was his great part, after which came Posihumus in
" Cymbeline." He then applied himself to study hastily,
and produce in succession, a whole round of characters
of which he knew nothing. It made no difference
— the crowds came — it was the fashion to go and hear
Mr. Powell, and there were even plenty to say, that
here was Mr, Garrick's successor, and that the loss of
that great actor was more than repaired. There were
plenty, too, to let him know of this good news. Now
Lacy, with an almost spiteful congratulation, recorded
as spitefully by Davies, bade him by no means abridge
his tour, but enjoy himself as long as possible away,
for the house was always crammed, and not even
" Mr. Garrick's own most principal parts had brought
more money."

138 THB LIFE OF DAVID GARRICK. [1764—
This was enough to trouble any mind. What man
of any profession, statesman, orator, lawyer, doctor,
thus comforted, and assured that another, in his
absence, had leaped up into his place, but would not
be disquieted and alarmed? He could scarcely be
expected to encourage enthusiastically, so dangerous a
rival, whose success was not partnership, but sure
dethronement. Powell had written to him, in the
midst of all this triumph, an exceeding modest and tem
perate letter, in which he acknowledged his obligation
to " his best friend. For you, sir, laid the foundation
of aU, by your kind care of me during the course of
last summer, and have put within my view the prospect
of future happiness for me, my wife, and little infants,
who are daily taught to bless your name, as the best
of friends." Garrick's answer was in the same excel
lent taste, and written in perfect sincerity. " The
news of your great success," he wrote to him from
Paris, " gave me a most sensible pleasure — the con
tinuance of that success will be in your o^wn power;"
and then begs that he will give leave "to an older
soldier " to hint a little advice, which he wUl answer
for being sincere, at least — " which in a brother actor
is no small merit." The gratitude of Powell for those
small hints had attached Garrick to him. "I have not
always met gratitude in a playhouse ; " a truth of which
he was to have yet more convincing experience, during
the next few years. Then foUowed his exceUent advice.
He was afraid that Powell's good nature to his brother
actors — thus delicately did he put it — had driven him
into too many characters, a little precipitately. How
ever, he had succeeded, and now was the time to
make sure, by .study, of the ground he had gained.

1765.] PARIS. 139
He warned him against clubs and flatterers. Should he
ever sink by idleness, " those friends who have made
you idle, will be the first to forsake you. When the
public has marked you for a favourite (and their favour
must be purchased with sweat and labour), you may
choose what company you please, and none but the best •
can be of service to you  But above aU, never let your
Shakspere be out of your hands or your pocket ; keep
him about you, as a charm ; the more you read him, the
more you will hke him, and the better you will act him.
One thing more, and then I will finish my preaching.
Guard against the splitting the ears of the groundlings,
who are capable of nothing but dumb show and noise.
Do not sacrifice your taste and feeling, to the applause
of the multitude. A true genius will convert an audi
ence to his manner, rather than be converted by them
to what is false and unnatural." Advice of inestimable
price, and more valuable than gold, to every player,
who should study, and take it to heart. And this was
all genuine and disinterested ; for though he was also
writing home, nervously perhaps, to know of Powell's
progress, what he said was all to the same effect. " I
am very angry with PoweU, for playing that detestable
part of Alexander ; eYerj genius must despise such
fustian. If a man can act it well — / mean, to please the
people — he has something in him that a good actor
should not have. He might have served Pritchard
and himself too, in some good natural character. I
hate your roarers. Damn the part. I fear it will hurt
him." Colman was Powell's friend, and all this would
of course be told to him. After Powell's letter had
reached him, he still said : " Powell's playing himself
to rags astonishes me. What can be the meaning of

140 THE LIFE OF DAVID GARRICK. [1764—
it. Damn Alexander, 0 horrible ! horrible ! Delane
got credit by that stuff. Damn it, I say again. Advise
him to study hard. I rejoice in his success."
Another might have conscientiously allowed the
new actor to go on in his own course ; and perhaps
might have found It his interest, to let him rant on,
until he had tired out the town. But Garrick had a
surprising control over all the meaner inclinations ;
and though he might have felt disquieted, and perhaps
a little jealous, which was only natural, had trained
himself, at any sacrifice, to do what was the right thing.
The result proved his wisdom. The banker's clerk,
after doing what he could, did illustrate the truth that
little gratitude was to be found in a playhouse.
Writing to his friend Colman, he himself, said Garrick,
had now lost all taste for the stage, and had grown
cold. But this was the Indifference of illness —
perhaps, too, a little petulance at the desire for his
return being not so loudly expressed, as he could have
wished. If the town wished for him, he said, he was
ready to be their humble servant again ; though she
was a " great coquette ; " and " I want youth, vigorous
youth, to bear up against her occasional capricious-
ness."* His horse exercise did him much good. Of his
friend's interest he was taking care. Colman had lost
• Here was the soreness, and again he hinted at the same thing. ' ' 1 find
by a poem of poor Churchill's, that the town is very angry at my leaving
them. They must be pleased again." — Forster MSS. But Churchill's com
pliments were two-edged. He had s.n,id, indeed : —
" Garrick abroad ! what motives can engage —
To waste one couplet on the barren stage."
But then, he added, that men of real sense
' ' Shall own thee clear, or pass an act of grace.
Since thou hast left a Powell in thy place.''

1765.] PARIS, lil
a couple of thousand pounds, by a wild baronet, called
Dashwood — whose profligacies and extravagances were
the talk of Paris. He was nervous about his money,
and thought of suing his debtor before the French
courts ; and Garrick took up the matter with an
ardour, and practical purpose, that is truly admirable.
He worked hard for this view ; secured the aid of Elle
de Beaumont, the famous advocate ; tracked the wild
baronet about Paris, who was "on his keeping" as it
were, and tried even to surprise him at the " Clalron's."
He was always indefatigable for his friends. Monnet,
the unlucky speculator in French actors for the public
of London, was bringing out an elegant Anthology,
and anxious to secure a market In London. His
friend, -thinking of doing him some good, wrote
earnestly home to Colman, to have a Paris letter full
of Items of news, Inserted in one of the daily papers,
in which the trumpet might be blown handsomely, —
and he actually took the trouble of writing a long
letter of news, in an assumed character, to bring in
this subject. It was characteristic of his nervousness
about popular opinion in London, that he should hint
to Colman to add a line about himself It might be
something in this key, he' said ; " Our little stage hero
looks better than he did." It might be grave, ludi
crous, or joking ; but mention of him there was to be.*
Colman took up the idea with an unfortunate ardour.
He represented the town and theatre as longing for its
Roscius. He "overdid it." Such delicate offices are
* This indiscreet but very natural, little proceeding is thus commented
on by Peake, Colman's biographer : "Jilas! dweUs there such little souls in
great men? Oh, Garrick, Garrick ! -that any man of true worth, whether fully
aware of his established fame or not. should forget the dignity of genius and
descend to this ! "

142 THE LIFE OF DAVID GARRICK. [1764—
indeed hard to execute. It was too full of praise ;
Garrick was scared. He was sure it would be set
down — and naturally so — to his inspiration. He said
— what was perfectly true — that he had never in his
life " praised himself knowingly." There was a comic
awkwardness, too, in the whole business. Garrick had
written to some of his friends, that he was thin enough
to go through the tumbler's hoop at Sadler's Wells.
The newspaper correspondent at Paris, speaking of
" our little stage hero," said the same thing. " The
Devil was in you to mention that," he wrote over, with
good-humoured impatience, at the likehhood of detec
tion. These tricks were an incurable weakness, and
attended his every social attitude. It was only " off
the stage he was acting."
Very soon he had converted French admiration
into the warmest friendship. Marmontel would sign
himself " the most tender and devoted of his friends,"
and had written some charming lines to him, in imita
tion of Churchill. He made the Marquis de Brancas
get up little dinners, on days named by Roscius
himself The finest company in Paris were invited
to meet him. The poet was even anxious that they
should go together in the same carriage. Naturally
Garrick was proud of such homage, from such a man,
and sent home copies of the letter. No less honourable
to him. Is the universal and affectionate popularity with
which he was regarded by men of this stamp ; and it is
a fresh proof of his wonderful sense and tact, that he
should have been able to triumph over English diffidence
and awkwardness, and over that French prejudice which
is disinclined to make any exertion whatever, to under
stand ; and thus converted Into firm and practical friends

1765.] PARIS. H3
an admiring society, not celebrated for sincerity or
warmth of feeling. Garrick, in a few weeks, was as
much at home as any trained Frenchman. Long after,
the traces of this intimacy remained. Diderot wrote
to him always as " cAer et amiable Roscius;" "My
dear Shakspeare ; " and there was a tone of affection
in all their souvenirs of him, which shows what a deep
impression he had left.
His intimacy, too, with these friends was of the
most pleasant sort. His good spirits, and the dramatic
turn of his humour, which took the shape of facial
imitation, and little social "buffooneries," were welcome
in company, where Cr6bIUon and Sterne, had made
their odd "convention." The tradition of the agree
able Englishman was long kept up, and many little
stories about him preserved. One of his friends was
De la Place, who edited the Mercure, and on this gen
tleman he used to "drop in" nearly every morning;
and, while the other went on with his work, would
" chat " very pleasantly. One morning, he found the
editor busy correcting proofs for a number, that was a
little late. Garrick offered to help, and sitting down
snatched up a sheet. He presently started up .with a
cry. He had discovered that the French verses he
was correcting, were a translation of some lines of his
own. The editor protested this could not be, as he
had taken them from an old portfolio, where he kept
" odds and ends," and that he himself had written
them a dozen or so of years previously. A very
amusing dialogue followed, which is a faithful picture
of Garrick's excited and dramatic conversation. The
editor said It must be a mere coincidence, to which
there were many parallels ; but the other protested

144 THB LIFE OF DAVID GARRICK. [1764—
against the ridicule to which its publication in Paris
would expose him in England. The editor sympathised
¦with his distress ; but the question was, what was to be
the remedy? " Mon cher Garrick," he said, " there is
no time to substitute another article, the press is
waiting ; and there is the cost  " — " I wiU pay it
cheerfully," said the actor, laying down two or three
louis d'ors on the desk. He went away delighted
and happy, to drive out with Baron D'Holbach. A
few days later, De la Place made up a little dinner " to
celebrate the winning of a wager," and invited Mr. and
Mrs. Garrick, Marivaux and Moncrif. They were to
have "green oysters," and '''' un chapon au gros sel."
Very soon the subject of the wager, and the name of
the loser were noisily demanded. " The subject," said
the host, " was a song." " And the loser ? " asked
Garrick. "Yourself," said the host. The company
were delighted at this little "niche," which had been
artfully prepared, in reprisal for some little tricks of the
same quality, which the English actor had been prac
tising. The song had been translated, and printed
expressly.* Allowing for a little exaggeration, we may accept
from the same authority another little social adventure.
He had told M. De la Place the story of Hogarth's
portrait of Fielding; the rather improbable story, of how
he had sat to the painter, and imitated the face of the
departed humorist. The engraving had come to Paris
as the frontispiece to the " works," and La Place told
it to a sarcastic Intendant, by whom it was received
* This story is to bo found in the entertaining " Pieces Intdressantes," col
lated by "M. D. L. P." — letters which stand for Monsieur De la Place— vol.
iv. p. 339.

1765] PARIS. 145
with incredulity. " I shall come and see you in the
morning," said the uitendant, "and you shall show
me this wonderful picture." De la Place detected an
intention of making, capital at his expense, became
alarmed, and went to his friend Garrick to concert a
plan. The next day, vphen the sceptical intendant,
his back to the fire, was scoffing openly at the legend,
and looking contemptuously at the picture, a solemn
voice came from behind a shutter, " Gaze now on the
real Fielding," and the amazed intendant saw before
him a living head, the original of the portrait he held
in his hand. The scene, we are told by the editor,
finished by all sorts of "compliments and embraces."
We see him in other directions, in an attitude as
significant and agreeable, leaning on the back of a
chair, at D'Holbach's, watching with absorbed interest,
while the quick, lively Abb^ MoreUet keeps up a
discussion, with animated and excited gestures. He
delighted in this Frenchman's warmth — and the little
"spasms" with which he illustrated his talk,* Mrs,
Garrick also came in for admiration, from the " gallant
nation," but it was ofthe most respectful sort. De la
Place called her a charmante Spouse, and considered
her one of the most captivating women in England ;
but adds, with characteristic ndivetS, " though entirely
devoted to her husband." In the letters that streamed
on him for years after, from these kind Parisians,
there were ever affectionate remembrances for her.
Monnet, who wrote the most marvellous English for a
Frenchman, would send his regards over and over
again, and all exhausted kindliness in the most delicate
* Morellet's Memoirs.

146 THE LIFE OP DAVID GARRICK. [1764—
and affectionate compliments. " Some will give for a
model," he wrote, "a Venus of Medici, and more a
Mistress Garrick ; and how justly, everybody knows it,
that was happy enough to see her." '''Mille respects et
fose le dire, mille sentimens d'affection a votre chere
Spouse," wrote the engraver Gravelot. In short, a
tone, amazing in the mouths of Frenchmen, and
clearly inspired by the deep respect and esteem they
entertained for her and her husband, prevailed among
all. Gibbon's message to her is worthy of being noticed,
not so much as an elegant compliment, but a true
testimony to this universal esteem. " May I beg to be
remembered to Mrs. Garrick ? By this time she has
probably discovered the phUosopher's stone. She has
long possessed a more valuable secret, that of gaining the
hearts of all who have the happiness of knowing her."
Sterne, who was at the TuUeries gardens, and saw
all their beauties, said she could annlhUate them " in
a single turn."
Her name became associated in an odd way with
the unfortunate Lally, who, just as he was setting out
for Pondicherry, dined at her apartment in Paris,
to meet a party of distinguished persons. Of the
company was an old officer, a bons mots, whose wit
was much relished, but sadly interfered with by the
tortures of a gouty rheumatism. Dming the dinner, he
was as often on the verge of crying, as of laughing.
Some one recommended him a strange remedy — " the
grease of a hanged person, to be well rubbed in ! "
Where was this to be procured? He was gravely
told, " at Chariot's, the hangman, who lives in the Rue
ViUeneuve." The party was gay, and it was proposed
to undertake a droll expedition at once, and visit the

1765.] PARIS. U7
executioner. Carriages were ordered, and Lally ac
tually carried off the old mUitaire, crying, shrieking,
and laughing, in his coach. Chariot received them
with all respect, gave them his grease, and then exhi
bited his " Cabinet of Natural History " — a collection
of ropes, gibbets, wheels, racks, &c., which were all
looked at ¦with great interest. He then went to a little
case, and pulling out a cord, showed it to Lally.
" The other things," he said, " are for the poor, the
low blackguards, and beggars ; but this would be for
you, my Lord, who are a person of honour." He
meant a comphment in his own way. The company
were greatly diverted, and no one so much as M.
Lally ; but not two years later, when the Governor of
Pondicherry had come home, and was executed, the
circumstance was recollected as an omen, and Garrick
in London was reminded of it.
The list that could be made out of his friends is
something wonderful. He was fortunate enough to
meet Beaumarchais, who called him his dear M.
Garike, and who paid him and Mrs. Garike, the com
pliment of saying, that they had both assisted him in
his " Barber of SevUle ;" she by her sourires fins,
Garrick by valuable hints for the management of the
business. That pf showing one of the characters
asleep, was his suggestion. Duels, the translator, con
fided to him that he was busy with his notorious
mangling of Shakspeare. With some affectation,
Garrick declined to meet the Abb6 Le Blanc, who had
written disparagingly of Shakspeare. Greuze, the most
delicate and airy of painters, offered to paint him
a picture, which, with the refinement with which
Frenchmen know how to enhance a present, was
1 2

148 THB LIFE OF DAVID GARRICK. [1764—
to reach him au moment que vous y penserez le
moins, A young artist took the trouble of painting a
whole series of theatrical portraits, including PrevUle,.
Clairon, Le Kain, &c., about a dozen in number; and
with much humility and hesitation sent them to him
in London, asking only an engraving of the actor in
return. PrevUle, Suard, and Goy, would sup toge
ther, toast their English friend, and talk over his
perfections. Riccoboni called him " the dearling of
her heart;" Favart, a pleasant and witty French
man, seemed really to love him ; and when the actor's
picture reached him (they all had Garrick hung up
in their rooms) he turned these pretty rhymes : —
" Est-ce toi, cher Garrick?. et I'art de la peiiiture
Offre-t-il k mes yeux le Roscius Anglois ?
Tu changes k ton gre, de forme et de figure :
Mais ton cceur ne change jamais !
Si I'artiste eut pH rendre, avec des traits de flamme,
L'amitiS, la franchise, et I'amour du bienfait,
Esprit, goiit, sentimens, genie, enfin ton §,me, —
J'aurois reoonnu ton portrait."
Which may be freely rendered, as follows : —
' ' This you, my dear Garrick ! the skill of the painter
Recalls the dear traits, with cunning so strange ;
You may change that bright face, its Unes may grow fainter,
But the heart that we love so, you n,ever can change.
Thy goodness and love, could the artist express.
Thy heart and its frankness —in colours of flame,
The aim of the painter we'd readily guess,
Aud caU out, at once, thy weU-cherished name ! "
These were not mere words of course, or French
lacquer. Gibbon, twelve years later — a space during
which the sparkling flames of French friendship might
have sunk down into ashes — still heard the salons
echoing with regrets and wishes for his return, and
sometimes heard them exclaim, with the good-
natured vanity which constitutes no unamiable part of

1765.] PARIS. 149
French character, *' ce Monsieur Garrick etoit fait
pour vivre parmi nous," All these good Frenchmen
sing in the same key, whether they write in their own
language, or struggle through comic English, and
invoke Shakspeare — or address their letters to " Sous-
ampton-st., k Londres " — or to "Ladelfi."
The French stage at this time was not flourishing.
The Opera House had been burnt down, and the
singers were playing at the TuUeries, in a " provisory"
salle, lent by the King. The year before, Sterne
had found them all "bewitched with the comic opera,"
and the taste still remained. In the more regular
drama the taste was for. the heavy classical drama,
based on heroic stories, and set out with stilted and
declamatory language — ^in feeble imitation of their
great models, Racine and Corneille. The French
Theatre, too, its actors, actresses, and their doings off
the stage, were now a large element of interest in Paris
society. Their quarrels, and almost indecent wrangl-
ings ; their scandals ; their battles with the Government ;
their iatrlgues ; were the dehght and gossip of the
town. But most eyes were turned to " the Clairon,"
the wonderful actress, a true power on the stage, and
whose waywardness, insolence, and extravagant be
haviour off it, piqued and at the same time amused
the crowd. Her open battles with her rival, DumesnU,
whom some preferred to her, must have reminded
Garrick of the old skirmishes at home between Clive and
Woffington. The airs of the two Frenchwomen ; their
caprices; theu* insolence; their "sulks," and sudden
"retirements;" their rentrees, quite as sudden; are
delightful to read, as they be now read in a minute
journal, which was kept for years, of all the Paris

150 THE LIFE OF DAVID GARRICK. [1764—
trifling and nonsense. It was welcome, to the public
that laughed at, and despised them. Like her friend
Garrick, she often practised the trick of sudden with
drawals and retirements, with a view of making her
absence felt. She was a great actress, and worthy of
her reputation. Though her figure was short, also
like Garrick, it was reinarked, that she appeared of
full height. Her voice was harsh, but she had
actually trained her audience to admire the strange
" glapissements," and "charnel-house" mouthings to
which she was partial. The motions of her head,
hands, and arms, were all full of dignity, and her walk
was majestic ; yet she was delicate, or given out to be
delicate, and even when attached to the theatre did
not perform often. Her picture was sent to Garrick
a few years later, and gives us a glimpse of what
acting on the French stage then was, and, indeed,
always will be. " Clairon," vrrote over a clever Dane,
¦with a wonderful command of language, "inspired
every passion, and, I daresay, felt none. . . . She goes
through a number of opposite feelings, soft melancholy,
despair, languid tenderness, raving, fury, scorn, and
melting love. She is wonderful at these transitions.
Where an Inferior actress, from an intense grief, would
at some lucky event, jump on a sudden, to a giddy joy,
she, though exulting ia her new-bom hopes, keeps
always the dark colour of sorrow. . . . She never puts
off the woman : in the midst of violent rage, she Is
always the tender female. . . . Yates should have
attempted this part of her acting, rather than throw
her arms akimbo. ... she has too much of the
virago, is never tender, never in love, sometimes of no
sex. Then a shrill cry, disagreeable like physical pain.

1765.] PARIS. 151
She is quite free from the tragical hiccup so epidemic
in France. When she beat her forehead with such a
cloudy look, and such a cry, we were aU aghast."
This is excellent and most skilful painting. The Du
mesnU was preferred by Walpole. She was not so
stilted nor so " grand" as the Clairon, but was more
versatile and natural. Her success was said to be
interfered vv^ith, by an almost habitual intoxication, and
at the wing, there was always a valet standing with
fatal refreshment. Of the men, there was the young
Mol^, who did the airy, dandy, Marquis to perfection ;
Dubois, strong in pathos ; Bonneval ; and DangevUle,
who played the country bumpkin, and the character
caUed Niais^ only known to the French ; and Armand,
who played the Valet of the old plays — like Garrick's
own Sharp.
Men of greater mark were Le Kain, Grandval,
and B elcour. The two latter were the regular jeunes
premiers, or rather the dashing gallants of the Eng
lish comedy; and it was remarked that their con
quests off the stage, gave them both a triumphant
and almost insolent air, in their own proper domain.
Le Kain was not then so famous as he was to become
later ; he had a wretched figure, and a harsh voice.
There were two parties, half the public thinking him
detestable and unendurable, the other half considering
him perfection. Last of aU, there was PrevUle, the
comedian, not of France, but of all the world, who,
by the way he affected Sterne, and all English who
saw him, must have been the most elegant and
comic of all actors, and the precursor of the modern
schools of the Lemaitres and others, who are to be seen
nowhere but on the French boards. The type, in

152 THE LIFE OF DAVID GARRICK. [17G4—
short, of the most exquisite comedy without "low"
buffoonery ; the most boisterous, yet regulated farce ;
the most active, yet the most tempered gesture ; the
wUdest play of voice and feature, yet without grimac
ing ; the height of comedy, with yet an undercurrent
of tragedy ; in short, that wonderful combination,
which reached its perfection in such marvellous acting
as the famous conception of "Robert Macaire" and
the " Gamin de Paris." But in the appreciation of
artists who are new to us, there is always a gradual
progress. Garrick at last grew to be enraptured -with
these great artists. The less critical Sterne had been
enchanted with this wonderful player. " PrevUle, thou
art Mercury himself! " Among Garrick's papers is a
sort of photograph of this actor, done with an exceed
ing nicety of touch ; and the mere description of this
surprising acting, is in itself entertaining to read.
" His face Is very round, and his features, when unani-
mated, have no marks of drollery. He is, though one
ofthe most spirited comedians I ever saw, by nature of a
grave cast of mind. . . . His eyes were rather of the
sleepy kind, and very happily express, with the raising
of his brow, and opening of his mouth, folly, confusion,
and amazement ; and when he is to be angry, he can
throw such a ridiculous vivacity into his eyes, that you
see a weak cowardly mind bustling up to a resolution
which he can never attain; and his anger subsides as
ridiculously as it is raised. In the Mercure Galant, he
took six parts. In the first he is a miserable, half-starved,
sneakiog compound of flattery and absurdity," &c.
Garrick's friendship with Madame Clairon strength
ened every day. The year before Vanloo had painted
her, a poet had written verses upon her, and both verses

1765.] PARIS. 153
and engraving had been published. It was now given
out that Mr. Garrick, her admirer, was having a medal
struck in her honour : and, as of course, verses were
sent round : ' ' Sur I'mimitable Clafron,
On va frapper, dit on,
Un medallion," &e.
He employed Gravelot, a famous artist, to design a
picture of the actress, representing her as Tragedy,
crowned by Melpomene, and leaning on a pile of the
works of French authors. It was his own idea. It
was caUed " The Prophecy," in allusion to a prediction
of her future greatness, made by him at his first visit,
and underneath was a quatrain from the same " hand,"
curious as French verses, written by an Englishman.
He wrote them do'wn after one of the Clairon suppers ;
they ran : — " J'ai pr^dit que Clairon illustreroit la sc^ne,
Et mon esprit n'a point 4ti degu ;
Elle a conronne Melpomfine,
Melpomdne lui rend ce qu'eUe en a reju."'
The foUowing year it came out ; and it is an
amusing instance of French sensitiveness, to find the
younger Crebillon complaining of a slight to his father,
in havhig his works put lowest in the pile of volumes
on which she was leaning. Yet these were Voltaire's,
Racine's, and CorneUle's. The Clairon admirers were
so delighted with this homage, that they formed them
selves into a society caUed " The Order ofthe Medal,"
with the portrait reproduced, and wore it at public
places. He himself had to sit over and over again. Car-
montelle's picture of him was a happy, and truly
French, idea. He represented the comic Garrick

154 THE LIFE OF DAVID GARRICK. [1764-
opening a folding door, and looking in at the tragic
Garrick. While he sat for this portrait, his behaviour
is described as being as entertaining as a play. He
very soon grew tired and impatient, and then amused
himself and "intrigued" the painter by wonderful
changes of countenance — passing imperceptibly from
sadness to gaiety, and from gaiety to the deepest gloom.
Other painters were often made the heroes of this little
scene. Two years later — time enough for him to have
passed from the minds of the French — his picture was
in aU the windows, pirated from Reynolds's well-known
allegorical picture. Only by an amusing blunder, it
was labelled ''''L' Homme entre le Vice et la Vertu."
Already Le Moine, the sculptor, was busy with his
bust, which was later regularly "pubUshed" in terra
cotta and other shapes. And another engi-aving of
him by Cochin, was afterwards sent out. These .are
certain testimonies of popularity.
Towards the end of March, 1765, he was reaUy
meditating his return, and stUl nervously putting
questions as to the pulse of the town: Were they
talking of him — calling out for him — or " cool about
their humble servant ? " But the doctors were firm —
loud against his ever appearing again. "/ have no
maw for it, at all. I must entreat you to be very
sincere with me." Here again, were more "tricks,"
and a sham unconcern. Still something should be
done to restore the credit of the house. He felt
too, he was able, "to play as weU as ever," but
stiU he neither " could, must, nor wiU." AU this
shows a very harmless and pardonable anxiety and
restlessness. The man who was the "Roscius" of
England and the " dear David Shakspeare " of Paris,

1765.] PARIS. 155
would naturally be anxious about his reputation. He
was growing more troubled about the accounts of
PoweU; — ^whether he had a hold on the town, to
which he could not be indifferent. TraveUers coming
to Paris reported to him that the new favourite was
" bawling " and " roaring." Was he " getting sense,"
or "turning topsy-turvy, like aU the rest?" This
nervousness is quite intelligible. It had begun to flash
upon him suddenly, that this popularity, combined with
the fancied indifference to his own return, was really
dangerous. A man of such mercurial humour was
hkely to write as he felt. This feeling at last took
such a curious hold of him, that he took an injudicious
step, and, as it proved, a very profitless one. On the
principle called the sifflet d succes, well known to the
French claque, of " hissing " a faUing singer, who
yet enjoys the respect of the audience, and thus pro
voking a reaction in favour, he had been busy at
a stupid satire on himself, which he hoped would at
least cause him to be talked of, and, rouse the dormant
sympathy of the public. He was at work writing
a poor pasquinade upon his own return, "The Sick
Monkey." It was meant to " intrigue " the town —
rouse friends and enemies, or at least make him the
subject of conversation. "Severe upon myself," he
¦wrote of it; but this was scarcely a fair description.
He reckoned curiously upon its effect, and he had
Gravelot to engrave a picture for it. It was a mar
vellous mystery, but " for Heaven's sake, all were to
take care and be secret I" Pie was rather pleased with
the notion, and " shall continue so," until undeceived.
There was a dreadful "hit " in it at Dr. HUl and the
CoUege of Physicians ; and the whole was to be kept

156 THE LIFE OF JJaVID GARRICK. [1764-
Iii the very darkest mystery and secrecy. Becket was
to print it, but not for the world to set his name to it, for
fear of giving a clue. Yet with all these preparations,
when the satire appeared, it excited no notice, and fell
"still-born." Such is very often the short-sightedness
of clever men. Even the letters home relating to the
matter were to be burnt carefully, for " fear of wetting
the powder of our squib," After all these precautions,
such a result must have been mortifying.
It was now come to Easter Sunday. He was
getting more and more eager to be in London. From
a passage in one of his letters, he would seem to have
been quite determined to resume as manager, not as
actor ; for Colman had been silent as to what he
thought was the state of the pubhc pulse. The London
public — like every other — was in truth indifferent, once
its favourite was absent. When Mr. Beauclerk reported
to him in Paris that when he saw Powell play last, there
was a falling off, we can almost detect a little relief,
under his anxiety, at the news. " Be sincere upon that
head," he writes. " What, all my children ! I fear
he has taken a wrong turn. Have you advised him ?
Do you see him ? Is he grateful ? Is he modest, or
is he conceited and undone ? " After all, this is but
human nature.
There were inducements still to keep him in Paris.
The Royal Princes were heaping him with honours.
His doings were of such interest, that it went round
that he was busy writing a play on the model of
PrevIUe's "Frenchman in London."* But it is sur-

* The lively French diarist, Bachaumont, took do-wn this rumour, on one ot
the little scraps of paper, which- went round -the saZoms. — See the amusing
Mevwires Slcrets, vol. ii., p. 178.

1765.] . PARIS. 157
prising that he did not wait to see the issue of a strange
scandal in his own profession, which broke out on the
eve of his departure from Paris, when the Paris coteries
had indeed something to gossip over.
A certain actor, called Dubois, whose chief claim
to merit was being father of a pretty actress, had, on
some legal quibble, refused to pay his doctor's bill. This
came to the ears of Clairon, who, sensitive as to the
honour of her order, roused all the comedians to resent
the disgrace. With all her wild doings, there was a
gallantry and sphit about this queen of the stage,
with which it is impossible not to sympathise. She
made them join in requiring his dismissal. But the
daughter had a patron in the Due de Fronsac, who ob
tained an order from the king that he should remain.
Then followed an extraordinary scene. When the
curtain was about to rise, the next night, all the
actors were in open mutiny. Mol^, Le Kain, Dau-
berval, and finally Clairon, refused to play. The
audience were thrown into a fury. There were shouts
heard of " Clairon to prison! " The police had to be
caUed in.
This foolish proceeding was welcomed by the town
with delight, now rather famished for want of real
nutriment. It absorbed all attention. Nothing was
talked of but this "affaire." All the engines of court
intrigue, ministers, back-stairs, royalty itself was
moved and worked on one side or the other; and
finally, it wiU hardly be credited, the leading actors
were summarUy arrested, and lodged in prison. Last
of all, the haughty Clairon was carried away by a
poUce officer, but went triumphantly to her jaU, in
the carriage of the wife of the Intendant of Paris. She

158 THB LIFE OF DAVID GAKRlCK. [1764—
protested on her way, that the king could do what he
pleased with her property and her life, with everything
excepting her! nour. The tcwn was delighted with
the wit of the lice officer, who was sitting opposite
her. " Vous ax ¦ bien raison, mademoiselle; ou il n'y
a rien, le Roi perd ses droits." The men actors soon
struck, except Le Kain and M0I6. One of them had
to make a humiliating apology to the audience ; every
night they were brought from prison to the theatre to
play, and taken back again after the performance. But
the indomitable Clairon held out, as indeed she weU
might, for her imprisonment was a triumph. Rooms
were sumptuously furnished for her. The road to the
prison was blocked with the lines of carriages, and she
gave the most charming little suppers.
Garrick had left about the 20th of April, and was
then almost at the " Table Royale " at Calais. We
may be certain, had he stayed, his advice would have
averted the storm. Mole, acknowledging his kindness,
and the interest he had taken in the affair, wrote from
his prison, to borrow two hundred louis — a rather
serious loan — a request that Garrick did not notice
for some weeks, when he would appear to have
written, offering assistance of an amount something
[ess. Le Kain wrote to him also ; each boasted of his
firmness, and talked loftily of sacrificing everything to
bonour. But they, too, soon made terms for them-
3elves, and the brave and Impetuous Clairon was the
only one that held out, and did battle with Court and
Ministers and the whole public. Soon, a prey to rage
a,nd fretting over her treatment, she fell sick, and had
to be released. She demanded her congS, and said she
would never act again. Ministers knew not how to

1765.] PAHIS. 159
deal with her, and indeed this contest with a ¦wilful
woman made them supremely ridiculous. She went
from one fainting fit to the other, ar''*^.'* her enemies
then maliciously sent round to her,'\; lat the great
Garrick, now in London, had told " F ladi HoUand "
that he preferred the Dumesnil's acting. She did not
believe the story ; her bitter letter to him, telling her
sufferings and her projects, is highly characteristic.
She said she was determined to sacrifice " her ven
geance " to that one motive, the enfranchising of her
profession from being subject to this degrading re
straint. Sooner than " give in, she was determined to
die — to bear all persecutions." She inveighed against
Mol^ and Le Kaui, who had betrayed her, — ^men for
whom she had begun the battle, and who had left her
to fight it out alone. Le Kain was under a load of
obligation to her — a pension she had procured for
him — an increase of salary for his wife, with many
more benefits. " Good-bye, dear friend," she closed
her letter with, "think of me sometimes; make your
dear wife do the same ; and come back to us as soon
as you can."* Garrick's reply was an offer of five
hundred guineas ! A princely generosity. Well might
Voltaire turn to his satellites, and ask if there was a
Marshal or Duke in all France, who would imitate
such an act.
Ministers were obliged to yield in this unworthy
struggle. She was allowed to retire to Geneva, where
was Tronchin, the great doctor. There she dazzled and
charmed Voltaire. But after this she never rallied in

* Yet with characteristic generosity, she forgot this treatment of her by
Mold, and later went about getting money for his benefit.

160 THE LIFE OP DAVID GARRICK. [1764—
health or popularity. The public found that she was
determined to try the device that her friend Garrick
had tried with his public, and by absence and coquet
ting make them miss her ; but she kept it up so long
that they forgot her. Then came neglect and mortifi
cation. She offered to play before the king as a special
favour, who sent her word that he was very well con
tent with the present actresses. Yet it is impossible
not to sympathise with her wayward but gallant spirit,
and her last letter to her true English friend is almost
pathetic, showing iUness, and hopelessness, and a
broken spirit.*
It was such natures as this that Garrick drew to
him, and such natures as this that could appreciate him.
Thus had he established his name, fame, and credit
in Paris. There he was long after thought of, re
gretted, and respected. PrevUle, the comedian, with
whom he had played droll freaks, both astonishing the
inhabitants, of villages near Paris, with a surprismg
imitation of drunkenness, which brought out Garrick's
criticism, that his friend was not " drunk enough
in the legs," long after thought of him, and Inquired
about him, and gave imitations of him, and talked fondly
over him at suppers, with Foote and others.| Yet from
PrevUle he later withdrew his friendship, on account of
a disgraceful life the latter was leading, and we can

* " Since April I have been daily between life and death ; and the day that
the Abb6 Bontemps handed me the gauze which your sweet wife sent me,
I was so bad I could not thank him. I can hardly see, hear, or move from
one chair to another. Death would be a thousand times less pitiable than
my condition. But my heart is still whole, and, filled with gratitude, loves
you both for ever and ever, mid longs but for one thing in this v:orld — somw
wny of proving it to you. M. Cailhava will tell you tlie rest. I can write no
more. Adieu.'"
+ Angelo's Memoirs.

1765.] PARIS. 161
read the Frenchman's contrite letter announcing re
form, and in warm terms imploring a renewal of the
old intimacy and friendship. A nature with such
influence must have been respected, as well as loved,
and Garrick might well look back to his stay abroad,
to the roll of friendships he had formed, to the briUiant
impressions he had left of himself, as a delightful
memory, honourable alike to his character and to the
profession of which he was the ornament.
But if he had made many new fi-iends, he was to
return, and find many gaps in the old ranks. Though
he followed his friend Johnson's wise counsel of "keep
ing friendships in repair," it was hard to supply the
place of a valiant henchman like Churchill, or of a true
and early friend, like Hogarth. He took infinite pains
with an epitaph for Hogarth, and I find among his
papers many attempts —
" If neither charm thee, turn away,
" For Hogarth's honest dust is here.''
" Hogarth, pride of both lies here."
Johnson was consulted. But he seems to have
condemned aU in a blunt, discouraging way, except
one happy expression — ^''pictured morals." Garrick
adopted all hints, cut away many stanzas, and as it
now stands the epitaph is above the average : —
" Farewell, great painter of mankind,
Who reached the noblest point of art.
¦Wliose pictured morals charm the mind,
And through the eye correct the heart.
If genius fire thee, reader, stay —
If nature touch thee, drop a tear —
If neither moves thee, turn away.
For Hogarth's honoured dust lies here."

102 THE LIFE OP DAVID GARRICK. [1765

BOOK THE SEVENTH.
THE MAN OF SOCIETY.
CHAPTER I.
EE-APPEAKANCK,— "THE CLANDESTINE MARRIAGE. "
1765—1768,
He was now in London once more, arriving, as the
newspapers gave out, on the afternoon of Thursday,
April 27, 1765. He was infinitely Improved both in
health, and spirits, and tone of mind, and from this time,
if we can detect less interest in the theatre, and In
plays, he seems to take a higher place in social life,
and, with the aid of his continental training, to assume
a leading part in all the coteries and clubs. From this
date, we begin to hear more of Garrick's esprit and
Garrick's ¦\\'it ; and, indeed, it would be impossible for
one to have come fresh from D'Holbach, and Diderot,
and MoreUet, without catching some of their pleasant
ways and manners. But he seemed fixed in his deter
mination not to play again. Some friends congratu
lated him on this resolve, others tried to dissuade him.
He spent the summer among his friends; now
with Mrs. Cibber, at Woodhay, who with her parrot
and her dogs, was eager that he and " sweet Mrs.
Garrick " should come to her. Her health Avas very
bad, but she looked forward to joining him at Christ
mas, and " entering the favourite mare Belvidera,"

1766,] HIS REAPPEARANCE. 163
an entry that was never to be made. Burke, too, was
eager for his company, promising him true farmer's
fare — fowls from his own poultry yard, and beef of
his own rearing — early hours, boUed mutton, drowsy
conversation, and a little clabber mUk.
"I congratulate my dear David," wrote Hoadly,
" on coming to a resolution, and, however the pubhc
may suffer, hope you wUl continue to enjoy the sweets
of retirement with "your sweet woman." But he did
not know David well — nor, indeed, human nature — if
he fancied such congratulations could be accepted with
pleasure. Friends, who knew the actor better, were at
work. The King, with whom he always kept up a
sort of relation through friends about the Court, was
induced to make a most flattering remonstrance, and a
request. Mr. Garrick must not retire. Would he not
appear again at his Majesty's request? This Avas,
indeed, a compliment, and was duly pubhshed abroad.
Mr. Garrick could not refuse his sovereign. He gave
way. But he took a judicious step before his rentrSe :
he carefully reviewed such characters of his where
Powell had made a reputation, and discarded any in
which he found himself weak, retaining only Lusignan,
Lothario, and Leoii. Another would have entered in a
wild competition, and disdained the notion of inferiority.
Then came the new season, and he once more opened his
theatre on September 14th, with " The Beggar's Opera."
As he looked back, towards the close of his life, to
many distant nights of triumph and glitter, on none
could his thoughts have rested with such pleasure, as
that fourteenth of November ; when the King sat in
the royal box, and the house was crammed to the
ceiling, all London having come to see their favourite
M 2

164 THE LIFE OF DAVID GARRICK. [1763—
reappear, after his long absence and travels. The
tumult of welcome that greeted hitn, the plaudits sus
tained and gradually swelling into shouts, then an
unusual form of welcome, must have told him what a
hold he had upon their hearts. Such approbation,
now grown tolerably cheap, had then a double value.
He remained silent for a time — then advanced and
spoke, with infinite point and gaiety, some lines he had
written to introduce himself They are in that vein
of personality which, even when it has its own speaker
for an object, is scarcely in the best taste, and must
lessen respect. But the archness of his manner, and
roguish play of feature, carried all off, and kept the
audience in one flow of merriment.

(I c

I am told, — what flattery to my heart — that you
Have wished to see me — nay, have pressed it, too.
I, like a boy who long had truant played.
No lessons got, no exercises made.
On Bloody Monday takes his fearful stand,
And often eyes the birchen-sceptered hand,
*****
A very nine-pin, 1 my stage life through.
Knocked doum by wits, set up again by you.
In four-and-twenty years the spirits cool ;
Is it not long enough to play the fool ?
To prove it is, permit me to repeat
"What late I heard, in passing through the street,
A youth of parts, with ladies by his side,
Thus cock'd his glass, and through it, shot my pride.
' 'Tis he, by Jove !— grown quite a clumsy feUow ;
He's fit for nothing but a Punchinello ;
0 yes, for comic secrets — Sir John — ^no further ;
He's much too fat for battles, rapes, and murther. '
Worn with the servioe, you my faults wiU spare.
And make allowance for the wear and tear.
The Chelsea pensioner, who, rich in scars.
Fights o'er in prattle aU his former wars,*
Though past the service, may the yoimg ones teach
To march, present, to lire, and mount the breach.

' * Is there not here a hint of auother pensioner, who " shoulders his crutch,
and showed how fields were won ? "

1766.] HIS RB-APPBARANCB. 165
Should the drum beat to arm's, at first he'll gi-ieve
For wooden leg, lost eye, and armle.ss sleeve,
Then cooks his hat, looks fierce, and swells his chest —
'Tis for my King ! and, zounds ! I'll do my best."
There is good spirit in these lines, and the "hit" at
the close, with the King himself looking down from
his box, must have awakened enthusiasm.
The curtain then rose on the first scene, " Much Ado
about Nothing," with Miss Pope as Beatrice, and, in a
moment, it was seen that there was not the least ground
for that assumed consciousness of decay. On the con
trary, it was perceived, that in ease and elegance, and
in an unaffected and natural manner, he had gained im
mensely by the influence of French habits and French
acting ; and above all, that he had now lost that rather
anxious look of expectancy, and waiting for applause,
which usually attended on the close of one of his
" points." For more than ten nights — for prologues
were repeated like plays, — this prologue had to be
given.* That two years' withdrawal had shown his wisdom.
The spectacle of em.pty benches, which had driven
him away, was never 'to disturb him again; the old
charm was restored, and henceforward, to the hour of
his retirement, when the ordinary attraction began to
fade, the name of Garrick in the bills was the certain
spell to conjure a crowded house. The town was
" half mad to see him," Sir George Beaumont told
* Mrs. Cibber's letter, p. 207 of the first vol. of the Garrick Letters. He
had written to her on that very day, and that charming woman had been
in a flutter all through it. One might be inclined to think he had asked her
to pray for him. "I assure you," she writes, "you were the subject of my
thoughts and discourse the whole day, and at six o'clock, when the play
was beginning, I obeyed your commands." He had looked forward with
natural nervousness- and apprehension to the scene : but this uproarious
reception, and above all, the open approbation of the king, had reassured him.

160 THB LIFE OF DAVID GARRICK. [1763—
Mr. Rogers; and men of condition would bribe the
attendants to admit them privately, before the doors
were opened, to avoid the terrific crush.*
During his absence, the Covent Garden Fund had
been established for the benefit of decayed players.
It was given out that he was highly indignant at
such a step being taken, without his being consulted
— he, who was at the head of the profession. Davies
reports, with satisfaction, that the players were glad
to retort on him, that they had made so many un
successful applications to the management of Drury
Lane, that they were noAV obliged to depend on them
selves. It does not seem very clear what the manage
ment of Drury Lane had to do with Covent Garden
players ; but it Is more than probable, that Garrick's
good sense preferred a scheme that would have em
braced the whole profession ; and on such a scheme It
would have been decent to have consulted him. They
were only too glad to pass upon him this little slight.
A similar plan was set on foot for Drury Lane,
not by way of challenge or rivalry, but deliberately ;
for it took many years to settle the details. He was
unwearied in his exertions, and played for its benefit
very regularly. He and his partner gave a handsome
contribution by way of commencement. He paid the
cost of an act of Parhament. He presented it with
some houses In Drury Lane as a place of meeting, —
took them back again for a handsome sum, when it was
found that money would be more welcome, — and once
more bequeathed them back to the fund, by his wiU.
His last long-remembered performance was given for
"^ They were directed to appear iu much heat, wiping their foreheads so as
not to excite suspicion.

1766.] HIS RB-APPBARANCB. 167
Its benefit. His return to the profession, to which he
was not ashamed to show his gratitude, was thus really
magnificent ; and it was computed that the value of his
donations amounted to nearly £5,000.*
He had added to his forces two excellent recruits —
Dodd and Mrs. Fitz Henry ; and his next venture was
a revival of Wycherly's " Plain Dealer," which was
prepared for the stage by Bickerstaff. By cutting away
about half, it Avas brought into some sort of maimed
shape ; though the humours of the Widow Blackacre,
as given by Mrs. Clive, carried it through — in spite,
too, of the absurdity of Yates, who had acted at
Ipswich, Avhen Garrick first came out, playing a youth
of seventeen.
Mrs. Cibber's fond anticipation of entering the mare
Belvidera, was not to be fulfilled. She had been play
fully rallying him as to " all their amours " being ended,
but she did not think the real end was so near. She
just played Avith him, for the last time, as Lady Brute,
and a few days later, fell ill and dled,| No Avonder
Garrick said that tragedy was noAV dead on one side.
A month earlier, another great actor had passed away,
and the stage lost the last great pUlar of the old
" exploded " classical style. Quin,:j: long since retired,
* At the other house there was not the same success or harmony. The
actors would not trust the manager, and the manager in return refused a free
benefit to the fimd. The two funds were later wisely put together, and their
amoimt at present is about 60,000?., which, under judicious management,
ought to be a handsome provision foi' the "decayed" actors. Yet there
appear to be restrictions, which interfere with the efiiciency of administration,
— as membership for some years, before becoming entitled to the benefit, and
no admission to the guild after 40 years of age.
t On the 30tli January, 1765. Murphy says the 31st; a trifling mistake
for him,
t Murphy is as usual inaccurate, and contradictory. He says Quin fol
lowed Mrs, Cibber, in the month of March, (two mistakes, for he preceded her,
and died in January) ; and later says, they both died in January,

]C8 THE LIFE OF DAVID GARRICK. [1765—
and given up to the enjoyment of venison and claret-r
made welcome at Chatsworth — was (in the favourite
histrionic quotation) "to shuffle off this mortal coU."
They had several times met at Chatsworth, where
they had been invited, to use Davies' bombastic lan
guage, " to fill up the large cup of social happiness
which the noble owner proposed to enjoy, in the com
pany of his friends." In the evening, when they were
left alone, a warm inquiry after Mrs. Garrick renewed
old friendship, which intimacy Garrick never aUowed
to slacken. From that date he was often to be found
at Hampton, where he found excellent claret ; and was
always chosen for a visit to the cellar, to select a good
bottle of Burgundy. Garrick had his picture painted
for his own collection. And when Garrick was doAvn
at Bath, racked with gout and endless disorders, he set
himself to labouring out an epitaph for his friend,
which, it must be said, reflects the dulness and languor
of the sick room.* These were now early, but gentle,
reminders for Garrick.
Yet he was now scarcely established at home when
his old theatrical worries were to set in ; and as a
matter of course the one that harassed him was to be
a friend. If there was one, who, even at the cost of personal
sacrifice, was bound to give him peace at least, Colman
was certainly the man. Garrick had laid him under a
hundred obligations. To him had been sent from

¦* Plenty of Quin's jests are to be found in the regular coUections, but the
following are not so weU known. When he .was put to sleep at an inn with a
clergyman whose linen was not very clean, he said — " 'What ! are you coming
to bed in your cassoci, parson?" And his saying to the turnspit who had
^shirked his duty, and obliged his master to procure auother to roast the meat
— "Ah ! you must keep a curate too."

1766.] HIS RE-APPEARANCE, 169
abroad the gayest and most amusing letters ; for him
had been sho-wn affection in a hundred little ways.
Before he quitted England, Garrick had often talked
with his friend over a scheme for a comedy — a joint
stock production ; the name of which would seem
to have been settled, even before it was Avritten. Upon
his travels Garrick took portions of it with him. His
amusements interfered with business, and he could not
lay his mind to the task. But, from abroad, he en
couraged Colman to go on.
A marked character, which has become one of the
figures of dramatic literature — that bit of true comedy,
Lord Ogleby — was originally designed for Garrick.
And, indeed, it seemed that no one but Garrick could
have given such good effect to the good-humoured old
beau, so full of ardour for the sex, so checked in his
advances by sudden twinges of gout and rheumatism.
A creation that reads delightfully ia days of barren
character and feeble touching, — a figure, which we
can see and hear, and laugh at heartily. Garrick,
however, had formed a resolution of appearing in no
new character ; and when the piece was ready for
Drury Lane, and Drury Lane for it, informed Colman
that he could not undertake the part.* Nothing was
more characteristic of Garrick's nature than these little
struggles, of which some very trifling occasion was the
reason. Insensibly, as pressure was put on him, they
gradually magnified, and grew beyond all proportion.
The fact that others began to attach an undue im
portance to it, from his unexpected opposition, contri-
* It has been thought that Garrick's reason for declining to play it, was its
likeness to Chalkstone ; but when it was acted, this was not made an objec
tion.

170 THE LIFE OF DAVID GARRICK, [1765—
buted to this odd effect ; and thus, from constantly
turning over this question, whether he should play
Lord Ogleby or not, it began to appear to him a very
serious one indeed, and at last he finally made up his
mind and declined.
Colman was indignant at this refusal, and returned
to Bath in dudgeon. He affected to consider that
Garrick had pledged himself, and burst into a whole
catalogue of grievances. Garrick was much hurt.
When Colman returned, good-natured friends came
and reported real or fancied speeches of Garrick, and
inflamed the breach ; and some expression of the actor's
claiming a share in the joint labour, touched his vanity,
and raised a controversy, which has been often debated
since, and never satisfactorily settled.
Offended at Colman's behaviour, Garrick had said
to a friend Avho was talking of his refusal to take the
part — '' Colman \&j^ great stress upon his having
Avritten Lord Ogleby for me. Suppose it should come
out that / wrote it?" The other was indignant,
not so much at the claim of authorship as at the
betrayal of their respective shares in the work. Col
man, indeed, OAvns that he had seen elements of true
comedy in the picture long before he came to know
Garrick ; but these were not the elements noAV found
in the " Clandestine Marriage." When we read the
play, it is surely the image of Lord Ogleby that Ave
take aAA^ay, and Lord Ogleby Is Garrick's work. We
have his own statement for this, for he told his friend,
Mr. Cradock, that he had taken the Idea froni a
humorous old gentleman doAvn In Norfolk. Colman
the younger, indeed, says that his father had told him
that " it was not true, and that he Avrote the whole of

1706.] HIS RE-APPBARANOE. 171
Ogleby' s first scene," one ofthe best oi Lord Ogleby s.
How little the younger Colman's advocacy is to be
depended on, may be seen by quoting his father's own
words to Garrick : — " It is true, indeed, thfit by your
suggestion Hogarth's proud lord was converted into
Lord Ogleby, and that, as the play now stands, the
levee scene at the beginning of the second act, and the
whole of the fifth act are yours." Now the "lev^e
scene" is " Ogleby's first scene," and thus the father
unconsciously disposes of his son's advocacy. He
adds, too, that in the conduct and dialogue of the
fourth act Lord Ogleby has " some obligations " to
Garrick. A more satisfactory proof is, that a sketch of
Lord Ogleby, but no more, had been already given in
Garrick's own farce of " Lethe ;" and it was natural
that Garrick should wish a character which had been
so successful, to have a Avider field. In the " Clandes
tine Marriage," there is a good caricature of a Swiss
valet, Avho flatters his lordship skilfully and says,
" Bravo, bravo, my lor'," at judicious openings, AvhUe
Lord Chalkstone also has a henchman called Bow
man, who flatters, too, and says " bravo " at openings.
In "Lethe" also, there are allusions to the vulgar taste
for ornamental gardening — ^the serpentine walks and
" capabUities" of a city-like paradise, Avhich was a hit
at " CapabUity BroAvn," the great ornamental gardener
of his day. The same hint is carried on into the
"CIt's" character in the "Clandestine Marriage," and
very amusingly developed. But Ave might go further.
This proof of Garrick's authorship is entirely taken
from Colman's vIcav of the case. Mrs. Heidlebei'g, is
the other great part of the play : and Cautherly, an
actor, who v^a'ote out parts for the theatre, told

172 THE LIFE OP DAVID GARRICK. [1765-
Reynolds that this was Garrick's work also. Com
paring their "plans," it may be admitted that Gar
rick's was not so full as Colman's, yet there are
strokes in Garrick's much nearer to the condition of
the play, as It now stands, than in Colman's.*
So much for the conception and character of the
piece. But coming to the mere writing, we can settle
their shares. They really divided the work pretty
equally between them. Colman wrote the first act;
Garrick the " strong" scene of the second act, and more
than half the act ; Colman the third act, and a portion
of the fourth ; Garrick the remaining portion and the
whole of the fifth act.f In fact, Garrick's share, is the

* Garrick's was published in the "Observer" newspaper long after his
death, and extracts from it will be found in Mr. Forster's enlarged "Gold
smith." Colman's was produced by his son, in the heat of controversy. It
is amusing to see the workmanlike way in which the two plans are " blocked"
out. Garrick's list of characters is as foUows : —
" Garrick, an old beau, vain, &c. ; Yates, his brother ; O'Brien, his nephew;
King, an old and talking servant of Garrick's ; Clive, an aunt of the two sisters ;
Bride, the elder ; Pope, the youngest — a fibbing, mischief-making girl ; Brad-
thfiw, an old flattering toad-eater of the aunt's."
The names of the actors are put for those of the characters, whioh had not yet
been fixed upon ; besides, as the parts were "written up " to the players, by
this plan the author would have them before him as he wrote. Colman's hst
ran : —
" GaiTick, Earl of Oldsap, an old lord who fancies every woman in love
wdth him, which idea influences his odd behaviour, &c. ; Traflic, a rich mer
chant of the city — he talks of aU elegancies, and in the most vulgar style ;
and Mrs. Clive, something of the same sort in petticoats ; only that he is
hearty and rough in his manner, and she aff'ects to be delicate and refined ;
her dialect is particularly vulgar, aiming at the same time to be fine, not by
murdering words in the sUp-slop way, but by a mean twang in the pronuncia
tion, as qualaty, famaly. "
As 1 have mentioned, no argument can be founded on this plan of Colman's ;
as from both being nearly alike, aud both having an air of originality, it is
plain that it was only putting on paper what had been talked over between
them. f He writes from abroad : "I have not yet written a word of the fourth or
fifth act ; but I am thinking about it."' When he had returned, he wrote from
Hampton : "I have read the three acts of the comedy, and think they wiU
do special well ; but why did you not finish the first act as you would have
it?"

1766.] HIS RE-APPEARANCE. 173
two great characters of the piece, the humours those
characters give rise to — the capital lev^e scene, the
amusing garden scene, and the bustling night adven
ture, which wound up the play so triumphantly; in
short, aU the bright portions. Colman supphed aU the
sober "business " — the steady mechanism — which was
to help forward the movement of the piece. To
which then must we assign the leading share and
credit ? And yet Colman was not only prepared to
assume the entire responsibihty of the whole, but
could have the effrontery to give out " that he wrote
Lord Ogleby for Garrick." On the other side, having
taken this large share In the composition, Garrick had
actually arranged that Colman was to have the whole
credit of the play ! — a compliment that Colman had
allowed himself to accept with the salvo, that it was to
be "a means of perpetuating and strengthening the
connection between them." It was to be acted as
Colman's, and it was only when revised and published
in bookshape, that Garrick's name was to appear. I
doubt if ever this part of the arrangement would have
been carried out, and that as Townley had the credit
of " High Life Below Stairs," so Colman might have
enjoyed all the honours of that capital comedy.
But when he heard that Colman was going about
abusing him for not acting the part, " he, Colman,
had written for him," he was naturally annoyed, and
had then said, " What would you say if /had written
the part?"* The quiet logical way in which the

* It is eminently characteristic of the character of both nien, that when
Colman was in Paris he gave a copy of the play to Favart, the poet, as his
own work, without mentioning Garrick's share ; while to Madame Riccoboni,
in the very same week, Garrick had modestly described his share as a mere

174 THE LIFE OF DAVID GARRICK. [1765-
manager disposes of the angry, peevish author ; shows
hira that he had been Avrong; then forgives all, and
sets himself to bringing out of the play in the best
way he could; is admirable. But Colman's great
complaint of Gan-Ick Avas his having declined to
play in the comedy. Even on Colman's showing. It
amounts to no more than this ; not that he had pro
mised to play, but that he had not said he Avould not.
"In all our conversations," says the "peevish" dra
matist, " did you ever tell me that if you did return,
you would never play in a new piece ? Did you not
often regret the want of a performer for this character ;
and did I not often express my hopes that you might
stiU perform it ? Did you throAv cold water on these
hopes, by any other manner than saying you did not
believe you should play at all?" This refusal was no
Avhim. He had really determined to take up no new
part ; he felt he was too advanced to run any risk,
and he was noAv beginning to suffer acutely from the
painful malady, which gave him little rest. Anything
like the fatigue of rehearsal, Avas sure to bring on a
crisis. This Avas the true reason, and not the far
fetched motive of a vindictive desire to annoy, which
the sensitive and petulant natures about him credited
him with. He had really denied himself; and much
as he admired King's reading, he afterAvards said, "it
Is not my Lord Ogleby," and seemed to hint that he
could give a more striking version. And thus Garrick
— foremost of actors, and pleasant man of society —
may fairly add to his reputation the praise of being the
"touch of the fingers!' It was said later, that the leading characters were
taken from an obscure farce of Townley's, which was only acted one night,
and never printed. But of this there is no proof.

1766;] HIS RE-APPEARANCB. 173
author of one of the most spirited pieces of the last
century. For Colman "to withdraw" a piece, written under
such conditions, was almost ludicrous. Yet when
both met in " Johnson's parlour," Garrick, having now
heard of Colman's complaints and unkind speeches
about him in the interval, took another tone, told him
plainly that the comedy -must be treated entirely as his
own, and be brought forward at the present season, or
not at all. " Should I not rather accuse you of using
me in a strange manner by withdrawing the piece which
I had a share in, and upon whose appearance I reck
oned? I have ever," he Avrote admirably, " thought of
you and loved you as a faithful and affectionate friend ;
but surely your leaving London so abruptly, and leaving
complaints of me behind you, was not a very becoming
instance of your kindness to me ; and if I betrayed any
warmth in consequence of your conduct, such warmth
was, at least, more natural and excusable than your
own. Your suspicions of my behaving in a manager
like manner, before you went to Bath, are very un
worthy of you. I never assumed the consequence of
a manager to anybody (for I know that fools niay be,
and that many fools have been, managers), much less to
one Avhom — I leave your heart to supply the rest." A
lady friend of Colman's had taxed Garrick with his
great obligation to the writer; and alluding to that,
and to an allusion in Colman's letter to a past service,
he says, charmingly — " Having heard since of her
great warmth in our affair, I OAvn myself surprised,
and would wish, for both our sakes, that no account
courant (as there ought to be none in friendship) may
be produced on either side." With such a nature it

170 THE LIFE OF DAVID GARRICK. [1765—
was Impossible to quarrel, and the matter was speedily
made up.
He was very busy with a dramatic epUogue for the
comedy — a little drama in Itself; and on the morning
of Christmas-day, while sitting in his pew, hstening to
the clergyman, owned that he had been busy making
seasonable verses in honour of his friend — warm and
sincere lines, the best commentary on which was his
own behaviour : —
" May Christmas give thee all his cheer.
And lead thee to a happy year !
Though wicked gout has come by stealth,
And threats encroachment on my health ;
Though stUl my foes indulge their spite
And what their malice prompts wOl write ;
Though now to me the stage is hateful
And he who owes me most ungrateful ;
Yet think not, George, my hours are sad —
Oh ! no, my heart is more than glad !
That moment all my care were gone.
When you and 1 again were one.
This gives to Christmas aU his cheer.
And leads me to a happy year ! "
When later Foote met with his dreadful accident ;
Garrick, offering every service ia his power, until he
should be well, took care to mention specially, how
his "friend Colman has particularly shown his regard
to you," in feeling and lamenting his misfortune. He
had not miscalculated the effect of his message ; for
Foote wrote back, filled with gratitude and thanks, to
Mr. Colman " for his friendly feelings." And it was
this delicate and considerate kindness, always most
active when his friends were absent — this perfect
loyalty^ — that was the charm of Garrick's character.
It was determined that King should be the Lord
Ogleby — for him a fortunate choice, for with his name
the part has become identified. He at first declined

1766,] HIS RE-APPEARANCE, 177
it, but it was pressed upon him. Garrick, it is said,
took the opportunity of insinuating his own view of
the character in various private interviews, and finally
fixed a day for a rehearsal in his own parlour, when
King went through it, but after a manner of his own,
which extorted Garrick's admiration as perfectly
original, and far better than any mere imitation of
him. -But Garrick always regretted the chance he had
allowed to slip from him, and his eyes often turned
back wistfully to the part.
On the 20th of February the comedy was brought
out. Garrick himself opened the night with a pro
logue, in which he alluded to the recent deaths of
Quin and Mrs, Cibber. Then the play began. The
house was filled with the friends of the two authors ;
and as there was a great masquerade that night at the
Pantheon, many of the company in their zeal came
with portions of their fancy dresses on, under their
coats, and left other portions at neighbouring taverns
and coffee-houses, to be put on after the play. Yet
danger was expected. The first act passed over with
out interruption ; but in the second, when the Swiss
valet said there was nothing in the papers but Anti-
sejanus and advertisements, a storm broke. Anti-
sejanus — a well-known clergyman — called Scott, whose
employer was Lord Sandwich, was sitting in the
boxes ; and when some one in the pit jumped up, and
pointing to him, called out, " There he is ! turn him
out!" a perfect storm arose. The clergyman, who
was six feet high, stood up defiantly in his place, and
looked down contemptuously at the crowd. This
episode had nearly shipwrecked the play. But King's
Lord Ogleby put every one in good humour. Th§

178 THB LIFE OF DAVID GARRICK. [1765—
tradition of it is stIU kept ahve. Wherever Lord
Ogleby has been played — unhappily but rarely — it is
acted as King performed It. There is a picture of him
which represents the stiff, ungainly nobleman with
hard wooden, heavy cheeks, a languishing ogle in his
old eye, a Avig with a comic curl over his forehead,
dressed in finery, and taking a pinch of snuff with
an air of exquisite dandyism. In the course of the
play there Avas another rock — a scene between the
lawyers, which has some humour, but which excited
murmurs, from the same nicety that caused Goldsmith's
humorous bailiffs to be objected to. Anything like
broad, open, healthy humour Avas reckoned "low," and
"the lawyers," like the bailiffs, had to be very much
cut down.
In the last act, too, so many alterations had been
made, up to the very last moment, that the players did
not know what they were to say, or what to leave out;
and the "business " became a mass of confusion. There
Avas a deal of rushing in and out, from bedrooms, &c. ;
but the energetic "Pivy" Clive, who to the last was
full of spirits and animal motion, came bustling on,
and threw such life and vigour into the scene, that she
restored the day, and brought the piece triumphantly
through. In his epilogue he determined to satirize the new
popular fancy for English opera, which had grown up
in his absence, and had taken serious hold of the
public. Yet a taste that brought out such fresh
Enghsh music, and such truly characteristic dramas
as "Love in a ViUage" scarcely deserved such ban
tering. Mrs. Quaver asks, "Pray do you know the
author. Colonel Trill ?"- — (here was Garrick's old system

1766,] HIS RE-APPEARANCB, 179
of self-depreciation once more) — and the "first lady"
whispers him, which makes Lord Minim break out,
"What, he again! And dwell such daring souls in
little men?" After that first night it had a great
success, and ran for many nights.*
Kenrick attacked it openly ; Hawkesworth Avas
gentle with it; and Johnson good-naturedly sent
down to Bath, to Garrick, a . refutation of Kenrick's
review. Even Davies, the bookseller, and friend of
Garrick, had his little sling ready, and from a private
corner abused the play as fuU of "vulgarisms," which
only made Garrick smile. Now turned bookseUer, the
former actor had made his shop a sort of rendezvous
for all who disliked the manager ; and there, as Gar-
* The town, as usual, was to indemnify itself with a joke, and made merry
at the joint authorship. The " Monthly Eeview " alluded pointedly to Tate
and Brady, Stemhold and Hopkins, and other noted collaborateurs, while
newspaper wits made rhymes on them as a new Beaumont and Fletcher ; —
" F. — I'U treat the town once more.
B. — Agreed ; we'll join ;
Come, I'll club water, you shaU furnish wine —
Half gentleman, half manager, half play'r,
Of wit alone must I possess no share ?
We're fairly match'd, so dapper and so small :
But mount me on your shoulders — 0, how tall.
* * ^ * *
F. — But what's the human character and plot ?
AVit, incident, intrigue.
B. — No matter what,
Harry is all : war — thieves — run in and out,
No matter what the bustle is about.
Your connoisseur shall furnish quaint remarks
Onmodern taste, plantations, buUdings, parks,
' Jenny's Country Visit ' shaU supply
Your piece with sterUng humour, so wiU I.
My favourite Chalkstone, ready cut and dried,
ShaU hobble forth with Bowman by his side,
*****
But now, let's search the room. That's to my wish,
Those prints there — ' Hogarth's Marriage ' — take 'em.
P.— Pish !
B. — See here a lord, a cit, a modem wife,
A rake, a lawyer, painted to the life.'' N 2

180 THE LIFE OF DAVID GARRICK.
rick well knew, were hatched half the Ul-natured stories
about him.
It is impossible not to read this little history without
seeing how much it is to Garrick's credit in every
part. "If either of us," he wrote affectionately to
Colman, " had the least ingredient of some of the
mortal composition that shall be nameless we might
have lost the greatest blessing of our lives — at least I
speak for one." This was not likely to be a "half
reconciliation. Colman was his " ever affectionate
friend." Colman's little boy he and Mrs. Garrick
looked after carefully. He christened him " Georgy-
go-jing," and rode over often to look after him, play
with him, and amuse him. He was brought over
to- stay at Hampton. All Colman's concerns were
well managed during any absence. It was Garrick's
lot that those, on whom he had heaped all these
good offices, should select him as the object of some
ungenerous return ; and Colman was already medi
tating a questionable stroke of policy, which, if strictly
legitimate, had very much the ugly air of ingrati
tude. A new La Rochefoucauld could illustrate very
cynically, from Gamck's life, the folly of being strictly
equitable and above worldly resentments, and of
being too quick to forgive. Such behaviour is sure to
be interpreted as weakness, and invites the petulance
and intimidation of those who have something to gain.
And this explains, in part at least, the exceptional
behaviour of many of Garrick's so-called "friends,"
who, like Murphy, grew at last to know his faihngs hy
heart, his dislike to give pain by a blunt refusal, and
who could " Avring his gizzard," as Murphy was sup
posed to have the power of doing."

1766.] COLMAN. 181

CHAPTER II.
COLMAN.— COVENT GARDEN.
1766—1768.
Now he might fairly expect his old troubles to
set in. Lacy, perhaps overset by the success of his
sole management, was beginning to obstruct — ^to take
airs, and claim a share in the management, though it
had been stipulated that he was to confine himself to
his o'wn special department. This, in fact, Garrick's
sohcitors wished to have had inserted in the deed, but
Garrick's delicacy — ^that wonderful and unfailing de
licacy — wished to spare an affront to the vanity of his
partner, who seems to have been an obstinate man,
with a kind of crooked suspicion in his mind, which
was worked on by friends. Garrick, wearied of
these humours, began actively to look out for a pur
chaser for his share of the patent, which, though
nominally supposed to be of equal value to his part
ner's, was worth infinitely more ; as it was his talent
that brought profit to both, and when that was with-
draAvn, not much would be left behind. It was some
such reflection, that always acted as a wholesome
check upon Lacy. Early In the following year he
made a handsome apology, begged that things might
go on on the old footing, and gave his word of honour,
that he would never object to Garrick's .manage-

182 THE LIFE OP DAVID GARRICK. [1700—
ment, except in a private and friendly way. This
was his reply to a formal memorandum sent by a
solicitor. Garrick at once withdrew, though matters
had gone so far, with his usual graciousness. "I
should have quitted Drury Lane," he said, "with
reluctance ; and nothing but being convinced that
Mr. Lacy chose to part with me, should have drove
me to the step I was obUged to take. ... I am
ready to meet Mr. Lacy as my partner and friend,
without having the least remembrance that we dis
agreed." Thus was the matter accommodated — ^for
a time. The foreign tour proved scarcely of so much
beneflt as he anticipated ; for he had presently to go
down to Bath to drink the waters and try to drive
away his complaints.* They did him some good, and
made him, as he said, feel like a feathered Mercury.
He found strange company there, which amused him,
and the pleasant society of Mr. Sehvyn. But pre
sently, when he Avas " cent, per cent, better," the gout
came back, and all but crippled him. Soon after
he found his way doAvn to Mistley, to the social
Rigby's, one of the political portraits of the last
century, who managed to combine "a boisterous bon-
hommie to his friends with a reckless and unscrupulous
morality at the expense of the nation. At his pleasant
house there Avas ahvays a welcome for Garrick; for not
yet had the host been overtaken by evil days, nor had
a stern morality come into fashion which made him
its first victim.
Some of this most delightful day had been spent at
* His name is among the "al'rivals" there iu March,

1768,] COLMAN. 183
Mistley. Rigby's letters are the most jovial and
friendly, and the heartiest. They would have, indeed,
the most "jolly" souls, at that hospitable house
— making songs and rhymes to be chanted at
dinner.* To Colman, then in Paris, Garrick now had to write
over a great piece of news that was stirring the thea
trical world. The Covent Garden patent was coming
into the market ; " Beard and Co." were going to seU
— the price sixty thousand pounds. No one knew the
probable purchasers. "There will be the devU to
do;" but aU was to be "mum." Whitworth and
Spilsbury, Pritchard's son-in-law, Avere said to have
offered. Foote also was spoken of, but his hands
Avere now full. Garrick wrote all this to his friend, in
the most affectionate of letters : "I wish to God we
had you here; your letter has made me miserable.
Let me beg of you, for my sake, not to let your
spirits sink." Well might his spirits sink ; for the
foolish young man, with a folly that seems to border on
infatuation, was fatally incensing General Pulteney, a
relation with enormous fortune, and who had warned
him that unless he gave up his stage tastes, and his
connection with an actress, whom he had taken off to
Paris, he should forfeit all chance of succeeding to his
estates. Not content with this, he offered him a seat
in parhament ; but a sort of madness seems to have
hurried Colman on. Nothing can be more generously
affectionate than Garrick's letters. Every scrap of

* "The TraveUers, '' wrote Garrick, after one of these Visits, "send their
thanks for a week of more pleasure than they have ever enjoyed. They are
going now to miortify with tough mutton, and a bottle of port," The old
Duke of Newcastle sometimes was of the party.

184 THE LIFE OF DAVID GARRICK. [1766—
news Is retailed, and many a service done, to his
friend, in his absence.*
This Important news was quite true ; he little sus
pected the effect it was to leave. Colman presently
told him that he had a letter from a person of fashion,
full of news. " I can guess," replied Garrick, " what
its subject was ; it was to offer a share in the patent."
It was the last thing in the world he dreamed that his
friend would think of entering into opposition against
him. The bait was too tempting. With a suspicious
eagerness Colman was back in toAvn again — having,
in his correspondence Avith Garrick, quite ignored the
subject. During the rest of that year the negotiations
did not advance.
There was one night in that October, 1766, which was
a remarkable one. It has been often sketched. Rous
seau had come to London and was heing.fSted. Garrick
was determined to do honour to the distinguished
stranger, and brought him to the theatre to see his
own Lusignan, In a piece which was likely to be the
most familiar to a foreigner — "Zara." Lord Chalkstone,
was to follow. The king and queen came also, from
a curiosity It was believed, to see the author of
the Confessions. Mr. Garrick took charge of the
guest, and he was placed on a high seat in the box.
It was reported that he had shown his relish of the
plays, quite a travers — laughing at Lusignan, and
* He told him of Foote's engaging the Barrys for the Haymarket, and
gives a hint of Foote's curious temper. He began to find out that the
expenses were likely to be enormous, and that his friends were not enthu-
sia-stic. "When Barry comes," says Garrick, "he'll find Foote very cold.
They say he abuses him already." We may conceive Barry posting over,
full of exultation and enthusiasm, to fulfil this important engagement, and
on his arrival finding the dangerous manager quite soured and cold, and
even hostile.

1768.] COLMAN. 185
crying' at Lord Chalkstone; though, indeed, the last
was scarcely so absurd as might appear; for the
spectacle of an old battered rake of a lord, racked
acutely from gout and gravel, was more an object of
pity and disgust than of laughter.* The ludicrous
vanity of the man was the feature of the night, and
Mrs. Garrick often told of her teiror, as he would
stretch out of the box, to show himself to the audience,
and of her having to take him by the coat tail to
save him. Thus, in its boxes, as well as on the
stage, Drury Lane saw many a bit of pleasant comedy.
Meanwhile Colman had written a comedy, which
was ready by February. It was called the " English
I Merchant "^a piece founded on Voltaire's "L'Ecos-
:' salse," which in its turn had been founded in some
measure on the " Douglas " of Home — through such
odd shifts and suits had a good play to pass. Gar
rick worked hard for it, though he was kept awake all
night by violent coughing. The good air of Hampton,
hoAvever, set him up, and with his " warmest affec
tions to his dear Coley," he hoped he would come
down on a Wednesday, and take share of a fine haunch
of venison which Mrs. Garrick promised them. He
would do anything, and offered an epilogue, in which
he said, modestly, he would do his best, if Colman was
not already provided.
But a change which he intended in the arrange
ments of his theatre seems to have brought about a
fresh coolness. By the recent alterations the house

* The vulgar proverb, "mocking is catching, " happUy applied in restraint
of mimicking physical infirmities, was to be fortified by the instance of Foote,
who lost his leg by an accident, and even of Garrick, who was later a martyr
to the two maladies whose agonies he had so often mimicked on the stage.

136 THE LIFE OP DAVID GARRICK. [1766—
was now made each night, over a hundred guineas
more valuable in capacity than it was before ; and now
held 337 guineas instead of 220. Such increased
receipts of course brought increased expenses, and he
proposed to charge an author, who took his benefit
night, seventy guineas for expenses instead of sixty.
He proposed a judicious change in dealing with any
new pliay, which was ahvays set down as the sole
entertainment for the night. Thus, as the performance
began at five, and ended about nine, the audience were
dismissed too early, and as what required every aid, was
left to its own unadorned attractions — Garrick suggested
that every new piece should be supported by a farce or
light comedy. He began the system with Colman's
play ; but the latter Avas angry, and refused to submit
to the regulation. As a matter of course the manager
gave way to his friend, whose resentment was inflamed
by finding that Garrick's plan and Garrick's advice
would have been best to foUoAv, for the play faUed,
and was thinly attended. But Colman would not for
give. This was the beginning of a coolness. In
April Garrick found himself once more at Bath, taking
the waters Avliich had been of such benefit to him. He
found himself growing as " fat as a hog." Very soon
Colman arrived there too, with a French friend.
They met coldly. " We pulled off our hats to each
other, but did not smile." Kind friends AA'^ished hard to
reconcile them — that is, to abate Colman's resentment ;
for with Garrick, of course, there was no difficulty,
tliough he said, happUy enough, that he feared it
Avould be " only a darn."
In the June of the year, a sort of mfatuation hurried
Colman into the scheme of opening a rival house.

1768.] COLMAN. 187
Worse than all, Powell — also under heavy obligations
to Garrick— joined with him in the speculation. Harris
and Rutherford were the two other partners. The
whole negotiation was conducted with the secrecy of a
plot; but never did man pay such a heavy penalty
for gratifying theatrical taste. He was supposed to
be heir to the enormous Bath estates, and General
Pulteney, when he heard of these plans, had fairly
warned him of his displeasure; but with what can
only be called madness Colman persevered. Never did
penalty come so swiftly; Avithin a few months the
affairs of the theatre began to faU into disorder ; and
within a few months also. General Pulteney died, and
left his vast property away from him. He could not
have hoped to have received the whole of this splendid
fortune, as it was likely the General would have pre
ferred leaving the bulk to relations bearing his own
name. But it was ahvays understood that Colman
was in some shape to be his heir. The foolish
youth fancied he had overcome all the General's
scruples by a " clever letter," quoting the prece
dents of Sir Richard Steele, Sir WiUiam Davenant,
and other persons of condition who had managed
theatres ! Clever letters have never done much be
yond ministering to the self-sufficiency of their writers.
The stage has cost many of its votaries serious
sacrifices of character, station, and fortune, but from
none has this Juggernaut exacted so tremendous a
penalty. He seems to have kept Garrick in the dark until
all was nearly concluded. Holland, another of Gar
rick's actors, a young man whom he had taught, and
to whom he had been speciaUy kind, johied in the

188 THE LIFE OP DAVID GARRICK. [1766—
affair. Many were hoping that with the new con
federacy, Garrick's ruin was at hand.
Colman often came to break the matter to Garrick,
but he fenced it off, and had many qualms In bringing
it out. No wonder he was a little confused, for though
it might be imagined he was not to be debarred from
entering on what might be a lucky speculation, stUl the
pecuhar friendship known to exist between them should
have restrained him. To George Garrick, his own
brother, Garrick laid open his heart, and there we see
his generous view of the matter. George and Lacy
were furious. " I cannot think," Avrote Garrick, " that
Coleman's joining Powell, when he and I were at
variance, and from an offer of Powell and his confede
rates, blameable ; however, Coleman will act under my
wing if I would have him, and so do not inflame mat
ters, my dear George." Thus generous was his view.
It was with Powell's treachery he was disgusted ; the
latter had even broken his articles to carry out his
scheme. He was a scoundrel, said Garrick^ and
Colman would repent his connection with him " in
every vein." He could not forgive Powell — the
actor, whom with rare disinterestedness he had en
couraged and favoured, when half the town were say
ing he was superior to his master. Though a foohsh
clamour was raised at his levying the thousand pounds
— the penalty in the articles, which the actor had
broken with such cool effrontery — it was surely absurd
to expect Quixotic toleration for the man who had
so treated him. He could even say that Colman,
-as stage manager, was worth five hundred a yearto
the new partners, and that it would be worth his own
while to pay that sum, to deprive them of his serAdces,

1768.] - COVENT GARDEN. 189
This dangerous opposition from an important theatre,
having in its management skiU, talent, and the prestige
of " new blood," seemed to augur IU for the fortunes
of Drury Lane. It was besides, to have serious
losses, both by death and desertion. The Yateses had
gone over — so had Powell ; Mrs. Cibber was dead ;
Mrs. Pritchard and Mrs. Clive were on the eve of re
tiring. Garrick himself was " worried," and, perhaps,
losing enthusiasm in his work, too much harassed, and
already sighing for repose. Yet, such was the good
fortune that was to attend him in all concerns to the
very end of his life, that this precise moment was to
be the turning point, at which a new tide of success
was to set in for Drury Lane. There were rising
actresses, like Miss Pope and Miss Younge, ready
now to take the places left by the deserters. Mrs.
Abington, who had gone to Dublin, an obscure tenth-
rate actress, after working that excitable audience into
a furore of admiration, had now come back flushed
with triumph, with all the cachet of success, and at
once fell into the leading parts. Her style was ma
tured, her comedy more elegant. But he found yet
stronger help in Barry and Mrs. Dancer, who, after a
long interval, had appeared at the Haymarket, with all
the enthusiasm of a first dSbUt, and these he secured
for the season at the liberal salary of fifteen hundred
pounds.* Once more the stage of Drury Lane was to

* Barry, later grumbling and aff'ecting to be badly treated, said they had to
deduct £600 for dresses, and £200 for "fines, &c." One of his "points"
was this ;— He got the manager to aUow him to leave for Ireland some days
before the conclusion of his engagement. During that time he was made subject,
like other performers, to a slight deduction, owing to a rilache, on account
of a Royal death. This was only fair, for as he was enjoying the salary
(though not playing), he was,, of coui-sc; -to be, subject tp the incident in
conveniences of the salary.

190 THE LIFE OP DAVID GARRICK. [1766-
echo to the melodious chime of the two incomparable
artists, Mrs. Dancer, by playing so much with Barry,
had caught many of his tender notes, and in the round
of characters, Othello and Desdemona, Castalio and
Monimia, began to draAv crowds. It may be doubted
whether there ever was such a pair upon the Enghsh
stage. Even in the prints — the little frontispieces to the
printed plays, where we see " Mr, and Mrs. Barry " —
his tall figure breathing anger and rage and reproach,
she on her knees at his feet, passionately pleading
in all the richness of the true tragedy queen's mag
nificence, we catch a faint idea of the tenderness
and interest which this wonderful couple excited.
But the wonderful theatrical Providence, which
seemed to favour his management of Drury Lane in
every way, speedily took the task of punishment in
hand. The end came with extraordinary speed. Be
fore the year was out, the most complete shipwreck
overtook the enterprise, Avith frantic dissension —
bailiffs breaking in, and utter destruction. An actress
was to be indirectly the cause. And this is a fresh
testimony to Garrick's admirable management, who
never aUowed temper or partialities, actor or actress,
to interfere between him and Avhat Avas due to the
theatre, and to the public ; thus his house always pros
pered, while others about him were toppling into ruins.
The whole system of management was indeed a false
one. From the quantity of Colman's writing brought
out during that short space, it is not unreasonable to
suspect that his vanity was what hurried him uito the
speculation. He served the audience with a " Col
man" "King Lear," newly adapted and altered, but
Avhich was not found as good as the detestable Tate ;

1768.] COVENT GARDEN. 191
also his own "EngHsh Merchant," his "Jealous Wife,"
a comedy called "The Oxonian in Tcwn," and " The
Clandestine Marriage," in which he had a share. The
prologue in the opening was his also. But all was
redeemed by Goldsmith's incomparable " Good-natured
Man," which was brought out on Jan. 29, 1768. This
fresh bit of open-air nature ought to have stayed, the
impending doom ; but the wits of the time might have
turned a rhyme on the significant retrenchment of Mr.
Twitcher and Flannigan, the two baUiffis, who were
to reappear in sober earnest, before the end of the
season, and not to be then so easily retrenched.*
Garrick may have smiled, Avhen he was told of
Dr. Goldsmith's behaviour, who, when Barry and
his wife were passionately declaiming The Earl of
Warwick, had pushed his way out of the pit, saying
aloud, " Brownrigg, by God!" — alluding to a case of
a wholesale murderess. For the Doctor Avas now
ranged among the ranks of the manager's enemies,
and made common cause Avith the patrons who had
brought out his play. He made his apologies to
Garrick for some Avarmth of language and disappoint
ment ; and it does seem that this shape of revenge was
scarcely fair, and might have caused a disturbance.
At all events, It should be borne in mind Avhen the
question is asked, " Hoav was It that Garrick was not a
warm patron of Dr. Goldsmith ?"
The Covent Garden disorder, indeed, was almost
ludicrous. Macklin was concerned, and was quar-
reUiug about his daughter, and talking of "Powell's
* Geneste finds a strong likeness to an old play caUed "The Counterfeit
Bridegroom," in the incident of Leontes bringing home his love as his sister.
It was said also that the jewel robbery in "She Stoops to ConcLuer," was
founded on a scene in " Albumarai" — the Ukeness is very faint indeed.

192 THE LIFj; OP DAVID GARRICK. [1766—
Sultana." The many-headed management was dis
tracted ; and through an infatuation for an abandoned
woman, Lessingham,* a fine enterprise was thus ship-
Avrecked. Powell, too, was a little later cut off in his
prime, dying of a putrid fever; HoUand, his friend,
was not long in foUoAving ; and thus the opposition,
that seemed so dangerous, had all melted away,
Mrs. Dancer was then in all her prime of beauty
and power ; Barry not as yet racked, as he was
to be later, with the gout. The whole town rushed to
see them, and were charmed with the pair in Lear and
Othello, and plays, wherever there were chivalrous
heroes and tender herolnes.f Garrick modestly came In
now and again, with some of his old stock parts. From
this time Drury Lane flourished uninterruptedly. Yet,
he was not to have the services of these great artists
without the usual inconveniences and worry. Their
heads were soon to be overset by success ; they were
presently taking airs and discovering grievances ; and
Avhen aggrieved, disloyally finding pretences for not
doing their duty. Now Barry's son had died — a
natural and decent excuse for his absence ; now,
Mrs. Dancer, who had become Mrs. Barry, was IU
and fatigued to death with this and last night's per
formances. Her " spirits were weak," and if the
matter is pressed, it wUl make her incapable of going
through the business of the season. This indisposi
tion, which affected the "run" of Arthur Murphy's
new play of " Zenobia," drew him into the quarrel.
The season, too, was remarkable for the success of
* See the t'arious accounts of her in Taylor's Recollections,
. + Murphy says, that in October, Barry set oflF in his proud character of
Othello, and acted to the great delight of the public three nights iu succession.
He set off in Lear, and did not act Othello two nights in succession.

1768.] COVENT GARDEN. 193
an astounding comedy by a Dublin staymaker, Kelly, who
had set up to be a sort of " Brummagem " ChurchiU,
made a specialite of theatrical criticism, and had
actually written a satirical poem on the stage, in
feeble imitation of the grander satirist. These were
claims to Insure him respect with Garrick's easy
nature ; but it must be said, his appeal for the con
sideration of his comedy was so obsequious, that it was
difficult to resist. The manager was to make per
fectly free with it ; for he was not one of those writers
who " agonized at every pore," when they were told
of an amendment. He only asked that the manager
would let him know, as soon as convenient, If he was
really an incorrigible blockhead in dramatic literature ?
He had already submitted some " wretched stuff," but
would now seriously set to work on a comedy ; some
friends of his having "so worked upon his vanity " as
to make him think it would succeed. He did' not
like sitting down, even to begin, until he got some
encouragement. He was a stranger to Garrick at the
time, and the proceeding seemed a little " cool." But
he was encouraged to go on, and the result was the
highly successful comedy of "False Delicacy," which
had a surprising " run," and was one of the genuine
successes of Garrick's era. *
The success of this fade composition is one of the
mysteries of the stage. It was of course given out
that the piece was elaborately prepared by Garrick to
* I refer readers to Mr. Forster's humorous description of the comedy in
his Life of Goldsmith. The play was so successful, and Garrick said so much
of it, that Lord Pembroke was eager to be back from Paris to see it, though
he said, with true aristocratic pride, that he could expect very little from
such a name as " Kelly," especially if there ba an " 0" before it. Some won
derful things in polities and in the drama have been done by men with this
objectionable " 0 " before them.

194 THE LIFE OF DAVID GARRICK. [1768.
gratify his spleen, and damage the success of Gold
smith's play. But it had long been iu Garrick's hands,
and a promise had been given. More reasonable
seemed the complaint, that it had been fixed for the
week of the Doctor's comedy : but the manager felt
he was not bound to go out of his way to serve the
man who only a few weeks before, had come into his
pit to ridicule a new tragedy, and make a disturbance.
But a little later, we shalk see what were the relations
of the great actor, with that great poet and dramatist.

1768]. DRURY LANE. 195

CHAPTER III.
DRtTRY LANE.— GARRICK IN SOCIETY.
1768—1769.
At the end of the season the King of Denmark had
come to London, having exhausted all the attractions of
Paris. Having seen many of the established London
shows, he expressed a wish to see the wonderful actor ;
and a company was hastily got together, to play " The
Suspicious Husband," and "The Provoked Wife."* It
was curious, certainly, that a tragedy hke "Macbeth,"
which would have appealed to the eye of a foreigner,
was not selected. He was diverted with an English
farce — the humours of " Mungo " — and allowed the
piece to be dedicated to him. That strange prince,
whose tour, through London and Paris, was one whirl
of masquerading and shows, was pleased with the great
player, and there is still in the family, the hand-
* Sir John Hawkins is amusing on this. He says that Garrick "received
an order from the Lord Chamberlain " to entertain his Majesty by an exhibi
tion of himself " in six characters." " On his way to London," goes on the
Knight, "he called on me, and told me this, as news. 1 could plainly dis
cern in his looks, the joy that transported him ; but he affected to be vexed at
the shortness of the notice, and seemed to arraign the wisdom of their councils by
exclaiming, ' You see what heads they have ! ' " The truth was, Garrick was
seriously embarrassed, for his performers were all scattered, and with diffi
culty, he secured Miss Bellamy and Woodward. Yet Sir John's picture of
Garrick's little aff'ectation, is not overdrawn. This is the charm of those old
memoirs ; even such natures as Hawkins and BosweU, had the art of writing
dramatically, and had observation for character, and unconsciously touched in
quite a portrait. There is nothing of this, in the ' ' personal recollections, &c. , '
that now issue from the press. 0 2

196 THE LIFE OP DAVID GARRICK. [1768-
some snuff-box with the king's portrait, set in jewels,
on the lid. But, with all his pride at this com
pliment, he must have been shocked to hear
of the death of the old partner of his triumphs
— the unique Lady Macbeth — the incomparable
Pritchard. From the strange rough Gainsborough,
who swore profusely with his pen, came the news :
" Poor Mrs. Pritchard died here "—at Bath—" on
Saturday night, at eleven o'clock : so now her per
formance being no longer present to them, who must see
and hear before they can believe, you wUl know, iny
dear sir — but I beg pardon, I forgot — Time puts all
in his fob, as I do my timekeeper — watch that, my
dear—"* Another death was that of Palmer, but forty years
old, a true and airy comedian, with an agreeable figure
and person, and a pleasant coxcombry In his manner
even off the stage, which would have pleased Elia, as
" highly artificial." No more would he now " top the
jaunty part." The old line were dropping away slowly.
By this time, the fitful Arthur Murphy thought there
had been a "cool" of sufficient length between him
and Mr. Garrick. That friendly Irishman, Bickerstaff,
volunteered the office of mediator. Garrick had been
talking with him, and Murphy's name being men
tioned, spoke with eager warmth and kindness, which
Bickerstaff at once reported. He told Garrick that
Murphy felt these expressions deeply, and only Avished
for a handsome opportunity of putting an end to aU
their little quarrels, and proposed that they should
* He signs himself —
" Who am I but the same, think you ? — T. G.
" Impudent scoundrel,'' adds Mr. Garrick.

1769.1 DRURY LANE. 197
meet some night at his "hovel" in Somerset Place,
and have a little evening together with Samuel John
son. Garrick's ansAver is so frank and generous, that
it should be preserved : —
" Dear Bickerstaff,
" You are a good Christian. I shall with the
greatest pleasure meet the company you mention, at
your house. As I am almost upon my theatrical
death-bed I wish to die m charity and goodwiU with
all men of merit, and with none more so — as he wishes
it too — than with Mr. Murphy.
"I am, dear sir,
" Most truly yours,
" D. Garrick.
"P.S. Pray let us meet, as If we had never thought
unkindly of each other."
But in the next month Garrick was to pay the usual
penalty for Mr, Murphy's " friendship," The latter's
sensItlven-ess began to be disturbed about a loan of
£100 from Garrick, the only security for which was
the profit of some play to be written in future. Garrick
was not able to bring out the new play, " Zenobia,"
that season, and sent It back to the author for safe
custody, possible alteration, &c. This Murphy re
sented. He did not like the air of putting his plays
in pawn, as it were — " which is to work itself clear, the
Lord knows when. This is the old trait of business,
and I much wish to avoid it." " What a pity ! " replied
Garrick, with infinite temper, "that your natural good
humour and good sense will now and then faU, when
you are to judge of me ! " He then shows how

•198 THB LIFE OF DAVID GARRICK. [1768—
mistaken he was : "I think it a very small favour to
lend money to a friend ; and to lend it with his silver
spoons in my drawer, seems to me the very spirit of
pawnbroking, without the three blue balls. You are
acquainted with no man who would have more pleasure
in serving you in every manner he could, than myself."
With all this, Garrick strained a point, and the play
was actuaUy fixed for the first month of the next year,
with a day for reading. But Mr. Murphy was " sen
sitive" still. He did not care about it.
Thus, though everything seemed smooth and pros
perous at Drury Lane, the manager was still to be
harassed, as of old. Lacy had begun again to thwart him,
and to disregard the articles of their late reconcUiation.
He now affected to be offended with George Garrick,
and spoke of him injuriously. Garrick himself was
weary of this petty warfare. He had made up his
mind to end his theatrical life then, — " Fate, and
Mr. Lacy, who alone seems insensible of my serAdces,
will drive me away, and they shall have their ends . .
therefore I will immediately prepare for my brother's
retreat, and will most assuredly follow him. I avIU
have no more altercations with Mr. Lacy. I now see
the depth of his good will to me and mine, and shall
act accordingly." There is disgust and weariness In
this complaint, and It would seem almost a fixed re
solution. As usual, excuses were made, promises
of amendment given ; his easy nature overlooked all
that had happened, and was content to go on as
before. For the new season, he employed Bickerstaff to alter
Cibber's old pohtical comedy of " The Nonjuror," which
had done good service as a pohtical drama. In the

1769.] DRURY LANE, " li'9
new hands, it became "The Hypocrite," and it is
impossible too highly to praise the tact and power, with
which the adaptation was made. New characters from
Molifere were put in, and the local and ephemeral
air of the whole, removed. This, indeed, is a de
partment no less important than that of play-writing
itself ; ahd by such judicious treatment, many fine
pieces of humour, supposed to be old-fashioned because
belonging to an old era, were made acceptable and
dehghtful to a modem audience. The art lay in the
adapter, generally a man of true humour, putting
himself in the place of the author, and fancying
how he would alter ; and also, in a nice discrimination
of what was the essence of the piece, and what the
mere trimmings and accessories. No one. had a nicer
touch than Garrick, and he succeeded in imparting
the same instinct to his lieutenants and deputies —
reverential yet bold, firm yet versatile. We indeed
revive an old piece now and again, like Foote's " Liar,"
but as all that is attempted is compression, the piece
suffers from such violent handling, and becomes abrupt.
"The Hypocrite" was acted delightfully, Abington
excelling herself in the Coquette of the piece, and
Weston for ever associating his name with Mawworm.
"Zingis," an Indian Colonel Dow' s Tartar play, was an
alterative, and a sign of Garrick hankering after his
old love — the " tig and tiry " solemnities. Home's
dreary bit of " Ossian," " The Fatal Discovery," and
the persecuting Mrs. Griffith's " School for Rakes,"
vrith Clive and the charming Baddely, — ^these were the
features of the season.
Then again comes another retirement, — each year
now seem» to be marked by one of these fatal deser-

200 THE LIFE OF DAVID GARRICK, [1768—
tions. Clive, in the prime of her powers — though
she spoke of herself as an " old woman," — the best
soubrette the English stage has ever seen, inexhaustible
in spirit, vivacity, and variety, still delighting, still
" drawing," had determined, with a true dignity and
self-restraint, to abstain in time. She was the true
stage romp, — had much of the spirit of Woffington in
her ; and though she often did battle with Garrick, and
he rather shrank from encounters with her, there was no
bitterness under that opposition — nothing like that of
"that worst of bad women, Mrs. Abington." When
she was making her last curtsey, she got him to play
vrith her, in "The Wonder," and her grateful letter
characteristically, like all the Clive letters,* shows
that when the accounts come to be closed In a long
friendship, true regard may underlie much apparent
bickering. " I am extremely obliged," she wrote, in
November, 1768, "for your very polite letter; how
charming you can be when you are good !....! shall
certainly make use of the favour you offer me ; It gives
me a double pleasure — the entertainment my friends
will receive from your performance, and the being
convinced that you have a sort of sneaking kindness
for your Pivy. I suppose I shall have you tapping me
on the shoidder, as you do to Violante, when I bid you
farewell, and desiring one tender look before we part ;
though, perhaps, you may recollect, and toss the pan
cake into the cinders. You see I never forget any of
your good things!' This is charming. Players then
knew how to write, as well as to act. On the 24th of

* In the Forster Collection are many of these letters, with their sprightly
style and diverting spelling, most entertaining.

1769.] GARRICK IN SOCIETY. 201
April, 1769, this performance took place; and Gar
rick's " fine Lady" spoke an epilogue, which her
neighbour, Walpole, graciously Avrote for her. She
carried away with her a long stretch of memory, as she
recalled the old triumphs—could roam back from the
last night she played with the great Garrick, to the
Booth at " Bartlemy Fair."
A month later Havard, another of the old guard,
dropped away — the lines of Drury Lane, both officers
and soldiers, were thinning fast. These gaps of
the old ranks were hard to fill ; the new actors were
not of the same material; the high salaries and the
competition were beginning to tell ; or perhaps, as in
the case of rehgions or churches, adversity is the
healthiest discipline for a theatre.
He was already repenting that he had not adhered
to the resolution he had brought back with him from
abroad. From this time also, he had begun to taste in
a far greater degree the pleasures of social life, the
visits to great houses became more frequent, his enjoy
ment of club life and the company of men like Rey
nolds and Goldsmith more keen. His French training
recommended him even more. To such entertainment
the duties of the playhouse were a serious impediment.
Indeed, it would seem one of the hardest incidents in
the player's lot, that he is cut off from the time of
the day most seasonable for enjoyment, that when
others relax, his labour begins.* To keep his connec
tions in " the City," he was careful to show himself
'* For him the pleasant meal, the curtains drawn close, the glowing fire, the
little table — the meal which so gratefuUy crowns the day's labours, is an un
known pleasure. He is condemned to the early dinner— half lunch, with the
sun shining, at best a cold demi-jour — accompaniment so odious to that fine
dramatic critic, EUa.

202 THB LIFE OP DAVID GARRICK. [1768—
several times during the winter at Tom's Coffee House
in Cornhill, which the younger merchants frequented
about 'Change time ; and was very often found at a
club, which had been established expressly for the sake
of his company, at the Queen's Arms in St. Paul's
Churchyard, and where he met his friends — ^Patter-
son, the City Solicitor ; Sharpe, the surgeon ; Clutter-
buck, Draper, and other steady business men, of sound
sense — whom he consulted in every difficulty, and who
were of infinite use to him with their advice. He used
to be seen also at the Doctors' Club — Batson's, where
he had many friends, among whom was a Dr. Wilson,
who, in his old age, became an admirer of Garrick's
playing, scarcely ever missed a performance, and had
a special seat of his own in the pit. This character
was always found at the coffee house surrounded by a
party, for he was a good talker, and his theme was
usually the praises of his favourite. It was scarcely
surprising that Mr. Garrick should haVe been very
attentive to this admirer. It is impossible not to
commend this unwearied assiduity with which he
watched and cultivated that tender and delicate plant,
the favour of the public. We might, like Hawkins,
call them " little innocent arts ; " and it should be
remembered, that he had been aheady scared by a
loss of popularity, and that, after all, where such ex
travagant favour is bestowed, decency and a grateful
appreciation will lose nothing to keep such favour
alive. He was a welcome companion at pleasant meetings ;
as indeed must have been " the first man in the world
for sprightly conversation." BosweU's gay scenes,
the nights at Sir Joshua's and Mr. Dilly's, are too

1769.] GARRICK IN SOCIETY, 203
familiar to all to be repeated again ; and they show the
actoT in a very pleasant light, rallying Goldsmith on
the new coat : " Come, come, talk no more of that ;
you are not the worst, eh, eh ?" Or " fondly playing"
round Johnson, " the sage," as Boswell calls him, in
dulgently. Garrick's talk is as agi-eeable as any of the
others ; and though his friend Cohnan held up some
of his tricks — his never going into society " without
laying a trap to get out of his," his going away in a
shower of sparks, caused by some good story of his,
and his stealing glances to see how the " Duke's
butler" was affected at the dinner party — stUl there is
a distinction between the really social Garrick, and the
great actor and manager, en evidence, as it were, and
feeling himself " a lion" at great houses, watched, and
admired, and expected to keep to his reputation.
Every man of note must wear these two different
dresses. No one should have kno"wn better than
Colman's son how distinct such characters were. A
little remark that Reynolds made to Northcote lets us
into a good deal of the secret of this acting off the
stage. Sir Joshua said that the reason Garrick con
tinued on the stage so long, and took such pains with
his profession, was to retain his influence with im
portant friends and distinguished persons, whose nature
he knew well enough, to guess that, if he once lost his
own consideration with the public, he should find him
self deserted. This was the secret of that elaborate
playing off the boards, of the unwearied pains, amount
ing almost to the routine of daUy hfe, to keep up his
reputation for pleasantry and social gifts. The whole
of Garrick's character and life indeed reveals to us a
new philosophy ; for the common tendency of the mere

204 THE LIFE OF DAVID GARR,ICK. [1768—
vulgar player, would be to "sink" the profession —
ostrich-like, hide it in the sand — forgetting that in
the company of those who patronise him, he is sought
and esteemed, for his genius in his profession. Garrick,
with a superior wisdom, knew where his real strength
and recommendation lay ; and thus, by a nice economy,
a careful regarding every point, reached a position
that it now seems astonishing to look back at. Yet no
man had such difficulties to overcome. The very calling
of a player was a serious obstacle. " Sir," said John
son, when he, for once, did justice to his old schoolfellow,
" Garrick did not find, but made, his way, to the tables,
levees, and almost to the bedchambers of the great."
Even among his friends, it always seems to me, that he
had to struggle against some such feeling in reference
to his profession. They seemed to indemnify them
selves for inferiority In other matters, by asserting their
superiority in that, at least.
The smallest witling seemed to take airs on the
strength of this superiority, and Garrick seems to have
felt all through, that whenever he had an advantage,
some such hint might be insinuated to " bring him
down." He had many little arts to make himself
agreeable ; his verses — his epigrams for the ladies —
his charades — his good things. The first man in the
world for conversation, we have seen what his man
ner and tone of speech were. Many found a delight in
praising other actors before him, with a sham admira
tion, " to see how he would bear it." His " envy "
was then said to break out; he became miserable.
Yet this was only " uneasiness ;" at the best ; perhaps,
discomfort, at seeing the motive that prompted this
praise. He was " uneasy" A\'hen he heard of a rival,

1769.] GARRICK IN SOOIETY. 205
and what player is not — especially when he knew
that rival was inferior ? *
Garrick had a sort of passion for writing the trifles
known as vers de societS, and celebrated every suitable
occasion with some little light . tribute of gallantry or
compliment. This kind of pastime was then much in
vogue, and might certainly be a profitable exercise for
the languid wits of persons of quality and condition.
To be able to " turn a verse " of some kind, was neces
sary to the reputation of " an ingenious young gentle
man ; " and looking over Dodsley's curious six-volume
collection of " occasional " poems, we are not a
little surprised at the spirit, neatness, and gaiety — if
not wit — which lords, and marquesses, and baronets,
and men about town, could throw into these perform
ances. Two classes of this production were then in
high fashion, the sentimental and languishing " com
plaint," addressed to a Delia or a Chloe ; such as even

¦• Henderson used to give an admirable representation of this harmless
nervousness, in a dialogue between Garrick and an Irish nobleman, who was
praising Mossop. Garrick's depreciation is very gentle : —
Nobleinan. Now, Mr. Garrick, Mossop's voice ? What a fine voice, so
clear, full, and sublime for tragedy !
Garrick. 0 yes, my lord ; Mossop's voice is indeed very good — and full —
and — and — . But, my lord, don't you think that sometimes, he is rather too
loud? Nobleman. Loud ! Very true, Mr. Garrick, too loud. When we were
in college together, he used to plague us, with a spout, a rant, and a bellow !
Why we used to call him Mossop, the Bull I But then, Mr. Garrick, you
know his step ! so very firm — treads the boards so charmingly.
Garrick. True, my lord. You have hit his manner very well indeed —
very charming ! But do you not think his step is sometimes rather too firm.
Somewhat of a — a stamp ; I mean a gentle stamp, my lord ?
Nobleman. Gentle — not at aU, At college we called him Mossop the
Paviour. But his action — his action is so very expressive !
Garrick. Yes, my lord, 1 grant, indeed, his action is very fine — fine — very
fine. He acted with me originaUy in Barbarossa, when I was the Achmet :
aud his action was — a — a— to be sure Barbarossa is a gi-eat tyrant— but then
Mossop, striking his left hand on his hip a-kimbo, and his right hand

206 THB LIFE OF DAVID GARRICK. [1768—
the lively Mr, Charles Townshend could maunder forth
• plaintively : "Stranger, whoe'er thou art, bestow
One sigh in rapture e'er thou go.
But if thy breast did ever prove
The rapture of successful love, " &c.
Or, at some of the fashionable watering-places, especi
ally at Bath Easton — there was "a vase" in the
pump-room, for the reception of livelier verses and
satires. Some of these were smart and happy, and
were even collected and published. A prize was
sometimes offered, and a subject proposed. Once
" Charity" was given, and Mr. Garrick, a regular
visitor, slipped in three lines :
THE A'ASE SPEAKS,
" For Heaven's sake bestow on me
A Uttle wit, for that would be
Indeed an act of charity,"
These did not receive the prize ; and as he wrote
indignantly on, his verses " were treated with great
contempt, while Reverend Tawdry was rewarded."*
Garrick's have all the air of being " dashed off. '
It is surprising the quantity of these little jewa; d' esprit
he poured out in the course of his life ; and it would
almost seem that no little incident that could occur at
a country house, where he was the centre of all the
gaiety, but was duly sung and celebrated In Mr. Gar
rick's agreeable rhymes. Did a lady lose her slipper,
stretching out thus ! You wUl admit that sort of action was not so very
graceful ?
Nobleman. Graceful ; no. Why, at college we used to call him Mossop
the Teapot.
This of course is exaggerated, for effect. O'Keefe often saw Henderson give
it, and it is certainly amusing.
* HiU MSS.

1769.] GARRICK IN SOCIETY. 207
or stumble over a footstool, she was sure to find on
her dressing-table in the morning, " Lines on the
Duchess of D  losing her slipper," or " On Lady
S  r's stumbliug." We can almost trace his whole
social career ; follow him from house to house by these
agreeable trifles. They help us also to all his little
social mortifications, reveal his wounded vanities —
weaknesses which he wore upon his sleeve — and which
he had not trained himself like other men to conceal.
Now he and Mrs. Garrick are leaving Chatsworth,
after a delightful visit ; and the guests, perhaps before
they have done lamenting the loss of their hvely
friends, receive some light verses " on the road,
" turned " in the chaise, and Lord John Cavendish
reads them out.
" Not Quin more blest with calapee,
Fitzherbert in his puns.
Lord J. in contradicting me.
Lord Frederick with his nuns."*
This little shape of homage, too, is always acceptable,
and shows, more than a letter perhaps, how much the
object is in the thoughts of the writer. Four hues
were sent to Angehca Kauffman, to whom he was
sitting In Rome : —
" TO ANGELICA, PAINTING MY PICTURE.
" 'WhUe thus you paint with ease and grace.
And spirit all your own.
Take, if you please, my mind and face,
But let my heart alone!'^
Mr. Garrick calls on her Grace of Devonshfre, at noon.
Is shoAvn into the breakfast-room and finds that she
has not as yet risen. He goes away, leaving a scrap of
paper on the table with these lines : —
* HUl MSS. t HiU MSS.

208 THE LIFE OF DAVID GARRICK. [1768—
"PAST ONE O'CLOCK, AND A CLOUDY MORNING,
" What makes thy looks so fair and bright,
Divine Aurora, say ?
' Because from slumber short and light,
I rise to 'wake the day ! '
0 hide for shame, thy blushing face,
'Tis aU poetic fiction !
To tales like these see Devon's face
A blooming contradiction ! "
The Old Watehman of Piccadilly.
Nor did he keep these tributes for effect, or for
fashionable friends. They were part of the homage
paid for so many years and so steadily, to the wife he
loved and honoured. As her birth-day, or some httle
festival of hers, came round, the copy of verses, as
tender and devoted, found their way to her table,
accompanied by a more substantial souvenir. A little
scrap which has been preserved, helps us to know one
of their little quarrels. It is called " David and Mary,
or the Old Cart," and describes rather comically, the
falling-out and reconciliation which took place on
David's purchase of this vehicle : —
" But one luckless day, in his folly of heart,
Poor David was prompted to buy au old cart.
At a thing so uncommon, soft Mary took fire.
Untied David's tongue, aud he wagged it in ire."*
Some of his little versicles to ladles were very neat,
and went beyond the mere homage of poor compli
ment. His complaint to Mrs. Bouverie — written, too,
only a short time before his death, is very lively. He
threatens "the Bankrupt Beauty" with legal process
for her neglect of him :
" THE BANKRUPT BEAUTY, DECEMBER, 1777.
' ' Four smiles a year, fair Bouverie
Agreed to pay me quarterly.

* HUl MSS.

1769.] GARRICK IN SOCIETY, 209
And though one smile would make me blest,
She wiU not pay — though warmly prest—
Nor principal, nor interest,
***** I'U file my biU in Chancery.
Her eyes, her cheeks, her lips, her nose.
Mortgaged to me, — / will foreclose."*
There is one "riddle " of the more formal pattern,
which, though printed, is scarcely known, and certainly
deserves the foremost rank among such productions.
For besides being good, and difficult to guess, accord
ing to the ordinary principles of such puzzles, it has
also a wittiness of its own, in misleading the reader
or guesser, by artfully suggesting the more "namby-
pamby" associations of hearts and "flames,' and so
causing him to stray away in a Avrong direction. There
is no ponderous elaboration, but the whole trips lightly
and airily on. " Kitty, a fair, but frozen maid.
Kindled a flame I stiU deplore.
The hood-winked boy I caUed in aid.
Much of his near approach afraid.
So fatal to my suit before.
At length propitious to my prayer.
The little urchin came.
At once he sought the midway air,
And soon he clear'd with dexterous care
The bitter reUcs of my flame.
To Kitty, Fanny now succeeds.
She kindles slow, but lasting fires ;
With care my appetite she feeds ;
Each day some wUling victim bleeds.
To satisfy my strange desires.
Say by what title or what name.
Must I this youth address ?
Cupid and he are not the same —
Tho' both can raise or quench a flame —
I'll kiss you if you guess."
The answer is " A Chimney Sweep."
* HUl MSS.
VOL. II. p

210 THE LIFE OF DAVID GARRICK. [1769.

CHAPTER IV.
THE SHAKSPEARE JUBILEE.
1769.
This year was seen that rather absurd extrava
ganza — the Shakspeare jubilee at Stratford — a show
wholly foreign to English tastes and manners, and
certainly not to be carried out with success on Enghsh
ground. As it was off the stage only, that Garrick
was ever acting, in a celebration like this, he seemed
to see the "flies" and the "lamps" of Drury Lane,
with the little town of Stratford, lU<:e a set scene at the
back, and Roscius declaiming in front, on "the God
of his idolatry." The whole was based on a false
principle — a piece of dreary acting by daylight, and
certainly furnished Foote with fair material for his
satire. In truth, the public itself was more or less
accountable for this little bit of folly. Roscius was
told again and again, that he was Priest of the divine
Shakspeare — the " Bard " was made for him, he for
the Bard. He was privileged to sit on the tripod, and
specially receive the rare afflatus. And the man who,
at a great expense, had literally built a sohd temple to
the divinity, might at least claim the bare honours of
an official Intercommunion. But there were many
who disputed this high privilege, saying, that merely
acting Shakspeare, and in a mauled and garbled

1769.] THE SHAKSPEARE JUBILEE. 211
shape, did not constitute a claim to such exclusive
inspiration. The romantic and classic littie town, on the banks of
the Avon, was not enjoying the veneration with which
Shakspearean pilgrims have since regarded it. The
house m which the poet was born was spoken- of as " a
little, smaU, old house ; " there were no funds, and no
pubhc subscriptions to purchase the ground, on which
it stood, or reverently restore it. Visitors were then
shown the famous bust, not yet robbed of all cha
racter by the stupid profanation of Malone, and could
see the colour of the hair and eyes, as faithfully pre
served by tradition ; and only a few years before the
great sacrilege had been committed, and a Mr. Gas-
treU had cut down the cherished " mulberry-tree,"
because it shut out the light from his windows. When
Mr. Ganick came to town from Bath, a gentleman
waited on him with a very flattering letter from the
Mayor and corporation, proposing to make him one
of their body ; offering, also, the present of a box made
out of the sacrificed mulberry-tree. No one, they said,
had excelled him in paying honour to Shakspeare, and
it was added, a little oddly, " that, though this borough
does not now send members to Parliament, perhaps
the Inhabitants may not be less virtuous." In return,
he was invited to present them with a bust or picture
of Shakspeare, together with a portrait of himself, both
to be placed in their new town-hall. The actor could
not but be flattered by a compliment which — even at
a heavy cost — ^placed him in such company ; and the
opening of this new town-hall seems to have sug
gested to his mind the festival, that was presently to
be the talk of the kingdom.

212 THB LIFE OF DAVID GARRICK. [1769.
London soon heard of the mulberry box, and of the
fashion in which it was proposed to return these com
pliments, and some lively verses were going round ;
for everything that " turned up," there were verses
always ready.*
Garrick took up the scheme with ardour. The last
night of his season he announced it from the stage, in
one of those numerous epUogues with which he used
to illustrate and " point " the humours ofthe day : —
" My eyes tUl then no sight will see
Unless we meet at Shakspere's jubUee.
On Avon's banks, where flowers eternal blow.
Like its full stream its gratitude shaU flow ;
There let us revel, show our fond regard :
On that lov'd spot first breathed our matchless BAED."f

¦* "The wise men of Avon, by shrewd deputation.
Presented to Garrick their wooden donation,
And wish'd, as I'm told.
It had all been of gold,
Like those his great actorship had, some time since,
Of Denmark's young king, and the Parmesan prince.
' My good friends,' said he,
' It is aU one to me
Tho' the box be cut out of a mulberry-tree.
For 'tis just the same thing
Tho' itself be not gold, if but gold it wiU bring.
Hence so long as the world's full of nixeys and ninneys.
My mulberry box wUl be full of good guineas. '
The Mayor of old Stratford, in strange agitation,
T' have missed being 'prenticed to such a vocation.
Replied, ' Would your actorship teach us the way —
We are apt, and don't doubt that our parts we could play.
This present of wood
Shows our hearts to be good ;
But if once we are told
How to turn it to gold,
The trunk of the tree we would bring on our backs.
Lop the boughs, stack the roots, and you stiU should go snacks.'
'Enough, friends,' says he.
Bring the mulberry-tree,
And 1 will ensure you a fine jubUee.' "
f A gentleman down at Cambridge, dining with Gray, repeated these lines,
and occasioned the poet's "speaking handsomely" of the actor's happy
knack at epilogues. But he had no faith in the scheme, and christened it
Vanity Fair.

1769.] THE SHAKSPEARE JUBILEE. 213
No one in the kingdom would have been better
suited for the organisation of such a project ; for no
one in the kingdom so well combined the great player
and the gentleman. He was the link between the
stage, and the genteel world ; and his name, and per
sonal influence, actually drew the crowd ofthe " fine "
and fashionable, which brought the festival its success.*
He was the v/hole soul of the affair. He it was that
gathered the company ; and it was to be he, who had to
discharge all the expenses. The preparations were on
a large and costly scale. Everybody about the place
was interested, and a noble proprietor in the neigh
bourhood actually cut doAvn more than a hundred trees
near the river, to open out the view.
It was determined to erect on the common near
the river, a gigantic rotunda, on the model of the
"elegant" building that had been recently erected at
Ranelagh, where the ceremonies were to take place.
The sixth of September was fixed for the opening
day.f The time, however, was so short, and so much
had to be got through, that three weeks before the
opening, almost nothing had been done. Garrick sent
down his men from the theatre, with all the Drury
* Some twenty-three years before, a strolling company went over ftom
Warwick to play for the repair of the monument ; and on that occasion a
" WUliam Shakspere " made a present to one of the actors of a pair of gloves,
which the actor, on this occasion of his jubilee, now offered to Garrick. The
original donor of the gloves, who was a glazier, said they had ' ' been often
on the Poet's hands." The glazier's father and our " Poet " were cousins >
and on presenting the gloves, the glazier said, " Sir, these are the only pro
perty that remains of our famous relation. My father possessed and sold the
estate he left behind him, and these are aU the recompense I can make for
this night's performance." This was one of the absurd stories which the
imaginary enthusiasm of the occasion caUed up, and Garrick actuaUy
accepted the questionable relic.
f Davies even in his fourth edition — which was carefully corrected — puts
the jubilee a year wrong, in 1770.

214 THB LIFE OF DAVID GARRICK. [1769,
Lane lamps, and a whole wardrobe of rich dresses
and theatrical finery ; but they found that not even
a beginning had been made. The boards for the
Rotunda had not come from Birmingham, and on
the ground were lying, in a perfect wreck, all the
Drury Lane lamps, which had been broken to pieces
on the journey. But the most amusing part of the
whole, was the temper and disposition of the inha
bitants, who could neither understand the projected
celebration, nor its details, and who viewed the busi
ness — ^to be for their advantage — with open distrust
and hostUIty. They would give nothing, and lend
nothing; and Mr. Garrick's agents became anxious
to get away. Even the inn-keepers, who might look
forward to it, as to their legitimate harvest, were
grumbling, and had a strange idea that their plate
and furniture would be sacked by the horde of ex
cursionists who were to arrive. It seemed to be
contrived that all the management and responsibUity
should be thrown upon him.* He engaged to share
the risk of loss with the corporation — the profits to
go in honour of Shakspeare. Becket was appointed
" Grand Bookseller to the Jubilee," and honoured Avith
a lodging in Shakspeare's OAvn house.
At last the great day came round. It had been
put almost a month too late. The " silvery Avon,"
to which so many poetical apostrophes were to be made,
* Among his papers I find many memoranda showing his anxiety. He
had heard of the "rumoured exorbitant charges," and was to take care that
" no more should be asked than a guinea a bed, as at the races." Peyton, the
landlord of the chief inn, was to furnish an estimate for an ordinary for the
performers, say fifty in number. " Mem. : Boats on the Avon ? Lodgings for
Lord Spencer and family," who were coming. Then follows a characteristic
mem. : "A good hed for Mr. Foote, " so that the satirist should have nothing
to put him out of humour. — Porstee MSS.

1769.] THB SHAKSPEARE JUBILEE. 215
had been gradually rising, and the weather looked
threatening : stiU the company poured in, and came in
crowds, from every quarter of the kingdom. The ac
commodation for the guests proved of the most Avretched
description, and the shifts they were put to, the suffer
ings they experienced, and the monstrous extortions
of the townspeople, were long remembered as the
real features of the Jubilee. The harpies of the place
laid themselves out to pillage the visitors, in every
possible way. For the most " wretched little shed,
with any rags patched into the shape of a bed," a
guinea was charged ; a standing-place for a horse,
without hay or oats, half a guinea ; and ia a humorous
account of the affair, afterwards Avritten to the papers,
and which seems very like Foote's own hand, it was
said that the EngUsh Aristophanes was charged nine
guineas for six hours' sleep; and had to pay two
shillings for asking a bumpkin the hour ! Everybody
was to return, disgusted with these townsfolk of the
Bard they were celebrating.
At dawn on Wednesday, Sept. 6th, the visitors were
roused by the firing of cannon, and disturbed in their
wretched beds, by some theatrical waits, in Drury Lane
finery, going round playing "gittars," who stopped
before each house, and sang, with affected jollity, a
Bard " Roundelay " :—
. " Let beauty with the sun arise !
To Shakspeare tribute pay !
With heavenly smile and speaking eyes
Give lustre to the day. "
The visitors, suffering acutely in their narrow cribs,
scarcely relished this joyfiil invitation, — according to
the rueful account given afterwards in "Trinculo's
Trip to the Jubilee " :—

216 THE LIFE OP DAVID GARRICK, [1769
" As soon as morning left his bed,
Enchanting sounds buzzed round my head.
From wights yoleped waits.
First tweedle dum and tweedle dee.
Then ' welcome to our Jubilee ! '
I longed to break their pates."
The scene'' at breakfast in " Peyton's " room must
have been amusing, for Foote had arrived and was
sitting there, half angry, half amused, and scoffing at
everything. There was a picture in the room — alle
gorical, according to the fashion of the moment, with
the motto, " Oh, for a muse of fire ! " : —
" ' Oh, for a muse of fire ' and mettle,
Cries out Foote, to boil the kettle ;
Curse your little squalling souls.
Bring us butter, bring us rolls.
Look at CaUban's wild picture,
Oh, how like the poet Victor.
Teacups rattle, kettles hiss,
VioTOK ! ViCTOE ! Foote is Victok.
Victor do not mind the picture.
All, aU, aU
Bawl, bawl, bawl.
Be friends again, and kiss."*
By eight o'clock the magistrates had assembled in
the open street, and had met Mr. Garrick (who was
called the " Steward of the Festival ") at the town-
hall, where they presented him with a medaUion of
Shakspeare, carved on the eternal, and inexhaustible
" mulberry-tree," richly set in gold. Mr. Garrick
hlnaself paid the charges of this ornament. He made
" a suitable reply : " he had to make many such through
these lengthy proceedings, and fastened this " elegant
mark of distinction " upon his breast. Most people,
indeed, who took part in the show, wore a sUver
uiedal or a favour, and it was said that the sale of
* This is clearly a description of what took place. Victor we know to have
been there ; and it faUs in exactly with what we know of Foote's manner and
humour.

1769.] THE SHAKSPEARE JUBILEE. 217
the " elegant marks of distinction " produced a respect
able sum.*
From the town-hall the whole company marched on
in procession to the .charming church, where the Ora
torio of " Judith " was to be sung, written by Doctor
Arne, Mrs. Cibber's brother, who, like everybody whom
Garrick obliged, was presently to be dissatisfied, and
" aggrieved," and pettish. Mr. Barthelmon led ; his
wife was first soprano. The whole was dismal and
dreary beyond description; the chorus was bad, and
about as meagre as the audience. The great croAvd
had not yet arrived. The weather was chilly : no one
saw the exact connection between the bard and Mr.
Handel's Judith. Still we seem to see the whole
scene : the pretty church, the mayor and dignitaries,
and Mr. Garrick in the place of honour, vrith his medal.
Mrs. Garrick beside him ; Mr. Barthelmon and his men
fiddling away In the gallery ; and Foote behind a pillar
turning the whole into a jest.f
When the oratorio was over, which was not until
* The favours were of Coventry ribbon, and were distributed ' ' by Mr. Jack
son, from Tavistock Street, London, who gave about his bill " with a line of
Johnson's — " Each change of many-coloured life he drew. " " I daresay, " says
Mr. Boswell, ' ' Mr. Sam. Johnson never imagined that this fine verse of his
would appear on a bill to promote the sale of ribbons. As I have mentioned
this illustrious author, I cannot but regret that he did not attend the jubilee.
He would have added much dignity to our meeting." — Boswell's Account,
Scots Magazine. + " In a corner sate Foote,
Full of laughter and smut.
To things holy and grave quite a stranger ;
The blasphemous wag
Did his wickedness brag — .
Afhat is truth or religion to him ?
At honour he'U laugh,
And friendship throw off
As quick as he will his cork limb.
The oratorio being done,
We saddle and run
To the booth, hamper scamper, to dinner."

218 THB LIFE OP DAVID GARRICK. [1769.
nearly three o'clock, a procession was again formed,
with the steward at its head, from the church to the
Rotunda, the band in front, and a chorus chanting, in
a sort of joyous rapture, this doggerel : —
" This is the day— a holiday !
Drive care and sorrow far away !
Let all be mirth and hallowed joy !
Here Nature nursed her darling boy! "
The spectacle must have been infinitely ludicrous : and
we can almost call up Foote's face, as he limped along.
Here a banquet was served for some hundred ladies
and gentlemen : an " elegant " dinner, says Victor
Mr. Garrick's dependent ; but other accounts are not
so favourable. The guests were charged fifteen shU-
lings, for which there was ample profession of turtie,
claret, Madeha, and such choice things. The whole
seems to have broken down, as other gigantic feasts
have since broken doAvn. Some guests could get
nothing, others got what " was called turtle." There
Avas great confusion, owing to the want of seats, and
from people long neglected, and whose patience had
given way, rising en masse to help themselves.
Then some ten musicians entered the orchestra, and
struck up a series of songs, catches, and glees, aU
tuned to the same key of semi-rapture. Many of these
were Avritten by Garrick, others by Bickerstaff, his
drudge and lieutenant. The former were spirited and
characteristic ; and one in particular, " The War'wick-
shire Lad," had a really fresh, open-air ring, that
was suitable and strikiag. It was trolled very often
during the festival, and with Dibdin's music, became
popular, and is stUl sung in the coupty : —

1769.] THB SHAKSPEARE JUBILEE. 219
A SONG.
' ' Ye Warwickshire lads and ye lasses.
See what at our Jubilee passes ;
Come revel away, rejoice and be glad.
For the lad of aU lads was a Warwickshire lad —
Warwickshire lad.
All be glad, '
For the. lad of aU lads was a Warwickshire lad.
' ' Each shire has its different pleasures.
Each shire has its different treasures ;
But to rare Warwickshire all must submit.
For the wit of aU wits was a Warwickshire wit —
Warwickshire wit,
How he writ,
For the wit of all wits was a AVarwickshire wit.
" There never was seen such a creature.
Of all she was worth he robbed Nature ;
He took aU her smUes and he took all her grief.
And the thief of all thieves was a Warwickshire thief —
Warwickshire thief.
He's the chief.
For the thief of all thieves was a Warwickshire thief. " *
The inevitable mulberry-tree came in for its share
of lyrical honour ; and it would seem that Garrick
himself stood up and sang to it, holding a cup " made
of the tree " iu his hand : —
THE MULBERRY-TREE.
" Behold this fair goblet, 'twas carved from the tree
Which, 0 my sweet Shakspeare, was planted by thee ;
As a rehc I kiss it, and bow at the shrine.
What comes from thy hand must be ever divine.
All shaU yield to the mulberry-ti'ee.
Bend to thee
Blest mulberry ;
Matchless was he
Who planted thee.
And thou, like him, immortal be," t
One of the country fellows was said to have been
* One line was afterwards parodied oomicaUy, and the guests thinking
ruefuUy of the bad inns, hummed — •
" The worst of aU beds is a Warwickshire bed ! "
t He also had seen and been amused at the temper of the " bumpkins " of

220 THB LIFE OF DAVID GARRICK. [1769.
utterly mystified by the bass viol ; a " Banbury
man " told some rustic inquirers that they were about
to celebrate " Shakspeare's resurrection." Wits like
Foote Insisted that the popular idea was that of " a
Jew Bill;" and in one of the plays written later to
ridicule the affair, one of the boors is made to say, that
" the pagans is all gone by to see the Jubilo in the
Roundhouse !"
Between nine and ten, the company went home to,
dress, and in the interval the amphitheatre was cleared
and turned into a ball-room. Meantime the town was
illuminated. Large transparencies had been painted,
in front of the town-hall, by the Drury Lane artists,
but these, which were of a Shakspearean character,
stUl more mystified the passing crowd. The ball Avas
brUliant, and the room handsome. Every one thought
the place, their stupid wonder and surly distrust. And thus he put
together — "THE COUNTRY GIRL.
(a comiok serenata.)
Mecitativo.
" For whom must all this puther be ?
The Emperor of Germanee
Or great Mogul is coming.
Such eating, drinking, dancing, singing.
Such cannon firing, beUs a ringing,
Such trumpeting and drumming.
Air.
" All this for— Poet— 0 no—
Who lived Lord knows how long ago ?
How can you jeer one.
How can you fieer one,
A Poet, a Poet, 0 no,
'Tis not so,
AVho lived Lord knows how long ago !
Puccit.
' ' Yet now I call to mind
Our larned Doctor boasted,
One Sliikspur did of aU mankind
Eeceeve from Heaven the most head."

1769. THE SHAKSPEARE JUBILEE, 221
of Ranelagh. Thus the first day's entertainment con
cluded. Everything, so far, had been successful. But
next morning came a change. The weather had been
dark and lowering ; the Avon had been gradually
rising, and now the rain was streaming down.
Nothing more dismal could have been conceived, than
for a number of persons of quality to be thus shut up
in a little country toAvn, without resources or even
room. The out-door affectations of jollity, the " de
monstrations of joy," had to be all suspended. The
rustics were delighted. They looked on the rains, and
the rising of the Avon, as a righteous judgment I
The grand feature of the whole, " The Pageant,"
was thus interfered with. For it had been intended that
there should be a procession of characters through the
streets. All the dresses had been brought down from
Drury Lane. Most of the leadiug players were to
walk. " Gentleman " Smith had borrowed Garrick's
own Richard's cap. The effect was to have been im
posing. This stagey pageant, glittering with the tinsel
and paste jewels of the property-room, when after
wards transferred to the boards of the theatres, was
only in its fitting place. It is almost surprising, that
the correct and chastened mind of Garrick could not
have seen the discordance between the refined and
classical nature of Shakspeare, and such a raree-show.
All had to hurry to the Rotunda, where homage was
to be paid to " the Bard " in a formal manner, in
an ode, Avritten and spoken by Garrick, and "set"
by Arne. He himself was a little out of spirits that
day, perhaps affected by the weather, and the
rather serious responsibilities he had undertaken. It
all rested on his shoulders. There was a busy scene

222 THE LIFE OF DAVID GARRICK. , [1769.
that morning at the mayor's house ; and to add to his
annoyances a local barber — not quite sober — gashed
him from chin to mouth. Up to the last moment
almost, Mrs. Garrick and the ladles were " running
about " applying styptics.
The scene was briUiant. The steward was seated
in front of the orchestra, with the female singers on
each side of him, in a suit of brown, richly embroidered
with gold lace, and his wand and medal. The Rotunda
was crowded; while the rain was heard pattering
down on the roof. The ode was considered an excel
lent performance ; though, as read now, it is fiiU of
the pseudo rapture, and affected inspiration, which
belonged to every feature of the festival. All, how
ever, agreed that, in its delivery, Garrick exceUed
himself. He seems to have roused the audience to
enthusiasm. The ode was revised and corrected hy
Warton, and later much ridiculed. Johnson said,
contemptuously, it defied criticism.
It began by an overture. The airs were sung hy
the choir, while Garrick declaimed the " Recitative "
— a practice, it is said, introduced then for the first
time, and with the happiest effect. He began " with
a respectful bow " to the company, acknowledged by a
universal round of applause. He modestly said that
his taking it up, was " more an act of duty than of
vanity," and paid a compliment to Gray, in return for
his compliment —
' ' 0 had those bards who charm the listening shore
Of Cam and Isis tuned their classic lays !"
The best portion was his outline of some of the
Shakspearean characters — especiaUy his description of
Falstaf, which he illustrated with great force and

1769.] ¦ THE SHAKSPEARE JUBILEE. 223
happy expression. He brought ui local allusions,
especially a rumour of a daring Shakspearean impiety
— the inclosure of a common near the river —
" And may no sacrilegious hand
Near Avon's banks be found
To dare to parcel out the land,
Aud Umit Shakspeare's haUowed ground."
After the ode came a singular proceeding. I find
in a sort of manuscript " Prompt Book," the " order"
of this part of the show, neatly written out, with heads
for the speech he was to address to the company —
" the ode writer's zeal and gratitude has, I fear, carried
him beyond his depth," he wrote with a modesty fait
d loisir. It was his first attempt in that way, he said,
and he might hope for the indulgence always extended
to any one who appeared for the first time in a new
character. " The only remaining honour is to speak for
him " — "pause," said the Prompt Book. Mr. Garrick
here calculated on the audience not understanding
exactly : so he was to go on. ""Perhaps my proposition
came a little abruptly on you. With your permission
/ will give you time, by a piece of music to collect your
thoughts"* This was true stage "business." The
curious part was, he had rightly counted on the dull
ness of his audience, who remained stupidly silent,
when he said, "the only remaining honour you can
pay him is to speak for him." And the music accord
ingly played, to give them time "to adjust their
thoughts." After the music, he stood up again, and put the same
question, when there succeeded a bit of buffoonery
quite unworthy of such dignity as there was in the
* HUl MSS.n

224 THE LIFE OF DAVID GARRICK. ' [1769.
festivity. The famous Lord Ogleby appeared in the
gallery, in his great coat, and calling out that he had
a good deal to say against the memory of Shakspeare,
was invited doAvn into the orchestra by Garrick. He
there threw off his coat, and appeared in " a suit of
fashionable blue and silver " — as a Macaroni or Buck
of the day, and then began a strain of comic abuse
and satire, directed against Shakspeare, saying that
he was an author capable only of producing the vulgar
emotions of laughing and crying, with a string of
smart " hits " against the festival, and the toAvn, and
the steward himself The whole had been planned,
and was meant to be deeply ironical ; but part of the
audience seems to have accepted It as earnest, and
another portion not to have understood it.* Then Mr.
Garrick addressed the ladies, in reply, appealing to
them specially, in verses, in which the mulberry-tree
was once more introduced. " I must beg leave to re
turn thanks to that overfine gentleman, &c. 0, ladies,
it is you alone who can stop this terrible corruption.
In these strange times of party and division,
AVhy should not I among the rest petition.
In Shakspeare's name I invocate the fair.
Whilst on my breast this patron saint 1 wear." {Shows medal).
Some were not a little fatigued by all this speeching.
Towards the end there came a pressure of the crowd,
many of the benches gave way, and it went about that
my Lord Carlisle had been seriously hurt by the fall
ing of a door.
Later came the dinner, the feature of which was
a turtle of a hundred and fifty pounds weight. This
* Mr. Cradock, who was present, thought this interruption a sudden im
pertinence of King's. But it was aU set down in the book.

1769.] THE SHAKSPEARE JUBILEE. 225
Avas, as it were, the spe'cial day, and the fashionable
company having now all arrived ; for at night was to
be the great masquerade, and the fireworks. The
tOAvn was full of noblemen and ladies of quality, who
Avere dressing in all sorts of out-of-the-way little
corners. Mr. MeyneU, and his party, posted down
specially, and had relays of horses along the road to
take them back again, as soon as the ball was over.
The fatal rain was still streaming down, and the river
rising steadily. It had already overflowed its banks,
and had begun to flood the field in which the Ro
tunda had been built. It was determined, however,
to make an attempt to let off the fireworks, under
Angelo's artistic guidance ; but they proved a miser
able failure.
Hitherto Foote had been one of the features of the
entertainment. He was seen going about everywhere,
ridiculing everything. Murphy was with him, and
there was a report abroad, that the two were pre
paring some bit of extravagance. On the Mall he had
met the foolish country gentleman — " le nials," as the
French would call him — Avho had told him "he had
come out of Essex," and whom he put out of coun
tenance by asking who "drove" him. For some
reason not known — it may have been from some
quarrel with Garrick — he quitted the town after the
masquerade. But he took with him a mysterious and
ungenerous hostUity both to Garrick, and to the festival
which Garrick had so much at heart — a hostility
which was to break out later in bitter jests, and pas
quinades, and every shape of ridicule.
The masquerade began at eleven. By this hour
the approaches to the Rotunda Avere all covered AvIth
vol, II. <J

22G THB LIFE OF DAVID GARRICK, [1769,
water, and the horses had to Avade knee-deep, to reach
the doors. Even there, planks had to be laid down, to
enable the ladies to get fi-om their carriages. Such a
flood in the river had not been known within the
memory of any Stratford man ; and the rustics, who
now exulted in It, as a judgment from Heaven, and who
actually began to give out that Mr. Garrick was a sort
of necromancer, were more than gratified. It did not,
however, interfere In the least with the splendour of
the show.
Most of the guests Avere in fancy dresses, many in
dominos and masques. There were present the Duke of
Dorset, Lord and Lady Hertford, Lord Grosvenor, Lord
Denbigh, Lord Spencer, Lord Craven, Lord Beau
champ, the Duke of Manchester, Lord Plymouth, Lord
Carlisle, Lord North, Sir Watkin Wynne, Lord Pem
broke, and many more. All these were personal
friends of Garrick's. For the meanest dress, four
guineas was asked and obtained. Many of the neigh
bouring squires, and their wives and daughters, pinched
themselves severely, to meet the extravagance of this
festival. The " masks " that attracted most attention
were those of Lady Pembroke, the fair Mrs. Bouverie,
and Mrs. Crewe, who Avent as three witches ; and the
discrepancy between their real charms, and attempts
at self-disfigurement, delighted the company. Miss
Mary Ladbroke, as Dame Quickly, also excited atten
tion. Mrs. Yates, in a "good leg" part was piquant
as St. petit maitre; and her husband Mr. Yates, diverted
the guests as a rough country waggoner. There was
also a Lord Ogleby — by " a gentleman from Oxford" —
and Lord Grosvenor as a Turk. But there was one cha-
. racter, now almost historic, who attracted notice there,

1769. THE SHAKSPEARE JUBILEE. 227
but who now Is of far more interest to us, than any of
the fashionable persons there, or their costly, dresses.
This was Mr. James Boswell. He had come fresh
from General Paoh in London, who was staying in
Bond Street ; and the papers had taken care to
notice, how Mr. Boswell had lodgings near him,
and had been going about with the general, on the
most friendly and Intimate terms. He had not
brought the general down to the masquerade, but
had come himself, and made his famous appearance
there, in the character of a Corsican. He had written
a Prologue, to be spoken before the masquerade, " but
was prevented by the crowd." We can see him now,
moving about the Rotunda, and have almost a picture
of his dress, even to its minutest detail. This account
is from a "communication" to the papers, which,
from its unconscious vanity, and delightful naivete,
betrays Boswell's own hand, in every line. It tells
us that he " entered the amphitheatre about twelve
o'clock," and wore the dress of "an armed Corsican
chief," — a short dark coat of coarse cloth, with
a scarlet waistcoat, and black spatterdashes. On
his head he had a black cloth cap, with the golden
inscription, " Viva la Libertd," and the cloth cap was
besides decorated AvIth a blue feather, " so that it had
an elegant, as well as a warlike appearance." He
Avore, beside, a stUetto stuck in a cartouche-box, and a
musket slung across his back. He had no wig or
powder, but his own hair plaited Into a queue, and tied
at the end with a bunch of blue ribbons. To complete
the absurdity of his appearance, he carried a long
vine-stalk in his hand, "byway of staff," carved at
the top, " with a bird, emblematic of the sweet Bard of

228 THB LIFE OF DAVID GARRICK, [17C9,
Avon." He would not wear a mask, explaining to
everybody " it Avas not proper for a gallant Corsican."
As soon as he entered "he drew universal attention."*
" He was first accosted by Mrs. Garrick," and had a
good deal of conversation with her. In the course
of the night, too, there was " an admirable conversa
tion" between Lord Grosvenor, as a Turk, and the
armed Corsican, on the constitutions of their different
countries ; and " Captain Thomson of the navy, in the
character of an honest tar, kept it up very well. He
expressed a strong inclination to stand by the brave
islanders. Mr. Boswell danced both a minuet and
country dance, with a very pretty Lrish lady, Mrs.
Sheldon, wife to Captain Sheldon, of the 38^A Regi
ment of Foot (Lord Blayney' s)," This minuteness is
truly Boswellian. " She was dressed in a genteel
domino, and before she danced, threw off her mask."
Mr. Boswell, it was added, had come to the jubUee
from " a desire of paying a compliment to Mr. Ganick,
with whom he has always been on a most agreeable
footing." It Is certainly one ofthe most characteristic
figures in the whole scene. But this was not all.
The "celebrated friend of Paoh," as he called. him
self, contented himself with distributing copies of his
verses : — " From the rude banks of Golo's rapid flood,
Alas ! too deeply tinged with patriot blood.
Behold a Corsican — in better days
Eagerly I sought my ooraitry's fame to raise."
To another of the magazines Mr. Boswell sent a
more minute account, more characteristic than any-
* We can almost hear Boswell speaking. He was in the habit of sending
these little personal communiguU to the St. James's Evening Post and other
j ournals.

1709.] THE SHAKSPEARE JUBILEE, 229
thing In the Life of Johnson. He was greatly affected
by the whole scene. "My bosom glowed with joy
when I beheld a numerous and brilliant company of
nobihty and gentry, the rich, the brave, the witty, and
the fair assembled. . . . But I could have wished
that prayers had been read, or a short sermon
preached. It would have consecrated our jubUee, and
begun it with gratefully adoring the Supreme Father
of all Spirits, from whom cometh every good and
perfect gift." The performance of the Ode had been
"noble and affecting, like an exhibition in Athens
or Rome. I do believe if any one had attempted to
disturb the performance, he would have been in danger
of his life," He admired Garrick's delivery, who
seemed "inspired v/ith an awful elevation of soul.
. . . It would be unpardonable should I not ac
knowledge the pleasure I received from Dr. Arne's
music; nor must I neglect to thank the whole or
chestra for their execution. , , . I had a serene
and solemn satisfaction in contemplating the Church.
. . . . Garrick seemed in an ecstacy. . . .
When the songs were singing he was all life and
spirit. At the words 'Warwickshire Thief his eyes
sparkled vnth joy. ... I was witness, from my
own hearing, what did great honour to Lord Gros
venor. After ' the Ode, his Lordship came up into
the orchestra, and told Mr. Garrick that he had
affected his whole frame — showing him his nerves and
veins still quivering, and well agitated. ... I
laughed away spleen in a droll simile. Taking the
whole of this jubilee, said I, it is like eating an arti
choke entire. We have some fine mouthfuls, but also
swallow the leaves and the hair, which are confounded

230 THE LIFE OP DAVID GARRICK. [1769.
difficult of digestion." This truly BosweUian sketch
Avould almost seem to have been thrown off, after his
return from the masquerade — Avhen he was quite over
set by his own performances, and perhaps, by the wine.*
A gentleman who came disguised as the oevU,
" gave inexpressible offence." One of the charms of
the night was Mrs. Garrick, and Mrs. Garrick's dancing.
She walked a minuet in " the most graceful manner,"
and excited the admiration of all. This was but more
of the good sense which waited on every act of the
Garricks; another would have shrunk from the ap
plause AvhIch recalled the awkward recollections of the
profession. But " my sweet Mrs. Garrick," as .Hannah
More calls her, was above such affectations. A
Frenchman visiting England later, spoke with rapture
of another minuet that he had seen her dance. Of
this Stratford minuet, one spectator Avrote, that "it
was the most elegant dance I shall oversee;" and,
in the sarcastic rhymes that came out later, it was
noticed as a charming feature —
" None fairer in the baU were seen.
One danced more like the Paphian queen,
For Garrick has her grace."
Not until four o'clock did the ball terminate. It
was thought that some 1,500 persons were present,
and Avith It, virtually terminated the jubilee. The
next day, indeed, there was the breakfast over again,
and a horserace for the jubilee cup of BOl. ; but
the course was a foot deep in water. Lord Gros^
venor, Mr. King, and others of note on the turf,
entered horses ; and the plate Avas Avon by a groom
* This little contribution to Boswell's life wUl be found in the Soots
Magazine.

1769.] THE SHAKSPEARE JUBILEE. 231
called Pratt, who declared that, though he knew
nothing of Shakspeare, or of' anything he had done,
he would never part with it. Then all went in to
dinner, " the French horns and clarionets attending;"
and the whole wound up with fireworks — for the rain
had ceased — and with another baU, which must have
been languid enough. Thus the jubilee ended.
Indeed the whole must have been a scene of rather
forced enthusiasm and enjoyment ; and nothing but the
good company, and personal connection of Garrick
with the guests, could have carried it through. This
fashion of celebration does not belong to our country,
our climate, or our characteristics; we have not the
neat and ready touch of our French neighbours, who,
can extemporize a fete with all its accompaniments,
hold it In perfect keeping with the object to be cele
brated, and exclude everything mean or discordant.
They, too, have the background and scenery ready
made, charming skies, balmy air, and a steady climate
that can be reckoned on. Above all, they have light
and gay tempers, with a childhke relish for light
enjoyments, and they do not " take their pleasures
sadly," according to the manner of the English. It
was not a pecuniary success ; but without Garrick, it
would have been a miserable failure. It cost him-
indivIduaUy a great deal of money. Even his own
presents to the town represent a good sum. His was
the well-known statue by Roubiliac, which now stands
in the toAvn-hall, and the fine full-length of himself, by
Gainsborough, which Mrs. Garrick thought the best
likeness. The theatres made capital out of this affair.
Covent Garden led off with a theatrical jubUee.

232 THE LIFE OF DAVID GARRICK. [1769.
called " Man and Wife," AvIth a Prologue spoken by
Weston, which brought in all the popular topics re
lating to the festival. It dealt with Garrick gently :
" First, something in lingo of schools called 'an Ode,'
All critics they tell me, aUowed very good.
One said, you may take it for truth, I assure yc.
It was made by the little great man of old Drury.''
Lacy, Garrick's partner, a man of plain and prac
tical sense, had not relished the Stratford scheme, and
had forebodings about his Drury Lane " properties."
Still he had great confidence in the genius of Garrick,
who presently had a Show ready for Drury Lane. He
gave Dr. Arne the handsome sum of sixty guineas for
the music to the ode, and at the end of the month, after
the " Country Girl " was played, produced it, with
the stage arranged like an orchestra— he himself recit
ing it In the centre. This, however, did not " take,"
and it was only performed seven nights. But he
had thought of producing a grander spectacle ; and
accordingly wrote a humorous little sketch, and on the
14th of October brought out " The JubUee."
Considering the state of the stage at that time, It
Avas a Avonderful production, pleasantly written, and
combining both farce and spectacle. In it was shown
the courtyard of the Stratford mn, with Moody, who was
the official Irishman, having to sleep in a postchaise,
with all the humours Avhich might arise from the over
crowding of the little town. It alluded to the Shaks
pearean names given to the rooms In the Inn : — " A
Avalter orders one to carry eight glasses of jelly to the
little thin man Avho is with the tall lady, in ' Love's
Labour Lost,' and bids another stop the quarrel in the
'Katherine and Petruchio.' " King played one of the

1769.] THE SHAKSPEARE JUBILEE, 233
local country clowns, whose terrors and prejudices had
furnished such amusement.' The procession, through
what represented a street in Stratford, must have been
really imposing. There were sixteen drummers lead
ing the way, a band of music, men carrying banners,
and then a long train of actors and actresses, all
dressed to represent the leading parts of Shakspeare's
plays — each play being apart. Garrick walked as
Benedick, King as Touchstone, Mrs. Abington as the
comic muse, and Mrs. Barry as the tragic muse, drawn
in a triumphal car. They were divided into "the
Roman chara^ers," Ccesar, Coriolanus ; " Roman
ladies dishevelled," Brutus and Cassius, " bearing
daggers," with "soft music" and "grand music."
Then came old English characters — Prospero, and
" magical music," " drunken sailors ; " Oberon and
Titania, "in a nut-sheU," to fairy music; Hamlet,
"to solemn music," following the Ghost, with his
sword drawn ; " Ophelia in " her madness ; " Lear ;
Macbeth, "with daggers bloody;" Lady Macbeth
" asleep, with the candle and phial," to the " Dead
March in Saul." Garrick, who knoAV the cheapness
in the end of judicious outlay, spared no money
on the "mounting" of the piece, and the result was,
that for ninety-two nights the town went to see it
in crowds. The whole must have been a wonderful
and pleasing pageant ; and it is surprising, that in a
recentiy revived enthusiasm, some such display was
not thought of at the theatres. Boaden, who died not
very long ago, saw it from the two-shilling gallery,
then a mere boy ; and was perfectly ravished with the
splendour of the spectacle.
Thus, in a certain sense, he did not lose by the

234 THB LIFE OP DAVID GARRICK. [1769.
Jubilee, down at Stratford. But the jesting was
endless, the ridicule killing. The newspapers and
magazines were never weary of ringing the changes
on Avhat was considered a mere display of vanity, and
meant for the glorification, not of Shakspeare, but of
his priest. Warburton's contempt, which spared no
foe, could not restrain itself, even in the Instance of a
friend, like Garrick. Of the Ode, he wrote to a friend,
that Cibber's nonsense occasionally verged on sense ;
but that " this man's sense, where he does deviate into
sense" Avas ahvays like nonsense. No better instance
could be given, of Warburton's " Ul-cofFditloned " soul.
Worse than all, it seems to have stimulated the enmity
of his old half-friend — but better half-enemy — Foote,
in whose mind the monstrous " humbug " of the
whole show, had almost the effect of scarlet on
a bull. The complacent airs of Garrick, at these
public comments, had a further effect. For a man
whose profession and livelihood is satire, intimacy
is more an invitation than a restraint ; and though we
have reviewed the circle of Garrick's friends and
enemies in a previous chapter, I have reserved for this
place a sketch of his relations with tAvo men so im
portant as Samuel Foote and Samuel Johnson.

1769.] SAMUEL FOOTS AND SAMUEL JOHNSON. 233

CHAPTER V.
SAMUEL FOOTE AND SAMUEL JOHNSON
1769,
Anyone sitting with Garrick at Hampton — say only
a short time before his death — and asking what
impression of life he had taken aAvay, after his long
experience within and outside the walls of his
theatre, must have learned from him, how many a
mean corner of the heart had been shown to him, and
that he would take out of the world an impression of its
" hoUowness " and baseness — worse than ever conven
tional moralist had described it. He had found a few
true friends — many bitter enemies. Ingratitude more
than usual — and had been blessed in his wife. This
was all more or less, as of course ; but what he must
have recalled with most pain was, that some, whom all
through his life he had striven to conciliate, who had
treated him badly and ungraciously, whom he had for
given and tried to conciliate agaio, should have laid
themselves out to be unkind to him. There were a
few from whom he bore everything with undisturbed
good temper, but who could never forgive him, for being
more prosperous than they were. No good offices
could bind them. Those ungracious hearts he was
never weary of trying to win, and chief among these
were Samuel Foote, and, it must be added, Samuel

236 THB LIFE OF DAVID GARRICK, [1769,
Johnson. The behaviour of these two, adds some
thing to the humiliating history of the smaller human
weaknesses, and at the same time contributes to the
history of a mind that raised itself to a high station,
by restraint, forbearance, a kindly charity, and perhaps
a contemptuous indifference to petty mahce. Foote's
behaviour to him, all through, was the strangest, and
though he felt himself bound by no feeling of loyalty
to spare any friend, he seems to have had a special
dislike to Garrick.
When the manager was acting his plays — acceptiag
his services whenever he chose to give them — though,
as we have seen, they were sure to bring embarrass
ment, — he could hardly restrain his envy or mahce. He
had held him up in one of his lectures as " penurious,"
and churlishly discouraging dramatic authors. But
presently a dreadful shock was to fall on him, the
first of the two great bloAvs of his life. It Avas
perhaps the lightest, as being physical, — the fall from
his horse, at Lord Mexborough's, which so shattered
his leg, that nothing but amputation could save his
life. This mutilation was a terrible stroke for the man
whose life was one broad grin, and whose jests and
mimicries were set off with all the quick motions and
spirited action, Avhich carelessness and good spirits
could prompt. He, who jeered at the ludicrous help
lessness of others, moral as well as physical, was now
hovering between life and death, and at best could only
hope to emerge into the world, a maimed and helpless
cripple, that Avould require all pity and indulgence.
Weak, miserable, in agonies of pain, not being able
to sleep Avithout opiates, a kind and considerate letter
from the "mean hound" he had so often slandered

1769,] SAMUEL FOOTE AND SAMUEL JOHNSON. 237
came to bear him comfort. It told him how deeply all
his friends took his misfortune to heart. Colman in
particular was deeply concerned. Garrick offered his
OAvn labour and exertions, to look after the theatre in the
Haymarket, and had taken care to put paragraphs in the
papers to contradict false reports. The other's acknow
ledgment is one of the most dismal in the world. He
was " a miserable instance of the weakness and frailty of
human nature." " Oh, sir," he went on, almost abjectly,
" it is incredible all I have suffered, and you willbelieve
me when I assure you, that the amputation was the least
part ofthe whole." They flattered him with the hope of
getting soon up to town. " Change of place to a man
in my way, is but of little importance ; but for one
reason I wish it, as it will give me an opportunity, in
person, of expressing some part of my gratitude to dear
Mr. Garrick for all his attention and goodness to me."
Mrs. Garrick, too, had sent some kind messages Avhich
seemed to have touched him much. He could not suffi
ciently express his gratitude to her. When Garrick
would lose her, he " would have more to regret than
any man in the kingdom." We might pity him in this
wretched state, did we not suspect it was the mere pros
tration produced by his sufferings. " Oh, sir, it is in
credible all I have suffered." He should have thought
of what he made others suffer ; and when some years
later he could drag the wretched Mrs. Dodd and her
husband, on his stage at the Haymarket, he showed
that such a lesson was throAvn away upon him, and
almost seemed to deserve the final chastisement
which crushed him. A "return" of the accumulated
amount of suffering and mortifications he contrived
to heap on innocent persons, would be astonishing.

238 THB LIFE OP DAVID GARRICK, [1769,
Nearly every piece of his owed its point to such
personality. A single story will Ulustrate the character of these two
men, who were in such curious relationship all their life
long. It is told by Cumberland, who was actually
present. He, Sfr Robert Fletcher, and Garrick, went
to dine with Foote, at Parson's Green. At the end of
dinner, Foote thought the baronet had gone away, and
the moment his back was turned began, in his usual
fashion, to ridicule his late guest. The baronet actually
happened to be in another part of the room, and,
much hurt, called out to him to wait, at least, until he
had gone. The situation was most awkward. The
unscrupulous wit was actually abashed. Then Ganick,
with infinite address and kindness, came to the rescue,
and set himself to reconcUe the affronted guest to what
had happened ; and this he did with such exquisite art,
and tact, and good avIU, throAving over all such a comic
air, that he eventually succeeded. We know enough
of Foote to guess how he would have inflamed the
situation, and complicated the matter still more, with a
malicious humour, and told the thing everywhere,
as one of his best stories.
In one of his fitful returns of friendship he asked
Garrick to dine with him, gave him a present of some
geese, and was addressed by his guest, next day —
always grateful for any signs of grace — in some pleasant
rhymes. No doubt, the other had his rough jest about
the " Garrick and the geese : "
" Dear Foote, I love your wit and like your wine.
And hope when next with you I dine —
(Indeed, I do not care how soon) —
I hope — nay, beg it — as a boon,
That you will get decanter six.
Ye various wines that number fix ;

1769.] SAMUEL POOTE AND SAMUEL JOHNSON. 239
So may the generous grape you give —
(To give it may you ages live !) —
Fi'om bottle to decanter pass.
And not a cloud to stain the glass,
¦* * * #
I took my leave in such a hurry.
With drinking, too, in such a flurry.
With gibes and jests so crammed my mind.
Again we left the geese behind,
Which, by the bearer, please to send
To me, your very thankful friend,"*
Not a cloud to stain the glass! That very soon
gathered. Nothing could change the nature of the
man, and he was presently — only the next year — ridi
culing and " taking off" the friend who had addressed
him in this warm and kindly way. This hostility
really endured through Foote's life, and merely inter
mitted. The sure and steady course of Garrick's suc
cess, his growing progress in wealth and estimation,
and above all, some of Garrick's complacent absurdities,
were all so much exasperation to his strange soul.
The food of that soul was a sort of boisterous jesting,
which he caUed good-humoured satire, or rallying, and
which, in another, might have been so considered; for,
as in the case of Douglas Jerrold, there can be a
reputation for " bitter things," and a kindly heart at
the same time. But Foote's behamour seems to be but
too consistent with his speeches. His conduct to Gar
rick alone would prove this. The latter's kindness,
his good-nature in overlooking the past, his assistance
with money, might have been set down to fear ; and It
was not unnatural, that the sensitive Garrick should
have an almost morbid terror of this theatrical high
wayman, who was stopping every One on the road.
Foote's tongue was never weary of retailing stories
* HiU MSS,

240 THE LIFE OP DAVID GARRICK. [1709,
about Garrick's " meanness." Some of these Avere
diverting enough — as his picture of the actor and Hurd,
walking up and down the Adelphi Terrace, the former
in an agony at seeing a waste in a candle in his
dining-room, distracted between obsequious attention
to the bishop, and economy. His bust was on Foote's
desk, near his money : " but," said the wit, showing
it, " you see he has no hands." This was good, and
perhaps fair, if it did not go beyond. But from the
man who had not the decency to spare his dead wife,
not much restraint towards friends could be expected.
Just after her death, he dined out as usual, Avith a
large party Avhere he affected a sort of grotesque
sorrow, which amused the servants. When he added
that he had been all the morning " hunting for a
second-hand coffin to bury her io," he succeeded per
fectly, and sent them fi-om the room in convulsions.*
And now freshly returned from the Jubilee, and in
dearth of a subject, he was everywhere telling his iU-
natured stoiies."|' A witty but malicious speech of his —
an impromptu ^z^ a loisir — was in everybody's mouth.
" A jubilee," he said, " as it hath lately appeared. Is
. a public invitation circulated and urged by puffing, to
go post without horses, to an obscure borough without
representatives, governed by a mayor and aldermen,
who are no magistrates; to celebrate a great poet
Avhose own works have made him immortal, by an ode
without poetry, music without melody, dinners Avithout
* Taylor, vol. ii. p. 362.
+ He furnished BosweU with the occasion for a pun. Garrick had a happy
knack at "turning" a prologue ; but Foote could not spare even this gift, and
said all Garrick's prologues had a culinary turn, and should have for a motto,
jamdudum patinis. " He might be answered," said the Laird of Auchinleck,
" Any pattens rather than your ' Piety in Pattens,' "

1769.] SAMUEL FOOTE AND SAMUEL JOHNSON. 241
victuals, and lodgings without beds; a masquerade
where half the people appeared barefaced, a horse-race
up to the knees in water, fireworks extinguished as
soon as they were lighted, and a gingerbread amphi
theatre, which, like a house of cards, tumbled to pieces
as soon as it was finished."* His behaviour seems
almost inexplicable. He must have visited the festival
solely to oblige Garrick. Yet he had no sooner
left, than he began to ridicule it in every possible
way. Every newspaper was said to contain satires
and squibs directed against the celebration, from
his hand. At last he carried his animosity so far
as to meditate a piece in which Garrick was to
be brought in, and "taken off." A lady asked him
were his figures at " the little theatre" to be the size
of life. " No, madam," he answered, " about the size
of Garrick." To the hst of those whom he had
mimicked, or threatened to mimic, was now to be
added the respectable name of the English Roscius.
The sensation pageant of the Jubilee at Drury Lane,
with its extraordinary success, only quickened his
burning desire to exhibit his friend; and he really
meditated bringing out at his own theatre a sort of
burlesque procession, in which there was to be a figure
of Garrick, who was to be addressed by one of the
mob in the often-quoted hues —
" A nation's taste depends on you.
Perhaps a nation's virtue too,"
And Gan-Ick's image was to answer, flapping its wings :
" Cock-a-doodle-doo ! "

* The "ode without poetry " was a thrust at the man who had always been
his friend. Even the forethought of providing "a good bed for Mr, Foote,"
deserved the little return of at least forbearance.

242 THB LIFE OP DAVID GARRICK. [1769.
This coarse bit of wit quite took possession of his
mind, and though he was not able to carry out his
notion ofthe procession, he came back to the " cock-a-
doodle-doo " idea very often and fondly. The project
was much talked of and speculated over, a trick of his
in all his " foot-pad" schemes to stimulate public curi
osity. Garrick, naturally indignant, said to his friends
that such treatment did not come handsomely from a
man who at that moment actually owed him five hun
dred pounds — a speech that was soon reported to
Foote, and rather disturbed his guilty conscience.
He affected to be furious at such a disclosure, and
with some exertion got together the sum, — borrow
ing it, however, from his friends, — to repay Gamck.
In this way he fancied he was now clear of aU
restraint. Yet Garrick dreaded this public gibbeting so much,
that we can readily imagine he made fresh advances to
soothe his enemy. There is a story of their accidental
meeting at Lord Stafford's door, and of Garrick's
asking, before they went in, " was it to be peace or
war ?" " Oh, peace, by all means," said the wit. That
was but a truce — possibly during the dinner. Daries
— no partial reporter — seems to hint that the for
bearance was to be purchased by a new loan.
They met at houses of then acquaintance, at whose
tables Mr. Foote "rattled away." No one enjoyed
his sallies more than Garrick, or laughed so much, or
applauded more heartily. But it was noticed that the
latter did not shine where Foote was present, being, not
unnaturally, under some restraint. It was noticed, in
deed, that there was a class of men of the boisterous
sort, who had very much the same effect upon Gar-

1769.] SAMUEL FOOTE AND SAMUEL JOHNSON. 243
rick. No' one, the same authority teUs us, was more
illiberal in his attacks on the absent Garrick— in
all companies "pooh-poohing" his merits as an actor,
laughing at his writings, accusing him of trickery and
meanness ; in short, to use the reporter's strong ex
pressions, "rendering his conversation disgusting, by
his nauseous abuse of Mr. Garrick."
At the same time it must be admitted that there
were failings about Garrick — his pride in the acquaint
ance of the great, his belief that he himself was the
engrossing subject of the thoughts and interest of the
public, his little airs of superiority — which to a man of
Foote's temper and wit were an hourly challenge, and
literally irresistible. Another matter to which due
weight should be given, is Garrick's apparent placidity
and endurance, which really might seem to suggest to
Foote "that the hound" had not much feeling, and
cared very little for such treatment. He was so
accustomed to impunity, that he had literally lost
the sense of restraint. This unkindness fretted Mrs.
Garrick more than it did her husband, and when
she was sitting for her portrait, Northcote, who was
Arith Reynolds, could hear her complaining of this
ceaseless and unaccountable persecution, which was
embittering their lives. But she was to be comforted
by Reynolds, who told her, it was the inferior nature
that always thus indemnified itself.
If there be one impartial character of this period
whom we could ask to arbitrate in such a matter,
it is Reynolds, the amiable painter, who was tem
perate and firm, and above any little clouds that dis
turbed the atmosphere of the day. In that dialogue in
which he affected to make Johnson describe Garrick's K 2

244 THE LIFE OP DAVID GARRICK. [1769,
character, but in which his oAvn generous 'heart was
speaking, true justice is done to both Foote and
Garrick; and to the popular stories that went about
as to their relations, which Davies and other slanderers
were glad to repeat, that Garrick in society shrank
from competition with Foote, and became sUent,
"The reason was," says Reynolds, "he disdained to
compete Avith one whose style of conversation and wit
was vulgar merriment, indecency, and impiety." Even
in mimicry, where Foote excelled, he was far left
behind by Garrick, who besides beating him in the
nicest and most exact imitation of peculiarities, gave
the tone of mind and modes of thought. "Foote
went out of himself, but without going into another
man." He had presently discovered a fresh injury in
Garrick's playing a round of his own favourite cha
racters, which he affected to believe was done with
the view of drawing away the public from his littie
theatre. Drury Lane had been kept open for a short
time after its usual season for closing, which was
another outrage. But, indeed, he had no title to
expect consideration from a man he had so injured.
He had begun by attacking him in the newspapers,
in letters, fables, and such squibs — a form of annoy
ance to which he knew . Garrick was sensitive. At
that time, Garrick was suffering acutely from an infa
mous libel, written at him by the wretch Kenrick, and
caUed " Lamentation for the loss of his Nikey," which
had just come out, and which referred to the ruiu of
his friend Bickerstaff, who had fled from the country
to avoid the consequences of an infamous crime.
And while Garrick's friends were sorely distressed

1769.] SAMUEL FOOTE AND SAMUEL JOHNSON. 245
for him, stnd the Avarm-hearted Moody "hoped. to God
that he did not suffer this injury a place in his mind,
but let it go to hell from whence it came," the delicate
Foote could choose this moment to attract yet more
attention to Garrick's name. This seems to be about
the worst trait in all his behaviour.
He was to open his theatre in February of the fol
lowing year, 1773, and had prepared one of his best
pieces of personality. This was called the "Handsome
Housemaid, or Piety in Pattens;" and he again in
tended to introduce Garrick on so favourable an oppor
tunity, as it was to be in his favourite shape of a
puppet show. A mask and puppet had been made
as like Garrick as could be contrived, with a man con
cealed inside. At the proper cue, he was to clap his
arms to his side, and crow loudly, and thus revive the
stale jest of " cock-a-doodle-doo." All this reads
pitiably, and the jest was of the lowest sort. Perhaps
it was so represented to him, for he seems to have aban
doned it in that shape : not, however, before it had gone
round all the coffee-rooms and clubs, what pleasant
entertainment was to be made out of Mr. Garrick.*
Good-natured friends soon carried the plan to the ears
of Garrick, who was thrown into agonies by such a
prospect. When the night came round the crowd was so great,
and curiosity was so intense, that the doors of the
playhouse were broken open, and the streets about the
Haymarket were impassable. Hats, swords, and cloaks.

* Cooke tells a good story of his exciting the jealousy and fears with which
the manager was supposed to be tortm'ed, by telling him of a new Roscius he
was bringing out : and of his then having this puppet brought in, Garrick was
still uneasy, ' ' What, jealous of Punch ! " said Foote,

246 THE LIFE OF DAVID GARRICK. [1769,
and shoes were all torn off and lost. Hundreds got in
without paying admission money. Many ladies fainted,
and one girl had her arm broken. There was almost
a riot. Foote excelled himself on this night In wit
and buoyancy. It was wonderful to think of his re
taining buoyancy and spirit, and yet only able to limp
about 'with a wooden leg. Nothing more dismally
grotesque could be imagined than to see him pre
paring to "go on" behind the scenes, propped up
against a wall, while his servant came to fit on his
false leg, which had been dressed to suit the character.
The jester would look dovra ruefully as this operation
was performed, but in a moment had hobbled off to
the fi'ont of the footlights, and was convulsing his
audience. On this night, however, his efforts, admirable as
they were, did not find such favour. It exceeded all
his previous exhibitions of personality. Mrs. Yates
was "taken off" in the " House-maid," Polly Pattens.*
No one escaped — Steevens the commentator was
dragged in. Dr. Arne, and finally Garrick. He now
had his revenge, and "took off" the great actor's
manner admirably. He held him up as a manager in
treaty with Punch's wife, Joan, Avith Garrick's exact
tone of voice and manner. This was his revenge.
But when he went on, and becoming more personal,
began to give names, and mimicked Kelly, Cumber
land, and Mr. Cradock, the audience got indignant,
and a riot took place, which was with difficulty sup
pressed. Yet within a few months he was borrowing stage
¦• Cradock,

1769,] SAMUEL POOTE AND SAMUEL JOHNSON, 247
dresses for his plays from Garrick, and had the cool
ness to ask the man whom he had held up at the Hay
market, to come to his house: The unfailing temper,
the real worth of Garrick, may at times have had its
influence on him ; perhaps he felt himself all the time
drawn to the man he so ridiculed, and perhaps — and
this is not so unfair a supposition — his interest might
have prompted him. Garrick answered him cau
tiously, in the third person, agreeing to go. " He
has too long lamented the loss of Mr. Foote's society
not to accept his invitation with pleasure." And at
the end, he with true tact and graciousness, comforts
Foote with a fine account he had received of Foote's
new piece.* It was, he heard on excellent authority,
the author's best performance, there was a full house,
and " he never was better pleased." We can scarcely
believe that Garrick was hearty in these gratulations,
and it may have been part of his policy of concUiation.
But it was gracious.
Foote answered him with — " My dear sir " — he was
touched by such forgiveness — "I am exceedingly
obliged to you for the kind conclusion of your letter.
I promise I should not have hinted It to you" — i.e.,
the plan for a party — " but in the confidence of your
friendship, and if at the same time / could not vnth
the greatest truth say that I am most sincerely and
affectionately yours, Samuel Foote."
He was growing impatient of the slow gains which
his trade brought him in, and of the weary journeys
and endless labour it took him to earn his crust. A
kind of despondency had come over him, which almost
* Forster MSS.

248 THB LIFE OF DAVID GARRICK, [1769.
seemed the shadow of the calamity that was travelling
on behind him. If he had not heart for bitterness
against his more successful friend, it was from no
awakening of generosity ; if he wrote warmly and
gratefully, and offered his hospitalities, it was from the
ordinary decencies of gratitude, for money security just
undertaken, and kindness, and, perhaps, want of spirits
for attack. The " stingy little hound " had just
endorsed Mr. Foote's note to pay one Sowden, who
was pressing Foote, and in return received a copy of a
compliment to Mrs. Garrick, in which she was likened
to Madame De Maintenon.*
Garrick, always indulgent and good-natured, received
all these advances tolerantly, and puts the maimed and
dispirited satirist in good humour AvIth comphments,
telling how his speeches had quite upset Mrs. Baddeley,
the actress, who, on the sti'ength of them, wanted an
increase of salary. " My wife sends her best wishes,
and begs you will not keep too much company, nor
make your pelly too pig with entremets and hors
d' oeuvres. It is a bitty you are so bleasant to so riot
yourself to teth." f This was the usual shape of good-
natured jest against Mrs. Garrick's foreign pronuncia
tion. Yet, after all his sham sympathy and his affected
gratitude, his old envy could not be restrained. It was
exhibited even at his own table, not very long before
Garrick's death, and a curious scene it was. It shows
that the old envy was incurable, and " speaks volumes,"
* Garrick's tone about Foote was always friendly, "Foote is in great
spirits," he wrote to Colman, " but bitter against the Lord Chamberlain. The
Duchess has had him in her closet, and offered to bribe him ; but Cato, though
he had one leg more than our friend, was not more stoicaUy virtuous. "
t Forster MSS,

1769.] SAMUEL FOOTS AND SAMUEL JOHNSON, 249
as the phrase runs. Young Mr. Lyttleton, Lord Lyt
tleton's son — a fashionable scapegrace — was dining
Avith him with two other gentlemen, and mention was
made of Garrick. Mr. Lyttleton, to please his host
(" For you must know," said Garrick, telling the story,
" ihat Foote hates me") struck in, on the usual tack,
" Garrick is so mean." He was at once stopped — not
by the host, but by one of the gentlemen present — " Sir,
I shaU hear nothing against Mr. Garrick ; he is a man
of honour, my friend, and you do not know him."
And his spirited defence was seconded again, not by
the host, but by another friend of Garrick's, who was
present. The young man said, in reply, that this was
not his opuiion merely, but that of his father. Lord
Lyttleton, who knew Mr. Garrick better than he did.
They — not Mr. Foote — told him that if his father had
said so, he knew about as httle as his son did. This
painful discussion at a supposed friend's table was
reported to Garrick, and caused him deep pain, so
much so that he could not give Mrs. Garrick the pain
of knowing it. Lord Lyttleton was an old friend, and
the speech may be dismissed as an invention of the
son's. " For you know Foote hates me!" There was
the truth at last, and a humiliating one it was.
Yet all this could pass fi-om Garrick's mind like a
cloud, when a second and more terrible misfortune
than the loss ofa limb, came to overwhelm Foote— the
terrible charge of which, indeed, he was acquitted, but
which ended his jesting. No sooner had this blow
faUen, than all was forgotten. The sense ofa hundred
ungracious, unkmd acts had passed away. The heart
of the true Samaritan — that could see only the spectacle
of distress and suffering, and nothing else — was there.

260 THE LIFE OF DAVID. GARRICK, [1769,
He was unwearied in his exertions. His great influ
ence with the papers, with the " Chronicle," with the
" Morning Post," and others, was exercised. " There
was not a step in the preparation of his defence," says
Mr. Forster, " that was not sedulously watched by
Garrick." The unhappy man whose unlucky destiny it
was to require some such trial to make him sensible to
the common claims of gratitude, wrote, in a tumult of
acknowledgment, " God for ever bless you, my dear,
kind friend ! Ten thousand thanks for your note. I
shall make the propSr use of it directly. May nothing
but halcyon days and nights crown the rest of your
life, is the sincere prayer of S. Foote."
He was saved, and, perhaps, owing not a httle to
the exertions of this kind and forgiving friend. Garrick
himself was that year quitting the stage, and it was a
little curious that the two men whose relations had
been so strange, should have died the following year,
within a few months of each other. But their end was
very different. For Garrick's was the procession to
Westminster Abbey, and the pall upheld by fi-iends he
had found and attached to him: but the poor jester,
hurrying into exUe, a lonely death overtook at a lonely
French seaport — ^his last moments were watched by a
servant, and a stage treasurer came over to see him
interred. Turning from this painful picture of human weak
ness and mahce, we might at least hope that with
Samuel Johnson — old friend, almost schoolfellow — he
might have found true comfort and a hearty sympathy
— possibly a kindly, and perhaps rough, admonition
and correction ; but in that quarter at least, none of
the meanness of envy or petty spite. Since the failure,.

1769,] SAMUEL FOOTE AND SAMUEL JOHNSON, 251
or at best, the succes d'estime of " Irene," he had
scarcely seen or heard of his old friend, whose play,
however, he had taken care should be successful, at
least as far as profit went. Yet Johnson appeared to
be dissatisfied. Justice had not been done to his play.
He had been busy with his periodical, " The Rambler,"
and though for a time he used to come behind the
scenes, and mis "with the actors, he soon withdrew him
self, his contempt for players, with his roughly ex
pressed opinions, not being likely to make him very
welcome there. His excuse to Garrick of its tempta
tions, was a mere plaisanterie. The man who wrote of
the stage as " a condition which makes almost every
other man, for whatever reason, contemptuous, inso
lent, petulant, selfish, and brutal," could not be
popular with the profession. Knowing as he did, Avhat
weight was attached to his opinions — knowing, too,
that his friend was the heart, the glory, of that pro
fession, — such language seemed, indelicate, especially
as there were many who might apply it more pointedly.*
There was so much that was fine and noble in John
son, so much that has endeared him to us, that even
when duty to Garrick makes us dwell on this sti-ange
behaviour, we may have the excuse that all this
was mere ebullition. But when ebuUitlon takes the
shape of action, extenuation becomes more difficult.
Garrick had such ebullitions, but he never aUowed
temper to vent itself in the shape of action. Once,
indeed, Johnson gave way to a generous burst, and
* "Now, sir," he said to Boswell, "to talk of respect for a player/"
(smiling disdainfuUy.) . . . What, a feUow who claps a lump on his
back, and a lump on his leg, and cries, "I am Richard the Third I" He
was clearly thinking of Garrick. A ballad-singer, he said, was a higher
man.

252 THB LIFE OF DAVID GARRICK, [1769,
did hearty and cordial justice to his friend. " Sir, it is
wonderful to see how little Garrick assumes. Garrick
had applause dashed in his face, sounded in his ears,
and went home every night. . . . Garrick has
made a player a higher character. All this, too, was
supported by wealth of his own making." He added
that he himself in such a position would have had a
couple of fellows walking on before him with long
poles, to knock down any one that stood in his way.
Cibber and Quin would have jumped over the moon.
When Garrick was talking of retiring, it was plain to
every one who knew him that he was " thed," men
tally and physically. Yet Johnson was the one to
say coarsely, " Garrick begins to complain of fatigue !
Sir, the man that bawls turnips may complain," &c.
The hostility was indeed surprising, and unaccountable.
It almost seemed as if Garrick's placidity and calm
temper challenged the impatience of rougher natures ;
and the even course of his prosperity, to which every
thing appeared to contribute, made others, not so
fortunate, fretful. Johnson, the great moralist, the
teacher, the reformer — who had passed through pro
bations and trials, and even misery, that gave evi
dence the preacher could practise what he preached
— had toUed for his crust like a day labourer,
earning what Charles Lamb would call a miser
able "per sheetage." In this apprenticeship all the
" delicacies " had passed away from him ; and when
he saw the calling he despised — that of a "stage
player " — bringing affluence, and even wealth, while
he, immeasurably greater, was forced to struggle, the
comparison was irritating. All through his life, this
sense of inferiority, as to success, seems to have galled

1769.] SAMUEL FOOTB AND SAMUEL JOHNSON. 253
him ; and he found a satisfaction in indemnifying him
self, by perpetual thrusts and sneers at his friend's
prosperity. The tranquU affluence of Garrick was a
daily irritation. Sometimes he would break out, in a
mixed company, Avith a malicious and over-coloured
allusion to their early trials — ^to that "three half
pence in your pocket on coming up to London "
— reminiscences which made Garrick wince before
his fi-iends. But Garrick bore such iU-bred reminders
with unvarying sweetness of temper. From Garrick
was to come the capital compliment to his friend on
the completion of that marvellous monument of labour
and knowledge, the " English Dictionary," a work,
it may be said, as entertaining and amusing, as it was
instructive :
" In satires, epistles, and odes would they cope.
Their numbers retreat before Dryden and Pope ;
And Johnson, well armed, Uke a hero of yore.
Has beat forty French, and will beat forty more,"
In return Johnson's surly remarks were perpetually
travelling to Garrick's ear. He was never weary of
carping, and that, too, in a fashion very different from
the tone of good-humoured grumbling and fault-finding
with which a surly friend will indemnify himself for
real acts of affection. It was said, indeed, that he
would aUow none to abuse Garrick but himself — at
best a very questionable shape of attachment, and to be
perfectly explained by his favourite principle of arguing
in support of a proposition, which he Avould oppose
if any one else brought it forward. Warm admirers of
" grand old Samuel," as he had been affectedly called,
wUl feel something like pain at coming to a harsh
conclusion, as to this behaviour to his early fi-Iend,

254 THB LIFE OP DAVID GARRICK, [1769,
which seems uniformly ungenerous, petty, jealous, and
envious. He never could get over the feeling that he
had been passed in the race, by the " lad " he had
patronized at Lichfield and tanght at school — and
above all, by a "player" who had become wealthy.
Does Boswell repeat to him a saying of Garrick's, that
if he were now beginning, he should not play low
characters, like Abel Drugger, Johnson sneers, that he
was not in earnest. " Then why did he say so ? "
" Why, sir, to make you answer as you did, namely,
that his strength lay in playing such opposite cha
racters," and Johnson added that he had probably
made the same speech some twenty times before.
This was no less unfair than unkind, for Garrick's
remark was perfectly genuine, and produced by
vexation at the amused surprise, and even con
tempt, of a French nobleman, who had seen him In
Drugger, and could not believe it was " le grand
Garrick." When it was said, that a little compliment
of Garrick's to the queen, introduced on the stage, was
" mean," he broke out, " How is it mean in a player —
a fellow Avho exhibits himself for a shilling?" But
Sir Joshua calmly, and admirably, set him right,
and defended the profession of a player. Instances
would be endless. He had to own that his " enemy,"
as we may call him, was liberal, and gave away more
money than any man in England that he knew of
But then — no one's liberality depended so much " on
the humour of the moment." What could be more
unfah or ungenerous than the following? He came in
to Davies's house, loud in his complaints of Gamck's
stinginess, who had refused him an order to the
theatre for Mrs, WiUiams, because he thought the

1769,] SAMUEL FOOTE AND SAMUEL JOHNSON, 265
place would be worth three shillings on that night.
When Boswell incautiously said, he was sure Mr.
Garrick would not refuse him such a trifle, Johnson
told him, haughtily, that he had known Garrick longer
than he had, and therefore knew him better. Know
ing him, then, so much better, and so long, he might
have recollected, that a short time before, Garrick
had given this very blind Mrs. Williams, not three
shUlings, but two hundred pounds! But it was
Garrick's lot that he should be called "stingy" by
exactly the persons who had least title to do so.
This depreciation was constant, and can be traced
through the whole of their relations. When Gar
rick, after his marriage, had moved to his new
house in Southampton Street, and was engaged with
all the trouble, and pleasant cares, of a new establish
ment, he. had rather lost sight of Johnson, and meeting
him one day " gently complained of his neglect " — hoAV
like Garrick ! — and insisted he should fix a morning to
come and breakfast. The manner in which he was then
welcomed, Johnson chose to interpret as " condescend
ing," and patronizing, and his sensitiveness was so
touched, that he sat down, and in one of his " Ram
blers," sketched a character so personal that no one
could mistake it. It is melancholy to read of such
petty mahce, and still more in one whom Boswell has
taught his readers to love. Prospero had invited his
blunt friend Asper to breakfast. He came, but found
that the impatience of his host arose, not from any
desire to communicate his happiness, but to enjoy his
superiority. Asper gave his name at the door, but
the time the footman was absent, gave him reason to
suspect there was dehberation going on. He was

256 THE LIFE OF DAVID GARRICK. [1769,
then shown up the staircase, " carefully secured by
vcidX^ from the pollution of my feet. The best apart
ments were then ostentatiously set open, that I might
have a distant view of the magnificence which I was
not permitted to approach ; and my old friend receiving
me with all the insolence of condescension at the top
of the stairs, conducted me to a back room, where
he told me he always breakfasted, when he had not
great company."
The floor was covered with a cloth, which the
servant was ordered to lift up. " I did not gratify
his folly with outcries of admiration, but coldly bade
the footman let down the cloth," They sat doAvn. Then
as Johnson absurdly says, " he had hoped that pride
was glutted with persecution " — when his host, rest
less and anxious, observed that the cover of Johnson's
chair had got awry, and begged he would let the
servant arrange it. He added, that he had ordered
some chairs for ordinary use, but they had not come
home. Johnson, restraining himself, praised the tea,
but the host said he had a much finer sort, of which
only a little was left, wnlch he must keep for those
"whom he thought himself bound to treat vrith parti
cular respect." Another time, however, his guest
should taste that. He then observed his host's atten
tion wandering, he gave his servant directions about
the jeweller and silversmith, and that if "Lord Lofty"
caUed, he was to be shown into the best parlour. Some
rare Dresden china was then produced to be admired,
which the visitor determined not to look at, but his
curiosity getting the better, he was entreated to set
them down, " as those who were accustomed only to
common dishes seldom handled china with much care."

1769.] SAMUEL FOOTE AND SAMUEL JOHNSON, 257
Asper was philosophic enough at this insult "not to
dash his baubles to the ground." The host then fell
into a quiet fit of meditation on what was, after aU, the
vanity of these things — ^they did not add much to
human happiness ; that he stUl recalled the old old
days, when they began this struggle together, mu
tually assisting each other in their exigencies — " when
he and I were upon a level." The guest was medi
tating some "bitterness of reproof," when the host
suddenly recollected he had an engagement to attend
some ladies in the Park, and offered to take his friend
part of the way ; but the other took his leave, without
any intention of seeing him again, " unless some mis
fortune should restore his understanding."
Johnson then makes some reflections to qualify
these bitters, that it could not be intentional, and that
it was better to take no notice, &c. The whole is in
conceivable, and the fury absurd ; and from the ludi
crous phrenzy of hoping " that pride was now glutted
with persecution," i. e., on a carpet being uncovered, we
may rest perfectly assured, that the whole is an exagger
ation, bom of a diseased sensitiveness, and that Garrick,
though he might call his old friend's attention to some
evidences of his prosperity, was the last person to
have done so, from the mean motives here imputed.
He was perhaps a little solicitous about his furniture,
for Johnson's careless and rude habits were well
known. His showing his Dresden china was not to
exhibit pomp or state, and his solicitude about it, when
in Johnson's rude fingers, was very excusable.
Some five-and-twenty years later, when talking over
the actor, — grumbling at him, "his reputation for
avarice saved him from hatred ; you despise but do
Toil. II. S

258 THE LIFE OP DAVID GARRICK, [1769,
not hate an avaricious man ;" he then added, " Garrick
might have been better attacked for living more splen
didly than suited a player. That might have galled
him more." For the moment he forgot Prospero, and
that he himself had actually attacked him in that weak
place. At the same time, it is plain, he did not mean
more, than to satisfy his own private resentment by this
little bit of spite. It might be a good hint to his
friend, and show his anger ; but he did not expect that
the whole town would discover, and apply, the likeness,
and was really shocked when he found it was so.*
Long after, he affected to complain to Mr. Thrale, that
Garrick had never forgiven him. That surprisingly
even-tempered nature forgave not only that, but much
more — and even a second ungracious attack.
When Johnson was preparing his edition of Shak
speare, he announced that the principle that would
guide him, would be the collation of all the early
printed editions. Garrick was knovra to have an
unrivalled collection — certainly not to be matched in
England — and Johnson knew the special advantage
he would have in the use of these treasures. Garrick,
when he heard of his seriously taking up the plan,
sent word that his library was open to him — the key
left with the servant, — and that a fire would be
always kept ready — perhaps the most welcome and
unrestrained way in which the use of books could be
offered. Will it be credited that the ungracious
Johnson saw here a fi-esh attempt to patronize him,
" the fellow wanted to be courted."f He should have

* Cradock.
t Garrick, after this injustice, actuaUy caUed the man-servant in to Haw
kins, and made him repeat the instructions so carefuHy given to him. " I was

1769,] SAMUEL FOOTE AND SAMUEL JOHNSON. 259
collected these rare and priceless books, packed them
up, and sent them to be strewn about the garret, where
Johnson worked. The latter's ti-eatment of books
was notorious. Garrick found Johnson one day in his
private study, where was his choice collection of
elegantly bound presentation copies, busy throwing
the books down one after the other, and strewing the
floor. The OAvner was naturally angry, and said it was
his private cabinet. " I was determined to examine
your collection," said the other insolently, " and find it
consists of three sorts — stuff, trash, and nonsense."
There must have been great sweetness, on Garrick's
side, that could put up with this treatment. * Johnson
nursed his fancied injury. When the Shakspeare
appeared, every one wondered at seeing no aUusion to
the Roscius of the age — who had done so much for
Shakspeare — the King Lear, Hamlet, Macbeth, and
Richard of the era. When asked about this omission,
Johnson would say in his easy way, "Garrick, sir,
has been liberally paid for anything he has done
for Shakspeare." On another occasion he was again
pressed for the reason. Did he not admire Garrick ?
" Yes — as a poor player that frets and struts his hour
on the stage as a shadow. My dear sir," he added,
impatiently, "if I had praised him, I must have
praised many more," which was a poor pretence, as
told, sir,'' said the man, "to let Mr. Johnson have any books he wanted."
Sir John " conjectm'cd " that Garrick's "object" was thus to get "thanks,
and perhaps some additional compliment,"
* He used even good-naturedly to take off his friend, asking him, in his
solemn tones, "David, have you a Petrarcha?" "Yes, sir." "Don't
sigh, David. Send it to me." Burney tells us the handsome volume was
lent : and Boswell, later, described the Doctor holding that very book up, at
full arm's-length over his head, in a sort of rapture. It slipped and fell on
the floor, with its back all strained and dislocated. This little point shows
how minutely accurate — even to the name ofa book— was BosweU. s 2

260 THE LIFE OF DAVID GARRICK. [1769.
Garrick stood quite apart fi'om all the rest. But this
was nothing : merely a matter of taste. He went
further. He tortured Garrick's offer of his books
into a refusal, and Garrick, to his astonishment, found
himself again held up to the public, in such a passage
as this : "I collated such copies as I could procure, and
wished for more : but have not found the collectors of
these rarities very communicative. Of the editions
which chance or kindness put into my hands, &c." This
active exercise of dislike speaks of a deeper something,
that approaches vindictiveness, and seems incon
ceivable in one Avho could give such "grand" lessons
on morals.
Garrick never forgive him ! Only a few months
later, there was a dinner at Boswell's, in Bond Street,
" where he played round him with a fond vivacity,
taking hold of the breasts of his coat, and, looking up in
his face with a lively archness, complimented him on
the good health he then seemed to enjoy. Boswell had
set a passage in the " Mourning Bride " above anything
in Shakspeare ; and Garrick, in alarm, defended his
demigod, saying, we must not make the poet suffer for
the badness of their memories — making "the sage"
smile at his eagerness. This little scene — one of the
prettiest in Boswell — shows Garrick in his most
charming guise — playful, affectionate, and forgiving.
Perhaps, after all, we may have a faint hope that this
was only Johnson's "way," and that the two under
stood each other. Yet there is more to come; and
Johnson's singular behaviour about the Literary Club,
shows the same secret grudge. That society was
founded in the year 1764, with Reynolds, Johnson,
Burke, Beauclerk, Langton, Goldsmith, Chamier, Nu-

1769.] SAMUEL FOOTE AND SAMUEL JOHNSON, 261
gent, and Hawkins, as original members. Garrick did
not return from abroad until a year and a half later,
and with such friends, might fairly claim admission — at
least as well as Hawkins, or Chamier. When no pro
posal was made, he began to be a little restless and
fidgety, would stop at Hawkins's on his way to
Hampton, and ply him with questions, — Had he been
at the club last night ? — Did they talk of him ? — Was
Johnson there ? — Now, did he say that Davy was a
pleasant fellow enough in his way, but no poet or
scholar? *
When he first heard of the plan, Garrick said, " I like
the notion. I think I shall be of you." A foohsh speech,
but not an unnatural one. It was scarcely pfudent of
the placid and friendly Sir Joshua, to repeatiit — " He'll
be of us!" roared Johnson, delighted to have him on
the hip. " How does he know we will permit him? —
the first duke in England has no right to hold such
language." This was his tone to Reynolds. To Haw
kins, who was willing to admit Garrick, he objected,
" he will disturb us by his buffoonery," And finally,
when Mrs. Thrale started the subject, he broke out
with : "If Garrick does apply, I'll blackball him.
Surely one ought to sit in a society like ours,
Unelbowed by gamester, pimp, or player."
Here are three distinct significations of hostility, ad
dressed to three distinct witnesses. Hawkins adds,
that he so contrived matters, that the actor was never
formally proposed, and by consequence, never admitted.
• Sir John Hawkins — almost as entertaining in his way as BosweU — took
these inquiries very seriously — ^was quite "vexed," — and lectured Garrick
solemnly on his curiosity.

262 THB LIFE OF DAVID GARRICK. [1769.
In this he is a little mistaken: Garrick's admission
did not take place for eight or nine years, and it is
not uncharitable to suppose, that Johnson's opposl-r
tion and influence, was at the bottom of this long
postponement. The whole chapter of this unworthy
hostility must be a shock to all admirers. John
son's behaviour to him was uniformly unkind. To
him Garrick was as uniformly gentle. Boswell, re
porting his " vanity " and Johnson's " envy," said
the ¦ actor " was always jealous that Johnson spoke
lightly of Mm." Hawkins adds, that Garrick used
to complain that Johnson " was capricious in his
friendship, and, as he termed it, coquettish in his dis
play of it ; and when Boswell good-naturedly reported
to him some little praise by Johnson of his knack of
writing prologues, Garrick could not conceal his
delight and joy at the unexpected encomium. Stock-
dale, -the foolish clergyman, brought tears into his
eyes, by reporting to him a poor compliment of John
son's. These are trifles : but they show a surprising
evenness and sweetness, a kindly and simple nature
— an amiable return for such behaAriour. When
Garrick would give a good-humoured imitation of
his friend, even here he showed his anxiety as
to this one matter. Taking him off, he would make
him say, " Davy has some convivial pleasantry
about him, but is a fiitUe fellow." In return,
Johnson, after coming from behind the scenes, would
tell his friends, " I met Davy behind the scenes last
night, dressed for his part. I was glad to see him, but
I believe he was ashamed to see me." Johnson re
peated this story, in various shapes. It was' when
Garrick was dressed for Scrub, or Drugger, and I

1769.] SAMUEL FOOTE AND SAMUEL JOHNSON. 263
think we can see in it, a harmless delicacy — a wish not
to disturb the more dignified image of his histrionic
self, which he wished to rest in the mind of the friend
he so respected — ^that of Lear or Richard, Indeed, the
presence of Johnson could have been no welcome
addition behind the scenes. When every eye in front. Is
wet with tears at the sorrows of Lear, and even Chve,-
at the Aving, is sobbing out, " d — n him, he can act a
gridiron! " the great actor is disturbed by the loud
voices of Murphy and Johnson, laughing and talking
over something else. As he comes off, he remonstrates
gently, and tells Johnson he distracts his feelings.
"Pshaw! sir," says Johnson, coarsely, ''''Punch has no
feelings ! " *
This to the manager, before the other players, and
from a friend, was unkind. The speech was recol
lected, repeated, and enjoyed.t Wilkes, repeating
the stupid slander of stinginess, said, in Johnson's
presence, that Garrick " would play Scrub to the end
of his life;" then, brought on a discussion, which
extracted from Johnson an admission that Garrick

* Johnson, though he had a contempt for players, did exceUent justice to
his acting. " 'Who can repeat HamleCs soliloquy, 'To be, or not to be,' as
Garrick does it ? " said Boswell, foolishly, and with that wrongly placed
praise which so nearly depreciates. "Anybody may," said Johnson. "Jemmy,
there, ' a child,' will do it as weU in a week. Garrick was no declaimer ; yet
he was the only actor I ever saw whom I could call a master both in tragedy
and in comedy ; though I believe him best in comedy, A true conception of
character, and natm-al expression of it, were his distinguishing excellences,"
This was his real excellence, and not the poor recitation of "To be or not to
be," — perhaps his weakest part,
+ Garrick and his associations were always, by some fatality, unpleasant for
Johnson, Thus, when Walmesley's old letters of introduction to Colson, now
nearly forty years old, came to light, having been carefully treasured by
Abraham Newling, Steevens wrote to Garrick, "If I had caUed, as I some
times do, on Dr. Johnson, and showed him one of these, where he is men
tioned as one Johnson, I should have risked, perhaps, the chance of one of his
ghastly smiles. "

264 THE LIFE OF DAVID GARRICK, [1769.
gave away more money than any man in England.
But others were then attacking, which was sufficient
to make him anyone's champion. We can put no
confidence in his acceptance of Boswell's excuse, of
his allowing no one to abuse Garrick but himself,
wliich could be refuted by many instances.* After a
fine panegyric on Garrick's liberality, and his wonder
ful self-restraint under the tempest of praise " dashed
in his face" — "Sir, a liberal man; a little vanity,
indeed ; but he has shoAvn that money is not his fest
object," he might seem liberal. Yet, when Boswell
quotes Foote's stupid jest about his going out vrith an
intention to be generous, and its aU vanishing in the
sti-eet at the ghost of a halfpenny candle, Johnson
agrees complacently, " That is very true, sir. No
man ever so much depended on the humour of the
moment." It would be far more true to say, that it
was not on the humour of the moment that he was
generous, that he reflected, and perhaps Avrote a letter ;
and thus, his benevolence was measured, and infinitely
superior to the mere charity of impulse. No "ghost of
a halfpenny candle " had come between Foote and his
kind assistance."!' " The humour of the moment."
No. It was a humour that lasted all his life — a
humour not by any means of the moment : as most
applications for money came to him by letter, he had
time to deliberate. We can mark every year of his life
by a series of generous actions and of thoughtful aid.
* The kindly Reynolds made this excuse for him, that Johnson considered
Garrick as his property, and would allow no one to attack or praise him with
out contriidiction. He wrote the two weU-known dialogues in Johnson's
manner to show this.
f The reader will recall one instance at least where, too, Foote actuaUy
complained that the money was not given at once, so that Garrick had time to
reflect.

1769.] SAMUEL FOOTE AND SAMUEL JOHNSON, 265
From the same hostUe quarter came the grudging
testimony, that he was the first man in the world for
sprightly conversation, though he thought that conver
sation light. Even after the actor's death, as will be
seen, his encomiums were conventional and ill-applied.
What were Garrick's real faults, escaped him, and it
was reserved for Goldsmith's nicer observation to hit
off those social histrionics, the blemish of Garrick's life.
" He had friends, sir," Johnson said, after the actor
had passed away, " but no friend. He was too much
diffused. He found people always ready to applaud
him, and for the same thing, and so saw life with great
uniformity " — a distinction not very intelligible. He
ought, at least, to have found one friend in his own
schoolfellow and companion — whose foolish plans — the
school, and the play — he had helped, to the best of
his power.*
And yet, after all, it almost seems as if Garrick's
regard and affection for him, are his best extenuation.
We know what a struggle was always going on in that
fine, strong, powerful nature — ^how Johnson prayed
and Avrestled with himself and the meaner passions,
which so often overpowered him.. Sometimes, there
fore, in dealing Arith Garrick, the generous feeling pre
vailed, and he did him more than justice ; but the next
moment he was thinking of the success, and of Gar-

* Even in trifles we see instances of Garrick's thoughtful' kindness, Bos-
¦ weU and Johnson pay a visit down at Lichfield, Johnson was scarcely at
home there ; but a letter arrives to Peter Garrick, enjoining him to pay every
attention to the visitors. Johnson's hostility was persistent. It turns up in
every direction. AVhen a great honor was paid to Garrick in being sent for to
read for the King, Johnson chuckled over the coldness which the Royal host
had shown at the entertainment. He dwelt ou Garrick's mystification and
disappointment — then went off in the old stock charge — avarice and love of
praise, — IfArbla'^s Diary,

266 THE LIFE OF DAVID GARRICK, [1769,
rick's social artifices, which to him were contemptible ;
and then the less worthy feeling seemed to prevaU.
After aU, this may be the solution; and aU hearty
admirers would be delighted that such strange be
haviour could be reconciled with Johnson's really fine
temper. At the end, when Garrick had passed away, some
such better influence prevaUed. " Garrick was a very
good man," he said ; "the cheerfiiUest man of his age
— a decent liver in a profession which is supposed to
give indulgence to licentiousness." The cheerfuUest
man of his age ! This is something pretty and ap
propriate in that epitaph, something so nicely describing
Garrick, something so inviting, that we condone aU,
and fondly believe that Johnson, his old schoolfellow,
then understood him — but, alas ! too late.

1770,] THE ADELPHL 267

CHAPTER VI.
THE ADELPHL— COUNTY VISITS.
1770.
The same old taste for high life, and this rather
foohsh ambition to do as those did who were above him
in rank and wealth, made Mr. Garrick now prepare to
leave his house in Southampton Street, where he had
lived more than twenty years. They were but two,
— their house was large and handsome enough ; well
situated, too, for one of his condition. But he was eager
for something grander, and more " fashionable." Four
brothers, of the name of Adam — two of whom were
architects of repute, who have left some respectable
works behind them — ^had entered upon what Avas then
considered a colossal undertaking. They had bought
the old Durham yard — where Garrick long before
had his wine vaults — with the sheds and buUdings
about it, and conceived the daring scheme of throwing
out a handsome terrace, raised on a series of arches,
over the river side. In a spirit of nationality, that
seems ludicrous, they had brought all their masons and
bricklayers from Scotland, and the work was stimulated j
by the monotonous drone ofthe bagpipe. The labourers,
however, soon found that this cheerful music made
them, insensibly, give more work than was quite profit
able : and with a spirit, in its own way as national as

268 THE LIFE OP DAVID GARRICK. [1770.
that of their employers, they presently struck work.
The now dingy and forlorn terrace, called the Adelphi,
was then considered a splendid undertaking. The
name was given in compliment to the brothers ; and the
two dingy approaches, John Street and Robert Street,
represented their Christian names. The arches are
sohd and substantial ; the houses handsome, and de
corated with the poor and meagre Italian tracery, that
were then considered in the best classical taste. It
was a long fagade, a centre with two small wings,
pUasters, and courses. Garrick was taken with the
situation, and through Lord Mansfield's interest ob
tained the promise of one of the houses, on advan
tageous terms, even before It was completed. These
mansions were then really sumptuous in their finish.
It proved to be a costly venture, and was a great deal
above his resources, perhaps above the position of " a
player ; " for the other houses were taken by men of
rank and wealth — like Beauclerk and Mr. Hoare. But
one of Mr. Garrick's little weaknesses, was to do as
people of rank and wealth did.
What is now number four, was the one he chose,
and he fitted it up almost with magnificence. The
plafond of the drawing-room was painted by Zucchi,
with Venus and the Graces ; and a rich Italian marble
chimneypiece, said to have cost £300, adorned the
fireplace. All his choicest pictures hung round upon
the walls. Yet, like many a house buUt to be "architec
tural," it turned out a failure. There was too much Hght
in front, from the river and the sun, and the back
rooms, where the pictures were, were dungeon-like, from
the shadow of the neighbouring houses. It is conceiv
able that the situation had a charm — from the gaiety

1770.] THE ADELPHI, 269
and.anlmatlon of the river, the passing boats, and the
hum and bustle of the Strand close by, yet shut out, and
remote. Even now, that deserted terrace — lonely and
grass-groAvn as it is — has a quaint air ; it belongs not
to the age ; the houses, with their grimy Italian ara
besques, seem like an old scene from old Drury Lane ;
and it does not take much imagination to conjure up
that not unpicturesque evening when Boswell and
Johnson strolled there, and leant on the rails, looking
over the river, and talked of the friend that had once
lived in the house they had just left.*
In the March of this year, an act of friendship was
to draw him into one more unpleasant conflict Avith the
public. Kelly, the ci-devant staymaker, had brought
him a new piece, which Garrick's tact must have told
him could not have been brought out, without danger.
Kelly had written bitter satires on the players of both
houses in succession, in feeble imitation of the " Ros
ciad." He had talked of "Clive's weak head or
execrable heart," and spoken of Mrs. Dancer as " a
moon-eyed idiot." This was mere scurrihty. Garrick,
with infinite difficulty, had smoothed away these
green-room resentments ; but the . author had since
enlisted under Government, and had been writing
. doAvn the popular side, and Wilkes's fi-iends had deter
mined not to let so tempting an opportunity go by.
The friends of the manager, and even those who had
* It is now the oflSce of the Literary Fund, and business is conducted in
Garrick's fine drawing-room. It would have made him "turn in his grave "
had he thought that David WUliams's Society was to have its home in his
house. Garrick interested himself to obtain one of the new houses at the
comer of Adam Street, for Becket, a pubUsher, that worshipped him. His
earnest letter, given in one of Hone's " Books," shows how eagerly and sin
cerely he went to work to ask a favour.

270 THB LIFE OF DAVID GARRICK. [1770,
some terror of the "hack's " pen, mustered strongly,
and the first scene of " A Word to the Wise " was the
signal for an outrageous riot. Through the combined
efforts of the two parties, not a word was caught ofthe
piece. When it was concluded, the author himself
was anxious that no more should be heard of it, and
that a new play should be announced for the next
night ; but an alarming deputation of some gentlemen,
supporters of the manager, waited on him behind the
scenes, and threatened to sack the hoitse, if the new play
was not given out — which was accordingly done.
It may be conceived what a promise of riot this
held out. And as soon as the prologue began, on the
following night, both parties rushed to the attack. In
vain Garrick appealed to them, with a request fi-om
the author, that his play might be withdraAvn. His
"friends," with an embarrassing partisanship, insisted it
should go on. In vaio the author himself implored that
his piece might be withdraAvn. He was not listened
to. The night closed in utter riot and confusion.
Garrick and Mrs. Garrick now set off on a visit to
friends at Kington in the Isle of Wight. These friends
were the Fitzmaurices, who were the centre of a plea
sant coterie, with " Mr. BarweU," Dr. Harrison, Lord
Clanricarde, the admiral of the station, and others.
The Governor, Mr. Stanley, who did not know him,
sent his compliments to Mr. Garrick with a hope that
they would come to stop with him at Steeple, and
offered his yacht during their stay. They were indeed
made much of. They left behind them memories of
a delightful gaiety, and badinage. Mrs. Garrick was
pronounced " the queen," and her health was drunk
every day after her departure, with a fond recoUection.

1770.] COUNTRY VISITS. 271
It was Insisted by the little coterie that Mr. Hewson,
the clergyman, when giving prayers at Shanklln, laid
a special stress upon the words, " our gracious Queen
Charlotte," to prevent his friends making any mistake
as to the queen they were to pray for. Wherever
they went, they always left behind them the same
playful memories, and affectionate regard.
His mode of life seemed to change with these high
pretensions. The visits multiplied. There were all
sorts of entertainments at the new house. Mr. and
Mrs. Garrick were seen at balls and masquerades — at
Mrs. Comely's famous one in 1770, where the great
actor was seen dressed as a Macaroni Doctor, and his
" lady" as an ItaUan peasant.
Now he was to be asked doAvn to Wynnstay,
in obedience to many a pressing invitation.* Going
down to this house, he met some flattering proofs of
his popularity. For at Shrewsbury the whole town
was in a ferment, and the Raven Inn, where the party
put up, was besieged with the curious. When he ap
peared, there was a crowd, who made free and rustic
remarks on his person, eye, hair, &c. He travelled
quite en seigneur, with six horses and four men-servants,
which seems a state more befitting a man of rank than

* A present of cheese came to him from Sir Watkyn, with some pleasant
verses in answer to some of Garrick's : —
" How filled were the Welohmen with envy and shame.
How each bard for his character feared,
When first they were told how immortal a name
In the list of aU poets appeared.
******
They send you their compliments greeting,
That if you'U permit them to hear you declaim.
They'll stay from the next turnpike meeting!' &c.
I also find among his papers, a parody on the well-known Welsh song, and
beginnmg " Of a noble race was Sir Watkyn."

272 THE LIFE OF DAVID GARRICK. [1770.
even a wealthy player.* Whether it was that he was
thus absorbed by fashion and pleasure, or that a
real theatrical decay was slowly coming, the affairs
ofthe theatre seem now to lose much interest.
* Forster MSS. In letter dated from Wynnstay. It is franked by Sir
Watkyn Wynne, There are many little hints of this growing taste for gaiety
— more verses, more letters, I have seen his hair-dresser's — Cast's — ^biUforthe
last year of his management, for wigs, dressings, " pomadums," and it is very
large, — Sul. Col.

1772,] JUNIUS. 378

CHAPTER VII.
JUNIUS— KENEICK'S LIBEL-MURPHY— HAMLET, WITH
ALTERATIONS.
1771—1772,
Now came an event, which to his sensitive soul
must have been like a shock, and have robbed him
of his rest, at nights. One day, a terrible letter reached
him. It was only a few lines long, but it warned
and threatened, and was signed " Junius." When
we know that in his heart he shrank fi-om the
cheapest, and meanest anonymous rascal, who wrote
to him, we may imagine the effect of this awful
power who was striking in the dark. He had done
a foolish thing. Woodfall, the printer, had mentioned
carelessly, in one of his letters, that Junius would
write no more, and Mr. Garrick had sent this joyful
news with all speed to the king, by one of the court
pages, Ramus, whom he knew very well.* In fact he
thought it so important, that there was scarcely a
letter he wrote during that time, which he did not fill
up AvIth this interesting information. The king, how
ever, mentioned the matter to his friends, and perhaps
to those whom it most seriously concerned, and it
thus speedily came to the knowledge of the unseen
power. His warning to Garrick ran originally some-
* Woodfall receiving this seceet, alarming warhing ; " Beware of David
Garrick ! He was sent to pump you, and went directly to Richmond to tell
the king I would write no more."
roL. II. T

274 THE LIFE OP DAVID GARltiCK, [1771—
what in this shape : "I am very exactly informed of
your impertinent inquiries, and of the information
you so busily sent to Richmond, and with what
triumph and satisfaction it was received. I knew
every particular of it next day, through the indiscre
tion of one, who makes it a rule to betray everybody
that confides in him. Now mark me, vagabond!
Keep to your pantomimes, or be assured you shall hear
of it. Meddle no more, thou busy informer ! It is in
my power to make you curse the hour in which you
dared to interfere Avith Junius."
Woodfall, who had some regard for Garrick, remon
strated humbly with the tremendous writer. But he
received a stern order ; " the letter to D. G. must go for
ward," — all he allowed was, that ' ' impertinent inquiries ' '
should be changed into " practices." But Woodfall
went further and cautiously took out the allusion to
the king, through fear it would compromise himself
Garrick was aghast. " Mark me, vagabond ! " was
offensive enough, — a hint of an Act of Parlia
ment, still in the statute book, and very significant.
After some deliberation, he wrote to Woodfall a
curious letter, which was dignified and confident, and
yet seemed to appeal to Junius's forbearance, Arith
many artful compliments of superior strength,
talents, &c. " However mighty may be the power
with which he is pleased to threaten me, I trust with
truth on my side and your assistance, to be able to
parry the vigour of his arm, and oblige him to drop his
point, not from want of force to overcome so feeble an
adversary as I am," He then explains the matter, and
justifies himself. " I beg you will assure Junius, that I
have as proper an horror of an informer as he can

1772,]' JUNIUS. 278.
have, that have been honoured with the confidence of
men of all parties. / have always declared that were
I by any accident to discover Junius, no consideration
should prevail on me to reveal a secret productive of
so much mischief" This Avas sent forward by Wood-
fall, and it elicited a half-satisfied acceptance from
Junius. "If he attacks me again, I wiU appeal to
"the public against him ; if not, he may safely set
me at defiance." This was throAvn in contemptuously,
in a letter full of more important subjects, but fi-om
such a quarter it seems a good deal, and must have
comforted Garrick's sensitive heart. Junius alluded
also to Wilkes, no friend of Garrick's, though he
An-ote him letters full of false bonhomie, and
compliments, and a jovial affection. Horne Tooke
accused him of having sent Garrick a threatening
letter, telling him not to play " Jane Shore."
Wilkes replied, denying the accusation. He said,
indeed, that it was noticed that Mr. Garrick had
altered his manner of playing Hastings, and leant with
undue emphasis on certain passages which could be
applied to Wilkes' case. And also that some " warm
friends " talked of showing their disapproval, and
had waited on Mr. Garrick. This looked very like
"intimidation." Garrick replied, simply, and with
spirit, that he had made no alteration, and continued
to play the piece in the same way. This furnishes a
glimpse of the true character of the demagogue, and
of the sort of "liberty" that was meant by "Wilkes
and Liberty." How Wilkes and Johnson could talk
together over their dead friend has been seen.
All this was vexatious enough ; but his enemies were
now to be delighted -with news of a fresh trouble, which

276 THE LIFE OP DAVID GARRICK, [1771—
must have tried him, and his gentle wife, sorely. It
was hard for him, certainly, to be gay and diverting
at those great houses, where he was made so welcome.
For happy as the manager of Drury Lane might be
considered, wealthy, prosperous, enjoying the friend
ship of the best and noblest natures in the land, few
knew what secret trials he had to endure, and what
persecution his own yielding, or perhaps weak, temper
invited. The brigands of Grub Street, the scoundrels
who found a profession in publishing, or suppressing,
libeUous pamphlets, AA'ho Avere to be hired as lords
used to hire bravos, to waylay and beat actors whom
their dignity would not allow them to challenge — ^the
whole tribe of Kenricks, Purdons, Smarts, knew that In
his complacent and timorous nature they Avere sure to
find their account. Of these Kenrick, or Dr, Kenrick as
he Avas always deferentially called, was the most tin-
scrupulous and infamous. He stands apart from his
fellows, is a marked character of the time, and like
one of the bullies who sometimes infested the taverns,
is seen striving to fasten on men like Goldsmith, John
son, Colman, even BosAvell, and on Garrick himself
A manager who had influence and riches, was a far
more profitable object, than needy poets or journalists.
He began with the usual advance, a play, which Gar
rick, on his return from abroad, brought out at once.
It was called " Falstaff s Wedding," and intended as
a continuation of " Henry IV,," but was promptly
damned. Later he came Avith another piece, which
Garrick could not bring himself to refuse. A few years
later, he came again with a comedy ; but here Garrick
was obliged to make a stand. He gave excuses about
being pledged to other plays, promised that he would

1772,] KENRICK. 277
consider it carefully, and if suitable, would accept it.
He then declined it, and turned the man he had
been trying to conciliate, into a furious assassin. At
the first opportunity, a scurrilous and unscrupulous
onslaught might be looked for, and that opportunity
came speedily.
Bickerstaff, a man of undoubted talent, and with a
true vein of pleasant comedy, who has given to the
English stage many fresh agreeable pieces, was, as we
have seen, one of Garrick's most useful aides-de-camp.
The manager found him serviceable in a hundred
ways. He could alter an old comedy Uke the " Non
juror" with fair skUl, and fit it to the fashion of the
day. Garrick always treated him with true kindness,
a perfect equality, and a dehcacy, quite charac
teristic of himself, towards one who was really a
dependant. Yet he, too, was following the desperate calling of the
hack, now begging, now borrowing, and at last, In this
very year it became known on town, that Bickerstaff
had fled suddenly, to avoid the certain penalty Avhich
would have overtaken' him, for a shocking and mon
strous crime. There were, no doubt, plenty who thought
this was no more than incident to the degrading life of
such creatures ; but the scoundrel Kenrick was on the
watch. He knew of their friendship; and, in a few
days, a malignant and scurrilous pamphlet, full of dark
yet unmistakeable hints, had appeared, entitled " La
mentation for the loss of his Nykey." *

* From the miserable wretch who was hiding at St, Malo came a piteous
appeal to Garrick, in which shame and despair are strangely blended, — " Si
votre cceur a conserve jusqu'k present, la moindre trace de cette prevention
que vous avez autrefois avou^ pour uu homme, qui est aujourd'hui le plus

278 THE LIFE OP DAVID GARRICK, [1771—
The insinuations in this production there could be
no mistaking. It was foUowed up by another
entitled, " Love in the Suds," which seems to have
gone through four or five editions. In this there was
an attempt to explain away the meaning put in the
first libel, while even worse was insinuated. He
ridiculed the actor's defects — pointed to the general
decay in his gifts, and said that he had been hissed;
he had " died" so tamely in Richard,
" ' George, didn't I hear the critics hiss.
When I was dead ? ' ' Yes, brother, yes, ' "
He ridiculed the flatterers — the " shambling
Becket." " Loud, loud he cries.
At each theatric stare,V See, see his eyes ! ' "
And made Roscius gloat over Foote's accident :
" Curse on his horse ! Ono leg, but one, to break !"
Yet there was a crafty and tortuous scheming that
accompanied this open ruffianism — a secret by-play,
which is a highly curious feature in the business. In
the papers, appeared some queries, coming, as it were,
from a friend of Garrick's, accusing the libeUer of
cowardice, and saying that George Garrick had waited
malheureux qui soit sur la terre, je vous supplie de me faire la connoitre
par trois ou quatre mots. Penetre avec un chagrin le plus amer, qui peut
lilesser le coeur, soyez persuade, que je n'ai rien de demander de votre bonte,
que de vous ficrire plus au longue : si vous n'^tes pas dans ce sentiment de me
permettre, imaginez que cette lettre vient d'un mort au vivant : jettez la dans
ie feu, et n'en pensez plus. Je n'ai pas le moindre doute que mon chagrin
me hatera au tombeau, mais par un chemin peut-Stre plus longue que je ne le
souhaiterai .... J'etois loin de soupgonner que la dernifere fois que
j'entrois dans votre libraire, serait la derniere que j'y entrerais de ma vie, et
que je ne reverrai plus le mattre," Garrick endorsed this appeal, "From
that poor wretch Bickerstaff, I could not bring myself to answer it,"

1772,] KENRICK, 279
on him to demand the satisfaction of a gentleman.
The libeller then replied to himself, saying, that the
challenge was general, with no time or place spoken
of Nearly at the same time an anonymous letter was
sent to Garrick warning him, as " a sincere friend,"
against " that desperate vUlain Kenrick," which
" cowardly villain," to retrieve his reputation, was
going about, declaring In aU places that he was now
ready to give Mr. Garrick the satisfaction of a gentle
man ; and, " to cover his cowardice, now swaggers
with a sort of hussar spadron by his side, and hints, to
people that laugh in his face, that he wears it to fight
Mr. Garrick." Then came a number of charges against
Kenrick, of having been insulted by a Swiss, and
having shown cowardice ; also of his having been
a spy of Lord Chatham, and of his being dis
missed in disgrace by Mr. Pitt. " So that it is now
hoped, that Mr. Garrick will bring him to condign
punishment." Garrick seems to have traced this
actually to Kenrick, and its clumsy object was plain
— to tempt the actor into making some rash charge
which he could not substantiate. Kenrick was
indeed going about, bragging that the player was
afraid to meet him. He himself had a wife and chU
dren ; but if Mr. Garrick Avould settle half his fortune
on his family, in case of an accident, he would meet
him at once. This effrontery was quite in keeping.
Yet Garrick had the inconceivable folly to think of
temporising, and privately remonstrating. " Sir," he
had written, "I am really sorry for the figure you
made in the late transaction with me. Could not you
have finished a little better, for the sake of that honour
which so readily drops from your pen ? What ! talk

280 THE LIFE OP DAVID GARRICK, [1771—
of dangers and attacks which were never conceived,
and which even you could not be frightened enough to
beheve ! Your suggestion about Becket is a poor tale.
.... Do you imagine I would have risked my
reputation to have acted unlike a man, even to him
who has been ungratefuUy vilifying me ? No, sir. I
would haye honoured you by giving the satisfaction of
a gentleman if you could (as Shakspeare says) have
screwed your courage to the sticking place to have
taken it." Then he proceeded to justify himself about
the comedy. He would have acted it, had it been
sent to him in time. " But it is vain and needless to
answer all these inventions, for you cannot wish to be
convinced of what you never beheved." Fortunately,
his better judgment made him change his intention,
and this paper was never sent.* In the whole trans
action, he seems for once to have been goaded out of
his usual self-restraint ; and the sending such a feUow
a challenge, which he seems to admit he did,
was a grave mistake, f He took the more sensible
course of an appeal to the King's Bench, which would
have dealt summarily with the hbeller. But here
again the indulgence, or perhaps weakness, of the
actor intervened, and his prudence deeming concihation
more profitable than punishment, interposed, and he
accepted the rascal's humble apologies. The whole is,;
indeed, curious ; as showing a class of annoyances and
persecutions, against which the public man had to

* It is endorsed, " This not sent to that scoundrel Dr. Kenrick, , , ,
It was judged best not to answer any more of Dr, Kenrick's notes ; he had
behaved so unworthUy,"
t This may have been the hasty prompting of his brother George, who
himself was not slow to ohaUenge,

1772.] MURPHY. 281
defend himself as best he could ; and which, indeed,
seem to have been, as it were, hcensed.*
Barry, whose health was now faUing, and who
was indeed a martyr to infirmities, the delicacy and
kindness of the manager considered in every way.
His and his wife's joint salary had been raised by two
hundred pounds; he was left fi-ee in the choice of
parts ; his ease and health were consulted ; and he
was never caUed on to do anything, which would dis
please, or degrade him. This kindness was indeed
what was to be expected from the manager, who
could be loyal and faithful to old friends, and could put
up with their pettishness.f It was a happy idea to
think of fitting Barry with a character, aged and broken,
where his pathetic tones would be heard with fine
effect.:}: For this story Murphy went to the rather
poor fountain of Valerius Maximus, just as he had
before consulted Tacitus for another play. Garrick
was delighted, and spoke to him of it in a genuine
and hearty strain of pleasure, which should have
convinced a less suspicious man of how ground
less had been all his imputations. " Mrs. Garrick,"
said her husband, "was more affected than ever I
knew her to be with any play. The part of the
daughter is one of the finest for an actress, in aU the
dramatic circle. I wish you and myself joy. Finish
* Mr. Forster has given the story of Goldsmith's persecution by this
ruHian, at length.
t There is one scene connected with Barry's decay, which is almost' pathetic.
AVhen he was playing, and, tottering to a chair kept at the wing for him,
said, in aUusion to his infirmities, " I am now old  ," there was a jeer,
from the gaUeries, and a coarse laugh. Sheridan was present,
X Not, however, in the strange language of Jesse Foote, Mui-phy's bio
grapher, " a voice like Barry's, which has never been exceUed, and which is
among the first qualities of an actor, issuing from a cell, in a tone of dis
tress," &c.

282 THE LIFE OF DAVID GARRICK. [1771—
the fifth act as fast as you can." Here was no mahce,
no recollection of the past ; nothing but simple kind
liness. The play was very successful, and even now
keeps the stage, as it is called — that is, so far as any
of the older pieces may be now said to keep the stage.
A new question was about his play of " Alzuma,"
Avhich was then actually in rehearsal. Murphy wished
the leading part to be taken from Mrs. Abington and
given to Mrs. Barry. His morbid fancy saw a con
spiracy between the manager and the actress, and that
Garrick and she were plotting to revenge themselves on
him by destroying the chance of his success. He at
once sent to recaU his play ; nothing would change him;
he raked up all his old griefs ; no business of his, he told
Barry, was ever done in a candid manner, except that
of " The Grecian Daughter." " My peace of mind on
that occasion I owe to you and Mrs. Barry : upon every
occasion Mr. Garrick has been a thorn in my side."
This was an ungenerous and unjust imputation; hut
he thus artfully tried to draw Barry into the quarrel,
and actually told a whole string of old accusations
against Garrick. " If the intention of this crooked
dealing was not to thwart Mrs. Barry, the whole is
pointed at me. The attempt to hinder me from
writing a comic character for her is new ; but the
pubhc universally admire her genius, and I beg to be
one of tiie number." The parts were then sent back.
Garrick did not lose his temper, though he said,
" I am too old and too happy to love altercation." He
was in hopes, he wrote to Barry, " that after eighteen
years' acquaintance, we should at least have finished
in harmony and goodwill. I am afraid that he has
unwarily got into some misunderstanding with Mrs.

1772,] MURPHY, 283
Abington, and thinking a quarrel with an actress about
a part would be too trifling a reason for taking away
his play, he has chosen to exhibit a complaint against
me ; but I defy the malice of my most inveterate
enemies to prove the least intentional injury from me
to him, since our first knowledge of each other : can
Mr. Murphy do the same?" But, always temperate,
and with an eye to bringing the matter to a prac
tical issue, he offered to refer the matter to any legal
friend — not mutual — but Murphy's; to Wallace,
Bearcroft, Cowper, Tighe — or any of his Lincoln's
Inn friends — the condition to be, that if they decided
the matter against Garrick, he should forfeit a sum
equal to the profits of a new play ; but if other
wise, Murphy should ask pardon " for his unjustifiable,
unfriendly behaviour, and unwarrantable suspicions."
To this fair and, it must be said, very unequal pro
posal, the only answer was a furious letter of recrimi
nation for Garrick :
" If Mr. Garrick considered it as his duty to forget
what he thought former injuries, how did it happen that
he told a relation of Mr. Murphy at Bath two years
ago, ' Yes, I could do great things with his play, but
you know he has written against me.' If I remember
former injuries, it is because the wounds are opened by
the hand that gave them. To store up resentment for
occasional use was the black character of Tiberius."
He then declared the reference "ludicrous." "I have
much esteem for the gentlemen named, but must take
leave to think myself a competent judge in my own af
fairs." Garrick had reminded him of their eighteen
years' acquaintance, and of the quarrels and penitence,
and the reconcUiations which Murphy himself had

284 THE LIFE OF DAVID GARRICK, [1771-
sought, as Murphy's own letters could prove. This last
allusion seemed to sting him to fury. He had
hoarded no man's letters ! He had written none that
' he could be ashamed of! Supposing he was the first
to seek a reconclhation, was it wonderful, when his
adversary was a manager, and armed with an exclu
sive patent ? " I was then very young, and little aware
of a stroke of policy which I have since perceived is
very refined, but I think of little value. I mean ihe
policy of obtaining letters from an author in the hours
of success, or the warm moments of a manager s pro
fessed friendship, in order afterwards to make ihat very
author feel a theatrical tyranny, and should he resent
the usage, to present his own letters as a contradiction
to all he has to urge." * This seems like phrenzy.
We shall have but one more glimpse of Mr.
Murphy ; and it is a relief to be able to finish -with
one who has played so unworthy a part in Garrick's
life, whose OAvn life was such an alternation from
bullying to faAvning, from bluster to obsequiousness.
There is no more unpleasant figure to meet the eye, as
we look back on all that time. Even as we turn to his
portrait — taken when he had groAvn elderly — ^we can
discover this air of false good humour, overlying a
something that is ill-conditioned and vicious. For the
twenty years or so, during which he survived his old
enemy, his life was much ofthe old character — now dedi
cating to Lord Lauderdale, " animadverting severely on
his lordship's character," now doing hack work for the
booksellers, translating " Tacitus," which he modestly
* Garrick hoarded no man's letters " for theatrical tyranny " or any such
purpose ; but religiously preserved every note and notelet that reached him,
eveu those of the poorest interest.

1772.] MURPHY. 285
styled " a gaol delivery from Gordon," slavishly obse
quious to Johnson, who in return was said to have pro
nounced him the beau ideal of a fine gentleman. Later,
he actually contracted the Doctor's overbearing manner
in conversation. It was kncwn that Mr. Murphy, who
was the late Mr. Foote's friend and admirer, was medi
tating writing a life of that humorist ; but he hinted to
his friends, that when he came to the last unhappy
charge which really hastened Foote's end, and which no
rational mind could doubt was a calumny, he should
merely state, Avithout further comment, that he had
been acquitted by a jury of his countrymen ! Gra
dually his necessities became more pressing, but the
adventurer's good luck often came to his rescue. Now
he is left a legacy ; now a " Mrs. Plunkett " gives him
an allowance ; but his most curious piece of fortune
was, that one who had been held up with him in the
" Rosciad," the
' ' Pert prim prater of the Northern race.
Guilt in his heart, and famine in his face,
and who is represented as urging Murphy's claims to
promotion to the chair, should long after — as Lord
Loughborough — have come to his aid substantially, and
given him the profitable, but temporary, office of Commis
sioner of Bankrupts. A better " thing" was a smaU pen
sion, procured by Lord Sidmouth, for this " steady friend
and supporter of our unrivalled Constitution." But no
thing seemed to help him, and to the end he was ahvays
to be the old Arthur Murphy. Before he died, " he had
eaten himself out of every coffee-house between Temple
Bar and the West-end." From Mr. Rogers he obtained
money, and when payment was talked of, assigned
him over all his works as a security, which the

286 THE LIFE OP DAVID GARRICK. [1771—
creditor presently discovered to have been already
assigned aAvay to a bookseller. To the end, too, he
had always the satisfaction of abusing Mr. Garrick.
If it was asked in a club why did not Mr, Garrick
acknowledge that amusing farce, " High Life below
Stairs," he could explain it : " Sir, he stole it from
me. I sent it to him ; and afraid of detection he got
that clergyman ToAvnley to father it." To the end he
maintained that singular estimate of the merits of
Garrick : " Off the stage, sir, he was a little, sneak
ing rascal ; but on the stage — 0, my great God ! " *
From this point to the end of Garrick's management
it does seem as though Drury Lane had begun to
languish a little : a sort of respectable monotony
seemed to set in. Nothing striking or novel in the
way of drama or actor seemed now to rise, though there
were new actors and new plays in plenty. The ma
nager groAring more and more rechercM by his friends
of high rank, acted only at intervals, to bring up
the receipts — and it must have been flattering to
him to think his name was always a talisman — or else
to oblige his noble friends. He would play scarcely
about twenty times in the season ; a great change from
his old industry, of over a hundred times.. Yet he was
not idle. His hands were full. Vexations and worries
behhid the scenes were setting io. The fine old school
of players, who had been trained under contempt, and
in adversity, had nearly aU passed away. The newer
generation Avanted docility and humUIty, and had ex
cessive ideas of their OAvn worth and consequence. He
himself was beginning to want the energy ahd spirit
* "I have heard him,'' says Mr. Taylor, "utter these words several times
dui'ing the evening, without any variation. "

1772.] MRS, ABINGTON, 287
necessary to deal with such pretensions, and there
was now rising a decided insubordination, principally
led ¦ by the actresses. The actors, indeed, gave
trouble, though they were amenable to reason, and in the
end submitted ; but the withdrawal of Pritchard and
Clive had left him completely at the mercy of that
" worst of bad women," the unscrupulous Abington.
There was no one to take her line of parts, and
no one so popular, in special characters. Hence set in
for him a noAV class of troubles, which he must have
detested — wrangles with women. This disorder was to
be inflamed by the re-appearance of one like Murphy,
who, not content Avith his old taste of doing battle
singly with the manager, was now to get into the
green-room Arith a play, and contrived to fight with
Garrick about Abington ; then fought with both Abing
ton and Garrick together.
We may therefore hurry over the dramatic incidents
of the remaining period of his connection Arith Drury
Lane. The good comedy ofthe "West Indian," by Cum
berland, in 1771, introduced a good Avrlter to the stage.*
There was also the turgid " Braganza," -f considered
by many excellent judges of the day to be quite equal
to Otway and Shakspeare,^: and a dreary " Almida,"
by a lady he had met abroad, and whose civilities
became a claim for the bringing out of a play. There
was also Burgoyne's cheerful piece — a soldier dra
matist — "The Maid of the Oaks," which, strange to

* "D— n his dishclout face !" Northcote overheard Garrick say, as he rattled
on when sitting to Sir Joshua ; " only that I touched up his plays, and
wrote prologues and epilogues for them, they would never go down," Be
tween the painter and actor there was the freest speech.
t Produced in 1775.
J " Vigorous and warm he coines from Shakspeare's school."— Murphy.

288 THE LIFE OF DAVID GARRICK, [1771-
say, was a dramatic reproduction of a fete at Lord
Derby's, and for which he was obligingly lent the
decorations, dresses, &c,, used by the noble host. A
new claim for his judgment was the introducing of the
cheerful "Runaway,"* in which Mrs. Cowley tried her
powers, before attempting the better known " Belle's
Stratagem," a piece written in a good key, and be
longing to a good school, but not of the first rank.
There was one act of folly in his life to which
Garrick might look back with compunction. This was
that famous and gothic mutilation of " Hamlet," the
outrageous hewing to pieces of the noble play, which
seems inconceivable in one who had such reverence.
His excuse was, that there was no guide — even for
the best intentioned. A " first foho " might be in the
hands of one or two of the " curious," and Garrick
himself possessed some of the rare early editions ; but
the commentators were, as Warburton said, a tribe of
arrant blockheads. The Capells and Steevenses took yet
more outrageous liberties than the dramatists, and were
as free in importing their OAvn stuff. Neither may
we judge of that day by our own. The marvel
lous multiplication of copies and editions had not then
set in. The editions were foAV and very costly. The
mass of persons reverenced the poet more as a great
classic, whom it was part of the British creed to believe
a better man than the French could turn out. Garrick
himself had been very busy with alterations, and In
the best faith. There was scarcely a stage play of ¦
Shakspeare which he had not touched, and. It must be
said, with some delicacy. But with regard to "Hamlet,"
* Produced in 1776.

1772] HAMLET, WITH ALTERATIONS. 289
he had a sort of feeling that was almost morbid, and
which had grown stronger every year. It was with
him a kind of diseased hobby; and stimulated by
confederates, and cautiously reflecting over it, he
had brought himself to think, that the later acts of
" Hamlet" were a mass of hideous deformity, and so
much rubbish.*
It would have been hard to withstand the encou
ragement he received from the men who were supposed
to be the famUiars of the great poet. The airs and
patronage of these men in reference to the subject
were insufferable. Steevens looked forward with
delight to the hacked and hewed " Hamlet." The
alteration Avas " a clrOumstance In favour ofthe poet,"
which he had been longing for. There might be
variety in this play ; but in his humble opinion that
variety was often impertinent, and always languishing
on the stage. After the third act the genius of Shak
speare " retires, or only plays bo-peep through the rest
of the piece." With some wit, however, he likened it
to a looking-glass exposed to sale, which reflected
alternately the funeral and puppet-show, the venerable
beggar soliciting charity, and the blackguard rascal
picking pockets. He suggested throwing the remainder
of the piece into a farce, to appear after It : it might
be caUed " The Gravediggers," with the pleasant
humours of Osrick the Danish macaroni. His friend
Doctor Hoadly enjoyed the prospect also. He was
afraid too little was going to be done, " and only
twenty-five lines added!" He too had turned over
* Murphy is astray again, in placing this alteration in the November of
1770, Boaden, who is fond of correcting Murphy, is himself astray, putting
it in 1774,
VOL, II, U

290 THB LIFE OF DAVID GARRICK, [1771—
the folios of this play, and proposed to aid in the " tin
kering." When Ophelia talked to her father of
" repelling Hamlet's letter," would it not help the
action to have one produced, which he might take to
the king ? AU which could be done by the insertion
of the following mock Shakspearean :
" Oph. There's his last letter to me ;
This packet, when the next occasion suits, I shaU return,
Pol. Go we with this to the king.
This must be known."
Then Hamlet's behaviour to Ophelia was always un
meaning and cruel. Would it not be better that he
should show, that he was discouraging her love pur
posely, as he had other dreadful purposes on his
mind ? Here was the Hoadlyan version : —
"Softly now.
The fair Ophelia ! I have made too free
With that sweet lady's ear. My place in Denmark,
The times' misrule, my heavenly-urged revenge.
Matters of giant stature, gorge her love.
As fish the cormorant.
* * * *
My heart ! Could I, in my assumed distraction.
Drive her sad mind from all so ill-timed thoughts
Of me, of mad ambition, and this world ! "
It was suggested that a good deal ofthe " rubbish"
had been put in at the suggestion of " the Hopkins
ofthe day " — Hopkins was Garrick's stage manager —
to suit various seasons and actors ; and the whole
had been printed, without discrimination, on the au
thority of that officer. Murphy, looking back on the
whole proceeding, affects to deprecate, in his odd lan
guage, that the light airy Osrick should be " expelled
from his situation." But his heart was with the
restorer. The fencing scene " was a wretched expe
dient." If Garrick had there used his pruning-knife,

1772.] HAMLET, WITH ALTERATIONS. 291
and added, '"''from his own invention, something of real
Importance to bring about a noble catastrophe, he
Avould have shown his judgment." It is melancholy
to read such criticism from an official critic ; Avho
may be fairly placed in the profane band, whose
pleasure and occupation is knocking noses and
fingers off old statues, like barbarian tourists. Mr.
Malone' s whitewashing the coloured bust at Strat
ford was only symbolical of the greater Goths, who
treated Shakspeare's works in the same outrageous
way. Some of Garrick's folly may therefore be fairly
apportioned among the "judges" who encouraged him.
In December, 1772, this precious composition was
brought out. A more extraordinary medley could not
be conceived. The dreamy inaction of Hamlet was
got rid of, by plenty of exclamations and " business."
He was in perpetual motion. The King defended
himself bravely, and what Garrick himself called the
"rubbish ofthe fifth act," which included the grave-
diggers' scene, was all shovelled away, with the diggers'
own mould. His friends were afraid of "the galleries,"
who might have the bad taste to wonder what had
become of their old and humorous friends. But it
was pronounced contemptuously, that these groundlings
would be too ignorant to remark the change. An
acute Frenchman, De la Place, who knew the English
mob, owned that he trembled for their temerity in
depriving the stage of the " Fossoyeurs quide tout ont
fait ses delices." What a happy compliment to the
despised groundlings ! But the whole was received
with indifference and languor in the performance.
It was a pity indeed that one of Garrick's last acts
should have been, at the lowest, a blunder. It caused
V 2

292 THB LIFE OP DAVID GARRICK. [1771—
much amusement in the town, where it was considered
to approach a burlesque.*
Murphy, Ya^ friend, had prepared a ponderous satire
of great length, in ridicule of these alterations, which
he was wise enough not to publish — a series of
scenes between Garrick, George Garrick, Hopkins the
stage manager, Johnson the property-man, and Becket
the bookseller. It is a poor and laborious piece. The
* A very happy dialogue appeared in the papers between Garrick, as Ham
let, and the Gravediggers, part of whioh was to this effect : —
" 1st Gravedigger. Since you have thrust us out of your play, sir, be so
good as to say where you would have us dispose of our tools, and what we
should put om' hands to next.
" 2nd Gravedigger. Aye, and what we should do with the ready-made
grave. There it is. I know you don't like to have property lie dead, and I
am afraid no man living wiU take it off your hands.
" Gar. Truly, gentlemen, that is a consideration ; 'tis a pity men's labour
should be lost. Suppose .you step into it yourselves.
" 2nd Gravedigger. Twenty-and-five years have I knocked Yorick's scull
about this floor, and never thought any other scull worUd take 'up the quarrel.
Under favour, why did you leave us out of your play?
"Gar. Because the age does not like to be reminded of mortality; 'tis
an unseemly sight, and very disgustful to a weU-bred company.
" 1st Gravedigger. It won't be amiss, however, to keep the grave open ;
'twUl stand in place of a theatrical fund, and be a lasting provision for actors
retiring from the stage,
" 2nd Gravedigger. Or for a poet retiring from damnation : 'twiU take him
and his works 
" Oar. Yes, but these curs, the critics, wiU be scraping 'em up again.
" 2nd Gravedigger. Somebody else wiU draw them off — yourself as another ;
a living author is their game, "
Then the spirit of Shakspeare rises, and the piece grows serious. He ap
proves of all that has been done. ' ' Freely correct my page :
I wrote to please a rude unpoUshed age.
Thou, happy man, art fated to display
Thy dazzling talents in a brighter day.
Let me partake this night's applause with thee.
And thou shalt share impartial fame with me, " t

+ New Foundling Hospital for Wit, vol, ii. p. 189.
This would seem to allude to a dreamy project of Garrick's, which he had
often spoken of to French friends— an edition of Shakspeare. For this end he
had made that wonderful collection of "old plays," which are now in the
Museum, and which Elia pored over with delight, and the gems of which he
picked out, and set so daintily, like a Cellini of poetry.

1772.] HAMLET, WITH ALTERATIONS, 293
usual defence for attacks of this sort, directed by
"friends," against Garrick, was that they were all
mere " squibs," and fuU of good-natured "fun," and that
they could do no harm. This was Foote's excuse. But
in aU these attacks is to be found a malicious sting,
which cannot be so defended.* In Murphy this medl-
* When the prompter asks, " Are aU the places let ? " he is answered—
" 'Tis the manager
Settles that matter : 'tis he that lets
The boxes for those nights. It makes our king
Of greater pith and moment : lords and ladies
All send their cards to him : he plays the parts,
Not for the public, but for his private friends.
But this must not transpire : 'tis ours, you know,
Still to deceive the town, and make 'em think
The boxes are with equity disposed."
Murphy then takes care to ventilate his own wrongs : —
" AVhy such constant vent of brazen lies
And epigrams as implements of scandal ?
Why such impress of scribblers, whose sore task
Doth scarce deserve the freedom of the house ? "
The explanation is an unworthy insinuation : —
" Drury's king
Was, as you know, by the author of ' Alzuma '
Dar'd to fight : in which our prudent monarch.
Declining open combat, most wisely chooses
By covert stratagem to annoy his foe,"
They then see the ghost of Shakspeare, and tell Garrick,
" Gar. A branch of mulberry bore he in his hand ?
Becket. He did.
Gar. I would I had been there.
His coUar — say, was it unbuttoned ?
George. It was, as I have seen it in the abbey.
Quite loose and open."
When the ghost takes leave of Garrick, he is made to say —
" Fare thee well at once :
Yon window shows the morning to be near ;
And thy once glowworm eyes, with age grown dim.
Begin to pale their ineffectual fire.
Gar. Hold, hold, my heart.
And you, my sinews, though you are grown old.
Yet bear me stiffly up."
Yet at the very time he was penning down this coUection oi unkind insinu
ations, he himself was on the most famiUar terms with the manager.

204 THB LIFE OF DAVID GARRICK. [1771,
tated attack Avas treacherous, for as we have seen, he
approved of what had been done.
This wonderful composition held its ground for
almost eight years ; was acted even after Garrick's re
tirement, then gave place to the purer Shakspeare in
1780, and wiU never be heard of again. But Gar
rick's Romeo, Cibber's Richard, and Tate's. Lear, are
not to be so easily got rid of As it was at this point
that the slow decay of the stage seemed to set in, we
may now take a glance at its fine company — the
grand, strong, cohort which Garrick trained and
directed — the noble procession which was fast begin
ning to grow thin, and fade out in the distance. No
such procession ever came again.*
¦*" Dr. Doran has collected all that is important as to the lives of the
EngUsh players, in his " History ofthe English Stage." AVhat follows in the
next chapter is another view, and will, 1 think, be found interesting, viz., a
series of little sketches from recollections and eye-witnesses, and which will
give us a good idea of what their characteristics were.

1772.] , THE GREAT ACTORS. 295

CHAPTER VIII.
THE GREAT ACTORS.
1772.
Zoffany, the theatrical artist, has painted a very
characteristic scene of Drury Lane green-room, in
which are grouped all the leading performers.* The
manager himself sits to the left, in an easy attitude,
his legs over the arm of a chair, declaiming some
part for their instruction. Hogarth is in the middle,
pointing to the instructor ; while Mrs. Garrick sits
with the rest, demurely listening — as though she be
longed actually to the company. Even their little dog
is there, and George Garrick, the faithful henchman,
stands obsequiously, with his hand on his brother's chair,
and, characteristically enough, is the only one of the
company who is not seated. The whole has an almost
domestic air : the manager's wife always came down
to rehearsals — brought her work — llstened-^and was
deferentially asked her opinion by her husband; and
though this devotion was often smiled at, and his
favourite excuses to a claimant, " Well, well, I'll
speak to Mrs. Garrick," often mimicked, there can be
no doubt but that her presence and interest in the
* There are present Beard, Baddeley, Woodward, .Aicken, Smith, Macklin,
Mrs. Yates, Mrs. Abington, and O'Brien.

290 THE LIFE OF DAVID GARRICK. [1772.
business, was founded on good policy, and had the
happiest effect. For it brought order, dignity, and
self-respect : and as the chief and his wife, imported
these courtesies and decencies of life, so they had
insensibly the effect of bringing about a simUar tone
among their subordinates.
Yet Zoffany's selection seems arbitrary. It does
not fairly represent the strength of Drury Lane, —
that wonderful company — which, for nearly thirty
years continued so strong, sterling, and varied in its
talents, with an almost classic solidity in their dealing
with a part. This was indeed the merit of this
exceUent set, who were a perfect "school," with aU
that honest Avork, labour, study, and talent could
train them in. No clap-trap would be endured,
and if we look at their portraits — such, at least,
as have been done by the skUful touch of Reynolds
and Zoffany — we shall see what a power of highly
developed expression they could infuse into their
faces. Garrick, AAdiile he ruled Drury Lane, might be said
to have controlled two different generations of actors;
The older one was by far the most remarkable, and
was the choice and brilliant corps with which the
splendid successes of Drury Lane were achieved.
It included Macklin, Barry, Woodward, Mossop,
Sheridan, King, Foote, Smith, Yates, Shuter, and
Ross : with Pritchard, Chve, Cibber, Woffington,
and Yates. The newer generation who came during
the last years of his administration, were. Parsons,
Dodd, Bensley, Shuter, Weston,, O'Brien, Powell, and
the two Palmers ; with Miss Pope, Miss Younge, Mrs.
Barry, Mrs. Abington, and Mrs. Siddons. Towards

1772.] THE GREAT ACTORS. 297
the end of his reign, when his retirement had been
talked of for some time, a sort of insubordination
and irregularity set in : the indulgence in " airs "
and humours, which have always been the curse
of the stage, the good salaries, and petting of the
town, began, and tempted the overbalanced histrionic
soul to kick. Nothing, indeed, can be clearer, than
that it was Garrick, and Garrick alone, that did all for
the stage. At the other house, where there was no
such control, there was constant disorder and decay :
and the moment he retired, the gradual decadence
which has continued almost to the present time,
set in.
What a company to act great plays ! Avhat a
green-room ! It Avas, indeed, a fine classical school,
where all were masters — not rude, raw creatures, taken
as it were, from the plough — but who had served
long ^ears in the ranks. What full, round, brightly
coloured figures ! They stand out — we seem to know
them — like historical characters. The parts in which
they played, filled the minds of the playgoers who were
fortunate enough to see them, and came back as some
thing wonderful and satisfactory to think on. It is in
looking over the wonderful series of theatrical portraits
of that time — those noble mezzotints of McArdell,
Smith, and others, Avho worked under the inspiration
and direction of Reynolds and Zoffany — that we
catch an idea of what ti-ue expression, and dramatic
character, was then. As we look on these incompar
able works, we seem to be looking at the play itself ;
the stately, sumptuously dressed, women ; the wonderful
faces and figures (figure, as well as face, teeming with
expression) of the Kings, WoodAvards, Footes, Westons,

298 THB LIFE OF DAVID GARRICK. [1772.
and of Garrick himself For the moment, we get a
glimpse of the old lost art, see the story, the situation,
and have a dim idea of how these great artists fiUed
their stage, and made a character tell and in a vast
house, where there were no footlights, and only the
imperfect means of illumination then known, could train
their faces to an amazing power of expression, and
make their figure and motion become the figure and
motion of the character they were playing. The old
quotation, " So when a well-graced actor leaves the
scene," expresses this fine ideal perfectly, and apphed
perfectly to those times. We turn over these old prints,
and see the secret ; see Woodward, as the Fine Gentle
man in Garrick's farce — a figure most characteristic,
in dress least of all, but in attitude, face, motion, all he
meant to be ; and Foote's curious and half-Irish face,
earnest, mischievous, and a little malevolent about his
drawn mouth ; his eyes earnest, his head on one side.
Or King with Mrs. Baddeley, in the scene from the
" Clandestine Marriage," — a noble print, so true and
dramatic, that we seem to be looking on at the play.
Everything about the old Lord ; his hard, old, bony
face composed to a leer of hopeless admiration; the
stifihess of his old joints ; the sumptuousness of his
embroidered suit ; the spasm of adoration, seen even
in his wrists : all this in fine contrast to the stately
Baddeley beside him, smiling and amused. The
picture Itself seems as true as the play Itself In such
times, well might the Chelsea china works send out
little statuettes, off that precious material, of Chve,
Woodward, and Garrick, in all these characters; for
the china had then something to express.
The women, too — the Clives, Bellamys, Cibbers,

1772.] THE GREAT ACTORS. 299
Woffingtons, Pritchards, and Yates'— what artists !
What finished, trained creatures, each in their own
walk ; each something to look at, and study ; each having
a stjde, a force, of her own, just as a Sainton, or a
Joachim has a style of his own. * Here was the
unique Lady Macbeth, Pritchard, with a plain, yet
intellectual face, " of whom we should entertain a
very high opinion, had she left us nothing but the
face in her portraits," said Leigh Hunt. She was
vulgar, certainly — " Pritchard's genteel," Churchill's
ironical compliment settled the question — though not
" a vulgar idiot," as Johnson, with characteristic
bluntness, called her. He heard her talk of her
" gownd," and declared loudly that she never travelled
beyond the " lengths" of her own part.
We hear the enchanting tones of another of Gar
rick's heroines — Cibber. It was curious her face should
resemble his, so remarkably, that she might have
passed as his sister. Never were there such tender
melting notes, such passion, such grief, and in
the true pathos of Otway she was at home, and
unapproachable. Yet her favourite " demi-chant,"
pitched rather high, yet still keeping its musical
sweetness, seemed to belong to the conventionality of
the old school, and it is surprising that under Garrick's
teaching and companionship, she should have retained
it. Her tenderness was natural, for it was said that
in pathetic parts, she wept genuine tears ; and that
her agitation turned her face pal?, even through the

* Mr. Smith, of Dublin, is fortunate in tho possession of a collection of
these treasures, all in "choicest" condition. Turning them over, we see, far
better than any tradition or description could show us, what those great
players were like, in expression and attitude.

300 THE LIFE OF DAVID GARRICK. [1772.
rouge.* She was not what is called " a fine Avoman;"
but she had that look of interest and sympathy, which
Is a superior charm. Later playgoers gathered an idea
of Cibber from Mrs. Siddons, for there was thought to
be a likeness between them. Miss Seward heard both,
and seems to have preferred the latter, as having
more variety, and less monotony. But there was a
" sensation " around Mrs. Siddons, which carried away
every one ; and subdued tenderness and exquisite
pathos are not so likely to impress the crowd.")"
Cibber was the unique Cordelia, the unique Ophelia,
the unique Mrs. Beverley, and represents a type of
acting unhappily too rare.
Garrick was indeed rich in his heroines ; nor did the
line ever faU him. When Pritchard and Cibber Avere
gone, there was Mrs. Yates stiU at her maturity, and
Mrs. Barry ; and when they began to faU, Mrs. Siddons
rose at the right moment. With an antique cast of face,
and a stately magnificence in her figure and bear
ing, Yates was a true and gorgeous auxUiary. In
parts where good sterling tragedy was wanting,
or rage, jealousy, and fury conspicuous, these gifts
served her, and gave her a distinct department. She
had more warmth and emotion than Pritchard. Her
voice Avas strong and powerful. She transported with
delight two veterans who were alive a few years
back, and who had seen her in all her days of glory,
— John Taylor and Mr. GodAvIn.J

* Davies. Cumberland says that she almost sang Calista, and that it
reminded him of an improvisatrice.
+ Tate Wilkinson was also struck with the likeness. In these sketches I
havo tried to secure the impressions of those nearest our own day.
t The former told Mr, CampbeU that he thought her the most stately and
dignified actress he had seen, until Siddons came. Godwin, so late as

1772.] THE GREAT ACTORS, 301
To read of these old triumphs, seems like reading of
some lost art ; measuring it by actual experience of an
existing stage, it seems exaggerated. Here, too, was
Mrs. Barry, who could put surprising and piteous
tenderness into a voice naturally a little unmusical,
whose Rosalind was charmingly playful, animated, and
loving to a degree ; and who could play the Widow
Brady, sing her Irish songs, and dance, "with singular
versatility. She had to feel the painful reminder of
decay, the most cruel trial of the histrionic world;
and Mr. Taylor was present at a memorable scene,
when she and Mrs. Yates, then almost veterans, met
for the first time, on the same stage, in " Jane Shore."
This wonderful combination crowded the adjacent
streets with a crowd larger than any knoAvn on " royal
nights." But it was a sad change for the heroine
of the silver-toned Barry. Instead there were only
two elderly women — the enchanting Mrs. Barry with
a coarse, croaking voice and the " face of an old
man," and Yates, weak and faded.
Here was Woffington, " dallying and dangerous,"
faithful and loyal, with a surprising spirit which car
ried her through everything; and Clive, hke Shak
speare's toad "ugly and venomous," but with a jewel
of liveliness and spirit, in her head — a bustle and
animation, the established titular-chambermaid, and
hoyden; which in our time might have privUeged her
to lose all restraint and self-respect, and allowed her
to play any trick or buffoonery. But with her, it was
all nature, and the stage to her, was a room at her
1834, rapturously recalled, as the perfection of acting; the admirable recon
ciliation scene between her and Garrick in the "Wonder," — the "mixture
of majesty, condescension, and love, whioh brought both the Court and audi
ence to her feet."

302 THE LIFE OP DAVID GARRICK, [1772.
own lodgings. There, too, we see Miss Pope, the real
link between the palmy Garrick-era and our day, —
"between Churchill and Leigh Hunt. "Pope," says
Lamb, "a gentlewoman ever, with Churchill's com
pliment still burnishing upon her gay honeycomb
lips:"—
" See lively Pope advance in jig, and trip
Corinna, Cherry, Honeycomb, and Snip.
Not without art, but yet to nature true.
She charms the town with humour just, yet new."
Leigh Hunt, too, saw her with delight, and recog
nised the old excellence that had drawn forth the
praise ofthe Rosciad. How strange, and what a stretch
of time it seems to cover, to have been criticized by
Churchill, and also by Leigh Hunt ! * He thought the
portrait of Clive applied to her with even more point : —
" Easy, as if at home, the stage she trod."
" Her genius," says Hunt, in that pleasant criticisin,
valuable because criticising Garrick's school, "is of
a very lasting nature, for it does not depend upon
bodily exertion. The stage appears to be her OAvn
room ; she never indulges in that excess of action,
which is intended to supply the want of active coun
tenance, and which would be so astounding to English
men, in real life. She never talks to her audience.
One of her great beauties is a most judicious emphasis
of speech ; that unites the qualities of reading, and of
talking, for it has all the strength of the one tempered
by all the familiarity of the other .... This is

=* " Miss Pope, the very picture of a duenna, a maiden lady or antiquated
dowager,— the latter spring of beauty, the second childhood of vanity: more
quaint, fantastic, and old fashioned, more pert, frothy, and light-headed than
anything can be imagined." — Hazlitt,

1772.] THE GREAT ACTORS. 303
peculiarly observable in her performances of Mrs.
Candour, m " The School for Scandal," in which her
affected sentiments are so inimitably aided by the natural
turns of her voice, that it is no wonder her scandal
carries perfect conviction to everybody round her."
These are precious and true principles of acting. She
was trained from a child under Garrick's own eye,
and she thus gives us a faithful idea of his school.
There, too, was Miss Younge, " with a voice," says
Elia, in a fine passage, as he gazes at the Garrick
Club pictures, " which might have competed with the
silver tones of Barry, so enchanting, in its decay do I
remember it ; of all her parts exceeding herself in the
Lady. There earth touched heaven!" The oldest
in the service were, perhaps, the Yateses ; he, an
admirable and soUd actor, with a solemn manner,
full of humour, unassisted by twist or grimace. His
manner was " of the dry or grave humour, but per
fectly natural ; his speech slow ; he knew he had his
audience, and therefore took them at his leisure."
There were those who recollected seeing him at Bar
tholomew fair, on the platform of a booth. But he
rose from this, and found his way to the little Ipswich
Theatre, where he had played long, long ago, with "Mr.
Lyddal," in "Oronooko." That acquaintance brought
him great profit : for Garrick never forgot his friends.
Drury Lane was their home ; yet they took airs, and
when Garrick wished Mrs. Yates to help him, in his
hobby of the Jubilee, she went off and acted at Bir
mingham without his leave. Latterly he heard, and we
may be sure there was truth in the story, that they fur
nished ridiculous notes of him to Mrs. Brooke, who was
Avriting a novel. Yet he was glad to welcome them

304 THE LIFE OF DAVID GARRICK. [1772.
back to his theatre, when they Avished to return.
Drury Lane was fortunate, too, in the training and
principles of its company, at this era. Her husband
had caught so much of Garrick's theory, as to "think
out " a conception of a part. When he received a new
one, he set himself to recal some living model which
he had met, and -taking this for a basis, thus worked
it up. Sometimes is seen there, though fitfuUy, chiefly when
he comes over from Ireland to play for his inteUigent
daughter's benefit, charging her, however, Avith the
expense of the journey, a hard, strange figure, — the
oldest of the old actors, Macklin. That curious face—
the nose and chin gradually drawing together, as he
grew, like that of Punch — those features which seemed to
disdain each other — that harsh voice, which " largely
deals In half-formed sounds," were famihar to Drury
Lane green-room. To the end, Garrick was Arilling to
befriend him ; to give him or his daughter an en
gagement, or to act his Plays. But nothing could con-
cihate him. There is no more unpleasant picture than
the old age of this player, who is said to have died at
the age of 107, and in whose old age, all the old ill-
nature was developed.* To the end the name of
Garrick Avould quicken his faculties, and he conti-ived
to pour Into the ear of the two persons who wrote his
life, the story of his unforgiving hatred. Among the
old man's papers they found some sketches which he

* Angelo describes him instructing a professional candidate, putting his
dreadful face forward, as who should say, "Lookatme." "First, sir," hewonld
croak, "yon should ha^o a, silvery voice: and secondly, sir, a pleasing face."
Even when his memory began to fail, he, unconsciously, would make his host
and admirer uncomfortable, by taking one of his guests for his entertainer, and
addressing all his remarks to him, Taylor has some curious stories about him.

1772.] THE GREAT ACTORS. 305
had no doubt faUed in getting into newspapers, or
magazines, and which are shocking for the concen
trated maUgnity they show.* At the same time there
* "Garrick's Character. — His eye was dark, but not charaoteristical of any
passion, but the fierce and the lively. To friendship with man, or love and
friendship with woman, he never was disposed ; for love of himself always
forbid it. Envy was his torment — ever dreading merit in the lowest of his
brethren, and pining at the applause and fortune that their labours procured
them. " He had a narrow, contracted mind, bounded on one side by suspicion, by
envy on the other, by avarice in the front, and by pale fear in the rear, with
self in the centre. Out of these limits he never expatiated, unless fear and
ostentation exerted their functions conjointly.
"He never could enjoy the convivial felicities of society, especially with those
persons who were most capable of tasting and contributing the free inquiries
of ingenious minds. He had read that the more refined minds, of aU ages,
had a particular pleasure in the mental intercourse of the ingenious few. Of
this custom he was resolved to avail himself ; but it was just as an hypocrite
avails himself of religion, by ostentation and imposture ; for he herded con
stantly with wits, and was, in letters, a professed Tartuffe to aU.
" He had a hackneyed kind of metaphorical, theatrical, tinselled phraseology,
made out of tags and ends, quotations and imitations of our EngUsh poets ;
and, indeed, from the Greek and Latin authors, as often as his memory served
him with the scraps aud mottos it had quaintly picked up ; for he knew no
hook of antiquity, nor, indeed, of modern note. Prior, La Fontaine, Swift's
poetry, aud a few more of that kind excepted ; these he constantly imitated,
plundered, disguised, and frittered in occasional prologues, epilogues, and
complimentary poems upon parrots, lap-dogs, monkeys, birds, growing wits,
patrons, and ladies. But what he most exceUed in was in writing epigrams and
short poems in praise of himself and his productions, and in defamation of a
rival actor, or of any of those poor people of the stage whom he wished to be
unpopular. With such shreds and patches he constantly fed the daily papers,
the reviews, and magazines. Each of his associate wits had a pecuhar
quaintness of phrase and greeting, such as ' My sprig of Parnassus, let me
pour my incense !' ' ¦
"He laboured for private esteem, but always in vain! Fear, envy, and
avarice were seen even in deeds that appeared convivial, benevolent, and
Uberal ! He was a maker of professions, but a .slave to interest ! He was
honoured as an actor, hated as a man, and despised as an author ! He ever
made friendship a footstool to his interest and ambition. The two men that
he was most obUged to he always hated and feared. He ruined the one and
planned the destruction of the other ! He could have no lasting intimacy
with anybody. He was totally void of any kind of address to men or women,
in any rank or circumstance of life, that the judicious, and those who had
thought on that art, called genteel or wellbred.
" In private life, had this man been interdicted the use of mimicry, of simu
lation and dissimulation, he would have appeared what in reality he was, a
superficial insignificant man. But with the help of those arts, he was enter
taining, and appeared sagacious, learned, good-natured, modest, and friendly
to those who had no dealings with him ; but to those who had, he was known
VOL. II, x

306 THE LIFE OP DAVID GARRICK, [1772,
are some acute touches in it, which are a distor
tion of some of Garrick's failings. Other papers were
also found, — " The Garrick Bane," and the Uke, — ^which
showed that he had a morbid feehng in his case.
If there was a man he disliked next to Garrick, it

to the very heart ; for his attachment to interest in deaUngs made him as
obvious as if Nature had made a window to his heart,
' ' The paltry actions of this man are weU known : his intimates I need not
describe. The tree is known by its fruit.
"A stronger instance of its influence — i.e., envy — sure never was known,
than in the person we have now under consideration ; for, not satisfied with
endeavouring to destroy the fame of every contemporary actor, he attacked
even that of the actresses, and succeeded. Nor was the traducement of the
living fame of male and female, of every age and rank upon the stage,
sufficient to gorge the maw of envy ; it flew to the dead ! and insidiously
broke open the hallowed tombs of Betterton, Booth, Wilks, Nature's favourite
chUdren ; these very spirits would he .slyly bring upon the carpet ; mimic,
though he never saw them ; teU anecdotes of them, and traduce their im
mortal fame, by stigmatising them as mannerists, and denominating them as
persons who spoke in recitative. Thus would he serve them up to ignorant
people, who believed and wondered ; and to dependents and flatterers, who
retailed the libeUous anecdotes, invectives, and quaint conceits, and con
cluded that the art was never known but by the narrator, who, with an appa
rent modesty, and a concealed impudence, made himself the hero of the
historical criticism,
" His mind was busied upon the external and partial looks, tones, gaits, and
motions of individuals in their ordinary habits. Of the passions, their
degrees and kinds, and of their influence upon the organs, and their impres
sions upon the body, he knew but Uttle, very little indeed ! His mind and
knowledge were, like his body, little, pert, acute, quick, weak, easUy shocked
and worn down, subtle, plausible.
" By this external partial imitation of individuals, he continuaUy exercised
his mind and body. This wretched buffoonery comprised his knowled'ge, his
humour, his learning, conversation, wisdom, virtue, elegance, breeding, and
his companionable qualities. His mimicry, both off the stage and on it,
served him instead of figure, grace, character, manners, and of a perfect
imitation of general nature.
"Whenever a manager sets up his own power, taste, or avarice against the
power, judgment, or entertainment of the people, he forfeits every right to
their favour ; nay, he merits their contempt and resentment. Garrick never
obliged the public in any one article during the time of his management ; on
the contrary, he took every step by which he could erect himself into a tyrant,
to crush the spirit and genius of merit both in actors and authors ; to corrupt
the pubUc taste ; to fiU his own coffers ; and to make his own judgment the
standard of every species of dramatic merit.
"His wit always wanted strength, his descriptions humour, his manner
pleasantry, his conduct integrity, his disposition good nature, and his deport
ment decency,"

1772,] THE GREAT ACTORS. 307
was Sheridan ; and to Sheridan he was nearly as
intemperate. In the green-room they must have been often merry
at the pompous enunciation of the great Dubhn player,
who thought he was quite equal in power and gifts
to the manager. A smUe must have gone round, as
he talked of a servant, as " a minion ! " Even in the days
of the " Rosciad, " when he had been playing nearly
twenty years, his was pronounced " a doubtful name."
" His voice no touch of harmony admits.
Irregularly deep and shrUl by fits ;
The two extremes appear, Uke man and wife.
Coupled together for the sake of strife."
A doubtful name it stUl remains, hke that of many
other players, whom jealousy or wounded sensitiveness
has overset. Self-restraint is as necessary to an actor,
as elocution itself Sheridan was always in battle or
discontent. As we look at his picture, " Mr. Sheridan
in his great part of ^Katto,' " with his bare throat, his
wild face, we call up exactly his style — the untiring
lung, the SAringing arm —
" Why must impatience faU three paces back ?
AVhy, paces three, return to the attack ?
Why is the right leg, too, forbid to stir,
Save in motion semicircular ? "
Simply because he wanted warmth and sympathy, and
the true histrionic fire, worth all elocution, its rules, and
its whole manual exercise. Nothing could have been
more mortifying than this decay of popularity. Mack
lin's rude tongue was the first to tell him. "Poor
Sherry has been acting mad, haranguing mad, teaching
mad, reading mad, managing mad  England soon
found out his incapacity, the dissonance of his voice,
the laboured quaintness of his emphasis, the incessant
X 2

308 THE LIFE OF DAVID GARRICK, [1772.
flux of his speech, his general appearance. He has
been despised as an actor. His audiences laughed him
to scorn ; he has tired out Bath and every theatre
in London. The public would not attend him." " If
any one has a doubt about his insanity, let a subject
be started, and let him be dravm into a conversation.
Observe his confidence, his haughtiness, his peremp-
torlness, his utter inattention to what others advance in
argument, and I think they wiU conclude that he wiU
die in a madhouse." *
Angelo recollected this mortifying neglect when
Sheridan and Henderson joined in public recitations, —
the delight of the audience at " John Gilpin ; " but their
unconcealed impatience, as the old actor made his way
through the crowd, to give Dryden's ode. To the last,
however, he believed in himself
Here we see the lively Abington, with a small
piquant face, rendered smaller by the loftiest head-dress,
a sly under-look, and an arch manner of speech. The
true Lady Bab or Lady Betty Modish. " Worst of
bad women," as she was to Mr. Garrick, in her own
line she was irresistible. It must have been some
whim that made her so earnest in taking up Dr. John
son, and forcing him to her benefit, and to her house.
No one could deliver a smart speech with such severity.
Yet she could not touch the highest point of airy
comedy. She had been fetched out of the dregs of
the town, and lived four years as a tavern ghl. Mr.
Murphy could tell a curious story or two, about Beau
Tracy, and this era of hers."|" It was infinitely to the
credit of her tact and esprit, that she should have raised
* This indecent attack was published by MackUn in Dublin,
t The gossiping Taylor picked up a good many anecdotes about her.

1772.] THE GREAT ACTORS. 309
herself, and, like Woffington, have learned refinement and
accomplishments. She could tell of the strange society
in Dubhn, when ladies of first fashion were at her feet,
imploring hints about their dress. The "Abington
Cap " was in all the milliner's shops. Her manner was
bewitching. No one could play a fan so delight
fully ; and it was noticed she had some odd little tricks
in her acting, such as turning her "wrist, and " seeming
to stick a pin at the side of the waist." Mr. Abington,
" a neat, gentlemanly little figure," played in the band,
and Mr. Needham, then a Buck of the City, was the
favoured admirer behind the scenes.* Poor Mr.
Abington was playing away in front, and perhaps indif
ferent. This curious lady, when she was flush of money,
hired her own house in Piccadilly, opposite the Green
Park ; but, when a worse season set hi, accepted a mean
lodging cheerfully. For her the praise of being the
first Lady Teazle, and of having sat often to Sir Joshua.
When her acting life was over, we see her at her house
receiving company, and out of the season carefully
closing the shutters, but stiU living there, so as not to
be suspected to be in toAvn. At her little parties,
where came Dora Jordan, it was noticed that she was
unwearied in dwelling on the praises of Garrick, and
his gifts. Those were the old glories which had made
hers, and she had long forgotten the hours of mortifica
tion and vexations she had caused him.
Now sweeps m the splendid Hartley, whose face,
with a smaU chin, seems to recal that of Emma, Lady
Hamilton. " A finer creature," said Mr. Garrick, in
raptures, " I never saw. Her make is perfect ! "
* "Abiugton caps for those that need 'em," was the jest of the pleasant
Dublin.

310 THE LIFE OF DAVID GARRICK. [1772.
Moody, who had gone doAvn to report on her, was not
favourably impressed, and gave a portrait of what
seemed to him a mere country actress. " She is a
good figure, with a handsome small face, and very
much freckled ; her hair red, and her neck and shoul
ders well turned. There is no harmony in her voice ;
but when forced (which she never faUs to do on the
least occasion) is loud and strong, but an inarticulate
gabble. She is ignorant and stubborn. She talks
lusciously, and has a slovenly good nature about her
that renders her prodigiously vulgar." * We follow
her and Abington, in their gorgeous dresses, spread
over with rich coloured rings of lace and embroidery,
sweeping past us, to go on. Then comes Bellamy, so
" very beautiful," as she seemed to young O'Keefe,
" with her blue eyes, and very fair." " I often saw her
splendid state sedan-chair, with superb sUver-lace
liveries, waiting for her at the door of Liffey Street Ca
tholic Chapel." Her house there was in KUdare Street.
With all her pettish insolence and airs, we may suspect
Mr. Garrick was good-naturedly partial to her, and
made allowance. And next her, the charming Baddeley,
whose gaudy and fitful career reads like a troubled
dream, and robbed the stage of a graceful actress.
No stranger picture of life can be conceived than her
singular story ; her short and showy course, across
which flit royal dukes, infatuated lords, rough and
rude colonels, strange elopements, " settlements,"
quarreUings, and the gradual faU and degradation, when
a Footman Avinds up the procession. Even the duU
and decent George Garrick she drew into a duel Arith
* The reader wiU note in what a good graphic style the players of those
days could write.

1772,] THB GREAT ACTORS, 311
her own husband. The well-worn saying that " truth
is stranger than fiction," certainly holds ; but infinitely
more does it hold behind the scenes.
Here was Ross, a large, plump, unwieldy man, Arith
solemn and "proper" manners, giving out, and with
truth, that he came of one of the best families in Scot
land ; Love, the admirable Falstaff, who was thought
to surpass Quin ; Smith, " the genteel," " a fine gentle
manly man ;" and Lewis, of whom it was Avritten, Arith a
nice distinction, that his line was the gentleman of "that
higher kind of comedy, which hardly now exists, which
Smith has in the exterior, and which O'Brien might
have attained." There was Shuter, whom it was said
Mr. Garrick pronounced the greatest comic genius he
had ever seen. It struck one who had seen him in
his leading parts, that a simplicity and a' luxurious
humour were his characteristics. Yet it must have
been disfigured by what is kncwn to stage slang, as
gagging. According to ChurchiU,
" He never cared a pin
Whether he left out nonsense, or put in."
Nothing, indeed, gives a better idea of what actors
were, and what the stage was — when Garrick's influ
ence stUl reigned, though he had passed away himself
— than Eha's retrospect, and fond recalling of his
palmy days of the drama. His description of Bensley's
playing — an exquisite analysis itself, and almost a bit
of acting on paper — shows what a world of indicative
expression, meaning — of acting in short — has been lost
to us. What actor now would be made to follow, or even
comprehend, that delicate reading of Malvolio. " He
was magnificent from the outset, but when the decent

312 THE LIFE OF DAVID GARRICK. [1772.
sobrieties of the character began to give way, and the
poison of self-love gradually to work .... how he
went smiling to himself! With what ineffable care
lessness would he twirl his gold chain — what a dream
it was. You were infected with the illusion ....
you had no room for laughter .... the man seemed
to tread upon air, to taste manna, to walk with his
head in the clouds."
Dodd's wonderful face, the same skilful touch paints
for us, the face that " looked out so formally flat in
Foppington, so frolicly pert in Tattle, so impotently
busy in BaM)ite, so blankly divested of all meaning,
or resolutely expressive of none, in Acres.* .... In
expressing slowness of apprehension this actor sur
passed all others. You could see the first dawn of an
idea stealing slowly over his countenance, climbing up
by little and little, with a painful process, tUl it cleared
up at last, to the fulness of a twilight conception ....
He seemed to keep back his intellect . . , , A glimmer
of understanding would appear in a corner of his eye,
and then go out, for lack of expression, A part of his
forehead would catch a little intelligence, and be a long
time in communicating it to the remainder." Here,
again, is the lost art, — which excited the house and
brought tears of laughter ; not the grimace — the speak
ing with a twang out of the mouth comer, which is the
height of humour now. If we look at the wonderful
Abel Drugger face, by Zoffany, we shall have a glimpse
of this facial struggle, this picture of emotion, f
• "Dodd, in Acres, who had the most extraordinary way of hitching in a
meaning, or subsiding into blank foUy, with the best grace in nature." —
Hazlitt. t Ella's observation was always nicely accurate. Hoadly's sketch of Dodd
 some thirty or forty years before — is also good. "He has more the stalk

1772.] THB GREAT ACTORS. 313
So with the Palmers, admirable comedians, with
a real style, a fashion of giving the airy gentlemen of
comedy, — what Lamb caUed "the highly artificial
manner" of " Jack Palmer." , Now these nice refine
ments seem lost. There is the one conventional way of
giving the gentleman of fashion, the one way for the
villain, for the comic fellow, and the rest. " In sock
or buskin," says Elia, "there was air of swaggering
gentility about Jack Palmer .... When you saw
Bobby in the 'Duke's Servant,' you said, what a
pity such a pretty fellow was only a servant .... Jack
had two voices, both plausible, hypocritical, and in
sinuating, but his secondary or supplementary voice
was more decidedly histrionic than his common one.
It was reserved for the spectator .... The lies of
young Wilding, and the sentiments in Joseph Surface
were thus marked out, in a sort of italics to the
audience." There too, was Davies, always whispering and plot
ting. This bookseller actor had his grievances too —
was dissatisfied that he was not allowed to mouth
Bajazet as " curs mouth a bone." The manager was
often, as he said, " agitated," and throAvn out, by his
-^and menage of a dancing-master, than the ease of a gentleman. ... . I
speak of his legs. He has a white, calf-like, stupid face. . . . His voice
is good. ... He seems sensible, alive, and attentive to what is going
on, and properly so. He sings agreeably ; though there is a formal kind of
parade kept up by his singing gently (not to be easily avoided in the strange,
unnatural circumstances and attitudes that the songs and their symphonies
place him in, in the front of the stage), that hides and disguises nature, but
which he reconciles better than I remember anybody. His pauses are sensible,
and fiUed with proper action and look." His etching of Mrs. Dodd in Mrs.
Oakly is equally good : "She was not a moment out of the character, and
amazingly proper and ready in the repartee, and taking up the half sentences
before they fell to nothing, which abound in that natural com,edy, as im all easy
discourse." When there was such nice criticism, no wonder there was good
playing.

314 THB LIFE OP DAVID GARRICK. [1772.
habitual want of readiness in his parts, and had to
reprimand him severely ; but the unlucky Davies ex
plained that once during the run of " Cymbehne," he
caught a sight of the awful apparition of Churchill's
face in the pit, which quite overset him. He went to
Dr. Johnson, and told all his grievances, how Mr. Gar
rick's persecution had " driven him from the stage."
Yet, as a matter of course, he had been lent money by
Garrick ; and seems to have deeply resented that fifty
pounds more was not lent — though this sum was not
absolutely refused — and Mr. Garrick said that if the
matter was pressed he would do so. It is amusing to
see how slight was the cause that produced this tide
of reproaches and pent-up grievances. When he left
the theatre, Garrick one day told Colman to coUect
some moneys due to him from the " St. James's Chro
nicle," in which he was a partner. Davies was his
trustee for that property. " What is this," said the
indignant actor to Colman, " but to brand me as a
fellow not fit to be trusted vrith the receipt of his
money ?....! am ready to show my books, and
to settle with him whenever he pleases. If he is tired
of his kindness, in God's name let him withdraw it."
Garrick wrote to him, calmly, " I shaU not put myself
to the unnecessary trouble of convincmg you of your
unprovoked ill-treatment of me. ... I shall only say
that, upon my honour, I never once suspected your
integrity, and tiU I heard of your last conversation
with my brother, I never had the least doubts of your
veracity. I shaU most certainly withdraw myself, as
you are pleased to command, and am as willing, and
ready as yourself, to settle the account between us."
This dignified answer brought a cooler reply from the

1772.] THB GREAT ACTORS. 315
actor. " By desiring the account between us might be
settled, I did not mean to pay the balance immediately.
.... However that will not so much distress me, if
Mr. Garrick wUl please to stay until my auction be
over. ... I find it was wrong to complain. ... I now
sincerely thank you that you have condescended to
clear that point." Garrick's reply was as though he
Avas addressed by a perfect equal, and shows the admi
rable power he possessed of analysing the smaUest
human motives and workings of the mind. " Those,"
he said, " who have too much the weakness of sensi
bility about them, confess their mistakes with a degree
of contrition, whilst you, sir, can find yourself wrong
Arith a superior indifference and self-approbation," &c.
Nothing can be better than the following reproach, in
reference to Davies being driven from the stage by
Garrick's temper.* " But why would you expose my
infirmities at a time when you were asking and receiv
ing favours from me, and when I was exerting all the
little interest I had in your service? .... I am
ashamed to mention these things, but I repeat them
to you, as the last words of a dead acquaintance."
Davies had the " last word," however, and satisfied
himself by a torrent of reproaches, and bitter recapi
tulation of his wrongs. In another sense he had the
last word too : for when his foe had passed away, and
could neither lend nor demand back his money, he sat
down and wrote his " Life," without the fear of a reply
before him."|-
* It was notorious that it was Churchill's attack that preyed upon his mind.
Stockdale says he lost £500 a-year.
t I have seen an obsequious letter of Davies', venturing to suggest that the
coronation of a French king would be a more effective pageant on the stage
than that of an English one ; and also thanking him for his "generous sub-

316 THB LIFE OF DAVID GARRICK, [1772.
He does not seem to have ever for^'iven Garrick.
Even in his later trouble with the jealous Hen
derson, he was whispering that Garrick had only
made a feint of recommending him ; which was refuted
by one, who was present when Garrick praised his
acting, and had warmly pressed on Sheridan the duty
of engaging him at once. The " Life," by which
he made money, was full of insidious strokes at his
former patron, though at the end, when he came to
sum up the character of his hero, he found himself
obliged to do him justice.* Yet Garrick had gene
rously allowed him a benefit night, for old acquain
tance' sake, and he played Fainall, in " The Way of
the World," when Mr. Taylor and many friends were
present. He seemed " an old formal-looking man,
with a dull gravity in his acting, and a hollow rum
bling in his voice." He made a speech, ovming his
inabUity, but hoping his good wUl would be accepted.
He seemed to decay gradually, and it was not a little
scription to Wanley.'' Garrick endorsed it "Mr. Davies— once an actor —
now a conceited bookseller ; nor is that all, Anti-Mendax." — (BuUock MSS.)
" Anti-Mendax " was the signature to some personal attacks on him, in the
papers. We can conceive Garrick — knowing the secrets of these false friends
and their false compliments — making this bitter endorsement. No man ever
had such material for being sarcastic on human nature. Children alone he
could except : kindness to them was always a feature in his character. Angelo,
the fencing master's son, used to be invited for the day to Hampton, with a
companion ; and the good-natured actor — then en retraite — would read stories
to them after dinner. In time he would fall asleep, and thoy recaUed Mrs.
Garrick cautiously and jealously guarding them against disturbing him, and
fondly putting a handkerchief about his head. It was like Lady Easy in the
comedy, * He was greatly surprised that Mrs. Garrick was displeased at his attacks.
The life was read aloud in portions to a select club of bookseUers at the DevU
Tavern. He was much dissatisfied at the curt notice of "The Gentleman's
Magazine," and wrote to ask another, — which was given him, but did not
satisfy him. He complained of being treated like " the old woman who tells
her stories fluently with a pipe in her mouth." He died iu 1785, in reduced
circumstances,- the "pretty wife" in 1801. It is said she became actually
destitute, and spent her last days in the workhouse.

1772.] THE GREAT ACTORS. 317
singular, that all those who had profited by Garrick's
friendship, and then turned against him, should have
gradually sunk and ended badly.*
Here was the odd " Dagger Marr," who thought
himself equal to Garrick, and would fold his arms
scornfully, and look after him with a scowl, saying, if
he had but his eyes, he would play him for any
sum. And here was the useful Cross, long prompter
at Drury Lane — and Hopkins, the stage-manager—
old retainers, who worshipped their captain : Arith
Waldron, who played in Scrub, and who, long after,
in the Kemble days, used to praise that great actor
— ^but always added : " But Mr. Garrick — bless my
soul ! — that was quite a different sort of thing !"
Here was Havard, a good usefiil actor, with " an
easy, vacant face," and Holland, who copied Garrick.
" Attitude, action, air, pause, start, sigh, groan. He
borrowed and made use of as his oavu." Isaac
Sparks, Packer and Ackman, were all humble and
serviceable players, useful as rank and file.| Havard
* As Steevens said of him, " A proud man who has a heart averse to
honest obligation, wiU generaUy hate the person who has it in his power to
serve him,"
•t* Here is a glimpse of the strange creatures that hung about Drury Lane,
Garrick employed an oddity oaUed Stone to pick up "supers," as they are
called : — stone to gareiok, "Thursday, noon,
" Sie, — Mr. Lacy turned me out of the lobby yesterday, and behaved very
shabby to me. I only as^d for my two guineas for the last bishop, and he
swore I shouldn't have a farthing. I can't live upon air. I have a few
Cupids you may have dirt cheap, as they belongs. to a poor journeyman shoe
maker who 1 drinks with now and then. — I am, your humble servant,
" W, Stone."
GAEEICK TO STONE, " Friday morning,
" Stone, — You are the best fellow in the world. Bring the Cupids to the
theatre to-morrow. If they are under six, and weU made, you shall have a
guinea apiece for them. Mr. Lacy wiU pay you himself for the Bishop. He

318 THB LIFE OF DAVID GARRICK, [1772.
was one of his " old guard," and was always faithful
and true, and when leaving the stage had the un
usual grace to 'write his old master a grateful and
kindly letter. He was linked with the old days.
Garrick had been truly kind, and after his last
benefit, made him a present of a horse. The gi-ateful
actor wrote to him in language not famiUar to those
whom Garrick was in the habit of loading with his
favours. He had given him all thanks behind the
scenes, yet he must formally, and upon paper, express
all he felt. The style is that inflated style to which
all actors have a leaning, and which they seem to
catch from the scraps of dramatic " fine " language
floating through their brain. " Beheve me, sir," he
said, " these feelings are Avrote upon my heart, and
must continue as long as the frail tenement that con
tains it. May your health, and Mrs. Garrick's continue
perfect, at least vnth so small a difference that it may
only add a relish to the future enjoyment of it, as the
absence of friends the more endears their next meeting.
May every circumstance of your lives be easy, and
is very penitent for what he has done. If yon can get me two good murderers
I wUl pay you handsomely, particularly for the spouting feUow who keeps
the apple-stand on Tower-hill ; the cut in his face is quite the thing. Pick
me up an alderman or two for ' Richard,' if you can ; and I have no objection
to treat with you for a fat, comely mayor. The barber wUl not do for Brutus,
although I think he may succeed as a thief, in ' The Beggar's Opera.' " D. G."
The Bishop had rehearsed the part of the Bishop of 'Winchester in " Henry
the Eighth," with such good effect, that Garrick often addressed him as
" Cousin of Winchester," He however never played the part ; the reader
wiU see the reason from the two subjoined letters :—
STONE TO OAEEICK,
"Sie, — The Bishop of Winchester is getting drunk at the Bear, and swears
he'U be d  d if he acts to-night. — I am yours, "W. Stone."
ANSWEE.
" Stone, — The Bishop may go to the  . I do not knowa greater rascal,
except yourself, " D. G,'

1772,] THE GREAT ACTORS, 319
every Arish completed ! And now my heart is some
what lighter." The prayer of this excellent old actor
and really grateful retainer, is original and ingenious,
namely, Arishing one's friend only just so much incon
venience in the way of sickness as to give a whet to
the enjoyment of health. This kind benediction could
not, however, secure such a tempered indisposition for
Garrick, who was to suffer acutely by-and-by.
Here too was Woodward, great master in " science
of grimace," as ChurchUl a little unjustly puts it, taking
only one side of his humour, which could be tempered
by the sound association of the school around him,
and exhibit fine comedy in such parts as Bobadil and
the Copper Captain. Smith, " the genteel, the airy,"
was a type lost to us now, invaluable in those gay
comedy gallants and men of fashion, who indeed are
not on the stage now. " I fancy," says Elia, " he
was more airy, and took the eye Avith a certain gaiety
of person." King, too, that admirable and solid actor,
Elia had seen, and admired for that artificial air
which he imparted to Sir Peter.*
It would be tempting to dwell long on this fine
cohort, as well-disciplined as they were fine. These
little sketches wUl just give us a hint of what characters
they were, who moved round Garrick.
* " His acting left a taste on the palate sharp and sweet like a quince, with
an old, hard, rough, withered face, like a john-apple, puckered up into a
thousand wrinkles, with shrewd hints and tart replies." There is a perfect
picture in this description.

320 THE LIFE OF DAVID GARRICK. [1772,

CHAPTER IX.
IN THE GREEN-ROOM.
1772,
In those days, too, the principles which regulated
the administration of the stage were of a dignified
kind, and worthy of a great profession. Nothing, as
I have said, was more surprising than the respect
enjoyed by actors, or their importance. Garrick went
regularly to Court ; and this was expected, and
commented on, if omitted.* Here was an official
recognition of a great theatre, and the company whom
the manager represented — the choicest, best-trained
corps of comedians in the kingdom. Now there is no
cohesion — a leading actor or a " star," is the Company;
any stray atoms — shifting and changing — do for a
corps : the officer is the attraction ; any cheap sweep
ings wUl do for " privates." In those days too, the
Drury Lane players had a scarlet dress — as being
attached to the Royal Household.|
The great actor's OAvn behaviour showed the respect,
that he felt was owing to himself, and to the pubhc. In
his green-room, in the intervals between his scenes, he
never gossiped, but kept a little apart, as it were living

* Even now the manager ofthe Dublin Theatre Royal is expected to present
himself at levees,
f Dr, Doran mentions that Baddeley was the last who wore this unifomi.

1772.] IN THE GREEN-ROOM. 321
stUl In his assumed character. This was, of course,
set down to pride and self-importance. He told a
friend, who was by no means inclined to conceal his
faults, that he was never free from a certain nervous
ness and sense of responsibility. Any day that he was
to play, he never dined out, but remained at home
quiet and undistracted, taking some light repast at two
o'clock, and admitting no visitors.* This was his
custom to the end, and shows how little of " a trade "
he considered his acting. It was remarked, that none
of the great players, like Barry or Clive, could be
induced to show themselves in the boxes, during the
after-piece; but went home decorously, so as not to
impair the impression left on the audience. Here was
a wholesome and significant principle. There was
then no cheap contact with the grotlndUngs, no exhi
bition at fancy fairs, where the vulgar curiosity of
seeing the grand professors in the cool air of daylight,
so fatally impairs all respect, and certainly the value of
the profession. Once, and once only, he owned that
he had come on the stage intoxicated. He had
been persuaded to dine at a great house, and had
taken too much liquor. When he came on as Lord
Chalkstone, he appeared all exhUaration and spirits,
laughed as he tried to act, but could not utter a word.
Friends in the house tried to cover this exhibition with
exaggerated applause, and the greater part of the
audience did not perceive what had happened, but he
was dreadfully mortified, and it was a lesson to him
never to be betrayed into such a failing again."]'
On the stage, then, there was an admirable tone and
discipline — a perfect respect for the audience, more
¦*¦ stockdale. f Cradock.
VOL. II. r

,'322 THE LIFE OF DAVID GARRICK. [1772.
than repaid by that audience by a respect as perfect
for the actor. The familiarity knoAvn as " gagging "
was kept under an almost ascetical restraint. How
happy, how profound and nice, was their instiact, may
be seen from a remark of one who was a very acute
observer indeed.* Tolerant in most points, Garrick
was knoAvn to be rigid in matters hke this. Once,
however, when playing in " The Way to Keep Him,"
with Mrs. Clive, that lady whispered some private joke,
which so completely upset him that he could not finish,
but was obliged " to make his bow, amid a roar of
electrical laughter." But this was an accident."!" ^^
was often repeated how Roscius had told Shuter, " not
to be too comical." Advice for a whole line of Shuters.
He was unwearied in "drilling" his actors —
whatever their rank — and they had learned the
custom of taking instructions from him with docUity.
Indeed, it is surprising to see what infinite power
his prosperity and success in direction, his wealth
and good gifts as an actor, ga"pe him in the
theatre. How much a play gained by this unity of
conception may be conceived. To this was OAring the
unequalled success of " Every Man in his Humour,"
which was rehearsed for months : and the manager
was known to rigidly apply the same principles to
* "0 comical actor !" says WUkinson, "it is a debt, and a dangerous
debt, not easily forgot or forgiven ; for how can the performer think that
though, perhaps, the town last night laughed, and gave indulgence, that he is
free ? Far from it ; he has lost the golden ore, their good opinion, and it
will take a long time to regain it. For the actor is dreadfuUy wrong, who
thinks, because himself and friends laugh at what is termed jokes, out of
all time, place, and character, it is forgiven in general." There is admirable
truth as well as phUosophy in this.
+ Wilkinson owns that, something of the same sort having happened to
him, he tried it again on purpose, on the next night — when there was a general
hiss. " And I have remembered the lesson," he says, " ever since."

1772.] IN THE GREEN-ROOM. 323
himself. Benedick he had studied, and gone over
patiently for many weeks before he could please him
self Other parts he studied as long, and then aban
doned, bemg doubtful as to then- success. It is the
old story — labour and study make up a good portion
of what the world calls genius.
Through his hfe we have seen much of what seemed
his "finessing." Yet he was at the head of a great
establishment, with a serious responsibUity. A false
step — a sudden and hasty quarrel with one of his
corps — a dismissal in anger — would be a fatal injury.
He had to deal with, literally, hundreds of com
plainants, suitors, and grievance-mongers. He, be
sides, felt their power ; if they combined, they could
injure ; even their little Idle stories wrung his soul.
It is inconceivable what he suffered through his
morbid nature. He was, besides, precipitate in temper,
and he knew this. From all these composite dealings,
he had learned to believe that his only safety was in a
sort of diplomacy, in letter-writing, and hearing of
private reports and rumours, and being directed by
them. This was foolish, and It grew to be an in
curable habit. Such eager craving to know what was
said of him brought him infinite suffering. Small,
low creatures found their account in this fading. It
was one more physlcal^'than moral. As Davies, who
often has a happy turn of expression, says, "all
sorts of news he greedily swallowed, though, at the
same time, he was laying a plot to hurt his own
mind. Many things will be said of every man, that no
man should be solicitous to know." Certainly, as we
have seen before, no one could have had such strange
points of contact with the odd side of human nature,
Y 2

324 TEE LIFE OP DAVID GARRICK. [1772.
and never, before or since, was the player's world so
large, important, and full of vitality. He was In the
very centre. On the whole, he treated the dependents
on him with the most surprising justice. Sometimes,
indeed, in this direction, he gave way to temper, and
used language he was sorry for. He was now and
again " worried " by something into heat, but, says
Davies, " of this impropriety he was generally
sensible, and made ample reparation to the person
whose mind he had disturbed." It was said he was
"jealous " of other actors. I have no doubt that he
was — taking it in the sense of " uneasiness " at the
success of rivals, which in any profession is the first
step towards decay. Who must not feel this — and
how much greater the honour for him, who forces
himself to aid, and honour those, from whom such
danger is to be apprehended ? To Mossop, Barry,
Sheridan, and Powell — all put forward offensively, as
rivals — he behaved ever generously.*
He had many ways, besides that of actual money
assistance, of helping those under him. He would buy
things from them — china, books, and the like. A kindly
shape of aid, which would not bring Arith it any sacrifice
of honest independence.f His players ought to have
loved him. Yet it is curious the gloss that was put on
ever3rthlng he did. His " greed of praise " was said to
be so great that he would accept it from the humblest
hanger-on of the theatre. Stockdale, saved from ruin
* Davies says, " I never remember to have heard him speak warmly in
the commendation of any actor, living or dead." Others, however, heard
him praise Barry in the warmest way, saying, " he was the only lover on the
stage." Of Sheridan he said, " he had never known so able a coUaborateur. "
PoweU he instructed and praised to every one. But Davies knew him very
little. + In this way he offered to take from Davies a copy of the Museum

1772.] IN THE GREEN-ROOM. 325
by his patronage, dweUs on this, ungratefuUy, and
tells how he would ask some small fellow from the
theatre, " WeU, Hopkins, what did they think of me
last night? " " Oh, sir," the answer would be, " you
were never greater ! " * This was a practice of
his, and seems to show more a compliment and a
kindly courtesy to those who were In subordinate
place — to appear anxious to have their opinion. For
on the stage, beyond any other profession, praise is
convertible with success. When praise begins to grow
faint, success is failing also. The confidence, too, that
he had in his own unsurpassed gifts, made him utter
incautiously, such speeches as, " that when he left
the stage, the stage would be in a very low state
indeed " — a prophecy that he saw fulfilled. "j"
A curious little scene once took place at his house.
On the York circuit, a Mr. Frodsham had a high
reputation, and played the whole round of hght
Florentium, in satisfaction of a debt. The following little receipts will be
interesting : — "David Gaeeiok, Esq., to E, Shtjtee,
"1760, £, s. d.
"Aug.i. To a Sett of Table China. . . . 13 13 0
To a Bottle and Bason  15 0
To a p"^ of Candlesticks . . .0160
To two Caudle Cups  0 10 6

16 4 6
" Rec"" y^ contents in fuU, Ed. Shuter."
" Received of David Garrick, Esq., the sum of eighty-four pounds (read
eighty-four), being the value of a Diamond Gold Buckle, as by appraisement,
"London, May 25, 1767, " B. Viotoe."
Of course it would be said that the " knowing Davy" found his advantage in
these transactions ; but the reader will note that the article was duly valued.
—Bullock MSS.
* What the great manager was accustomed to in his green-room may be
conceived from the following ; — "Well, now ; hey. Cross ! don't you think
my brow and eye as Bajazet — how do you think I should play it ?" "Oh,
sir," said the prompter, "like everything else you do— your Bajazet would be
incomparable !" to which we aU bowed and assented. — Wilkinson.
t Stockdale.

326 THE LIFE OF DAVID GARRICK. [1772.
comedy characters and leading tragedy parts. He
was so petted and admired that his conceit became
amusing. One year he went up to London for a holi
day, to the great concern of the York audiences, who
were certain that if Mr. Garrick once saw him, it was
all over with the York stage. He sent in his card to
Garrick, as " Mr. Frodsham of York," a free and easy
description that amused Garrick. Garrick asked had
he seen him play. The other answered that he had
seen Mr. Garrick himself, in Hamlet, and added,
airily, " that it was his own favourite character."
" Well, now," said the other — " pray now, how did
you approve, Frodsham? I hope I pleased you."
" Oh, yes, certainly, my dear sir," the other answered;
" vastly clever in several passages — but as a whole, I
can scarcely endorse the public opinion of London."
Garrick was a little taken aback at this candour.
The country actor arrived next morning to breakfast,
and was welcomed by his host and hostess. Carrying
out his rather rude and ignorant tactique of nil admi-
rari, he made no aUusion to the play he had seen, untU
Garrick himself asked him what he thought of his Sir
John Brute last night. "Now no compliment, but
tell Mrs. Garrick. Do you think it would have pleased
at York? TeU what you think." "Oh, certainly,
certainly," said the other. " I was highly dehghted.
But, you know, I had been told Hamlet was your best
character, though I flatter myself I play it almost as
well. But your Brute, Mr. Garrick, was exceUence
itself You stood in the drunken scene flourishing
your sword. I am sure you saw me In the pit at the
same time, and seemed to say, ' D — n it, Frodsham, did
you ever see anything like that at York? ' " Garrick

1772.] IN THB GREEN-ROOM. 327
laughed a little affectedly at this candour, to which he
was so unused ; and to change the conversation,
" Well, now, hey ! " he said, "for a taste of your
quality, and, Mrs. Garrick, bear a wary eye." The
other, without the least concern, struck at once into
Hamleis first soliloquy. He spouted it in his own
York way ; while Garrick darted his fiery eyes at
him, and seemed to search his soul. This was a
favourite habit of his in presence of inferiors, and was
a little homage which he paid to those wonderful orbs.
When he had done, the great actor told him there
were some " tones " in his declamation which he did
not rehsh. The other answered, with some tartness,
that Mr. Garrick was not accustomed to his style. " I
can assure ' you, when I first heard you and Mrs.
Cibber, I thought you had very strange ' tones ; ' but
I suppose I should get accustomed to thein." This
was free speaking indeed. "Why, now," said the
great actor, wondering, "this is — why, now, really,
Frodsham, you are a d — d queer fellow. But I tell
you what, you shall have a fair trial on my stage, in
any part, and then we shall talk of terms." "Oh, my
dear Mr. Garrick," said the other, " you are quite
mistaken if you think I am come to beg an engage
ment. / am a Roscius down at my own quarter. I
just came up to see a few plays, and thought it only a
becoming compliment to call on a brother. actor ; " and
then, with a negligent bow, took his leave. There
was true comedy in this little scene, and no one was
more likely to be disconcerted by such ostentatious
indifference than Garrick. Mr. Frodsham often told
at York how he had thus "checkmated" the great
London Roscius ; and the story, no doubt, caused

328 THB LIFE OF DAVID GARRICK. [1772.
great enjoyment. Mr. Garrick told the story also,
which showed how little his vanity was touched ; and
would even add, that he never met such a mixture
of genius and eccentricity.*
This was the pleasant side : yet it is Inconceivable
the sum of troubles, trials, and cares, the control of
his histrionic corps brought him. No one can have
an idea of all that went on behind the scenes of
Drury Lane — ^the sulks, the pettishness, the vanities,
the open revolts of the regiment a hundred strong,
who served under " King Davy." A great deal of all
this, it must be OAvned, he brought on himself He
wished everybody to think well of him, and to think
him right. He could not resist listening to the whispers
and stories of his inferior dependents.
The cloud of players' fanciful An-ongs, and miserable
complaints and whinings to be found in a hundred
little episodes In his " Correspondence," is a sure proof
of his capacity, and exquisite tact behind the scenes.
During those thirty years, all through those griev
ances, rejoicings, defiances, wounded sensibUities, open
attacks, secret insinuations, to be followed almost
invariably by the most servUe and degrading submis
sion — In short, the player's traditional programme —
we see him the same, always — calm, temperate, and with
right upon his side ; masterly in discussion, firm where
he feels that his goodness has been too far tried, and
above all, generously making no account either of
their angry menaces and haughty language, or of the
grovelling submission with which that language was
¦* At Liverpool were two actors, Gibson and Ridout, who were considered
there superior to Roscius. A deputation going up to London on local busi
ness, were charged to see this Loudon player, who was so much talked of,
and reported that he was not to be compared with Gibson and Ridout,

1772] IN THB GREEN-ROOM, 329
sought to be atoned for. No man was ever less
likely to exact a humiliating amende. The annals of
this theatre, as preserved in the " Correspondence,"
are a fatal record of the pettiness behind the curtain ;
and the manager could nowhere else have learnt such
capital lessons in human character. No matter what
motives were imputed, or even what language was
used, he was sure to forgive, and " think no more of
it." A more " amiable " character, without at the
same time the least tendency to " softness " or weak
ness, could not be conceived. A glimpse wUl be
amusing. Every one was flattering him and intriguing
for his favour. There were those, too, who knew
well his morbid sensitiveness, his nervousness as to
what was said against him, and at the same time his
eagerness to hear it. Did King the . actor express
himself hastily In the green-room about a new play —
there was Mr. Hopkins, the prompter, ready to
carry these remarks straight to the manager, who,
much hurt, and no doubt brooding over it, required an
explanation in writing ; " Mr. Garrick's compliments
to Mr. King, though he is seldom surprised at what
may happen in a theatre, yet he should be obliged to
Mr. King if he would let him know, by a note, what
he was pleased to say about him and the farce of
' The Invasion,' to Mr. Hopkins. Mr. Garrick
assures Mr. King that he wiU not send his answer to
the prompter, but to himself" King, an exceUent
actor, but knowing his own value, gave him infinite
trouble. He would periodically break out in an
enormous letter of peevish grievances, firing, as Gar
rick said, a long gun at him. Garrick had talked in
a friendly way of his always staying at Drury Lane,

330 TIIE LIFE OF DAVID GARRICK. [1772,
and had added, " 0 damn it ! never fear, I'll take care
of you," — this brought out a whole catalogue of
wrongs. Mrs. King had been engaged, "not with good
grace ; " he himself was made a sort of " hack of,"
thrust in after " command nights," made to fill gaps,
where other actors were allowed not to play, actors
who were " shamefully better paid," and who were
" periodically sick, or impertinent, about the month of
April." He was put into unfit parts — ^Woodward, of
Covent Garden, had more, Smith more, and both less
to do. He could only agi-ee to certain haughty con
ditions. He was not, he hinted, to have an unworthy
advantage taken of his friendship towards Mr, Garrick,
Garrick sent an answer which is admirable for
its moderation. He summarises the complaints.
" These," he says, " are the allegations of my fi-iend,
Mr. King, in the midst of our friendship, and when he
was possessed of my entire confidence ; however, all
these hardships do not seem to yourself insufferable,
for, with only an exception or two, you are wUling to
submit to them, if the manager of Drury Lane will give
you your price. Have you not, Mr. King, been con
scious of some breaches of fi-iendship to me, and are
you not producing these allegations as excuses for
your own behaviour? Have you not, instead of an
open, manly declaration of your thoughts to your
friend, whispered about in hints and ambiguities your
uneasiness ? All which by circulation have partly
crept into the newspapers ; and though you have dis
claimed being privy to their circulation, yet you have
certainly been the first cause of it ; while I aver, so
lately as a fortnight ago, you came to my house at
Hampton, showed no signs of displeasure, but rode

1772.] IN THE GREEN-ROOM. 331
with me to toAvn with all the cheerfulness of ease, and
in the warmest spirit of confidence. Was .your friend
to be the last to hear of your complaints or to suspect
them ? " Yet the other renewed what might be called
his " whine." He fell back upon the " disinclination "
shown to receive Mrs. King. His name in the play
bill had been squeezed into a line, or huddled away
too close by the large capitals of the play-bUl.* He
demanded that the bill of the "Merchant of Venice "
should be produced to substantiate the charge. Such
were an actor's grievances.
Smith, the comedian — ^the "Gentleman Smith," who
had been brought up at Eton, with noblemen and gentle
men, and who stipulated with managers for a regular
furlough every year, to go to Newmarket — who really
loved Garrick — would also take his turn at trying
the manager's temper. He had been always saying,
that he was dying to be at his theatre, and would come
to him upon any terms. When a place was found for
him, he then began to " haggle " about guineas, instead
of pounds, and finally said that he would accept, but
would be "miserable." Naturally Garrick did not
relish this tone, after what he had meant to be a com
pliment. As usual, he had all the reason and argu
ment of the case, upon his side. He had even offered to
make up the difference " out of his OAvn pocket." "As
* Yet with these troubles and anxieties he could bear generous testimony
when it was deserved, and in a preface to a little farce he wrote for King, he
told the public he did it to show his regard for a performer, "who during a
long engagement has never yet, unless confined by real Ulness, disappointed
the public, or distressed the managers." Whatever had been their little pri
vate bickerings, it was "handsome" in Garrick to make this avowal. In
deed, he was deUghted always to convenience, help, indulge, those who were
at all gracious to him. So, too, Miss Macklin, daughter of his old enemy, he
was delighted to oblige, telling her that she had every claim on him, from her
behaviour to him.

382 THB LI^B OP DAVID GARRICK. [1772.
our company was full, I most sincerely advised you to
be satisfied with your situation ; upon your quarrelling
with Mr. Colman, and your situation becoming a dis
agreeable one, I resolved to show my regard, and
extricate you from It. L fear you unluckily thought it
was policy made me hsten to a treaty with you, in hopes
to break your present connexions ; how little you know
of me, or of what I know ! " The other was presently
penitent, and would not offend him for the world. "If,
to have idolized you, deserves your resentment, no one
can have been more guilty than yours," &c.*
Garrick engaged him on handsome terms ; but in a
few months the old dissatisfaction broke out. A lady
was at the bottom of it. On a Saturday he assured
Garrick that no terms or offers from the other theatre
had anything to do with the separation ; but Garrick
discovered, that on the Thursday he had been making
up a sort of contingent treaty Arith the manager of
Covent Garden. Thus on all sides he was met by this
underhand deception. He was allowed to stay at the
theatre, but only to break out again. The manager
had goodnaturedly given him leave of absence for
some days, and on his return Mr. Smith was indignant
that a certain play had been played in his absence.
Garrick's tone shows how much he was worried. " I
shall not describe my distress and troubles for many
days past on fixing upon plays. I have waited three
and four hours at the playhouse before I could ascer
tain a single play for the next day  Indeed
these frequent blUets of complaint betray an unsatls-
* Gentleman Smith was almost amusing as " a humbug," with a little of
the Joseph Surface, in his playing on the boards of real life. In this "airy"
way he made that scandalous elopement to Dublin with the splendid Hartley.
His letters on the subject of this "fall," are really comic.

1772] IN THE GREEN-ROOM. 333
fied mind ; and I am as little able to account' for this
dissatisfaction, as I find that no art of mine is able to
remove it." Even at a revival of the JubUee, when
Garrick asked him to walk in the procession he re
fused, begging piteously to be let off, saying it would
make him " miserable."* The manager had certainly
crosses of his OAvn in dealing with all these humours.
But his dealings with the ladies of his kingdom,
whose lively insubordinations and pettish mutinies re
quired delicate and diplomatic management, were more
serious. The men players had, to a certain degree, to
be humoured like women, but the women required a
firmer touch. Their airs and grievances are almost
amusing ; but they always found the manager, while
calm, even gallant, but firm as a rock. The lively
" Pivy " Clive, the stately Mrs. Barry, Pope, the
"established" Hoyden of the theatre. Miss Younge,
Mrs. Yates, Mrs. Abington, all tried the effect of a
modified revolt upon the manager's good temper ; and
it is instructive to see how skilfully he managed these
useful, but refractory, ladies. Mrs. Clive, whose ring
ing laugh and almost boisterous activity was Invaluable
where a piece had to be " carried" through by bustle,
was perhaps the most difficult of all to deal with.
For so valuable an actress, Garrick had her ser
vices on easy terms — only £300 for one hundred and
eighty nights. On so mercurial a lady a " light rem"
was necessary : the least indulgence would develop
into licence. In a good-humoured way Garrick
would warn her that any neglect of theatrical duty
* In a letter to Taylor, Smith long after wrote, — "1 never can speak of
him but with idolatry, and have ever looked upon it as one of the greatest
blessings of my life to have lived in the days of Garrick."

334 THB LIFE OF DAVID GARRICK. [1772.
must be severely punished. " Take care," he said to
her, " or you will be surely ' catched.'" On the follow
ing Saturday this lively creature went down in a friend's
carriage to a merry-making at Greenwich. In her
absence " The DevU to Pay" was suddenly put up, and
she was sent for. Her maid, like herself, was out for the
day, and had the keys of the wardrobe. Nor was there
in the wardrobe, the proper dress for the part. In fact
it was altogether a surprise, as she had long before
pertly sent her compliments to the managers by the
prompter to beg that It might not be done "till the
weather was cool, as the quickness of the shift puts me
into a flurry, which gives me a violent swimming in
the head." Down at Greenwich she was disturbed by
the messenger of the angry manager, and one of the
gentlemen was so obliging as to relieve her mind, by
sending in one of his grooms to say, that she would
come after all, if she was wanted.
For this offence she was heavily fined, and she
wrote a pettish,, indignant letter of expostulation,
which was all bad spelling. It must be said, she made
out an excellent case, that it was never before expected
of a performer to be in waiting, when their names are
not m the papers or bUls ; and she reminded him that
" she had never disappointed him four times, that she
always had good health, and had been ever above
subterfuge." " I hope," she goes on, " this stopping
of money is not a French fashion. I believe you wiU
not find any part of the English laws, that wUl support
this sort of treatment of an actress." His dislike to
her was as mysterious as the reason he gave the Rev.
Laurence Sterne for it, who was behind the scenes
often. The Rev. Laurence, of course, told the actress

1772,] IN THE GREEN-ROOM. 3.35
what Garrick had told him. No one, of course, kept
confidence with the good-natured manager. She had
done everything to oblige him. Did it not cost her
five pounds in coach hire, coming up and down to
school Mrs. Vincent when she came out M Polly'?
" I have never envied you your equipages nor gran
deur, the fine fortune you have already, and must stUl
be increasing  I have great regret in being
obliged to say anything that looks like contention. I
wish to be quiet myself, and I am sure I never laid
any schemes in my life to make any one uneasy or
unhappy." At the end she gives him warning that
" they are people of consequence, who know the truth
of what I say, and who will be very much surprised to
hear how I have been treated."
It would be hard to be wroth with this true woman's
letter. We may be sure the fine was taken off. No
wonder that a little later she should think that he
always had " a sneaking kindness for your ' Pivy,' "
and she could OAvn that he could be charming when he
was good.
But a more dangerous rebel than " Pivy " was Mrs.
Abington, whose insubordination was not relieved by
the good nature of Mrs. Clive. Mrs. Abington was
an actress of great effect, in the good standard comedy
parts ; but she was always captious, making difficulties.
" Could I put you on the highest comic pinnacle," he
said to her, " I certainly would do it ; but indeed, my
dear madam, we shall not mount much, if your cold
counteracting "discourse is to pull us back at every
step." When it was discovered that the play for the
night must be changed to " The West Indian," as
Reddish was Ul, the lady took the usual airs. She was

330 THE LIFE OF DAVID GARRICK. [1772,
weak and ill : at three o'clock It surely was too much
to expect her to read her part, get her dress ready,
and find a hairdresser. The tale-bearers had as much
as told her, that the manager was complaining angrily
of her l&ehavlour. She wrote to him hotly that he
behaved with such InclAdllty, that her health and spirits
are quite hurt by it ; if Mr. Garrick really thinks her
such, as he is pleased to describe her In company,
he can readily find the remedy, by relieving her from
her engagement.
The manager, however, as usual, has the best of it.
She had played the character before in the season, he
said, therefore she could not want much preparation.
The message had been sent to her in the morning, not
at three. " You knew our distress yesterday almost
as soon as I did, and did not plead the want of a day's
notice, clothes, hairdresser, &c. Though you were in
spirits, and rehearsing a new farce, you suffered us to
be obliged to call on the lady of another house, to do
your business, when neither our distresses, the credit
of the theatre, or your own duty and justice, could
have the least influence on you. Those are serious
truths, madam, and not to be described as the lesser
peccadilloes of a fine lady." And as to her releasing
him, his only hope Avas that he would be soon delivered
from " the caprlciousness, inconsistency, Injustice, and
wickedness of those, to whom I always intended the
greatest good in my poAver." Well might he recal the
old loyalty, the sense of duty, of Woffington and Clive.
Another time, she finds she has enemies about Mr.
Garrick. She was called on to play to empty benches.
Then "she was jealous that Mrs. Barry was to have a
better part, and appealed to the man whom she had so

1772.] IN THE GREEN-ROOM. 337
worried, to stand her friend. He answered her, " Let
me be permitted to say, that I never yet saw Mrs.
Abington theatrically happy, for a week together.
" I am willing," he concludes, "to do you all the
justice in my power ; and I could wish you would
represent me so to persons out of the theatre, and
indeed for your own sake ; for L always hear this tittle-
tattle again, and have it always in my power to prove
that I am never influenced by any little considerations
to be unjust to Mrs. Abington, or any other performer,"
Nothing can be happier or more significant than
this turn. Nothing was more true, than that all this
disagreeable " tittle-tattle " was sure to be borne to
him. This tone had the best effect. For the lady
wrote back, that his letter was " very cross," and there
was in it " a coldness and severity " which added
greatly " to the afflictions of your distressed humble
servant, Frances Abington." * It was no wonder that
his heart was sickened with these discussions, recurring
over and over again ; for the same grumbling was
sure to turn up presently, and the old unreasonableness
had to be refuted all over again. Later on she told
the prompter — " You will be pleased to let the
manager know, that I am ill, though I thank God
/ have not lost the use of my limbs, as he has been
pleased to tell the public," The actors and actresses
fancied that everything in the papers was inspired by
Garrick. t
¦* His tone with these fretful beings is a model. " I cannot create better
actors than we have, and we must both do our best with them. Don't
imagine that the gout makes me peevish. " Again: "If you imagine that
I in the least countenance, or am accessory to, any scribbling in the papers,
you are deceived. 1 detest all such methods of showing my resentment. "
+ Nothing was more untrue. Even papers over which he had a sort of in
fluence, like Baldwin's and WoodfaU's, would turn on him.
VOL. II, z

F.3S THE LIFE OF DAVID GARRICK, [1772,
His opening of a treaty with Mrs. Yates was
characteristic. " If you have no objection to enter
into a treaty with me, be pleased to name your time
and place, and I shall be as punctual as I ought to be
to so fine a woman, and so good an actress." The
lively Mrs. Yates ans'wered in the same sprightly tone,
but with a perfect view to business. Considering her
" novelty," to say nothing of her beauty, she required
£700 a year ; and as she loved to be well dressed —
£200 a year for clothes. He agreed for £800 a year,
including everything ; and " Dickey," her husband,
was to hajve £12 a week for one year. But in a few
months came the usual airs. The ffrst night she was
announced she did not play, without giving any
reason ; and during the season she appeared but
thirty times in all. Reasonably annoyed, Garrick
wrote forcibly to her husband, protesting against
having the business destroyed by these fancies.
Only the night before, he had heard her acting vrith
all animation ; yet in the morning, a message was left
with the prompter, that they were " to think no more
of her" — or that she woul4 send to let them know.
At one time, she expressed a wish for some comedy
parts, and those she named, were at once given to her.
Then she declined them, "because they were in pos
session of another actress, and she was not indehcate
enough to interfere with that lady." Yet the very next
thing the manager hears, is her seizing on the part of
Belinda, though it had long been the property of a
leading actress in the theatre !
About three weeks later, she again took offence
and unreasonably refused to play Almeria. Garrick
sternly rebuked her, as he could weU do, when he

1772.] IN THE GREEN-ROOM. 339
pleased. The players had taken a fancy for playing a
particular part, only on the night of their benefit, by
which the house suffered. " I hope, therefore, Mrs.
Yates will not be the only one to oppose so reasonable
an order of the manager. I must, therefore, entreat
her to comply Arith my request." The answer was in
an extraordinary tone. " In respect to Almeria, I
think it a part unworthy of a capital actress ; but if my
playing it for a few nights Arill oblige you, I am ready
to do it. I cannot help concluding with a few lines
from your favourite author : —
' . . . . O ! 'tis exceUent
To have a giant's strength,' &o."
This insolence, indeed, and the constant trouble in
removing these fanciful grounds of offence, it is quite
plain, had a great share in disgusting him with the
stage. Even in this instance, he had come home ill,
and, worn out with six hours' rehearsing, was try
ing to restore himself by a sleep in his " great chair,"
Avhen this petulant note was brought in, and had to be
answered. It was nearly the same with all the ladies. Miss
Younge, " the idol of Bristol," had been also in revolt.
She refused to play Viola, " Madam," wrote the
manager, " if you are able to play Viola, I suppose
you will, as his Majesty of England — not the copper
one of Drury Lane — commands it. If you should not
find yourself fit, I will do the best in the power of
yours, &c. — D. Garrick." This, though a little
ironical, was still good-humoured, and did not deserve
the angry answer : "I do not understand what you
mean by his Majesty of England, or the copper one of
Drury Lane. I have on all occasions, without airs or
z 2

340 THE LIFE OF DAVID GARRICK. [1772.
finesse, come out to do my business, and felt it my
pleasure, as well as duty ; and therefore cannot think
myself humanely treated, when I complain and feel
the bad effects of a cough, that you should send me
this haughty style of letter " — with more to the same
point. Garrick wrote back bitterly, and thoroughly
disgusted, — "I am very warm, and sincere in my
attachments ; but if I find any actor or actress dis
tressing me, or the business, unjustly or fantastically,
I wUl withdraw my attachment the moment they show
me they have none." He then complained, justly, that
the theatre was growing quite demoralized by this new
fashion, and reminded her, with great, truth, of the
conscientious drudgery and sacrifices, by which he
had won his position : — " I was long the slave of the
stage. I played for everybody s benefit, and even
revived parts for them, and sometimes acted new
ones," No one was gracious enough to make such
sacrifices for him. He might well be pardoned for
reminding her that " there was a time when, by my
self, I could fill a house ; that favour, lucidly for me,
the public still continues, or we might play to empty
benches." It must be confessed, however, that he dealt out a
little hard measure to Miss Pope, so long one of the
pillars of Drury Lane, the original Polly Honeycombe,
and creator of a host of gay parts. After many years'
service she proposed a new engagement, with an In
crease of salary, which Garrick declined in some polite
letters. The managers would be very sorry to lose her ;
her place would be with great difficulty supplied ; but
they hoped, she would continue with them at her present
agreement. She took their compliments impatiently,

1772.] IN THE GREEN-ROOM. 341
and wrote back hastily, that, as to her merit, it had
been more than overpaid by the public, " vnthout even
a paragraph to prejudice them," A foolish stroke at
the supposed influence of the manager on the press.
Such suspicions, .they knew, always wounded him
deeply. She was determined, she said, to shake off
all affection, and, like the Swiss, perform only with those
who pay best. It is not surprising that the answer
she received was a cold one- — a reminder that they
had lost Mrs. Barry to keep her, and a refusal to
engage her.
But some months after came repentance — at least
the repentance that arose from want of an engagement
elsewhere. She sent Raftor, Mrs. Clive's relation, to
intercede ; but Garrick was firm. She then got an
offer from Ireland, which she shrank from, as it cut
her off from aU her fi-iends. This was their first
disagreement in fourteen years ; and ¦with humiliation
she laid it to the account of the little vanity which is
inseparable from the profession. She implored of
him to forgive an error, not proceeding from a bad
mind, but a foolish one. " As I know no excuse to
paUiate my wrong conduct, I must rely upon your
generosity to forgive, and still to be my friend." It
seemed hard to resist so piteous an appeal ; but Gar
rick, with a sternness not common with him, was
immoveable. The expressions, want of affection,
turning Swiss, he said, were as harsh, as unexpected.
Her letter had given him great pain. StUl, after her
final answer, he had given her two months, in the
hope of her seeing her mistake, and returning to her
business ; " and let me add, in spite of your frequent
incivility to me, to your best friend," for he had

342 THB LIFE OF DAVID GARRICK.. [1772,
always tried " to be not only just and friendly, but
fatherly, to Miss Pope." Now it was too late. Her
parts had been given away — new engagements had
been made. It was, therefore, impossible to give her
a situation " at the theatre that .could possibly be
agreeable to her." This might seem a httle harsh
on the manager's part; but he was tired out with
these vagaries, and perhaps disgusted by ingratitude.
She went off to Dublin, miserable. But she left
behind her a faithful friend and intercessor. When
the manager was retiring, and shuffling off the galling
load of cares, green-room intrigues, and players' airs
and fancies, Kitty Clive, not now " fair and young,"
but old and raddled, pleaded hard for the exUe, her
poor unfortunate fi-iend. Miss Pope. She remembered
only that fine, just, upright heart, so little sensitive to
the shadows of an old grudge or spite. " By this
time, I hope you have forgot your resentment, and AriU
look upon her behaviour, as having been taken Arith a
dreadful fit of vanity, which, for that time, took her
senses from her ; and having been tutored by an
affected beast, who turned her head : but pray recollect
her in the other light, a faithful creature to you, on whom
you could always depend; amiable in her character,
both in her being a very modest woman, and very good
to her family ; and to my certain knowledge, has the
greatest regard for you. Now, my dear Mr. Garrick,"
pleads hard the good-natured being, " I hope it is not
yet too late to reinstate her, before you quit your affe-irs
there : I beg it, I entreat it : I shall look on it as the
greatest favour you can confer on your obliged friend,
C. Clive." This was not to be resisted. The poor
actress wrote humbly from Dublin, that as " every

1772.] IN THB GREEN-ROOM. 343
interested view" was at an end from his leaving the
stage, " she could lament that Arithout suspicion of
flattery, and own that he had been the father of it.
I am not sorry that this was my year of banishment,
since it would have given me much greater pain to
have been present." She did not know what was in
train. A few weeks later, the glad news reached her.
Garrick, whatever he did, always did it handsomely,
and bade her name her oavu terms now. Her heart
was too full, and words could only faintly express her
joy. If she should have once more the pleasure of
seeing him, he will receive her as his prodigal daughter.
" Pardon my detaining you so long ; but I am so
happy, and in such good spirits, I had quite forgot
myself" *
This little picture is creditable to all. Clive is the
real figure of the situation — a woman of true stuff and
true heart, and Avhom Garrick's fine temper could ap
preciate at her real worth, in spite of many outbursts of
temper and serious insults ; for such discrimination and
allowance was one of his real virtues, and real charms.
Yet there was something disheartening in this cease
less struggle Arith women — ^this endless remonstrating
against ahs and humours, which began again in one so
soon as they were baffled in another. At his time of
life, such contests became inexpressibly wearying and
dispiriting. And though three women did not drive
him from the stage, they sickened and fatigued him.
Clive must have been most diverting in the green
room : her gifts, her temper, her humours, her airs,
her noise. Every one was dehghted to note how the
¦* I perhaps ought to make some such apology to the reader ; but these little
touches are of real interest, and are all the time working out the view of
Garrick's character.

S44 THE LIFE OF DAVID GARRICK. [1772-
manager quietly slipped out of her way, when she was
in one of her "fits ;" and how she was seen rushing
here and there, looking for him. For she thought he
planned everything on purpose to annoy her : as when
he added a new character to his farce of " Lethe," and
which he introduced to set off her benefit, his name
only was given — " the new character of Lord Chalk-
stone by Mr. Garrick."* Her hostihty was, indeed,
often carried beyond decent lengths, as when he en
tered on the first night of " Barbarossa" in a " glittering
silver-spangled tissue shape." I shaU give the amusing
Wilkinson : " when Mrs. Clive, instead of court
adulation, cried out, ' 0 my God ! room, room ! make
room for the royal lamplighter ! ' which rudeness dis
concerted him much for the remaining part of the
evenmg; and certainly it was too free, and not well
timed, as he was tremblingly alive all over, on the first
night of a new play." Yet Clive had the good old
* This was most pardonable in the case of an afterpiece. Yet in the
bill, her name is set down ! WUkinson gives the scene in a few dramatic
and spirited touches. ' ' Madame Clive at noon came to the theatre and
furiously rang the alarm beU ; for her name being omitted was an offence
so serious that nothing but Blood ! was the word. Could she have got
near him, and he had been severe in his replies, I dare say she would
have deranged King David's wig and dress, as adorned for Lord Chalkstone.
Mrs. Clive was a mixture of combustibles : she was passionate, cross, vulgar,
yet sensible, a very generous woman, and, as a comic actress, of genuine worth
— indeed, indeed, she was a diamond of the first water. When her scene of the
Fine Lady came on, she was received with the usual expression of gladness on
her approach, as so charming an actress truly deserved ; and her song, from
the Italian opera, where she was free with a good ridiculous take off of Signora
Mingotti, was universally encored, and she came off the stage much sweetened
in temper and manners from her first going on. ' Ay,' said she, in triumph,
' that artful devil could not hurt me with the town, though he had struck my
name out of the biU.' She laughed and joked about her late Ul-humour as if
she could have kissed aU around her, though that happiness was not granted
but willingly excused ; and what added to her applause was her inward joy,
triumph, and satisfaction, in finding the little great man was afraid to meet
her, which was of all consolations the greatest." There is a singular charm
of quaintness and simplicity in these pictures of Wilkinson's which will make
the reader excuse me for quoting so much of them.

1772.] IN THE GREEN-ROOM, 345
honest loyalty to her profession which Woffington had,
and which, in Garrick's eyes, redeemed so much.*
Her eagerness to be thrust into parts, where she
would be throAvn vrith the man she was always battling
with, was most characteristic.
They were all, in truth, growing spoUed. The
musicians even took their turn. Arne, the composer,
was absurdly sensitive, and once ludicrously complained
of Garrick's "irresistible apathy to him." f
Last comes the ill-fated Mossop, — as he may be
caUed, — whose manner Wilkinson has so happily " taken
off'' for us, and who in Zanga and Coriolanus, was
unrivaUed. His "port was majestic and command
ing, his voice strong and articulate, and audible even
in a whisper, and a fine, speaking, dark, hazel eye."
In the expression of anger and disdain lay his forte ;
in the former he was thought terrific. We can hear
him " blowing" and muttering under these fierce emo
tions. Yet it may be doubted if he was of the true
line. Unluckily for him, there was one day discovered
one of his old " parts," carefully prepared with notes
* How good-natured and amiable her advice to young Miss Pope, who had
been well received on her first appearance. She caUed her aside in the green
room. "My dear Pope," — ( "a sweet appeUative, indeed, from Clive," remarks
WUkinson) — "you pleased particularly weU on Saturday, as a young actress.
. . . Now, take from me a piece of advice : to-night you must endeavour to
act better, and expect to receive less applause ; for if you let your young heart
be too sanguine, and rest on the caprice of public condemnation or praise, and
find yourself disappointed, you wUl fooUshly let it damp your spirits, and you
wUl sink beneath yourself." All the players of this era seem thus marked in
character. + He once sent in an opera to Garrick, and at the same time sold him a
horse. Gamck's intended answer was so good, we may regret he did not send
it, "I have read your play and rode your horse, and do not approve of
either. They both want the particular spirit which alone can be a pleasure
to the reader, and the rider. AVhen the one wants wit, and the other the spur,
they jog on very heavily. I must keep the horse, but 1 have returned you the
play, 1 pretend to some knowledge of the last ; but as 1 am no jockey, they
cannot say the knowing one has been taken in."

346 THE LIFE OP DAVID GARRICK. [1772,
for his private study. And it all but helps us to see
the rolling eye, and sawing gestures, and bears out the
accurate observation of Churchill of his " military plan,"
and his treatment of the monosyUables and epithets —
" In monosyUables his thunders roU,
He, she, it, and, we, te, they, fright the soul. "
Byea upwards. Surprise and peevish.
" "What should this mean i What sudden anger's this ?
Sudden turn of voice — quick.
He parted frowning froTii me, as if ruin
Smart. "Wild.
Leap'd from his eye  Voice quick and loud.
I must read this paper ;
Transition. Much breath. Opens paper very hastily.
I fear the story of his anger. — 'Tis so —
Strikes it quickly. "Vast throbs of feeling.
This paper has undone me. 'Tis the account
Of aU that world of wealth I've deawn together
Cunning and head nod. Dislike, teeth quite close. Lips partly pressed ;
To gain the Popedom. 0 negligence !
Quick and high. Wild, sudden, spitefully and peevishly.
Fit for a fool to faU by. AVhat cross devil
Hurried spirit, and all in a breath.
Made me put this main seoket in the packet
Pause.
I sent the king ? — Is there no way to cure this ?
Face full to audience,
Side look. Cunning, fretfulandmusing— swelling inward.
No new device to beat this from his brains ?
Force. Loud. Pause. Then sudden turn.
I know 'twUl stir him strongly.
Opens letter.
What's this I— To the Pope.
Still look to the letter. Best. Breathe out, slow step, and head declined.
The letter, as 1 Uve, with aU the business
Quite calm and resigned.
I wi'it to's Holiness. Nay, then, farewell !
G tone, with feeling, but low.
I have touch'd the highest point of aU my greatness ;
No jerk.
And, from that full meridian of my glory,
Finger G tone.
Under feeling. pointed down. Sudden pause.
I haste now to my setting ; I shaU faU
Solemn. Mournful.
Like a bright exhalation in the evening.
Weak manner. Feeliag restrained. "Wildness of old man.
And no man see me more."

1772.] IN THE GREEN-ROOM. 347
Nothing more amusing can be conceived. The
" G tone," the " weak manner," the " swelling in
ward," are dehghtful. These old shriveUed arts are
thus exposed to us, and show us properly what he,
and what his " school," was.*
But it is hard to laugh at the old tragedian. He had
fallen, on evil days. At Dublin during his brief reign
it was his stately practice to light his theatre with
wax, whenever the august genius of Shakspeare was
invoked. Then with his brief struggle and slender
prosperity, soon came decay, in spite of the "Lady
Patronesses, the Countess of Brandon, Lady Eachel
Macdonnell, sister to the Earl of Antrim," and the
rest. His story seems almost piteous: his desperate
difficulties, his arrests, his dismal end in London.
Anticipating a little, I shall teU this melancholy finale
of Mossop In another chapter.
* This was given in the Opera Glass, a now forgotten periodical.

343 THE LIFE OF DAVID GARRICK. [1772—

CHAPTER X.
MOSSOP'S END— GOLDSMITH— HENDERSON.
1772—1775.
In this episode Garrick was to appear in a character
full of dignity and compassion, and in which, too, from
one whose life had been spent in vilifying him, was to
be wrung a death-bed amende and acknowledgment of
repentance. He had for some time lost sight of this tragedian,
whose very name must have always brought back un
pleasant associations to him. When Mossop quitted
Drury Lane, we have seen that he went to Dublio, where
the fatal craze for " managership " took possession of
him ; and the desperate and costly struggle between
him on one side, and Barry and Woodward on the
other, is one of the most exciting chapters in the his
tory ofthe Irish Stage. We have seen, too, how Garrick
helped him there. In the end, the fortunes of aU
were wrecked, and after a miserable contest of some
years, the combatants had dispersed, overwhelmed
with ruin ; and Mossop found himself back in London,
quite broken in spirits, health, and fortune.
He had some friends, who strongly pressed him
to appeal once more to Garrick ; but the tragedian had
still his pride to support him, and disdained to make
such an advance. He said that Garrick knew very
well that he was In London. No man had less pride

1775.] MOSSOP'S END. 349
of that sort than Garrick, but he knew what was due
to his own dignity and iuterest. In this state of things,
no application was made, no offer came, and the season
went by.
A friend then proposed that he should go abroad
with him, as a sort of companion, which he did, and
he enjoyed the luxury of the Grand Tour. He re-
tm-ned in about a year's time, but, it was noticed, was
now quite changed, having grown shattered — dila
pidated, wasted, solitary and gloomy. The lustre of
his eye, which had been so effective in tragedy, was
dimmed. Again it was pressed on him, that he should
make overtures to Garrick, but he once more declined
to stoop to what he thought such a humiliation. We
may have some sympathy for this dignity in the broken
actor; for he had been born a gentleman, and edu
cated as such, and something must be allowed for the
stiff old " Irish pride." Among the friends who inte
rested themselves for him was a certain young fellow
" of parts," Welsh, later to be a dissenting minister,
and who frequented the theatres. He was always with
Mossop, hearing from him the story of his Avrongs.
He was knoAvn to Goldsmith, and others of that co
terie ; but most frequented the circle where the
small snarlers and sneerers at Garrick's reputation were
busy. It was said, indeed, that he had sent in a drama,
on a Welsh subject, to the manager, whose rejection —
and the rejection of a play seemed to be the grossest of
knoAvn human injuries — inflamed the author's enmity.
He took up his friend's case, and in the most bitter
and personal pamphlet, made a savage onslaught on
Garrick. It was quite plain, that in the materials
he was prompted by Mossop, as he himself was a mere

350 THE LIFE OP DAVID GARRICK. [1772—
youth, and his memory could have furnished him with
but few stage recollections. There was something
violent and impetuous in his nature ; and those who
not so long ago could recollect the placid, unimpas-
sioned face of the Unitarian minister — his tall figure in
its deep purple velvet suit — would hardly suppose that
he had figured in the fierce theatrical wrangles of a
past generation.*
This production was entitled " A Letter to David
Garrick, on his conduct as a principal manager and actor
at Drury Lane Theatre (1772) ; " and there were por
tions of it so near the truth, or so near what the
world thought to be the truth, as to give Garrick
sore annoyance. It told him, how strange it seemed
that every actor was " shot at" in the public papers
from some corner, while Garrick always escaped.
When, too, any article dealing severely with Garrick
was offered for insertion, it was curious how it was
always declined. He had discovered the secret. Mr.
Garrick was the proprietor, or part proprietor, of most
of the journals. There was a grain of truth in this.
" Hence, I am afraid, the inimitable Mr. Garrick, the
faultless actor," &c. But he forgot that enemies could
indemnify themselves in pamphlets, as he was doing.
Too many persons were inclined to attack Garrick's
reputation. " Would to God I could defend you ! " How
unworthy were the arts, by which the manager and
actor tried to crush every one with talent. First, he
resorted to mimicry. It is weU known that Qum was
long the object of this ridicule ; but he was too strong.
Others of less power and ability were crushed and
* Taylor,

1775.] MOSSOP'S END. 361
ruined. " You will recollect the cases of Ryan, Delane,
HaUam, Bridgwater, Giffard, Sparks, Sheridan. If a
brother in the profession is praised in company,
either his face, figure, or virtues, you are stretched on
the rack," Their private character was misrepresented
by an adroit anecdote. In this way were treated Mrs.
Yates, Woodward, Smith, Abington, all to please fops
and persons of quality, " who admire everything from
the mouth of that dear Garrick." His conduct as a
manager was all to the same end — depreciating others.
The best actors were huddled into processions, and
raree shows. This was to feed his vanity, and
avarice — though more his vanity, than his avarice. " I
have laughed to hear you say, that you wished to
retire at once, if any successor could be found, but
there was no one else who could draw a house." * How
unworthy was his depreciating the splendid abilities of
the departed Cibber, " and the chorus of wits who
listen, take up the cue, and say she whined and walked
with her elbows stuck close to her sides. Why she was
aU nature and tenderness. You are mere stiff acting, and
excite only admiration. I have seen you in ' Romeo
and Juliet,' you aU correctness and formality, she all
meltmg tenderness ; and yet they teU me, you talked
in a room of acting your Romeo 'to a post.'
Why is Barry thrust into parts wholly unsuited
to him? Is it to exhibit him to contempt, as
the ruins of a great actor? Why was Mossop
excluded f "
Then it went off into a very plain and personal
account of the great actor's defects, and peculiarities.
* It was true, nevertheless. If there was any falling-off in the houses, his
name was sure to draw them again.

352 THE LIFE OP DAVID GARRICK. [1772-
This was done in a shockingly gross manner. It
dwelt on his manner of grasping his forehead, and on
his " strange twitches." "You are perpetually in the
extreme," always struggling to show the whole face and
"glare of your eye " to the audience. That face was
now all wrinkled. The motive of this attack might
seem apparent. It was popularly ascribed to zeal In
the cause of his friend. But when Garrick's desk and
pigeon holes gave up their stores, a paper was found
among them, addressed to Garrick, just after its
publication, which shows the treacherous and Condot-
tieri spirit that was at the bottom of all party war
fare of the time. It was written, as it were, in a sort
of friendly tone, and had the air of friendly warning.
It was anonymous, and spoke of the new pamphlet just
published, and of the danger to be apprehended from
it. For It was " elegantly wrote," by a young man,
who was " making himself a first-rate genius." He
then gives the grounds of his suspicion as to the
author, " whose name is Williams." He had been in
his company, and heard him say that " he intended to
revise you in the winter ; that he was sorry to think
you a thorough bad man ; and that he thought it the
business of every one, to prevent you debauching the
public taste and manners. This piece was elegantly
wrote, and, to do you irreparable mischief, only wants
to be generally known. J really think he intends to
pursue his blow. You will fall into unmerciful hands ;
and I, who know your merits as well as your faults,
would wish you would take some method to undeceive
this young man." Mr. Garrick might suppose the
adviser might have some interest In this caution, but
" it was all from regard to the young man. He

1775] MOSSOP'S END. 353
might be better employed, and his humanity better
directed." *
This ¦ clumsy device was almost transparent. It
actually came from "the first-rate genius " himself —
and we can see it in his own handwriting, among
Garrick's papers, to this day — who, after slandering
the manager to show his ability, was now willing to
b'e bought off from further attacks ! It is the most
curious specimen of the dangerous and unscrupulous
tone of the " hack- writing " of the time, whom the
feeble law of libel turned into bludgeon men, and
garotters of society.
The stages in this little affair were like the scenes
in a comedy. Both were acting. Garrick, however,
was seriously scared, and true to his timid, and it must
be said, unprofitable policy, of conciliating such secret
enemies, actually prepared a letter to Williams, as it
were, asking his advice on the matter. " Give me
leave to put a case to you, and entreat your reason
and your learning (of both of which I have a great
opinion) to determine for me." In conclusion, he
said — " Such a complicated scene of treachery and
falsehood was scarce ever heard of Will you give
your advice, whether you think it would be best to
publish the whole matter, with the evidence to expose
the monster, or whether you would advise the injured
person to desire a meeting with the party, and, as he
is a man of abilities, make him conscious of his eml
doings, and, like a true Christian, forgive him? A
line directed to P.M,, at the Somerset Coffee Room,
wUl be safely delivered to your well-wisher and ad-
* Forster MSS,

354 THB LIFE OF DAVID GARRICK. [1772—
mirer. The writer of this letter wiU see you whenever
you please."
This letter, however, was not sent. He, perhaps,
thought it beneath his dignity to make such an appeal.
It shows what his first impulses were. Some years
after, the Welsh minister came to the Haymarket
with a farce, that seemed coarse even to Mr. Bate,
the fighting clergyman — and later this libeller of Gar
rick was taken into confidence and intimacy by Colman,
the dear friend of Garrick. His became one of the
figures.well known and familiar in toAvn, towards the
beginning of the century : and the recipients of the
Literary Fund have good reason to recal the memory
of the Rev. David Williams.
This reckless advocacy of his unfortunate friend,
Mossop — now Ul and despairing — redeemed a good
deal of his hostility. Williams tried to appeal to the
public through the papers, but unsuccessfully, and
" one Gibbs," publisher of " Owen's Chronicle and
Westminster Journal," forwarded privately to Garrick
a letter signed " Menander " which had been sent for
insertion, and obsequiously " begs Mr. Garrick's orders"
in this matter, which he hopes avUI be kept secret, as
it would be a disadvantage to him to have it known.
He was most likely afraid of the bold and fearless
author " whom," he writes to Mr. Garrick, "you may
guess." Menander's letter is in the same bitter key as
the pamphlet, and has some dismal hints of the con
dition of the proud but degraded actor. Dr. Fothergill,
he wrote, had ordered Mr. Mossop abroad, but he was
stUl quite at the service of the public if called upon.
"Mr. Garrick, being broker in this transaction, and
Mr. Mossop's talents being commodities of a sort

1775.] MOSSOP'S END. 355
which he does not choose to deal in, the public may be
disappointed and insulted one winter more with bad
acting, farces, shows, and Mr, Garrick now and then,
by way of a bad draw." Here was the prompting of
the poor, broken tragedian, whose morbid dream was
that the public was hungering and thirsting for the
" great Mossop," his declamation and his " military
plan," now old and exploded, and not worth satire.
" You may be assured," goes on his friend, " if Mr. M.
does not appear, it is owing to the great Roscius, who
not only hates a rival, but must have no one near
him." ... In short, it is as false that Mr. Mossop
is unfit for the stage, as it would be to say that Mr.
Garrick does not speak through his nose, and has not
lost the power of pronouncing many English words,
and in all young characters does not look like an old
doating, shrivelled beau."* These personalities were
not likely to profit Mossop, who still stood aloof and
disdained to make any offer. StUl decaying, morally
and physically, he offered himself to the Covent Garden
managers, who were inclined to accept his ser
vices ; but Mrs. Barry, perhaps recollecting their old
battles in Dublin, positively refused to appear in any
part with him. The rest of his story is piteous
indeed. He sank lower and lower, until about
Christmas time, two years later, he was dying of a fatal
illness, and almost of want. WUliams, his advocate,
attended him as a clergyman. Even then the solemn
pomposity, ridiculed so long before, were strong on
him. There was something almost grotesque in his
devotional declamation': and in his last agony he
* Nothing could be more untrue than this personal insinuation. Garrick's
face as it aged, grew plump— there were no lines, and he retained his spring
and activity to the end. A A 2

356 THE LIFE OP DAVID GARRICK. [1772—
seemed actually to speak of the attributes of the
Great Being to whom he was hurrying, as if they
were those of Bajazet or Zanga,
A change had come upon him. By-and-by his
mind wandered away to Garrick, and his last mo
ments were embittered by remorse for all the cruel
motives he had so unjustly imputed to him. He
lamented again and again that he had so deceived
himself He acknowledged that it was all his own
wretched pride, and he enjoined Williams to bear this
reparation to the offended manager. " Great God,
forgive," he said. "Witness not only that I die in
charity with him, but that I leave him as a great and
virtuous man. God Alinighty bless and prosper him
for ever ! " As a matter of course, he owed a large
sum of money to the man he had slandered, and this
weighed on his mind. Soon after he died, and only
a few pence were found in his pocket. This was
the end of the luckless tragedian, who had had a
university education, and associated Arith fine gentle
men, and whom DubUn countesses had welcomed to
their soirees, and privileged at their gaming-tables.
Williams wrote to Garrick, with the dyiug actor's
message, and seems to have been struck Arith re
morse, by the amende made on that death-bed. It
is highly characteristic to see how he tries to make
Mossop excuse his part in the slander. He makes
Mossop say, " 0 my dear friend, how mean and little
does Mr. Garrick's behaviour make me appear in
your eyes, to whom L have given so different an idea
of him." WUliams added that his friend lamented the
injustice he had done Mr. Garrick, not only in some
pecuniary matter, " but in giving ill impressions of

1775.] MOSSOP'S END. 3.57
your character to his acquaintance." This is highly
curious ; and it is plain that the Dissenting clergyman
had some twinges of conscience for his past behaviour,
or perhaps wished to use the opportunity to make an
amende to the injured Garrick.
The latter lost not a moment in acknowledging what
he called this " affecting letter." AU his resentment,
both to the dead actor and to the calumnious writer,
seemed to have utterly passed away. The whole
account had distressed him exceedingly. He had
always been at a loss to know what behaviour could
have given Mossop that unkind, " and I hope, un
merited, turn of mind, against me. I have been often
told that his friends never spoke kindly of me." I
suppose he could not forbear this little hint to his
correspondent. " Had I known his distress," he went
on, "I should certainly have relieved it. He was too
great a credit to our profession, not to have done all in
my power to have made him easy, if not happy. Let
me once again thank you for your very polite and
agreeable manner, in giving me this intelligence of our
departed friend, for he was truly mine, in those
moments when the heart of man has no disguise."
Excellent, unrivalled Garrick! His placid dignity of
heart was never to desert him ; superior to every
pettiness, his life gives to all in authority, precious
lessons of a charming sweetness and temper, and a
wholesome restraint upon the passions, that would
have done honour to an ascetic.
But now comes what seems another grotesque side
to the affair. From his death-bed the unhappy actor
had sent him a play, that he had written, imploring of
him to ease his mind, by taking it for the benefit of his

358 THE LIFE OP DAVID GARRICK. [1772—
creditors. He had indeed left no money behind,
beyond the few halfpence found in his pocket; and
there was even a difficulty as to avoiding a pauper's
funeral. Garrick was about to defray the charges of a
decent interment, (we do not hear that Wilhams, the
actor's champion, moved in the matter), but a relation
came forward at the last moment. Garrick then became
seriously concerned about carrying out the poor actor's
wishes. The worst was he could do nothing. The play
was like " The Patron," without the humour. " A most
disagreeable affair has happened," he wrote. "What a
scrape ! " It is plain, from this tone, that he would
have stretched a point to carry out poor Mossop's
incoherent wish. The whole gives us a glimpse of
one of the almost piteous scenes which take place in
the tinsel world that lies beyond the green curtain.
The most ingenious, as well as the most ungra
cious, mode of getting rid of the burden of pecuniary
obligation was reserved for Charles Dibdin. Others
were eager, either to deny that such existed, or to
make them out smaller than they felt them to be. This
player took the original course of boldly making the
obligation itself an offence. The foUowmg is, I sus
pect, unrivalled in the bulky records of ingratitude and
effiontery : — " I retort your charge of falsehood, and
tell you that you shall not dare, when you know it is as
false as ungentlemanlike, to accuse me of it : and as to
ingratitude, no man can be ungrateful to you ; he can
have no obligation to you, but on the score of money,
and that you ever take sufficient care to cancel by up
braiding him of it. The world, for my comfort, is kuid
and candid, and it shall be acquauited with every
circumstance of your kindness, from the hamper qf

1775.] GOLDSMITH. 359
wine to the present transaction. — C. Dibdin."* After
this, Balzac might indeed have written a " Physiology"
of the playwrights and the actors.
But now one of the great comedies of the cen
tury had been brought out, reluctantly by Colman, at
Covent Garden — Goldsmith's "She Stoops to Conquer."
WhUe Garrick could thus accept pieces from Mur-
phys, clergymen, and Indian colonels, "stay-makers,"
and " rope-makers," it is to be lamented that he
should have done nothing for a real genius of his
time, a single scene of whose plays was worth whole
trunkfuls of such work. The names of Garrick and
Goldsmith should have been associated in the history
of the stage, and those two admirable comedies have
belonged to Drury Lane. Here again we come on
ground that has been travelled over in the most
captivating of modern biographies, but something may
be added as to Garrick's share in the matter.
It must be remembered that Goldsmith had aheady
publicly assailed the manager, on this very score of
his treatment of dramatic authors. Garrick was deeply
hurt, and had declined on this account to assist the
poet, when the latter waited on him in person, to
solicit his interest for a vacant office ; and finally,
when a reconciliation was sought, it seemed apparently
to be sought for the purpose of introducing a new
comedy. In a negotiation so commenced, the author
could expect nothing from favour. It should be
observed, too, that this was his first attempt, and he
brought no reputation Arith him in that department.
The piece was written in what might be called a
* Sept, 1775. Bullock MSS. It was rightly indorsed by Garrick, " Dib
din's Consummate Impudence, Folly, and Ingratitude,"

360 THE LIFE OP DAVID GARRICK, [1772—
new style, treated with a bold and unconventional
humour, which quite alarmed Garrick. He required
alterations — a privilege, it must be remembered, he
always insisted on unsparingly. Goldsmith proved
impracticable, altercation followed, and finally Garrick,
foUowing what had been his favourite precedent in
such disputes, offered to refer the matter to arbitration.
The arbitrator he proposed was Whitehead, an indepen
dent critic, who, it is evidence of Garrick's sincerity,
had decided against him on many occasions. This
was ungraciously declined, and a fresh quarrel was the
result. The truth was, the manager, feeling that he
had made an advance, was not inclined to forego the
not unreasonable homage which he exacted from
others who came to ask his patronage — the deference,
the alteration, and even the trifling " courting," as it
were. Goldsmith was too proud to pay such tribute.
At their last meeting he went so far as to charge
Garrick with a vindictive recollection of a former
quarrel. We may believe Garrick, when he assured
the author that he had forgotten that attack : of
which indeed the author had evidence in a small loan
which the manager had advanced to him. Yet Gar
rick's judgment was not, after all, far astray. He was
not so Quixotic as to affront the taste of an audience,
however he might disapprove of that -taste. On the
first night the play had nearly been shipAvrecked, and
the broader portions had to be cut out in future
representations.* * Victor, who takes his cue from Garrick, may represent the judgment of
the profession. "The fow scenes in this comedy, though naturaUy (perhaps
too naturally) written, were disliked by the audience the iirst night 
With all its errors, it appeared to be written by a man of genius, not suffi
ciently practised in dramatic writing." AVhenever the writer of this memoir

1775.] GOLDSMITH. 361
In 1773, when the new piece was ready — the
fresh and admirable "She Stoops to Conquer"— and
when with infinite pains and piteous entreaties, he
could not get the other manager to bring it out, he
withdrew it hastily, and sent it to Garrick. Almost
at once, he recalled it, on the ground that he was
entitled to rely on Colman's positive promise.
" Though I confess your house, in every respect, is
more to my wish." By pressure of friends, Colman
was almost forced to keep to his engagement. It will
thus be seen, that in the present temper of the town,
managers were not a little afraid of the Doctor's piece,
which was in advance of the time. He owns himself,
in his preface, that it was " dangerous." A kindly
prologue was supplied by Garrick. Such was poor
Goldsmith's condition at this stage, his miserable state
of mind and circumstances, that we may be convinced
had he appealed to Garrick, in the same imploring
strain that he had appealed to Colman, the comedy
would have appeared at Drury Lane. In every life
there is always sure to be this story of the genius and
the temper, which is not properly understood, until it
has left the world — sensitive, superior, brilliant, pressed
by a thousand secret trials. Its little history reads
sadly long after. But due allowance should be made
for the business heads, and practical minds, with which
such a nature comes in contact, and who, with every
has seen these two comedies, it was invariably the case that the " low scenes"
produced Uttle eifect. For this reason : that Mr. Twitcher and Diggory
were always so outrageously overdone, as to become vulgar, and offensive to a
degree. This may have been the case in Goldsmith's day. There are some
strange dramatic improbabUities in both his plays. Leontes bringing home
a girl whom he passes off as his sister ; Sir William Honeywood, a man of
mark in diplomacy, yet passing undiscovered, and proving he was Sir William
by merely " showing his star."

362 THB LIFE OF DAVID GARRICK. [1772—
Arish to be just, have neither time nor inclination to be
soothing or reasoning, meet with a jealous resistance,
and haviag done what they think is fair, go on their
way. To this little aigre tone we owe the famous " Re
taliation ; " and the portrait of Garrick, which has been
justly called " quite perfect writing." It is no less
perfect for its nice outline, and delicate indication of
character. That meeting in 1773 at St. James's
Coffee House, where Goldsmith, Arith his last sickness
almost upon him, challenged his friend to write an
epigram against him if he could, has been often de
scribed. Garrick, who told the story afterwards,*
describes himself as immediately saying " that his
epitaph was finished," and then at once saluted the
confounded poet vrith —
" HereUes Nolly Goldsmith, for shortness called Noll,
Who wrote Uke an angel, but talked Uke poor PoU."
It is probable that the " point " of this epitaph was in
Garrick's head before, and that he merely dashed it
into rhyme when the occasion offered. Among his
papers I find this little couplet carefully put by, and
introduced Arith a little preface, an expanded shape of
which was afterwards prefixed to " Retaliation." He
evidently thought lightly of his own little production.
"The following," runs the introduction, "was Avrltten
by Mr. Garrick, upon a challenge by Dr. Goldsmith,
which could write the other's epitaph the soonest," '\
This — a little different from the version given by Mr.
¦* In a little preface meant to have been prefixed to the coUection of
replies to " Retaliation," and given in Mr, Cunningham's Works of Gold
smith, t HUl MSS.

1775,] GOLDSMITH. 363
Cunningham — makes the situation more characteristic
still ; and explains the sudden discomfiture of the poet,
transfixed by these two smart lines. "N.B." goes on
the little scrap, "Goldsmith could not, or would not
write upon Mr. Garrick's extempore, but produced
some time after his epistle now printed, caUed 'Re-
tahation ; ' and in which occurs the famous character of
Garrick, Arith the compliment : " An abridgment of aU
that was pleasant in man." Mr. Forster has convinc
ingly shoAm, that Garrick's statement in the preface,
that Cumberland's and the other verses were Avritten to
provoke the Doctor to a reply, is a mistake. And this
view seems to be supported by the various scraps and
notes to be found among Garrick's papers — mostly
rude draughts and experiments at a retort, in which
the "dishes " and cookery metaphors are worked very
diligently, the hint of which he must have got from
" Retaliation." It shows, too, how he chafed under
the smart stroke of Goldsmith's reply.
" Are these the choice dishes the doctor has sent u%
Is this the great poet whose works so content us," &c. *
Or again, " On Dr. Goldsmith's Cookery " — ¦
" This is Goldsmith's fine feast, who has written fine books :
Heaven sends us good meat, but the devU sends cooks."
Or " another "—
" Reader, here lies a favourite son of fame, , ''¦.
By a few outlines you wUl guess his name.
Full of ideas was his head— so full.
Had it not strength they must have cracked his skuU.
AVhen his mouth opened aU were in a pother.
Rushed to the door and tumbled o'er each other.
But rallying soon with all their force again.
In bright array they issued from his pen," f

* HiU MSS,
t HUl MSS, Garrick, as Reynolds proves, was often thus challenged ; and
he had seen him, when a subject was suddenly given, produce a neat and plea-

364 THE LIFE OF DAVID GARRICK. [1772—
This was but a paraphrase of the distich, " who Avrote
like an angel, but talked like poor Poll." Finally came
his official reply. Not one of these attempts, even ap
proaches the unsurpassed touch of " Retaliation," which
Goldsmith had indeed " wrote like an angel."
JUPITER AND MERCURY.
A FABLE.
" Here, HeiTues, says Jove, who with nectar was mellow.
Go fetch me some clay ; 1 wUl make an odd fellow.
Right and wrong shaU be jumbled — some gold aud some dross.
Without cause be he pleased, without cause be he cross.
Be sure as I work, to throw in contradictions ;
A great love of truth — yet a mind turned to fictions.
Now mix these ingredients, which warmed in its baking.
Turn to learning and gaming, religion, and raking.
AVith the love of a wench, let his writings be chaste ;
Dip his tongue with strange matter, his pen with fine taste.
That the rake and the poet o'er all may prevaU,
Set fire to the head, and set fire to the taU.
For the joy of each sex on the world I'U bestow it.
This scholar, rake, Chi'istian, dupe, gamester, and poet,
Tho' a mixture so odd, he shall merit great fame.
And among brother mortals, be Goldsmith his name !
When on earth this strange mixture no more shaU appear.
You, Hermes, shall fetch him, to make us sport here ! "
Again we may heartily wish that the two had knoAm
each other better. A man of the world like Garrick
could not help feeling a httle of the good-natured con
tempt, or patronage rather, which so many of the
poet's friends had for hun. Yet from Goldsmith was
to come the actor's finest panegyric. Presently, when
we are summing up the character of the great actor,
that exquisitely finished miniature in " Retaliation,"
familiar as it is, shall be before us.
It must have been the morbid fi-etfulness, the
"something on his mind," of Goldsmith's last days, so
sant epigram within a minute or two. A prologue he could "knock off" in
a couple of hours. This delightful man, and " abridgment of aU that was plea
sant," was furnished with all sorts of charming arts.

1775] GOLDSMITH. 365
pathetically described by Mr. Forster, that made him
speak unkindly of Garrick in company — saying that
some little compliment of the manager to royalty
was "mean and gross flattery." He thought, too, he
was hardly treated by the world, and by that friend.
Yet we have that pleasant little scene at Beauclerck's
House, a few doors from Garrick's, where, before Lord
Edgcumbe, and Walpole, and some more, the table
cloth was put over Garrick, and Goldsmith's
hands held out, and whilst Garrick declaimed in his
finest style Hamlet's speech to the Ghost, Goldsmith
made grotesque gestures at the wrong moment. No
wonder the audience shrieked with laughter. Garrick
had gone away, to his theatre, for a new play, and
Walpole, who could not join in the laugh, reports that
he never saw any one come back " so vain or so
fidgety." Poor Garrick ! the play was by a friend
who had hosts of enemies, and whose name was con
cealed on purpose. No wonder he was fidgety.
If we strike the balance. Goldsmith's conduct was
certainly the most petulant : that imitatuig Foote ia
trying to injure a new play, by making the pit laugh,
would have deeply offended a gentler temper than
Garrick's ; and the making it a ground of quarrel that
a manager should object to portions of a play, and re
quire them to be altered before he would accept it,
seems ludicrous. StUl, here was Garrick ready to re
produce the " Goodnatured Man " at his ovm house,
and almost wUhng to break through his stern rule, and
undertake a new character which Goldsmith was to
write for him, iastead of Lofty, Goldsmith owed him
40Z., and on the poet's piteous request, added 60Z.
more. He talked cheerily of a new comedy from

366 THB LIFE OP DAVID GARRICK. [1772—
Goldy's bright pen. "May God preserve my honest
little man, for he has my heart," Avrote the poor poet
in a tumult of gratitude.*
This same year, 1773, found the old irrepressible
Macklin, who has turned up so often during this narra
tive, turnhig up for the last time at Covent Garden.
This veteran had a new idea, and a very correct one,
in his head ; and it shows what force of character
he possessed, when so passS a player could persuade
the managers to adopt it. Long, long before, he had
anticipated his enemy, the young and sprightly Garrick,
in the true principle of giving a character naturally and
easily ; and had played his Shylock before Mr. Pope,
in a red hat and gaberdioe. That was in the old
pleasant Bedford days, when Woffington, and they, were
keeping house together, when the world was young.
That was nearly forty years ago. Now he was about to
give Macbeth on the same rational principle, as to cos
tume ; and thus at the end, was to anticipate Garrick in
another reform. It does seem strange how Garrick
could, to the last, have adhered to the general officer's
scarlet coat, and cocked hat. Macklin changed it for
tartans and kilts : and though some irreverent' ones
among the audience fancied they saw " an old piper
stumping down" the stage, the good sense of others
acknowledged his taste and judgment.! Garrick must
have smiled a little ruefully, as he received this last
check. ¦* Garrick could not resist endorsing on the letter " Goldsmith's par-
laver." There is a remarkable passage in a letter of Hoadly's, which
seems to show that he was willing to favour Goldsmith. " You now
seem to give in to Br. Goldsmith's ridiculosity — in opposition to aU senti
mentality." + Yet it is said that the kilt and tartan is as much an anachronism for
Macbeth, as the scarlet of George the Second.

1775.] HENDERSON, 367
A good actor and a great actress, who came out
just as he was retiring, have been put forward as
special instances of his jealousy, and seemed to have
favoured the unworthy impression that he wished to
keep back their talents. The actor was Henderson,
the actress Mrs. Siddons. A. very simple statement
will show the untruth of this charge.
At the Bath Theatre was this rising young player,
whom he had much encouraged. He gave him intro
ductions to some of the most influential people of the
place. The young man became the leading actor there,
was taken up by friends and flatterers, who gave him
the name of "the Bath Roscius." In voice and
manner, people fancied he was like the greater
Roscius — so like, that he used to give imitations of Mr.
Garrick everywhere. He was soon set up, according
to the usual tactics, as a rival to Garrick, equal if
not superior, and he presently went up to London, in
the hope of being engaged. Giffard — the old Giffard
of Goodman's Fields — here suddenly flashes up into
life, sees him rehearse, and makes an old man's pro
phecy of future fame. It was he who at first dis
cerned the genius of the great Roscius, and this fresh
praise quite upset the youth. Garrick was kind and in
dulgent, made him give his imitations, as he had made
WUkinson do, in the old, old days. He was greatly
entertained at the likeness of Barry and Woodward,
and then, in his good humour, insisted that he should
give him. The young man objected, but was per
suaded by friends to give Mr. Garrick in Benedick,
They were delighted. There followed a little scene,
out of the pleasant comedy of human nature. Mr.
Garrick sat in sUence for a few moments, then

368 THE LIFE OF DAVID GARRICK, [1772—
walked across, saying that : " Egad ! if that was his
voice, he had never known it himself; for upon his
soul, it was entirely dissimilar to anything he con
ceived his to be — totally unlike any sound that had
ever struck his ear till that moment." The foolish
actor went about London, and found plenty to laugh
at this grotesque portrait of the real Roscius. StiU
the latter, say Henderson's friends, "treated him
with apparent good nature," He even took pains in
instructing him, and went over scenes with him. But
it was given out that Garrick was deeply wounded,
and Mr. Henderson's Bath friends insisted that he was
besides, consumed with a mortal jealousy.
The jealous man, however, was quite vrilhng to
engage him. The tone taken by the "friends" was
most offensive. They tried to force him on Garrick
on their own terms.* The haughtiness and imperious
tone in which the negotiation was conducted ; the all
but open insinuation that Garrick had mean motives
in all he did, whatever that was, reads amusingly.
Garrick's terms seemed liberal. It was not very
clear, or the actor did not wish it to be clear,
whether Henderson was free to engage or not. Gar
rick did not wish to have the air of being too eager,
and required at least the trifling homage of an applica
tion. With an absurd coquetry the other plotted with
his friends. " Garrick's scheme appears to me thus :
Let Henderson be tempted by his friends, and his OAvn
ambition to come to London, he will then apply to me,
and I can make my own conditions. He will then

* Ireland, Henderson's friend and biographer, wrote without having seen
the latter's grateful letter to Garrick, thanking him for interfering in his
favour in a q^uarrel with the local manager at Bath.

1775.1 HENDERSON. 869
be considered as one whom I patronise, and protect ;
whereas if I apply to him, he will make conditions
with me, and from my acknowledging the want of
him, I cannot have him at my heck," Surely no class
of " poor humanity" shows us such strange things as
the fretful, sensitive world of players. No wonder
Garrick was wearied ; for here, nearly at the end,
was the old Mossop and Sheridan story repeating
itself At last a proposal was made, but guarded by the
most haughty tone. His engagement must be for
three years certain. He wished to have the choice of
his own plays, and parts; as Garrick said, "without
regard to public approbation, justice to other per
formers, or the rights of a manager." Garrick was
willing, indeed, to let him have a choice for the
first appearance.* Naturally such a negotiation was
broken off.f But in due time Garrick forgot all these
passages, and warmly recommended him to Sheridan
and the new management.
Now for the other " stock charge " of his being
jealous of the gifts of his fine actress, Mrs. Siddons,
and of his keeping her back. It must be recollected
that he was in no want of great actresses, when she was
¦* Garrick's proposal seems very fair. Henderson was to begin with two
parts of his own choice, and then to follow with others, that they should
select. After ten or twelve nights, his salary should be fixed by arbitration,
at any sum between five and ten pounds a week. "After his salary is fixed,
he must become like the other performers subject to my ma/nagem,ent wholly."
Here was the true secret of the success of Drury Lane, — the subordination of
the players to the theatre, not that of the theatre to the players. The latter
was the first fatal symptom of the decay of the stage,
t It shows us the usual treacheiy of Garrick's friends. Cumberland, under
deep obligation to him, told Henderson he was ashamed of the part Mr. Garrick
had acted, "and that lie would wndertake to get me whatever terms 1 pleased
at Covent Garden, which was . the house I most thought of when I came to
London. "

370 THE LIFE OF DAVID GARRICK. [1772—
engaged. She had a mere provincial reputation, and
made no success in London. She appeared in Portia,
but was merely tolerated. Not until seven years had
passed away, did she show herself the great Mrs.
Siddons. She herself speaks of him in a sore tone,
and certainly affects to be aggrieved by his jealousy.
She was dissatisfied at his low terms, five pounds a
week. She beheved that he engaged her merely
to mortify Miss Younge and Mrs. Yates, yet incon
sistently owns, she was kept out of the great parts, in
deference to those ladies. " The fulsome adulation,"
she said, " that courted Garrick behind the scenes can
not be imagined. His smiles were the object of all."
And yet the way his smiles were lavished on her,
by her own account, was remarkable. She was a
young girl — a stranger — yet before the haughty and
hostile ladies of the green-room, he would lead her
over to a seat, next himself He sent a friend to
watch her Portia carefully and report, and this friend
" could vouch to Mr. Boaden that Garrick was wUling
to bring her forward." But there were great diffi
culties. She had made no succds to warrant any
exceptional promotion, and as he told her fairly, if she
was put into the leading business, Yates and Younge
" would poison her." He chose her as his Venus in
the JubUee, and when the malicious queens of the
stage artfully got before her in the procession, he pur
posely brought her down, to the very front. She was,
indeed, nicknamed " Garrick's Venus." So too, in this,
his last season, the established ladies might fairly
claim the honour of acting with him, in all his " capital "
parts, of which they had lawful possession. Yet how
did he behave to her ? He gave her the best part in

1775.] MRS. SIDDONS. 371
Mrs. Cowley's pleasant comedy, "The, Runaway,"
while Miss Younge had the inferior one of Bella,
When "The Suspicious Husband " was revived, to be
played by him for his last appearances, she was his
heroine, and her name was printed in " enlarged
type," one of the joys of the histrionic heart : and out
of the last few nights, when all England was rushing
to see, and hear the last of Garrick, she was privi
leged to play with him in three characters : though the
"London Magazine" pronounced her "a lamentable
Lady Anne," She was in fact more favoured than
was her due. When he retired, he promised to get
her a good engagement, with the new management.
In this he failed. Sheridan, with characteristic faith
lessness, told her that Garrick " rather depreciated
her to them." But Sheridan's loose way of talking
was proverbial. He may have not warmly praised
talents, which she had not as yet shown, but he was
incapable of secretly depreciating her. They did not
find it convenient to engage her. I have no doubt
from what we know of the " pleasant Brinsley," that
this was one of his many harmless exaggerations,
devised on the moment to justify himself with the
great actress.
It was indeed time to retire. The business and
vivacity seemed to be passing over to Covent Garden,
where there was a more spirited management, a fine
company, and Aritty writers. For the management
was in the hands of Colman, who had learned to be
abstiaent hi the matter of his OAm writings ; the com
pany included Woodward, Bensley, Lee Lewes, Shuter,
Quick, Lewis, the two Barrys, Mrs. Lessingham, the
handsome Hartley, and Miss Macklin : and as for
K E 2

372 THB LIFE OF DAVID GARRICK. [1772—5.
dramatists, there was the witty Sheridan, now fast
mounting to eminence, Arith the admirable "Rivals"
and his " Duenna." Such a competition would soon
have become dangerous. Already the warning, lusisti
satis, was iu Garrick's ears.

1775,] THE LAST SEASON. 373

CHAPTER XI.
THE LAST SEASON.
1775—1776.
We are now arrived at the commencement of the
last season durmg which this incomparable actor
played. It was to be the most remarkable in the
annals of Drury Lane. Great as had been the en
thusiasm of the old Goodman's Fields era, it was to
be as nothing, compared with the approaching excite
ment. In comparison with it, the unmeaning fureur,
which it has been the fashion to expend on the
retirement of later actors, or actresses, seems feeble
indeed, or prompted by good-nature.
It is not too much to say, that the whole kingdom
prepared to take part in this ceremonial ; not only the
whole kingdom, but strangers from foreign countries —
at a period, too, when the inconvenience and tediousness
of travel quadrupled the importance of the compli
ment — ^began to make their plans for attending. People
in remote comers of the country, who had been hearing
of Garrick all their lives, now determined to go up to
toAvn, and not let this last and great chance go by.
The old interest seemed to revive. It was discovered,
once more, that he was the finest, the most incom
parable ''^f actors. No one had ever approached him —
his like would never be seen. The welcome name of

374 THE LIFE OP DAVID GARRICK, [1775— ¦
Roscius was again heard ; the public indeed had, at
least with but one interval of inconsistency, been
faithful to him ; he had no cause to complaio of that
true and fast mistress, though famiharity had weakened
her raptures. Now the papers took up the old strain,
and nothing was heard of but the approaching depar
ture of Roscius.
Perhaps to do honour to the festival that was ap
proaching, before the new season began he made
some very important alterations in the theatre. These
were so extensive and serious, that the outlay must
have been considerable, and it was a spirited pro
ceeding on Garrick's part, considering that he had
made up his mind to retire.
The Brothers Adam, now architects of reputa
tion, furnished the designs. The facade was fitted
with pUasters, pediment, balcony, and colonnade, and
croAvned at the top with the singular device of a
military trophy — a helmet and coat of mail. At one
corner was a lion, at the other a unicorn. Great
improvements were made in the approaches to the
boxes, and part of the " Rose Tavern," in Bridge
Street, was taken to give more room.* The in-
* At the north end of Cross Court, when Charles Lamb was taken to the
play, there was " a portal of some architectural pretensions, though reduced
to humble use, serving at present for an entrance to a printing office. T^
old doorway, if you are young, reader, you may know, was the identiral
entrance to old Drury — Garrick's Drury — aU of it that is left." This was
written about 1820. He was taken to the play in 1781 — only five years after
Garrick had gone— and heard th% women in the pit crying — " 'Chase some
oranges — 'chase some numparels — 'chase a bUl of the play ! ' " Among Gai'-
rick's papers, was put away the foUowing compliment : — •
"On the New Fbont of Dbtjey Lane.
" Garrick, ashamed to poke his nose
So sheepishly beneath the rose,
Resolves this year to put a front.
And set a better face upon 't.

1776.] THB LAST SEASON. 375
side, too, was all remodelled. "It was noble," he
said. The interior had a grand and spacious air. The
decorations were in the Italian style, then in fashion,
overlaid Arith the garlands and vases which spread
over the Adelphi houses, and even over the chimney-
pieces we see in old mansions of this era. The theatre
seems to have been wider than it is now, and more in
the shape of a square, and the seats were disposed
in galleries, rather than boxes. Every one could see
and hear to the best advantage.
He might, now, begin to feel a little nervous as to
the profits from the theatre, which, most likely from
the increased expenses of management, and not from
decay of attraction, were falling steadily year by
year. I find from a paper in the possession of Mr.
Forster, that in the season 1769-70, the balance
available, after all deductions, amounted to the hand
some sum of 9,463Z. This left the partners nearly five
thousand pounds each. But from that year of pros
perity it began to grow less, and sank steadily, in the
year 1776-7, to 4500^.* By a little account, too, for the
season 17 75-6, f we can see what a handsome share
Garrick had — 800^. a year for acting, and 5001, for
management. Lacy besides owed him a large sum,
for which Garrick held a mortgage on his share of the
patent. Thus heavily engaged, he knew well how
precarious was theatrical property, and rightly sus-
This face wUl never make amends
For turning taU upon his friends,
Who own, by general consent.
His face the best stage ornament." — Lloyd's Evening Post.
* The renters' renewal fines seemed to be equal to about 2001. a-year addi
tional t Given iu the Gar, Cor,, vol, ii,, p, 178.

376 THB LIFE OF DAVID GARRICK. [1775-
pectlng that the estabhshment would presently grow
beyond the control of his sagacity, which was his real
security, he chose, with wonderful tact, the right mo
ment to withdraw. He showed his Arisdom. Within
an incredibly short time after his departure all was
decay and ruin. He longed for an interval before the
great curtain fell, which he might devote to " hving
as a gentleman." Sixty seemed a little premature,
when we think of the many artists, singers as well
as players, who have been so lost to their OAvn dignity
and self-respect as to linger ingloriously on the stage,
which they totter across, mere Avrecks and shadows,
and whom audiences pity or tolerate with good-natured
contempt. We may at least admire the wise self-
restraint of Garrick, who determined to abstain In
time, and carry away with him respect and admira
tion. It is the unworthy greed of money that tempts
such unworthy exhibition ; which indeed brings its
own heavy penalty ; for such lingerers do not consider
that this holding up the spectacle of their oavu decay,
obscures their old and genuine glory, and that these
feeble and exhausted efforts, are taken as the standard
of what had been their best exertions.
With the usual eagerness to have a precise cause
for everything, the gossiping world settled that he had
been driven from the stage by the persecution of
three of his actresses. This notion was Ul-naturedly
relished, ahd epigrams were duly made and repeated.
One was entitled : —
"ORPHEUS AND GARRICK.
" Three thousand wives kUl'd Orpheus in a rage ;
Three actresses drove Garrick from the stage. "
Another ran : —

1776.] THB LAST SEASON. 377
" ' I have no nerves,' says Y  g : ' I cannot act."
' I've lost my limbs.' cries A  n : ' 'tis fact.'
' Y  s screams, ' I've lost iny voice, my throat's so sore' —
Garrick declares he'U play the fool no more."

The ladies alluded to were the vivacious Abington,
Miss Younge and Mrs. Yates — admirable actresses, and
a trio whom it would be vain to think of matching at
any theatre. Almost in the year of his departure
from the stage, he had disputes with these petulant
ladies, who were as froward as spoilt chUdren; but
more than two years before, he had formed his reso
lution, and was setting things in order for his retreat.
It was not a sudden resolve, and many things com
bined to make it a natural one. In fact, the notion,
as we have seen, had occurred to hun often during his
career. There was the weary burden of the theatre,
with its discussions and responsibility, and his que
rulous partner. Its success as a speculative under
taking was precarious, and in a great measure de
pended on his own attraction; and when he lectured
his contumacious actresses he was quite warranted
in remiodlng them that, with all their gifts, they
were not sufficient lodestars to attract the town, but
when the house grew thin, his appearance was neces
sary to fill the theatre. This was the simple truth,
and a most surprising one. Management, therefore,
and acting, formed a double burden, and one too much
for him.
There were many symptoms of this want of disci
pline and growing decay ; as when Weston would come
drunk to rehearsal some morning, and be scarcely
able to utter a word. Garrick was justly displeased ;
and still more so, when an officious amateur —

378 THB LIFE OP DAVID GARRICK. [1775—
Cradock — had the bad taste to interfere in favour of
the actor. It was worse when the eye of the manager
was turned away, and he himself was absent on some
of his many visits. A friend looked in at the theatre
to see the old and once popular " Zara," and told him
very plainly what he thought of the way the play was
brought forward. It was cast with inferior players,
like Aicken, Brereton, Reddish, and the hke. He
could not find words for "the incomparable badness
of the performance," nor could he decide which of
the party were the most contemptible. " Such a
miserable pack of strollers," he never saw. The
worst was, the piece was cut down — a ballet thrust
in " head and shoulders." This sketch shows how
weary, and even iadlfferent, he was groAring.
Abington, too, harassing him with attorney's
letters, and altercations about her benefit night,
after securing his promise to play for her, finally
announced that she would retire from the stage.
It was the last thing in the world she meant to do.
Her waywardness and impracticability were such, that
they had to take counsel's opinion as to how they were
to deal with her. The spite in this intention was appa
rent, which was to distract the attention of the tOAm'
from the greater retirement now at hand. How bit
terly he felt her behaviour may be conceived from his
marginal remark : " The above is a true copy of the
letter of that worst of bad women, Mrs. Abington,
about her leaving the stage." There must have been
something malignant in this strange creature's nature,
for she seems to have been one of the very few to
whom Garrick appears to have felt a settled resentment.
Her persistently tedious behaviour seems to have sunk

1776.] THE LAST SEASON. 379
iato his mind. " What you mean," he said to a friend,
" by ' that black, but fair, defect,' except that most
worthless creature, Abington, I do not know. She is
below the thought of any honest man or woman : she
is as silly as she is false and treacherous." * This was
severe. Yet for the airs and caprices of these women,
there was some extenuation. They had true genius ;
"they knew their business ; " they had fought and won
their way up the ranks. There was one more serious
reason also, which admonished him to withdraw.
It may be justly said that the rough, outspoken
address of WiUiams, which uttered such cruel home
truths, had come on him with a shock. Old as an
artist is, failing as his strength and powers may
be, he still clings fondly to the idea that there is a
charm, a secret genius that redeems all, and hides
them. It must have been a blow to be told sud
denly, and for the first time, "You are getting old
and getting stiff. It is a ludicrous exhibition to see
you in young lovers' parts, like Ranger and Archer,
where the spectacle of your trying to climb into
balconies by rope ladders, and mimicking the agihty
of youth, is comic and humUiating. Rouge and
powder cannot give back the bloom of youth. An old
man, let him move ever so briskly, moves in straight
lines and turns almost at right angles." There was
no softness in his eyes ; they had grown hard, and
" wanted the fine bewitching liquid which passion
sends to the eye of the young." " Your voice is
*' I find among his papers a Uttle scrap of rhyme : —
"TeU me. Dame Abington, how much you gave *
To that same dirty, dedicating knave ?
Alas ! that you should think to gather fame,
From one that's only Gentleman by name ! " — Hill MSS.

380 THE LIFE OP DAVID GARRICK. [1775—
growing hollow and hoarse ; your dimples are fur
rows," &c. This was heartless, and we may be
confident sank deeply into Garrick's mind, and came
back on him very often. When a wager, not in the
very best taste, was made about his age by Governor
Penn and another gentleman, and the point discussed
in the papers, and all over the toAvn, Garrick wrote to
answer the appeal which was made to him. In rather
a wounded tone. The Governor had wagered he was
sixty, and begged he would decide the point. But it
is evident that Garrick, showing that he was four
years younger, was thinking ruefully of the plain
speaking in the pamphlet. "His ExceUency must
know," he said, " that persons on the stage, like ladies
upon the town, must endeavour, by paint, dress, and
candlelight, to set themselves off for what they are
not. My age, thanks to your Excellency's proclama
tion of it, has been published with a proper certificate
in all the papers, so that I am obliged to resign all the
love-making and ravishing heroes. The ladies, who
are very quick in these matters, sit now very quietly
in the boxes, and think that Mrs. Sullen and Mrs.
Strictland are in no great danger from Archer and
Ranger, and that Jane Shore may easily escape from
a Lord Hastings of fifty-six," This was all the
more trying, as such a wager could not have been laid
unless it had been seen by his looks and conversation
" that he Avas quite grown an old man." However, it
was a warning, " and as you have so kindly pulled off
my mask, it is time for me to make my exit." This
had an air of banter, but there was a mortification
under the banter. It was a second hint, as rude and
plain as the first.

1776.] THE LAST SEASON. 381
So far back as October, 1773, he had given a
formal announcement to Lady Hertford of his inten
tion. Always a little sensitive, but wearing this
sensitiveness on his sleeve, he was a little "sore" at
having been neglected by Lord Hertford, the chamber
lain, and told her that he supposed his " retreat was
too insignificant to announce to his lordship ; " he
hoped she would mention "this very trifling circum
stance to my Lord Chamberlain." This was a little
of that social coquetting to which he was so partial,
and which bore fruit in a charming answer from the
lady, to the effect that " she desired to share with Mr.
Garrick in his retirement when their Lord Chamber
lain was deposed. But, till then, she thinks she can
answer -for it, that Lord Hertford will take every
opportunity in his power to give Mr. Garrick pleasure,
and never agree to anything that can give him pain."
Then, early in January, 1774, had come the death of
his old friend and patron. Lacy ; the sharer in his pros
perity, and who hunted with his Grace of Grafton to
win his patent, so many years before. This was a
fresh reason, and was doubling the burden that was
cast on him ; and young WUloughby Lacy, who was
his father's heir, seemed to -inherit his father's quarrel
someness. Almost at once, he raised the old point
about jurisdiction, and after discussing his claim with
Garrick in a friendly way, went and took counsel's
opinion, which was in his favour, then wrote exultingly
to Garrick to say that " Mr. Mansfield is of opinion
that I have an equal right with you, in the manage
ment of every branch of the business relative to the
theatre." A short reply of Garrick showed his
admirable knowledge of nature, and at once lowered

382 THE LIFE OF DAVID GARRICK. [1775—
the tone of the young man. He was surprised, he said,
at receiving the news that he had consulted counsel,
" in a less amicable way than I proposed." " You do
me justice in supposing that I have no wish to deprive
you of any benefit that you are entitled to. I com
mend your prudence, and before I give you a final
answer, I shall follow your example, and be properly
admsed." The young man at once changed his tone,
begged pardon humbly, and promised to make some
proposals which would be accepted. All was then ar
ranged smoothly. But Garrick was sagacious enough
to see that this trouble would break out again. His
health was bad. His painful malady was growing
worse, and distressing him a good deal. Indeed, it
was now his constant trouble, and gave him much dis
tress and anxiety.* It, besides, interfered with his
acting ; any violent exertion, such as faUing on the stage,
causing him great anguish. All these were reasons
enough, without having to place it to the account of
the rebellious behaviour of three lively actresses.
Yet he haUed the approaching emancipation Arith
delight. Of course there would always be regret, and
perhaps a fancy that he was happier when in harness.
" I shall shake off my chains," he wrote, " and no cul
prit In a jail delivery wUl be happier. I reaUy feel the
joy I used to do when I was a boy, at a breaking-
up."t_ A little before Christmas he had thought of Colman
as a likely purchaser, and privately proposed to him
that he should take his share at 35,000?. But
* In the very year of his retirement, he was under the hands of Pott, the
surgeon. t Hill MSS.

177G.] THB LAST SEASON. 383
Colman dechned on the ground that he would not
be free, and would be trammelled by a partner. He
had had already bitter experience of the ill fortune
resulting from such interference. He was, besides,
thinking of the little theatre in the Hay, which was
doing weU. " BeUeve me, my dear Garrick," he
wrote, declining the proposal, " I love and honour
you, and have never, in my most petulant moments,
gone beyond the amantium irce. Take care of your
self; your dear woman will, I know, take care of
you." As Lacy declined to dispose of his share, it
was impossible to gratify Colman, and the negotia
tion came to an end. Sheridan then appeared, and,
with two partners, began a treaty. The whole pro
perty was valued at 70,000?. By twenty-eight years'
good management, its value had thus been nearly
quadrupled. Where Sheridan found the 15,000?. he
was to furnish, as well as other sums he found later,
has never been shown. Linley and Ford, his part
ners, found 10,000?. each, and thus the matter was
finally concluded, at the beginning of the new year,
1776. His friends were not sorry to think of this approach
ing release. Letters of congratulation poured in upon
him, the most characteristic of which was one that
came to hun from the spirited lady he caUed "my
Pivy." This lively creature was immensely amused
at the jumble of purchasers she read of in the papers.
" I thought I should have died laughing, when I saw a
man-midwife among them." StiU she had her doubts
about his being able to shake himself wholly free ; and
if he should not long to be dipping his fingers " in
then theatrical pudding (now without plums) you wiU

384 THB LIFE OP DAVID GARRICK. [1775—
be no Garrick for your Pivy." Her sagacity was
proved to be right. From her, too, he received a testi
monial so genuine and hearty, that it must have rejoiced
him. Its coming from one who was always at war
with him, made it of double value, and gives a picture
of the true state of things behind the curtain. " In the
height of the public admiration for you," said Clive,
" when you were never mentioned but as the Garrick,
the charming man, the fine fellow, the delightful
creature, both by men and ladies ; when they were
admiring everything you did, and everything you
scribbled, at this very time, I, the Pivy, was a living
witness that they did not know, nor could they be
sensible, of half your perfections. I have seen you with
your magic hammer in your hand, endeavouring to
beat your ideas into the heads of creatures, who had
none of their own. I have seen you, with lamblike
patience, endeavouring to make them comprehend you ;
and I have seen you, when that could not be done, I
have seen your lamb turned into a lion ; by this your
great labour and pains, the public was entertauied ;
tliey thought they all acted very fine ; they did not see
you pull the wires." To me, this seems fine and
exquisite praise, and a noble testimony. It tells us
of a world of hitherto unknoAvn trouble, unwearied
care and labour in the service of the public. But she
goes on, with a warmth and generosity that does
her infinite credit. She really sums up his stage life :
" There are people now on the stage to whom you
gave their consequence ; they thought themselves very
great ; now let them go on in their new parts, without
your leading-strings, and they will soon convince the
Avorld what their genius is. I have always said this

1776.] THE LAST SEASON. 385
to everybody, even when your horses and mine were
in their highest prancing. While I was under your
control, I did not say half the fine things I thought of
you, because it looked like flattery ; and you know
your Pivy was always proud ; besides I thought you did
not like me then ; but now I am sure you do, which
makes me send you this letter." People little thought
that the patient manager, petted and talked of every
where, was all the whUe labouring so conscientiously
with his corps. " By this your great labour and pains
the public were entertained ; they thought they all
acted very fine, they did not see you pull the wires."
No wonder Garrick marked this kind and spirited
letter, " My Pivy — excellent." * It is really almost
his finest testimonial — so genuine, so acute, and nice in
its discrimination. The clever and generous creature
spoke from her heart. She was indeed one of the
pearls of the stage ; and it may be worth noting how
favourably a long hfe of honourable discipline acted
then on the characters of the players.
Yet he was not to abdicate without knowing one
more of his old theatrical riots ; and it was certainly a
* Garrick, like his friend Johnson, was fond of coining these pet names,
" Clivy-Pivy," " Haly- Paly," "Davy-Pavy," The airs of Clive were most
amusing, AVhen Garrick heard of her proposed retirement, he sent his
prompter to ask if she was in earnest. To such a messenger she disdained
to give any answer. The manager then sent his brother ; and him she
received with scant civUity, saying, if his brother wished to know her mind,
he might come himself The good-humoured manager came at once, paid her
many compliments, and asked her to remain. She answered with a look of
contempt. The rest of the scene Davies reports. " He asked how much she
was worth. She replied, briskly, ' As much as yourself ! ' Upon his .smUing,
she explained herself, by saying that she knew when she had enough,
though he never did. Upon repeating his regret at her leaving, she told him
she hated hypocrisy, for she was sure he would Ught up candles for joy, but
that it would be attended with some expense, " The reader, who has seen
what really passed between the two great artists, will reject the latter portion
of this amusing scene, as the vulgar tattle of Davies' Shop.

386 THE LIFE OF DAVID GARRICK, [1775—
little perverse, that after a long period of repose, and
the perfect harmony that had reigned at Drury for so
many years, a most disagreeable emeute should have
signalized the last few months of his reign. It was a
curious and dramatic episode. A tall, gigantic, " bruis
ing " clergyman, who could fight his way through a
"row" at Ranelagh Gardens, as desperately as he
could through the columns of his own newspaper, and
who, if either sinews or journal failed him, was ready
to "go out," and get satisfaction with the pistol, had
written his play, like so many other clergymen. So
powerful and dangerous a character was, of course,
likely to have some influence with Garrick ; and his
"Morning Post" was too formidable an engine not to
be respected. A more singular character than its
reverend editor could not be conceived. As one wrote
of him, tenderly, " he was constituted, both in mind
and body, for the army or navy, rather than for the
Church." And the same " hand " also said, there was
" a sportive severity " in his writing, which did not
spare sex or condition, and brought him into un
pleasant conflicts with the persons thus satirised.
"But," added his friend, "he always manfully sup
ported his character, and was wholly incapable of
degrading concessions." And in this spirit, with Mr.
Dennis O'Brien for his second, he went "out" with
" Joey Richardson " in the Park, put a ball through
that gentleman's arm, and distinguished himself in
other encounters. Lord Lyttleton gave him a fine
living, a good deal owing to Garrick's friendly in
stances, who stood to his friends loyally, through
thick and thin, as the phrase is : and there was no

1776.] THE LAST SEASON. 387
such scrupulosity then, in the distribution of Church
patronage, to make Garrick squeamish.*
His rude personalities in his paper had made him
hosts of enemies, and he was now venturing on the
incautious step of bringing out a play at Drury Lane.
A man of the world must have seen, that this was but
an invitation to all his enemies to come and revenge
themselves. But vanity, and above aU, vanity born of
the stage, wiU overpower shrewdness and sense. His
play was called "The Blackamoor," and caused dread
ful scenes of confusion, which continued for nights.
One man got behind the scenes, with an open knife in
his hand, pursuing one of the people of the house, and
threatening to " cut his liver out ! " Dreadful battles
took place, and Woodfall, another editor, was nearly
murdered. This distressed the manager not a little. But the end
of his troubles was fast approaching, and he was look
ing forward eagerly to the day that was to bring him
release. He was full of hope and spirits, as mercu
rial as ever. "What say you," he wrote to his friend
Colman, " if I should once more emerge from stone and
gravel, and many other human infirmities and curses,
and spring out again an active being, and exercise Arith
the best of you. Since you left me, I have been upon
the rack, and almost despaired of fighting a battle or
committing a murder again." The reason of this
rebound was a lucky visit to the Duke of Newcastle,
* "Did you read mj' fooUsh religious ode, " writes Mr. Bate, on a Christ
mas festival, "on this day, to take the unwary in? Who cannot fail after
this to set me down among the long list of the truly pious professors of the
Gospel ? When you sit in judgment on it, remember that I wrote it yester
day, while my hair was dressing." This obstreperous profanity was quite in
keeping, c 0 2

388 THE LIFE OF DAVID GARRICK. [1775-6,
where he fell in with an old Itahan friend, who recom
mended a nostrum. Garrick could not resist these
quack medicines, and was thought by his physician to
do himself much harm by such experiments. This
one he thought worked wonders. " It has taken away
half the evil of my life, and at this moment — but Lord
help us ! we little men think nothing of swelling our
selves to a Hercules." Such was his pleasant temper
always.

1776.] THE LAST ACT. 389

CHAPTER XII.
THE LAST ACT.
1776.
Early in the year began that wonderful series of
performances, in which he gave a round of all his
best characters, each for the last time. The rush and
excitement for places, during this wonderful season, has
never been equalled, not even during the early Good
man's Fields era. The highest persons in the land were
begging for boxes and places, and were disappointed.
A host of fine people came, and were crushed, and
went away enchanted. Lady Colebrooke offered an
extra sum for places ; for she was desirous that her
young chUdren should see Mr. Garrick, and be able to
talk of that night fifty years after. Wilkes, a faithful
admirer and actor, was coming a long journey from
Dublin, to see his idol; and a greater compliment
still, the charming Madame Necker — the heroine of
Gibbon's early love — was to journey over from Paris.
The whole kingdom was in a ferment. There was
besides the additional attraction of seeing him in a
round of his great plays, long since laid aside. He
could not oblige half his friends, and Doctor Percy,* of

* It was Garrick's rule to allow no letters to be brought to him behind the
scenes, so that his mind should not be distracted. Percy had come to the
stage-door, and had sent in for a place, on one of these last nights, an appli
cation of which no notice could be taken. He never forgave Garrick

390 THE LIFE OF DAVID GARRICK. [1776,
whose temper Boswell has given us a specimen, chose
this inappropriate moment for an irreconcileable
quarrel with his old friend. Another intimate friend.
Sir Grey Cooper, was actually offended because he
could not get into the theatre so often as he wished.
He said, he had moved the Theatrical Fund Bill in the
House, and thought Mr. Garrick should remember that
obligation. Yet he hears that a certain " Mons.
Necker and a Dean of Derry have boxes every night."
Very wittUy he added, there was " a sort of ministe
rial promise" given, accompanied by a "gentle
squeeze ofthe hand and a measured smile of consent"
— a very happy description of the ambiguity of such
engagements. But Garrick never forgot what was oAving to his
dignity. He showed he was somewhat hurt at this
charge. " When have I been inattentive to your and
Lady Cooper's commands? The last box I procured
for you, has caused much mischief to your humble
servant. My likings and attachments to my friends
will, I hope, be remembered when my fool's-cap and
bells wUl be forgotten " — a remarkable and sincere
declaration. The other was truly penitent, and wrote
to him to say that if, in the eagerness to enjoy the
pleasure of seeing Garrick, anything petulant had
escaped him, he begged his pardon most sincerely.
This shows how excited the world had grovm about this
festival, as it might fairly be called. There was this
remarkable feature also. Other actors retire and make
their bow in one night: Garrick's retirement filled
nearly a whole season, and morally culminated on the
last night. In every point of view he is thus quite apart.
"Richard" was kept for the end. "I gaiiied my

1776.] . THE LAST ACT. 391
fame m Richard," hesaid, "and I mean to close
with it." It was a pity he did not adhere to that
resolution. He accordingly ordered a superb new
dress. When this came home, he, with a little want
of judgment, said he would play Lear in his 'new
Richard ' dress." His fi-iends remonstrated, but he
persisted. And yet from Richard he almost shrank.
" I dread the fight, " he said to his friend Cradock,
" and the fall. I am afterwards in agonies." He was,
indeed, now suffering acutely from a complication of
maladies. One ofthe earliest of these farewell performances was
on the eleventh of AprU, when the world saw the Abel
Drugger for the last time. With what effect he gave
it, and what feeling, may be conceived from a hurried
note written the next day. " Last night I played
Abel Drugger for the last time. I thought the
audience were cracked, and they almost turned my
brain."* During the next two months the others fol
lowed rapidly. Yet at such a time Cohnan would
worry him with quibbles. He wanted payment for
some alterations, and chose the week before Garrick's
final appearance . to urge his claims. Garrick said
he really thought it was a present. Colman rather
ungraciously said he could not have pretended to
make a gift of it, for he did not think they were then
on sufficiently good terms to think of his making a
present, though he was much pleased and flattered, &c.
Yet Garrick was then bringing out his plays, which
had failed, and had written affectionately to offer hun
the refusal of the theatre. " Pray let me know what I
» ' Forster MSS.

392 THB LIFE OF DAVID GARRICK. [1776,
must do," wrote the sweet-tempered Garrick, "for I
cannot have such a burden upon my mind at this very
distressing time, when my theatrical life is so near its
end. If I am confused or unintelligible, impute it to
' Richard.' What an operation ! "
On June the Sth, " Richard " was given, in presence
of the king and queen. The end was fast drawing
on, and only a few nights more were left. On that
night it was seen, with astonishment, that he was as
active, as graceful, as in the old Goodman's Fields
days, now, alas ! so far, far off, — when he was the
gay, sprightly, " neatly-made " young fellow, in the
flush of youth and triumph. With him played on that
great occasion, Mrs. Siddons, who A\»as scarcely equal
to the part,*
What a pi'ocession of characters — his best and
finest — made yet finer by the special character of the
occasion, and his natural determination to excel
himself. Hamlet, Lear, .Richard, Lusignan, and
Kitely were the graver characters he chose. Archer,
Abel Drugger, Sir John Brute, Benedich, Leon, and
Don Felix made up the more varied round selected for
comedy. It is, indeed, wonderful to see from this list
how his real strength had gradually developed. Most
of these characters were played from two to three
times each — Archer but once, on May 7th, Sir John
Brute four times. The lively actresses all played
* Woodfall, of the "Chronicle," perhaps the best theatrical critic of the
day, said she did it " sensibly," but that her powers were not equal to a
London Theatre. When she played Mrs. Strictland with Garrick, some friends
in the pit got up applause for her, which Miss Younge took to herself
Davies, inaccurate to the last, says that, "Richard" was acted but
once. It was played three times. The king was surprised to see the
nimbleness with which Garrick performed the fighting portions, and ran
about the field.

1776.] THE LAST ACT, 393
with him, and played their best. It needed all this
excitement to carry him through ; for he was suf
fering acutely. " Gout, stone, sore throat," he
wrote, " yet I am in spirits." The excitement of these
nights was long remembered. Curwen, the American
loyalist clergyman, then in England, came often to
Drary Lane' door, but could not get in. Northcote,
long after, used to tell of the cmshing and the crowds.
Hannah More, up from Bristol, could hardly trust her
self to speak of the effect produced on her. " I pity
those who have not seen him. Posterity will never be
able to form the slightest idea of his perfections. The
more I see him, the more I admire. I have seen him
within these three" weeks take leave of Benedick, Sir
John Brute, Kitely^ Abel Drugger, Archer, and Leon.
It seems to me as if I was assisting at the obsequies
ofthe different ;g^ets. I feel almost as much pain as
pleasure." "*
There was, indeed, a pathos about the whole. He
seemed to be in a sort of whirl. He spoke sadly of
" the present situation of my affairs, of the last hours
of my theatrical life, and my preparing for another."
He then added, " Just going to perform Benedick for
the last time," which was on May the ninth.
Was it at all surprising that he should feel quite
unnerved on these trying occasions ? Friends did not
help him much. Steevens pressed him hard to give
the genuine text of " Lear " as a novelty; but at such
a crisis, he dare not trust himself to unlearn. Even
in the morning, when going over some sUght altera
tion, he became quite distressed and confused. After
the play was over, a little scene took place in the
green-room. Miss Younge, whose frowardness had

394 THE LIFE OF DAVID GARRICK. [1776.
given him much trouble, was the Cordelia, and he
there took leave of her, calling her " his daughter,"
— with a hearty Arish that all blessings he had invoked
on her on the stage, would be fulfilled in reality. The
actress, affected by this kindness, said to him, " Sir, if
you would indeed give me your blessing," which Gar
rick did in a very solemn way.
Old and dear friends were crowding up and rallying
about him. Sir George Young came away from that
night — praying, " that the evening of your day may be
sweet and composed, is the sincere wish of your old
and affectionate friend." For Beard, the actor chose
at this favourable moment to make a request to Sir
George Hay. " You are grown formal in your old
age, my dear friend," replied Sir George. " Kiss the
blooming wrinkles of my ancient love for my sake,
and believe me always yours and hers." On the Sth,
" King Lear " was given once more ;'and then came
round the fatal closing 10th of June, which was to
be the last night for Roscius.*
Don Felix was the gay character selected ; cer
tainly not his best. The tremendous crowd that
¦* The foUowing passages from the Diary of Curwen, the American clergy
man, help to show us how great the excitement was : —
"Nov. 29th, 1775. Saw Mr. Garrick in 'Hamlet' at Drury Lane ; in my
eye more perfect in the expression of his face than in the accent and pronun
ciation of his voice, which, however, was much beyond the standard of his
feUow actors.
" May 7th, 1776. — Attempted to get into Drury Lane Theatre, to see Mr.
Garrick in the character of Archer, but the crowd so great, that after suffer
ing thumps, squeezes, and almost suffocation for two hours, I was obUged to
retire without effecting it. Went to Mr. Silsbee's lodgings to tea.
"June 5th, 1776, — Walked to Mr. Green's; Major Brattle entered, and
we three took coach to Drury Lane, to see for the last time Garrick in
'Richard III.,' by command of their Majesties, but were too late — house
filled." The fac-simile of ' ' the last order " written by Garrick has almost a touching
interest.

1776,] THE LAST ACT, 395
fiUed the theatre from floor to ceihng, were to be
recreated with one last ghmpse of true comedy, the
like of which it may be suspected no one has seen
since. From this choice, it may be concluded that the
image of himself, he Arished to linger on a playgoer's
mhid, was of that tempered gaiety and airy spright-
liness, where so much of his strength lay.
What a night for Drury Lane ! And what a night
for the great actor — now at the end of his nearly
forty years' service. There was not here any of the
affectation and sham sentiment, that sometimes ob
tains at such leave-takings — ^too long delayed, perhaps,
and too often to prove a mere rehearsal. As his
grand eyes wandered round the house, — and that
house must have seemed to him a sea of friends'
faces, and of fi-iends' eyes, — there were to be seen
strangers and even foreigners who had travelled from
afar from distant countries ;* there was presented that
dim, but grand, indistinctness of the crowded house,
which to the actor can never lose its spell. But on
such a night, it represented a boundless amphitheatre
of the most friendly, genial, and affectionate sympathies,
and exalted admfration.
Frenchmen present were struck by the almost
mournful character of the scene. It must have
brought to the actor's mind the early days — the old
triumph of the little theatre, at Goodman's Fields.f
He himself thought that he played with even more
spirit than he had ever done before. When Mrs.
Centlivre's wit was done, and the curtain had shut
* Taylor.
t As I have given his first Goodman's Fields Bill, the reader will be glad to
see the last at Drury Lane : —

396 THB LIFE OF DAVID GARRICK. [1776.
out that Don Felix for ever, there came a moment
of suspense, and even awe. The great stage was
now quite empty, and then the departing actor
was seen to come forward, very slowly. Behind,
the stage filled with groups of the players, eager
not to lose a point of this almost solemn situa
tion. The sides became crowded with other spec
tators. Not a sound was heard. There was a solemn
pause. No wonder, he said afterwards, that it was an
awful moment, and that he seemed to have lost not
merely his voice, but the use of his limbs, and that
he thought his heart would have cracked. His face
was seen to work, as he tried to speak, and Arith an
The last time of the Company's performing this Season.
At the Theatre Royal in Drury Lane,
This day (June 10th, 1776), will be presented
THE WONDER.
Don Felix, Mr. Gaueick.
Colonel Briton, Mr. Smith. Don Lopez, Mr. Baddeley.
Don Pedro, Mr. Parsons, Liffardo, Mr, King.
Frederick, Mr. Packer.
Gibby, Mr. Moody.
IsabeUa, Miss Hopkins. Inis, Mrs. Bradshaw.
Flora, Mrs. Wrighten.
Violante, Mrs. Yates.
End of Act 1. — The grand Garland Dance
By Sig. Giorgi, Mrs. Sutton, and Mr. Slingsby.
To which wUl be added a Musical Entertainment, caUed
TEE WATERMAN.
The principal characters by
Mr. Bannister,
Mr. Davies, Mr. Codd, Mrs. Wrighten,
and Mrs. JeweU.
To conclude with the scene of the Regatta.
The profits of this night being appropriateito the Benefit of the Theatrical
Fund, the usual address upon the occasion wiU be spoken by Mr. Garrick
before the Play.
Ladies are desired to send their servants a little after 5 to keep places, to
prevent confusion.
No admittance behind the scenes, nor any money returned after the curtain
is drawn up.
The doors wiU be opened at half after 5.
To begin exactly at half-past 6,

1776.] THE LAST ACT. 397
effort he said, — it had been the custom on such
occasions to address friends in a farewell epilogue —
he had intended following the practice, but when he
came' to attempt it, found himself quite as unequal to
the Avriting of it, as he now would be to its delivery.
The jingle of rhyme — the language of fiction — would
but Ul suit his present feelings. The moment was a
terrible one for him, now parting for ever from those
who had lavished on him such favours, and such kind
ness ; and upon the very spot where all these favours
were received, he was now — here he was utterly over
come, and could not go on, from his tears. Recovering
himself, he merely added, that he should never forget
their goodness, and though his successors might have
more ability, they could not surpass the pains he had
taken to Arin support, nor the deep gratitude he felt. On
this he retired slowly — up — up the stage, his eyes fixed
on them with a lingering longing. Then stopped.
The shouts of applause from that brilliant amphi
theatre were broken by sobs and tears. To his ears
were borne from many quarters the word " Farewell !
Farewell ! " Mrs. Garrick was In her box, in an
agony of hysterical tears. The wonderful eyes, still
brilhant, were turned wistfully again and again, to
that sea of sympathetic faces, one of the most brUliant
audiences perhaps that ever sat in Drury Lane : and
at last, with an effort, he tore himself from their view.
Though an afterpiece was to follow, it was not
suffered to be played ; nor could the actors find spirit
to perform it, after the affecting bit of tragedy that
they had witnessed. When the curtain descended on
that fatal tenth of June, it indeed shut out the greatest
of Enghsh actors, whose like has never been seen since.

398 THE LIFE OF DAVID GARRICK. [177G.

CHAPTER XIII.
THE GARRICK CIRCLE, -CHARACTER,
1776,
Now was to commence for him, a new shape of
existence. With all that most reasonable excuse of
weariness and ill health, he must have been looking
back wistfully to the old profession : after all, to the
actor en retraite, with opulence and ease and retire
ment from toil, nothing can have the old exquisite
charm of the " House," no company can equal the
brilliant company, the rows above rows of faces
in the boxes. Nothing can sparkle like the foot
lights, and no scent surpass the old familiar play
house perfume.
Now we, also, may take the opportunity of glancing
at that domestic circle who were about him, and of
whom he was to see much more — those relatives
who were so dependant on him, and for whom he and
Mrs. Garrick had done so much.
It always seemed a pity that such a pair — so affec
tionate to all the world — had no chUdren of their oAvn,
no objects for that affection. It would have been the
fitting complement for their happy existence, and
would have smoothed down many of those peculiarities,
for which an empty household is often responsible.
Instead, he expended that affection on nieces and
nephews, the children of George.

1776.] THE GARRICK CIRCLE.— CHARACTER. 399
Peter Garrick's soul never traveUed above the Lich
field busmess, the wine trade, and perhaps fishing.
" Garrick and BaUey " was a weU known firm in
Lichfield. StiU he was always glad that his London
brother should try and get him something. That good
brother tried again and agam : but it was very hard to
find what would suit Peter. When the Duke of
Devonshire became a Lord of the Treasury, in 1756,
he invited Garrick to breakfast with him, and the
actor took advantage of that friendly intimacy to plead
for his brother Peter. He promised to do something
" to draw you," writes David to Peter, " out of your
melancholy, disagreeable situation. Indeed it is un
worthy of you."* His old toAvnsfolk from the country he
did not forget, and was glad to see and entertain them,
when they came to London. " Last night I had some
old Lichfielders to sup — Levett, the two Robinsons, and
two Garricks, Dick Bailye." f Peter never married, but
hved on in the old house, and survived his great brother
some fifteen years. Their sister Merriall — the only
one that survived — had married Mr. Thomas Docksey,
a Lichfield gentleman of fortune ; and that family
might reasonably look to the bachelor relative, who
was said to have accumulated 30,000?,, for a provision.
But as he grew old he became childish, and would
give away large sums of money to any one he met,
and at last fell under the influence of a designing
apothecary, named Panting. This person, with the
assistance of a brother, who was an attorney, con
cocted a will, which they produced as his. It was
contested by Mrs. Docksey, who had been named
. * Forster MSS. t Md,

400 THE LIFE OF DAVID GARRICK. [1776.
Peter's heir in a previous wiU. The case was con
ducted by Erskine, who, in one of his finest efforts,
exposed the scheme of the apothecary and the laApyer,
vrith masterly effect and success.* The wUl was set aside.
George Garrick, secretary, deputy, unofficial agent,
and "factotum," at Drury Lane, was as familiar to
the profession as the manager himself By himself
he never could have been heard of His was a
"fussing," meddling, whispering nature, a little mys
terious, because known to have the ear of the greater
David, between whom and troublesome persons he
interposed usefully. In many instances George com
plicated things, and often brought trouble to the
manager. There was another brother, " Billy," a
Captain in the army, who was never knoAPn outside his
profession, and died obscurely at Minorca. Two sisters,
Magdalen and Jane, " Lenny and Jenny," were long
since dead ; a third, as mentioned, had married Mr.
Docksey, or Doxey, a man of good fortune in Lichfield.
George Garrick first married a daughter of Mr.
Carrington, a king's messenger, and lived with him in
Somerset House. He had a large family, for all
of whom the generous actor provided, though it was
expected that Mr. Carrington, who was weU off, would
contribute. To the end he was extravagant, and
sometimes dissipated."]" When Garrick was abroad, an
anonymous letter reached him, warning him of the
* The trial took place in St. Mary's Church ! The speech is in Coleridge's
Watchman. t It was often asked in the green-room, what name shoulS be given to the
salary he received for his nondescript services. Bannister said, "hush money ;"
for when David was playing, George was always keeping silence at the wiftgs —
stepping on tiptoe, and caUing "hush !" Whenever he joined the company,
he was always asking, " Had David wanted him ?" and it was a green-room,
jest, that he died so soon after his brother, " because David wanted him."

1776.] THE GARRICK CIRCLE.— CHARACTER. 401
lavish way in which his brother was " keeping women
about him," a costly table, &c. But it had no effect
on David. George was soUcitor to the house — prepared
all the actors' agreements, and managed the legal
matters. For these serAaces he had £150 a year
from the theatre. Garrick himself added another
hundred a year, and he had besides a fortune with his
wife. On such an income, he very improvidently
sent his two sons to Eton, at a cost of £170 a year,
which left a very small balance. He often asked
for loans — even for two hundred pounds, which was
sent at once.* Money seemed to be the test of affec
tion invariably required from David Garrick. It was
George's duty to have settled matters relating to the
Fermlgnac affairs, but he had neglected them for years,
and let them get Into confusion. The only way his
good-tempered brother showed how he felt such treat
ment, was by " a coldness ; " and nothing more deli
cate, more significant of wounded affection, more
humble and sincere interest, can be imagined than an
appeal of David's, written after an inseparable intimacy
of some thirty years. George Garrick had of a sudden
set up horses, carriages, and a country house, without
* Garrick Cor., vol. ii, p, 198. "Dear Brother," runs his grateful
ansiwer, "the great agitation of mind I have been in will, I hope,
plead my excuse for not returning you sooner my most affectionate thanks
for your very kind and brotherly answer to my letter. Indeed, my dear
brother, you have affected me much with your great kindness, and I
could now dash out my brains that 1 should have either neglected or offended
you ; and I can assure you that the pangs I have felt from your withdrawing
your love and affection from me, had at times deprived me not only of my
senses, but almost of my life. For indeed it has been the cause of many and
very long, as well as very expensive illnesses  This, I hope, "
(his expenses for education, &c,,) "wiU in some measure account for my ap
plication to you ; but you wUl wrong me much, should you in the least think
that I have not the warmest sense of gratitude and affection to my sister and
you, for your unbounded goodness to my children. Give me leave to assure
you both that I shall ever feel it, and that I shall never forget it."
VOL. ir, D D

402 THE LIFE OP DAVID GARRICK [1776.
telling his brother, fearful, perhaps, of his just reproof.
The latter had remarked an uneasiness, and an anxiety
to make excuses of business, to get away whenever they
met. All this hurt him much. " I have suffered much
of late," he wrote, " and have hid my uneasiness as
well as I could. . . . Did I ever keep any concern of
any kind from you ? Have I not always opened my
heart and designs to you ? Have you not had permis
sion to open my letters, and know everything about
me and my affairs ? What is this mystery ? If I was
not Idndly admitted into that secret, surely I had a
right to be a partaker of it ; but let that be passed."
All this, it wUl be seen, was not in the spirit of re
proach ; for George had done a hundred such things
before ; but his wish was to remind George — " I
have likewise no right — perhaps I have not — to ask
how your circumstances can bear this load of expense,
and whether it is not strange with your family, and
complaints of hard times, hard relations, and that you
have voluntarily taken a load upon you, which I fear
you are not able to bear." He then protested, but
gently, against some loose business doings of George's,
as regards his affairs, such as sending to tenants for
their rent, and giving Garrick's receipt — of keeping
over " legacy money," Avith which David had mtended
paying all the debts of the Stratford Jubilee, "and
rendering no account." Confidence he had in him,
but how little he met with in return. One would indeed
think it was the expostulation of the dependant brother,
and not of the rich and influential manager, without
whose protection the London attorney or Lichfield wine
merchant, would have been helpless indeed. There
was a reconclhation almost at once. George seems

1776.] THB GARRICK CIRCLE,— CHARACTER, 403
to have been a fpohsh feUow, and an absurd attempt
at a duel with Baddeley the actor, in an effort to chamr
pion the actor's own wife, must have been a fresh
annoyance to his brother.* Yet he had a faithful
dog-hke attachment to David, and his own death fol
lowed David's, almost within a few days.
Thus, though the Garrick family had looked on the
fatal day that brought news to Lichfield of David's
going on the stage, as the anniversary of degradation
and ruin, they soon found that the successful actor and
manager, whose reputation had spread over Europe,
was to be their chief credit and support. George's
two sons were taken care of by their uncle ; Carrington
was sent by him to St. John's CoUege, Cambridge, and
introduced by Mr. Cradock. He was mtended for the
Church, and his uncle's interest made promotion certain.
When only eighteen he was about the tallest youth
ever seen there, and people in the town came out of tlieir
houses, or ran to their windows, to see him go by in
his pensioner's gown. He was much liked at the
university, probably from an interest in his famous
relative. He did not, however, turn out well, though
every advantage was given him. A living was pur
chased for him — six thousand pounds, and a library
was left to him. In lieu of the library he accepted a
money composition from Mrs. Garrick. He married a
Miss Battiscombe, out of his own parish, and died only
thirty-four years old, in May, 1787, "a martyr," says
his friend, Mr. Cradock, very indulgently, "to a too
free use of the bottle."|
* He was married twice — a second time to the sister of a Colonel of the
Indian service.
t He left a son, Christopher Philip, three years old at the date of his father's
death. D D 2

404 THB LIFE OF DAVID GARRICK. [1776.
Another nephew, David Ganick, was put mto the
army. He Avas wonderfully like his great uncle. He
once appeared at some private theatricals, " got-up " at
Mrs. Hanbury's, doAvn at Kelmarsh, in Northampton
shire, and played Priuli, in " Venice Preserved." A
fine company was assembled — the Duke of Dorset, the
Lord Chancellor, and many more, who were all struck
by the wonderful likeness of the nephew to the greater
uncle. But he soon gave signs of unsteadiness. Gar
rick was to have provided for him also, but his grand
father took that task on himself. One of the uncle's
pleasantest letters is written to him, when on garrison
duty, on a march through the rain: — "I thank you,"
it ran, "for your very dear and agreeable letter. Your
laurels should have sheltered you from the inclemency
of the weather, and the acclamations of the people
should have been the cordials to keep the cold from
your stomach. As you have so nobly defended the
maids, wives, and Aridows, I hope when you are well
you may take your choice, and return to your quarters,
with a well jointured widow or some rich maid." He
was then happy to tell him how well he stood with
the grandfather : — " Your letter to me is a very good
one, and I hope he got the fellow to it. If not, write
directly to him, and never let yourself be out of his
sight, by letter or otherwise, for you know the old
proverb, &c." — A postscript shows his thought for his
nephew's credit and his actors' interest. "Pray take
aU your corps to Moody's benefit, I will treat 'em if
they are willing to accept tickets, and honour me by
going."* * Protheroe MSS.

1776.] THE GARRICK CIRCLE.— CHARACTER, 405
But in a short time, either to avoid being ordered
abroad, or from fancied dehcacy, he left his regiment
— ^the Royals, then coolly wrote tojiis uncle for six
thousand guineas, to be laid out on a purchase for
him. His grandfather seemed to support him in this
fooUsh step. Garrick wrote back very indignantly,
that he had not such a sum ; indeed, it Avas madness
to ask it. His grandfather, who countenanced the
step, should provide it. " It has given me much un
easiness to see a young man, who might have figured
in his profession, lounging about the toAvn doing
nothing, and not thinking of anything : and to see
two brothers strutting about the circle of non-exist
ence may be very convenient, but not very spirited. I
have it not in my power or inclination, to serve you
in this strange business."* He himself had never
strutted about the circle of non-existence, and was
entitled to give this sharp rebuke.
He was justly displeased at these freaks. The
young man presently repented, and wished to get back
again to his regiment, and his uncle wearied out noble
friends of iofluence with apphcations. It could not be
done ; but when young DaAad married Miss Hart, " a
young lady, extremely agreeable, and Arith a temper as
sweet as her voice ; and she sings like an angel," the kind
uncle forgave all, and made a very handsome settle
ment. On this occasion the vivacious Clive starts up
at Twickenham, and gives generous testimony to her
old friend once more. " There Is no such being in the
world now as the Pivy ; she has been kiUed by the
craelty of the Garrick ; but the Clive, thank ^ God, is
• Protheroe MSS.

406 THE LIFE OF DAVID GARRICK. [1776,
stlU alive, and ahve lU^e to be ... I must now mention
the noblest action of your life, your generosity to
nephew David ; all the world is repeating your praises ;
those people who always envied you, and wished to
detract from you, declaring you loved money too
much ever to part from it, now they vrill feel foohsh
and look contemptible : all that I can say is, I wish
that Heaven had made me such an uncle." How in
sufferably stupid read the stories of petty creatures hke
Davies, beside these records of a generosity they could
not understand, and a no less generous appreciation,
like this of the warm-hearted Chve !
He had also taken the charge of two of the impro
vident George's daughters, Arabella and Catherine,
and sent them to Paris to a Madame Descombe's
school. This adoption, it wUl be seen, brought
trouble and responsibility. There are some charming
letters of Mrs. Garrick to her " dear Kitty," vrritten
at this time, — full of grace, and of good sense too.
Her Uttle advice about dress is admirable, and per
haps a little new : — " Remember," she says, " that the
dearest silks are not always the prettiest, and never
think they will wear the longer for being richer. I
compare them to an old woman who, when she has
lost her beauty, will not be admired because she was
once handsome  Remember, likewise, that two
coats are better than one ; and that paying for the
turning of an old sack, costs twice for the making
one new." * Rather different advice from what a
thrifty English housewife would give, who would get
everything to "last for ever." Nothing indeed is
* HiU MSS,

1776,] THE GARRICK CIRCLE.— CHARACTER. 407
prettier, or more affectionate, than the letters both of
uncle and aunt, often written on the one page. Some
times he wrote : and she puts in a postscript — she wUl
tell them that he hopes " they wUl furnish their petite
cervelle, and read some history. Here ends my first
sermon."* " My dear sweet girls," he would write to
them, " I am charmed with your last agreeable, sen
sible, well-Avritten letter, and for the account of Henri
IV.," — which they had sent to show they were study
ing history. He could thank them for it with a
thousand kisses. " Always Avrite thus with simplicity ;
whoever aims at more becomes foppish and ridiculous.
I must now finish, and give way to my betters. God
bless you. D. G." Then came in "sweet" Mrs.
Garrick with advice : — " Take care you make your
selves warm when you go out of public places ; never
go Arithout your clocks " — cloaks — " and your pattens.
My dear girls, a happy new year to you, and that you
may be always as agreeable, as you are now charming,
is the sincere wish of your loving aunt. I owe you
many letters, but must, — as long as your uncle has no
better pens than those with which I scrawl this
letter." They should look about for a clever little
French maid, to dress hair, and do a thousand things,
" as you might at present apprivoiser her, and prepare
her for England. If she should prove to be a Catholic,
* She once attempted a Uttle rhyme :—
" This essence of roses.
The sweetest of posies,
Was given by dear Hannah More ;
Near my heart I wUl wear it.
No movement shall tear it
From thence with the weight of proud ore.
An infant muse.
Maria Gareick."— HiU MSS.

408 THE LIFE OF DAVID GARRICK. [177G.
you may assure her she has nothing to fear about her
religion, so she will not meddle Arith yours 
Your brother, the clergyman, is as poteU as ever . . .
He has not been at our house these twelve months ;
there is no reason for his staying away. The captain
has served us in the same manner ; for a month we
have not seen his sweet face. Are they not pretty
youths 1 Send if you are Ul for Doctor Gem." Pretty
youths, indeed ; who hardly thought it worth while to
pay the ordinary decent civilities, to the uncle on whom
so much depended.
Yet Miss Bell Garrick was, all this whUe, carrying
on a little adventure. A penniless French officer,
named Mollfere, had met the young English girl, and
had fallen in love, or had affected to fall in love, with
her. With the usual audacity of Frenchmen in such
affairs, he had actually taken a garret in M. Des
combe's house, and from this ambuscade carried out
his plans. He met her on the stairs, wrote letters
about his grande passion, and obtained some in reply,
from the foolish girl, which, with the true chivalry
of Frenchmen whose profession is following bonnes
fortunes, he exhibited to aU his friends. The matter
soon transpired, and the young ladies were sent home.
Garrick was justly displeased. It seemed to be his
lot to be disappointed in nearly every one on whom he
had placed his affections. He could make allowance
for a foolish schoolgirl's weakness, but he felt it would
be for her good to keep up a show of severity and
sternness. Nothing can be more admirable than his
letters —judicious, severe, and yet not unkind — skU-
fully addressed to her pride — without anything
artificial ; contemptuously exposing the true character

1776,] THE GARRICK CIRCLE,-CHARACTER, •409
of the admirer, and stripping the whole of its romance.
He was for some time cold and stern ; but on her
justifying herself in some very "proper" letters, he
looked over the past, and wrote to her again warmly
and affectionately, forgave aU, and she was his " dear
BeU agab." *
But whatever may have been their behaviour, all
the nieces and nephews found themselves handsomely
and affectionately remembered in their uncle's wiU,
who hved to see " the Captain " contracted to the
Middlesex heiress. On this occasion, as we have seen,
he did his part magnificently, and made a handsome
settlement on the young pair. Charming uncle, in
deed ! gracious, chivalrous, firm to men, gentle to
women, ever doing " the right thing " in whatever he
undertook — yet it almost seems to me, now drawing to
the close of his history, that no sufficient idea has been
given of this unselfish man, and true nature's gentleman.f
Indeed this may be the fitting place to make that
estimate of his character, and that weighing in the
balance, which becomes almost an official duty. The
story of the Ufe we have been following draws to a
close. It is an infinite homage to Goldsmith's exqui
site observation and powers of discriminating cha
racter, which have indeed helped to place him in the
* Forster MSS,
t The reader will see by the Pedigree, that the present representatives of the
family descend from George Garrick and his two wives, and from Merriall Gamck,
Mrs. Docksey. From Carrington, George's son by the first wife, descend his
present living grandohUdren, Christopher, Albinia, Elizabeth ; and by the
second wife, George, Sarah, and Elizabeth. I am not certain whether any
of this branch is alive. Miss BeU Garrick, the heroine of the French adven
ture, was married to Captain Frederick Schaw, and died in March, 1819.
Young David, the nephew of Roscius, died in 1796, and his widow married
Mr, Evan Protheroe, of Wales, and their child, Emma, married Garrick
Bridges Schaw — I suppose her cousin, — who assumed the name of Protheroe,
Catherine, the other sister, married Mr, Payne.

410 THB LIFE OF DAVID GARRICK, [1776.

first rank of dramatists, that the known Course of
Garrick's character, such as we have been reading it,
proves to be merely a commentary on the famous
portrait in " Retaliation : "
" Here lies David Garrick; describe me who can.
An abridgment of all that was pleasant in man ;
As an actor, confess'd without rival to shine.
As a wit, if not first, in the very first line.
Yet, with talents like these, and an exceUent heart.
This man had his faUings — a dupe to his art.
Like an ill-judging beauty, his colours he spread.
And beplastered with rouge his own natural red.
On the stage he was natural, simple, affecting,
'Twas only that when he was bff he was acting.
With no reason on earth to go out of his way,
He turned and he varied full ten times a day.
Though secure of our hearts, yet confoundedly sick
If they were not his own by finessing aud trick.
He cast off his friends, as a huntsman his packj
For he knew when he pleased he could whistle them back.
Of praise a mere glutton, he swaUowed what came,
And the puff of a dunce, he mistook it for fame.
Till his relish grown caUous, almost to disease.
Who peppered the highest was surest to please.
But let us be candid, and speak out our mind ;
If dunces applauded, he paid them in kind.
Ye Kenricks, ye Kellys, ye Woodfalls so grave.
What a commerce was yours, while you got and you gave !
How did Grub Street re-echo the shouts that you raised,
AVhile he was be-Rosciused, and you were bepraised !
But peace to his spirit, wherever it flies.
To act as an angel, and mix with the skies.
Those poets who owe their best fame to his skiU,
ShaU stiU be his flatterers, go where he wiU.
Old Shakespeare receive him with praise and with love.
And Beaumonts and Bens be his KeUys above."
Every line almost of this character might be Ulus
trated. The charm found in Garrick's company could
be described by no other term so happily, as by
" pleasant ; " familiar experience whispering to us, how
much more welcome is the society of the " pleasant,"
than of the wits professional. " Sir," we hear Johnson
saying again and again, " Garrick is the first man in
the world for sprightly conversation." Sheridan in

1770.] THE GARRICK CIRCLE,— CHARACTER, *11
his monody spoke of his "cheerful wit." "Pleasant"
was indeed the just epithet for his gifts. Behind
the scenes, in the green-room, says one of his oavu
actors, he would, "during the intervals of business^
enliven the whole theatre by his sallies of gaiety and
mirth, which showed themselves in a thousand shapes ;
in the jests, bons mots, apt stories, and vivacities thrown
out, in a manner so pleasing, sofrolicksome and original,
that all were made happy by his cheerfulness and good
humour!' This is a pretty sketch of what pleasantness
should be, and of its results on others.
This, too, was the sense in which Goldsmith must
have spoken of him, as "a wit — if not first, yet in
the first line." If he had gifts which made every one
happy, and delighted .those who were in his society, they
might be very fairly taken for " wit." But a wit
strictly he was not — nor in the first line. His verses
are agreeable, but nearer to cleverness, than to wit ;
and, indeed, nothing would show better the difference
between wit and " cleverness " than the little skirmish of
" Retaliation." Goldsmith is witty, Garrick smart, and
scarcely up to his own level of smartness. What "an
excellent heart " his was may have been gathered from
the story of his life just told. In a moment we shall
see instances in detail of his kindness and generosity.
Then comes the praise of his playing — " natural, simple,
affecting" — three ofthe most judiciously chosen words
that could be conceived. The first to be nicely dis-
tiaguished from the second, though they seem alike.
For his representation of complicated passion, which
though in nature might seem to want simphcity, he
made simple, and at the same time^ steered clear of
insipidity, touched the heart, and was "affecting."

412 THE LIFE OF DAVID GARRICK. [1776.
This exhausted Goldsmith's praise ; and out of thirty-
two lines, twenty-two are given to minute analysis
of petty defects lying on the surface. After all, in a
nature that was confessed to have excellent heart, and
all that was pleasant in man — Arith vrit and genius, any
faults or defects must have been only " failings." We
may accept the beplastering with rouge " his own
natural red;" and that acting only off the stage, and
grant that, " with no reason on earth to go out of his
way, he turned and he varied full ten times a day." No
thing was more true — that curious as well as common,
system of " finessing and trick," but whose innocence
lay in its perfect openness, and being apparent to every
one. His little devices were seen by all his friends, and
indeed did not affect the matter, for he was " secure of
our hearts." Nothing was more true. He had vanity,
but it was vanity in his profession. He believed, too, he
had infinite powers of diplomacy — knew human nature ;
hence his pleasure in writing "clever" letters, and
carrying on those protracted arguments on paper with
Murphy and others — a weakness, certainly. It was
finessing and trick, that never getting into company
without " laying a plot to get out of it," as Colman
said ; with laborious histrionic attempts at being
called out at a judicious moment, or getting away,
like Tom Moore, at an effective moment after the good
story, or of his taking sly and furtive glances down the
room, at " a duke's table," to see how his joke told on
the butler or footmen. Foohsh, purposeless finessing,
certainly, but how different from the "trick" that has
no good heart behind, and "finessing" for personal
advantage to level others, and raise oneself. As for
that " casting off his friends " as a huntsman would do

1776.] THE GARRICK CIRCLE. -CHARACTER. 413
his pack, it was true in the sense of the " pack,"
being too often ready to cast itself off from him ; he
would let it go without resentment ; and, when it
was weary and distressed, and glad to find help
and comfort, his cheerful " whistle " was ready. A
long list of the "hounds" who returned, thus crin
ging, to the feet of the man they had snarled at, and
even bitten, whether players, authors, or friends, could
be made out. But this was coldness, it will be said, and
a selfishness, a view to his own interest. Let us hear
Davies a moment on this point, a writer who has
otherwise dealt hardly with him : — " Mr. Garrick, as
manager of a theatre, who had a variety of commerce
with authors, actors, painters, scenemen, &c., thought
himself obliged often to be on his guard against innu
merable requests, questions, claims, and petitions of a
thousand people. The quickness of his conception,
and the precipitance of his temper, obliged him to make
use of that caution, which some persons think degenerated
into art  Had he embraced a more decided
conduct, he would in all probability have had fewer
hours of vexation." The same "friend" very happily
explains another motive for this " acting." " He was
apt to be too soon struck with anything that offered to
his mind ; and he would in the ardour of a moment
promise, what his cooler reflection told him he ought
not to perform. This failing accompanied him through
life, and brought along with it much vexation." It
brought along with it the embarrassment he had with
Murphy, and a hundred others, and those attempts to
extricate himself from good-natured promises, which
could not be carried out, Arithout giving offence. These
blemishes are what are in most minds ; but firmness.

414 THE LIFE OF DAVID GARRICK. [1776.
and perhaps a little hypocrisy, hide them. We may
be excused for dwelling at length on his character ;.
for the whole may be even found interesting, as a picture
of human nature in the general. He could " whistle
his friends back." Yes: "to his honour it must be
OAvned," again says Davies, " he was free fi'om im
placability, as several could testify who gave him great
and unmerited provocation." We can go further :
there is not a single instance where he refused to be
reconciled, nay, was even ready to make the first
advance. Of his "gluttony" of praise I have spoken
before, and shown, I think, how eager was he for it,
as evidence that he had still his hold on the town.*
So too with that relish of the "puffs" of dunces.
Only Goldsmith made a little mistake in the motive.
He did not care so much for their " pepper ; " but in
those Grub-street days, when the horizon was darkened
with "hacks," even the praise of dunces was almost
as profitable as that of the discrimlnathig. The true
explanation is, that he did not court their approbation,
but dreaded their savage attacks. And this sen
sitiveness friends did not care to distinguish from
" gluttony." Well might Goldsmith appeal to the crew
of Kenricks and Kellys and Woodfalls, the former of
whom was a mere bravo, the second a person who had
written bitter rhymes on the stage, could write more,
and the last of whom Avas an agent of the dreadful
Junius. Handsomely, too, were their services re-
Avarded, either by loans of money, or the acceptance
of poor plays.
¦* Reynolds gave an explanation of all Garrick's fatigues aud troubles
even after his fortune was made ; that he wished to preserve his popularity
and influence with the great, who forget those who cease to be the town
talk.

1776.] THE GARRICK CIRCLE.- CHARACTER. 415
As for the " stinginess," the common form of slander
against Garrick, we see Goldsmith made no allu
sion to that. Garrick's endorsement was stiU on his
note, and the poet must have known many a story
of this kindly assistance ; and I think a short cata
logue of his benefits wUl settle for ever these charges
of meanness and saving.
The charge of avariciousness had become a " stock "
pne long before he died; actors and authors went
away from Drury Lane, swelling the cry that "Garrick
was so stingy, and Garrick was so mean." No wonder
he was rich, they said, as no one was in such agonies
when it came to parting with his money. The jesters
joined in the cry, and innumerable were the pleasant
stories they told to illustrate " Garrick's stinginess."
With all this, echoed again and again until the cha
racter of " stinginess" became accepted, there was an
impression abroad that Mr. Garrick could at times be
a little liberal. There were a few instances of this
liberality pretty well known during his lifetime, which
seemed inconsistent with the "stingy" character.
They were accounted for by other motives about
as mean as the stinginess. "Little Davy" was so
cunning and clever in all things, that he was merely
consulting his interest. We have seen how the valet
mind of Tate Wilkinson accounted for his bounty to
him. Hard measure has, indeed, been dealt out to him
in this regard, and it is surprising with what sweetness
and patience he should have complacently accepted
such a reputation. It wUl hardly be credited that this
great man — for such we may call him — was about the
most benevolent and charitable of his time ; not in
that pompous shape of charity which sets its name

416 THB LIFE OF DAVID GARRICK. [1776.
down ostentatiously, for great sums to hospitals and
institutions, but in that more generous and laborious
charity which helps the weak, rescues the struggling
friend at the critical moment, and saves credit and
name by secret, timely, and judicious aid. In this rare
exercise of Christian virtue, the great actor was con
spicuous. Never was a man so maligned, and, worse
than all, maligned by those who experienced his
bounty. He was the most generous, kindly, and
humane of men. And now we know that all his
thrift, his little carefulness about saving, which the
mean, dissipated wasteful creatures about him could
not understand, and made merry with, was all to the
one end — of laying up a store which he could dispense
magnificently ; or, at the worst, was a " peculiarity,"
which had been found in many generous men both
before and since.
It is much to Tom Davies' credit, who had his
OAm grudges against the great actor, and who fancied
himself aggrieved, that when he comes to deal with
this matter — as it were, over the grave of his friend
— he should have forgotten all, even his oavu rather
unfair insinuations in other portions of the "Life,"
and given way to a warm and generous burst of
admiration. The catalogue of Garrick's good deeds
would be a long one, indeed as long as his own life.
It began even with his days of early success. " His
mind," says Davies, " was so bountiful, that he scarcely
knew what it was to deny. No man seemed more
anxious to get money, none more willing to bestow it
generously. To those who knew the sums he con
stantly gave away, it would appear that his sole end
of acquiring wealth was for the benefit of others. I

1776,] THE GARRICK CIRCLE. -CHARACTER. 417
shall not talk of his public charities. I mean such
actions only as were less known to the Avorld." Here
is a fine panegyric. It is easy to give, in a theatrical
burst of compassion. But Garrick gave on principle,
and seemed to illustrate Bishop Butler's fine distinc
tion between the merit of active and of passive charity.
" His bounty was uniform," goes on Davies, " not
a sudden burst of humour." The explanation of his
apparent penuriousness, was the natural one of recol
lection of the early miserable struggles at Lichfield.
It was noticed, too, that even when he had begun to
be a little prosperous, his generosity then began also.
We run hastily over the instances of this liberality, to
which the allusions in his correspondence help us.
His offer to Clairon has been mentioned. Now
Burke comes to him to beg a loan of a thousand
pounds, which is cheerfully given, though it may
perhaps have been more a matter of convenience to the
great orator, than one of necessity. Now Baretti asks
for fifty guineas, which he had been made to promise he
would ask for if in want. Now an obscure player begs
five guineas ; now a poor fiddler is assisted with twenty-
seven guineas, is given a place in the Drury Lane
orchestra, and then writes impudent and ungrateful
letters, because his salary is not raised. Now Bicker
staff writes in verse
' ' Fifty times, as I suppose,
I have troubled you in prose. "
" Well," cry you, with peevish brow,
" What the plague 's the matter now ? "
Teazed and worried at this rate,
. . . Ay, this ever is his way
Every now and then to send me.
To these Irishmen commend me ;
And expect me at his need —
Fifty pounds ! — not I, indeed.

418 THE LIFE OF DAVID GARRICK, [1776.
"Sent directly" is Garrick's prompt endorsement on
this appeal. Capell, the Shakspearean, was also lent
money ; so was Dibdin ; so was Wilkinson ; so was
Victor 50?., generously made a present of to the debtor.
How Foote, Murphy, Barry, and Mossop were assisted
we have seen in the course of this narrative.
Did his friends want subscriptions for their books,
he was unwearied in soliciting his noble friends, and
thus obtained large sums for Lloyd, Johnson, Victor,
and many more. A lady, who had no claim on him,
but having known him and his connections at Lichfield,
applied to him, and received a present of a hundred
pounds. He actually kept several almoners to whom
he gave sums to be distributed at their discretion. For
the wretched hack-poet, " Kit Smart," he left a sum
of money In Mr. Smith's hands. Sterne Avas helped.
For one of his own players, Hardham, he went se
curity for a hundred pounds, and by a kindly extem
pore puff introduced into one of the plays, sent all
the town to look for Hardham' s snuff mixture. When
he was on his travels he met Brompton, the painter,
who was in distress, and wanted to go to Rome to
study. Garrick gave him the best advice, and the
handsome assistance of 150?.*
To Simpson, the schoolfellow in difficulties, he gave
100?. There was even a grace in the way in which
he performed these good actions. When Mr. Berenger,
Deputy-Master of the Horse to the king, fell into diffi
culties, and was obliged to confine himself in sanc
tuary, as it were, at the royal stables, his friends, who

* Forster MSS, Davies says only 501 The feUow'shead was soon turned,
find he became insolent. Garrick wrote to him. " You'U teach me ! lam
too old to learn, and you are too young to teach me." '

1776.] THE GARRICK CIRCLE.— CHARACTER. 419
loved him, took up the matter and raised money to
defray his debts. Garrick sent him back his bond for
250?. 10s., with this letter—
"Dbae Berenger, — 1 did not hear tUl last night, and I heard it with
the greatest pleasure, that your friends have generously contributed to your
and their own happiness. No one can more rejoice in this circumstance
than I do ; and as I hope we shaU have a bonfire upon the occasion, I beg
that you wiU Ught it with the enclosed, " *
" Innumerable instances of humanity," says Davies,
" could be told of him, enough to fiU a volume."
Here again was the fashion after which Mr. Garrick
helped his friends. There was a surgeon of reputation,
who often came and dined and supped with them. One
night this gentleman declared that his affairs were in
such a situation, that without a friend who would lend
him a thousand pounds, he must be ruined. Garrick
asked what security he had. " None but my own,"
said the surgeon. " Here's a pretty fellow," said Gar
rick, turning to Mrs. Garrick, " who wants a thousand
pounds on his own security." He drew a cheque for
that sum, never asked for it, and never Avas repaid.
Once a friend asked him for a trifle, for a poor widow
—say two guineas. " I can't give that," he replied.
" Well, what you please." He put thirty pounds into
his friend's hand. As DaAries says, " of this I should
despise the mention, if it were a matter of rarity and
wonder;" but pages could be filled with these little
" unofficial " acts of true kindness. It was discovered
after his death, that he had a host of small annuitants
* Taylor gives a very amusing distortion of this story. He represents
Garrick as giving a dinner, and after dinner producing all the bonds, notes,
&c., which had been bought up by Berenger's friends, and which he then
threw into the fire. This rather theatrical scene is clearly based on the word
"bonfire" in Garrick's letter. Both Taylor and Davies make the sum
5001. ; but this was the penalty, which in a bond is made double the
principal. • E E 2

420 THE LIFE OP DAVID GARRICK. [1776.
depending on him. At Hampton every inhabitant of
the place could tell the same tale ; the poor of that
place lost in him almost an affectionate father. And it
was remarked that every year, his benefactions and
charities were steadUy increasing. Very kindly and
pretty also in the idea, was his little festival for the
first of May, when all the Hampton poor children were
invited to his garden and amused; presented with
huge cakes by his OAvn hand, and a small present of
money. And I have not the slightest doubt that this
was a little galanterie in honour of his charming and
much loved wife, whose name, " Maria," belonged to
the month of May. When Mr. Christie, head of the
well-known auction firm, was involved in a difficulty by
the failure of Mr. Chase Price, one of his patrons, and
suffered a loss of some 5000?., it was Mr. Garrick who
privately offered to help him through, with assistance
to that amount. To a descendant of Grotius he paid
a small annuity. Thus delicate, gracious, kindly, ge
nerous, as great in goodness as he was in inteUectual
gifts, he remained from the beginning of his life to the
end. But the reader would be wearied before we had
exhausted the long Ust of his charities. He had high
friends and connections, and these he made use of to
help friends in a less eleemosynary way. For a naval
officer named Thompson he obtained repeated promo
tion. This gentleman had written a piece for the
stage, which was brought out, not very long before
Garrick's death. With a disloyalty not usually found
in his profession, and smarting under the sense of
failure, he pubUshed in the " London Packet " a most
unmanly attack upon Garrick, under the title of " The

1776,1 THE GARRICK CIRCLE.— CHARACTER, 421
Elephant of Drury Lane," in which he charged the
actor with conspiring to destroy his play. Mr. Bate was
so indignant at this ingratitude that he pubhshed a
reply, in which he told the town very plainly the navy
captain's obligations to Mr. Garrick. This letter Thomp
son chose to fasten on Mr. Garrick, and came to the
Adelphi, with his friend Mr. Crawford, to charge him
with the authorship. Ganick was so hurt, that he
made Bate the editor swear an affidavit acknowledging
the entire authorship, and affirming that Garrick had
never seen, or inspired, a single word of it, and that
the obligations he had learned from Thompson's own
friends! The officer apologised abjectly. "To the
last period in my life I will OAvn my gratitude to you."
But in a case like this, when he had been cruelly
"hurt," Garrick never gave way, and, deeply wounded,
replied in these words : " J.s i never satirised my
friends, so I never can forget any unprovoked satire
from one I once called my friend. It is impossible
that Captaia Thompson and I can ever look upon each
other but with pain, though for different reasons.
Therefore, the less we see each other, the better."
The officer had said, that what raised his suspicions
was the similarity of expressions to a passage in an
old letter of his to Garrick. " Can Mr. Thompson
imagine," said the other, " that the man he has known
and tried so long, could be guilty of so much baseness
as to give up a private letter for ridicule? Be assured,
sir, that I have as totally forgotten what you may
have written to me from every part of the world, as I
AriU endeavour to forget that such a person as the
writer, and his unkindness, ever existed." A most
dignified, just, and manly reproof

422 THB LIFE OP DAVID GARRICK. [1776.
He had a good-natured way of performing kind
offices. Young Jephson, one of his clients, was
always behind the scenes, cheerful and jovial, but was
without any provision. One night the manager meets
a nobleman at his coulisses, who is going as Lord
Lieutenant to Ireland, and on the spot, gets him to
take his young friend in his retinue. Jephson after
wards became Irish Master of the Horse, sent plays
over to Garrick, one of which, " Braganza," had suc
cess, and was in due time assisted with a loan of no
small amount. Now Richard Burke wishes a year's
longer leave of absence from the colonies, and Garrick
obtains it. Now Edmund Burke is in some difficulty
with the Commissioners of Customs : he sets it right.
Now an unfortunate wretch, lying ordered for exe
cution, writes in his condemned cell the most piteous
appeal to him from "your dying and ever obliged
humble servant," and Garrick flies to fulfil the office,
works night and day, and, late as it is, procures a
respite. Johnson, too, had benefited by a loan of a
hundred pounds. But we could go on for pages,
swelling this list. His life was one round of kindly
duties and offices, and much as we may admire the
generosity of this wonderful man, we can no less
admire the cheerfulness and dignity with which he
bore slanders of those who actually made a reputation
for him of being " mean and stingy."
He had. all the little arts of kindness, not to be repre
sented by the vulgar measure of money, yet no less
useful to friends. There was a graciousness about
him, aU his own. He goes to Cumberland on the
morning after the latter's new piece had been pro
duced, with a newspaper, and a very doleful air of

1776.] THB GARRICK CIRCLE.— CHARACTER, 423
comfort : " If your hide be as thick as that of a rhino
ceros, this wUl cut you to the bone " — Then he would
read a sentence, that seemed a little cold — ^then would
read on to himself, and stop to moan over the scurrility
of the papers : "I daresay this is Bickerstaff again,
but you don't mind him. No, no. I see — a httle gaUed,
but not much hurt. You must stop his mouth with a
golden egg. But let us see how he goes on." Then
came the warmest, most liberal panegyric, all written
by Garrick lumself, actually with a view of frustrating
the attacks of the press. And he only wished by this
little bit of comedy to add to his friend's enjoyment.
But the little Reynolds' dialogue I have before
spoken of is his best testimonial. The first, where
Johnson is made to attack Garrick, reads artificially
and like Johnson ; but in the second, it would seem
that the image of his departed friend rose up before the
kindly artist, and hurried his pen beyond the lightness
of a TciQXQJeu d' esprit, into what is as noble a panegyric,
as it is an acute outline of character. No one had
heard so much of the common «tock-charges against his
friend ; no one so effectually not merely refuted, but
explained why they had been made. His description
of Garrick's social position is an epitaph. Not a man,
he says, the highest in rank or literature, but was
proud to know Garrick, and glad to have him at his
table. Foote, indeed, was also received, but it was
merely as "ajester or buffoon;" Garrick was invariably
received as a gentleman. The reasons for this treat
ment should be recorded. It was simply self-respect.
Foote was familiar and vulgar, and heard calling
peers by the surname ; but Ga,rrick always showed due
respect for rank. His reception was on firm ground.

424 THE LIFE OF DAVID GARRICK, [1776.
" What he gave was returned, and what was returned
he kept for ever. He continued advancing till the last,
and acquired every advantage of high birth, except
precedence of going into a room ; but once there, was
treated the same as a man of the first distinction. This
he never claimed, but was voluntarily allowed to him."
As was stated in the preface to this memoir, the history
of Garrick furnishes golden rules, and teaches how
nearly associated with the virtues and morality of life,
is the cultivation of the little decorous arts, which
seem to some conventional. The same delicate touch
ing shows how unsubstantial was Johnson's charge
of Ganick's having no friend, but friends ; and of being
"too diffused." " Consider," says Reynolds, " a man
whom every one desired to know!" — such a one could
not receive, or cultivate every one according to his
deserts. He had to practise a sort of husbandry. He
had to divide his attention among many. Others
thought him false, because he was fond of qualifying
refusals with excuses, and because he often held out
hopes. The truth was, he did not like to say no, and
wished to oblige where he could. The wonder is, how
he contrived to oblige so many, and, as I have said,
his life seems quite a round of little offices for the
service of his neighbours. The same friend bears
testimony to the charm of his company at the great
tables, his gaiety, subdued vivacity, his wit on light
subjects, and his acuteness and information in graver
matters. Charmingly and appropriately did one of his
friends write under his portrait, the melodious lines of
Shakspeare : — "A merrier man
Within the limit of becoming mirth,
I never spent an hour's talk withal.

1776,] THE GARRICK CIRCLE.— CHARACTER. 425
His eye begets occasion for his wit ;
For every object that the one doth catch
The other turns to a mirth-moving jest ;
AVhich his fair tongue (Conceit's expositor)
Delivers in such apt and gracious words.
That aged ears play truant at his tales.
And younger hearings are quite ravished ;
So sweet and voluble is his discourse!'
Measured even by this compliment of portrait paint
ing, no man ever received such homage. Part of this
was no doubt owing to his wonderful features, and
expression ; but even with such gifts, no man has
ever been " asked to sit," to so extraordinary a
degree. Reynolds begins the list, having painted him
four times over — as Kitely — as the charming Garrick
himself, Arith his thumbs joined, and a bright intelli
gence of expectancy, quite delightful ; also as the
famous figure, drawn to this side and that, by the rival
charms of the comic and the tragic Muse. The amused
iadecision, and good-natured perplexity in the face, is
admirable. To Gainsborough he sat at least five
times ; and one of Gaiusborough's was what Mrs.
Garrick considered the best hkeness of her husband
ever made. To WUson he sat twice; to Pine — for
perhaps the most striking of all the portraits — once.*
By the firm and brilhant Zoffany, we have at least six
pictures, theatrical, and In private life ; by Pond, two.
Hogarth, Angehca Kauffinan, Dance, Worhdge, Hudson,
Cotes, Hone, Mortimer— all good artists — attempted
him ; also Carmontelle, Hayman, Dawes, De Wilde,
Loughterburg, Roberts, Houston, Parkinson, Gucht.
We might certainly wish that Reynolds had carried out
a plan, which he had often discussed with his friend —
* It is engraved for the frontispiece to the first volume. Reynolds also did
a sketch of him, in the green-room.

426 THB LIFE OF DAVID GARRICK. [1776.
namely, a large picture, with the actor in the middle,
in his natural air and dress, but surrounded by all his
great characters. Pine's certainly claims to have been
done under the best conditions, at a time when he was
not too far advanced in life, as were many of the others,
but when he was in the prime of all his powers — his
charming eyes in all their brightness, his features in
aU their force. The Ust of these flattering compli
ments — of the small sketches and etchings,* would be
endless. In one, he is drawn on his sofa, in a flowered
dressing-gown, with the Muse of Shakspeare addressing
him- — " Take, 0 take me to your arms ! "
In others he is croAvned. Well, Indeed, might his walls
have been crowded with these offerings ; but the truth
was, comparatively few were in his possession, he
having given most of them away.
No face could be more striking, or tempting to the
painter. Coming on his portrait in a portfolio of
prints, we should say, " Here is a Frenchman's."
The brilliant eyes, darting fire, rolling from side to
side — the rapid change of expression — the marked
features — nay, the face itself, were entfrely French.
So was the vivacity, and the two sides to his genius.
Indeed, most of Garrick's gifts may be traced to the
French blood in his veins.
* Some of them, done not long before his death, show a greater decay aud
alteration than we might have suspected.

1778.] ILLNESS AND DEATH. 427

CHAPTER XIV.
ILLNESS AND DEATH.
I778-X779.
After this glimpse at a family circle, we return
to the centre figure, now en retraite, and fairly entered
on his retirement. The attentions and kindness of his
friends now redoubled. Now that he was free, they
competed with each other for his society. He was
overwhelmed with invitations. Sir Watkyn Wynne
now claimed him for a long-promised visit to Wynne-
stay. Irish friends — the Caldwells of Castle Cald
well, whom he had met abroad at Florence, pressed
him to visit them in Ireland, a country which he had
not seen for some thirty years, but to which his heart
had often turned. His kind, gracious, and most grateful
letter is almost extravagant in its acknowledgments.
He most sincerely wished that it was in his power, as
it was in his heart, to show his gratitude." It had long
been his wish to visit a kingdom, where he had been
honoured Arith every mark of regard and kindness.
He did not quite give up the hope of getting over
there, but Mrs. Garrick was so distressed by sea voy
ages ; and then he makes the remarkable declaration
that he had not been away a single day from Mrs.
Garrick during the twenty-eight years of their mar
riage, and, therefore, could not now begin to think of

428 THE LIFE OE DAVlD GAURlCK. [1778—
going alone. Lord Pembroke, too, was eager to
secure him for Wilton.
His holiday had fairly begnin. He kept Hampton
open, and got the hearty Rigby to come for a pleasant
day.* Mistiey, the cheerful house of the jovial Rigby,
was ever open to him. For the guest could write a
pleasant ballad or two of himself and Mrs. Garrick : —
" Invited to Mistley, to Squire Rigby's seat.
They could not be welcome unless they came neat.
The maid from the laundry, in haste she had gone.
And not a clean shirt or clean shift to put ou.
Sing tantara-ra — aU sing, " &c.
He seems to have paid a visit to Sir Watkyn Wynne's
in Wales ; and though it may be doubted if he took
part in their private theatricals, I find among his
papers some notes of a prologue to be spoken on
that occasion: —
" I who have strutted many an hour.
In Royal robes and royal power.
Now though I have left the stage.
And should be wiser for my age, &o.
* * * *
No wonder vanity takes wing.
That now I feel myself a king. " f
What must have pleased him beyond all other
* His invitation to his friend "Haly Paly" is so characteristic and
spirited, that we may give a portion of it here. "Most unfortunately, my
dear Haly Paley, the Hamptonians are engaged. . . . But why may not
that otlier party take place at our return ? . . and if you can take any
pleasure in a roasted doctor, and have no aversion to roasted venison, we
will treat you with both. Open your mind to me, I beseech you, my dearest
Haly, in aU naked simplicity ; hearken with joy and gladness to tidings I
shall declare unto you. On or about the 7th or 8th of the next month, the
Royalty of Mistley will honour Hampton with his presence ; and as I would
choose to have him in all his glory , . , let the Halys, the Wrotslcys, the
Mollys, the Dimples, and the Cupids be kept for that high festival. To
which let the Reynolds, the Chamier, and the Adam, the first of men, be
called by the sound of trumpet ; and let the Loves, the Graces, with the rest
attend . , , Yours, my dearest Paley, iu all truth, naked truth, and most
affectionate warmth of mysterious conjunction, Davy Pavy, Pray, if
possible, an expUcit answer by the bearer."
t HiU MSS. It is headed " On D, G,'s reception at Wynnstay."

1779.] ILLNESS AND DEATH, 429
compliments was the famous scene in the House
of Commons, when, during some altercation between
two members, a wealthy county member. Squire Bald
win, moved that the gallery be cleared. Garrick
contrived to remain, no doubt through the contrivance
of his many friends, at which the county member was
very indignant, and on the following day addressed
the House on the impropriety of having stage players
hstening to their debates. Nothing could have been
happier : it seemed like what is known in Garrick's
own profession as the sifflet ct succes. Burke, in a
splendid panegyric, extolled him as the man who had
taught them all. Fox and Townshend foUowed in the
same strain, and talked of him as their old preceptor,
and the House unanimously agreed that so great an
ornament to the age should not be disturbed. He
might have been content with this handsome testi
mony ; yet must enfeeble it, by some very poor
verses, which he gave in return to Fox and Burke,
and his other friends, and concluded by likening the
county member to a donkey.*
He had found a new friend in Miss Hannah More,
who had been one of the most enraptured listeners
at his farewell performances, and he had good-na
turedly helped forward her rather heavy play. " She
was sure," says Clive, " everything you touched would
turn into gold; and though she had great merit in
the writmg, stiU you dandled it, and fondled it, and
then carried it in your arms to town to nurse." It was
for this lady's play that he furnished a prologue, in
¦* " A brute there is wliose voice confounds.
And frights all others with strange sounds.
Had you your matchless powers displaying.
Like him, Squire Baldwin, set a-braying," &o.

430 THB LIFE OF DAVID GARRICK, [1778—
which he indiscreetly alluded to the doubtful Chevaher
D'Eon. The tone of the lines was scarcely in good
taste, especially as he had the lady down at Hampton,
where, for her amusement, he had given an imitation
of how a Frenchman and Englishman would behave in
the same situation. With this the disguised French
lady Avas offended, and Garrick may have been piqued,
and thus may have felt himself discharged from any
delicacy ; he, however, made handsome apologies.
He stUl took a great interest in the theatre and its
doings, and seems to have had some weight in the
recommendation of plays, &c. And this voice he
certainly was entitled to, as he had actually a heavier
stake in the concern than any one of the partners. For
he held a mortgage on Lacy's share, secured, however,
on the whole four shares, for the large sum of twenty-
two thousand pounds. This Avas a serious stake, and it
very soon was to cause him much uneasiness. Re
tired, as he thought he was, he was still to have
responsibility. The change had come, and presently he
saw that Sheridan's carelessness and laziness were im
perilling the security every hour. Even Mrs. Clive,
down at Twickenham, found everybody raving at the
supineness of Sheridan. " There never was in nature
such a contrast as Garrick and Sheridan. What
have you given him," she asked, " that he creeps so?"
Yet Lacy, who seems to have inherited his father's
petulance, could scarcely conduct himself with decent
forbearance to a creditor, who had so much in his
power. When the second season began, the profits
were only just enough to discharge the interest money
on the debts ; and the first season only brought Lacy
five hundred pounds. This did not look hopeful. Yet

1779,] , ILLNESS AND DEATH, 431
in the face of such difficulties, he could write to Gar
rick in such a strain as this : " No unkind treatment
shall ruffle my temper, or make me decide uncan-
didly on the proposals I now wait for. On the other
hand, no distress, no oppression shall force me to con
sent to what I could not otherwise acquiesce in." Gar
rick had not pressed him, but thought that he had
proposed to pay off the mortgage. The good-natured
creditor passed over this behaviour on a sort of excuse
being made, and was forbearing. The only result of
his indulgence was a notice from the proprietors
Arithin a few weeks, declaring their inabUity to pay
any interest, until all the debts of the theatre had been
cleared off. This was an alarming intimation. Two
thousand two hundred a-year was scarcely a trifle.
Garrick's answer was a prompt notice of foreclosure.
The proceedings brought ont a piece of duplicity on
the part of Lacy ; for he wrote to disclaim all share
in the notice that had been sent, and to protest against
the mortgage being paid off, declaring that the in
terest would be found, all in due course. Garrick, at
once softened, sent him a message that he might
depend he should not be distressed. Yet he presently
discovered that, before this transaction. Lacy had bar
gained to transfer all his interest to Sheridan for a
large price. This quite explained his disinclination to
have the mortgage paid off.
Yet this was not all. Linley, another of the pro
prietors, assumed that some paragraph reflecting on
the theatre, that appeared in the papers, was written
by Garrick ; and, acting on this presumption, chose to
write an offensive one in reply, in which much ridicule
was throAm upon the late manager. For this, he,

432 THE LIFE OF DAVID GARRICK. [1778—
like Lacy, was compelled to apologise. Very soon
Mr. Garrick had to address " the new patentees"
collectively in plain terms. " Gentlemen," he wrote,
" the rudeness of your letters, always the sign of a
bad cause, I shall pass over with contempt." But as
they proposed an arbitration, he agreed to refer the
matter to their respective attorneys, and declined to
have any further correspondence with them. After
this we can appreciate Garrick's rare discretion as a
manager, beside which we may put this exhibition of
incompetence and stupidity. For so short a period
as eighteen months they could not conduct their
theatre. The theatre was now to have other losses, and his
departure seemed to be the forerunner of a general
decay. For within six months, Weston and Shuter,
a pair of infinite humour. Woodward the comedian,
and Barry, the very essence of tenderness, and now
literally worn out of existence by the never-ceasing
racklngs of gout, were all swept away. Almost as
soon as he was gone, the decay set in. The well-
known character of Sheridan was no guarantee for
steadiness or efficiency. The manager would come
into the green-room to hear Cumberland's new play
read, yawn through a couple of acts, half asleep, and
give as an excuse that he had been up for two nights
before. It is very characteristic that he should have
taken Garrick's performances very easily, partly from
sheer laziness. He once lamented at a supper, that he
had not seen the great actor as often as he might
have done. The reason he gave is equally charac
teristic of Thomas Sheridan, his father ; for this actor
had always instUled into his son that he himself was

1779.] ILLNESS AND DEATH, 433
the /rsi player in England; the son, therefore did not
care to see an inferior player.
The sparkling " School for Scandal " was already
in rehearsal. It had been read by Garrick, who was
infinitely impressed with its wit and power. Never
was a play so cast, and though it has been acted again
and again since, Arith great players in this, and that
character, every fiUing of the parts has been inferior.
He had been, also, greatly pleased with " The Duenna."
'.' Amidst the mortifying circumstances attendant upon
growing old," says Ella, " it is something to have seen
' The School for Scandal' in its glory. It is impossible
that it should be played now. No piece," he goes on,
" was ever so completely cast in all its parts as this
managers comedy." King was Sir Peter; Gentleman
Smith, Charles Surface; "Jack" Palmer, Joseph;
Yates, Sir Oliver ; Parsons, Crabtree ; and Dodd, Sir
Benjamin: with Abington, and "charming, natural
Miss Pope, the perfect gentlewoman as distinguished
from the fine lady of comedy." What a cast — what a
comedy! Sir George Beaumont met Garrick in the
lobby of Drury Lane on the first night,* just after the
play was over, " and with darting eyes I reroember he
expressed his admiration of the play, and particularly
praised the fourth act." f Such a list makes despair
as we look back wistfully. The lucky Brinsley saw his
* May 8, 1777.
+ Cradock. Garrick addressed some liues
TO THE ATJTHOE. OF "THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL."
" It is a shame, young Sheridan, and ne'er will be forgot —
With more of wit than falls to man — with character and plot —
That you should dare to mount the stage and fascinate the town,
A suckling poet of your age to seize the laurel crown." Hill MSS.
VOL, II F F

434 THB LIFE OF DAVID GARRICK. [1778—
own piece cast, as later generations may never hope to
see it cast.* It is the great comedy of the century.
Yet this was to be the last effort of Drury Lane. As
Garrick had made his final appearance, so comedy and
good acting were here to make their bow.f
Before four months had gone over. Lacy was busy
with some underhand negotiations for disposing of his
share to Captain Thomson and Mr. Langford : efforts
which Sheridan, who designed eventually to have the
whole control of the theatre himself, took the most
extraordinary steps to counteract. The negotiation
had been all but completed, when Sheridan suddenly
absented himself, and sent word to Lacy to look after
the management. To the two intending purchasers, he
also sent notice that he would have no thing more to
do with the management. Sheridan brought over all
the performers to his side. His description of the
* Farren has been thought equal to King, as Sir Peter, but this may be
doubted. In the general dramatic gloom, the recent revival of this comedy
at the St. James's Theatre is some encouragement ; and the spirited and
vivacious playing of the new Lady Teazle, Miss Herbert, has been put by old
playgoers beside that of Mrs. Jordan's.
+ Sheridan is under some obligations to Murphy. The wit in some of the
latter's pieces has very much the shape and tone of the wit in " The School
for Scandal." In one of Murphy's pieces, there is a Beverley who is exactly
Falkland in "The Rivals," harassing his Clarissa with doubts and jealousy —
'' I could learn since what spirits you were in, though I enjoyed nothing in
your absence." The vivacity of his best character, Dashwou'd, is delightful ;
and the various strokes and simUes, not a bit more artificial than those of
" The School for Scandal. " The description of the fussy member and his hand
kerchief is excellent. ' ' Manilla ransom not paid ; there must be a motion
about that matter ; he knots his handkerchief to remind him — scarcity of
corn — another knot — triennial parUaments — another knot ; and so on
he goes, till his handkerchief is twisted into a quantity of matters, &c." The
" Upholsterer" has been already noticed ; and as we read it now, we can quite
understand how a good and witty play then bore publishing, as well as acting,
and thus had two distinct audiences. Pamphlet and his friend, in the hands of
Garrick and Yates, the two politicians, disputing about " the balance of
power," was a delightful exhibition of real and legitimate humour. The
marvel is, how the man, who could be thus airy and even witty, in presence of
the lamps, when he tried serious writing, could become so full of bombast,
and talk of the " thunder and lightning of virtue,"

1779,] ILLNESS AND DEATH, 435
whole is admirable ; " indeed there never was known
such an universally epidemic disorder as has raged
among our unfortunate company ; it differs from the
plague by attacking the better sort first ; the manner,
too, in which they are seized, I am told, is very ex
traordinary ; many who were in perfect health at one
moment, on receiving a billet from the prompter to
summon them to their banners, are seized with sudden
qualms, and before they can get through their contents,
are absolutely unfit to leave their room." This is plea
sant, but we must think of the way the audience were
treated — apologies, no plays to act, and no players.
This was the first stage 'of demoralization. These
unworthy tactics, so characteristic of Sheridan, pre
vaUed, and the purchasers were frightened off.
He was indeed longing to have absolute con
trol, and in 1778 contrived to buy Lacy's moiety
for 45,000?. ; but of this money the other partners
found 10,000?., and took Sheridan's original share
as an equivalent. Instead therefore of having a
fourth voice in the management, his single interest
was now equal to that of the two other sharers. He
afterwards purchased Dr. Ford's share for 17,000?.,
and thus became almost uncontrolled master. Where
all this money was found was a mystery to his friend
and biographer, as indeed it must have been to all
who knew him. It stUl continues so to the world.
Whether Garrick was paid his debt, and thus became
free fi'om such a responsibUity, I have not been able to
discover. He himself could not keep away from the old
scene. It is not unlikely that the persuasive Sheridan
had induced him to let some of the money lie out on
F P 2

436 THE LIFE OF DAVID GARRICK, [1778—
mortgage. This would account for his interest in the
theatre. It was rumoured in the Dublin coffee-houses
that Sheridan, the father, had met him in the green
room, and behaved rudely to him. That veteran was
still in toAvn, busy with his old-fashioned rotund school of
declamation. Mr. Tighe and the Irish gentlemen called
him " Old Bubble and Squeak." The son was indul
gent ; but the actor had not forgotten the old rivalry
and the old quarrel, and seemed to resent Garrick's
appearance behind the scenes of Drury Lane. It was
natural that when young Bannister was rehearsing
Zaphna, he should be anxious to have hints from Ros
cius, of whom it had been a great part. Old Sheridan
thought this an interference with him, and actually
sent Garrick a rude message to that effect by Ban
nister. " Pray assure your father," wrote Garrick,
much hurt, to the manager, "that I meant not to
interfere Arith his department. I imagined (foolishly
indeed) my attending Bannister's rehearsal of the part
I had once played, and which your father never saw,
might have assisted the cause, without giving the least
offence. I love my ease too well to be thought an
interloper. However, upon no consideration wiU I
ever interfere again in this business." This rebuff
reads a little humihating ; but Garrick's experience
should at least have taught that such unofficial rela
tions, after retirement, or an interference which is tole
rated, always brings an awkwardness.
StUl friends induced him to return. When Sheri
dan's " Camp " was being got up, Garrick remained
one night after the audience had gone, to see the
effect of some scenery, and caught a severe cold, which
it would seem he never was quite able to shake off.

1779,] ILLNESS AND DEATH, 437
Yet if he suffered, he must have found comfort. News
of this attack reached Lord Camden, who wrote to
leam the truth with an eagerness infinitely creditable
to their long friendship. He had learned by inquiry
that he was now recovered ; but this did not quite
satisfy him.* Garrick soon became well enough to
go down to Lord Palmerston's, in Hampshire, and
was at the review at Winchester, where it was re
marked that he was looking quite well again. It Avas
at Lord Palmerston's, in the month of Septeifiber,
that he signed his will, which is attested by that
nobleman, and by a clergyman and his wife. It was on
the Review ground, that the King heard him calling
for "a horse! a horse!" noticed his burlesque atti
tude, and made the flattering remark that it could
only be the great actor who could speak in that way.
During these last few months — for they were to be
the last of his good and admirable life — all his friends
seemed to feel a sort of instinct — to be nervously
anxious — to show how much they regarded him,
and were persevering in their affectionate wishes,
attentions, and compliments. Hannah More told
him how " a sweet girl," at that review, stood
near, and forgot to look at the king or at his
troops. She told him too, how the receipt of his
letter, announcing that he was better, made her more
joyful than ever she felt in her life. " Yet it was not
a very mirthful kind of joy, for I shed tears at a part
* "For I cannot be easy tiU I receive this account confirmed by your own
hand. / Jiave arrived at a time of life, when the loss of an old friend is
irreparable: and however it has happened that we have not lately met as
often as formerly, my friendship is as warm as ever, and I am sure there is
not one among your large catalogue of friends who is
" More affectionately yours, than
"Camden."

438 THE LIFE OP DAVID GARRICK. [1778-
of it, which is not to be answered, nor even thought
of; and when I read it to the rest, we had a concert
of crying." He was indeed not himself He Avas, as
he expressed it, wandering about for health, — now at
this noble house, now at that, and flying from one
medicine to the other. He was suffering acutely :
yet he tried hard to keep up his spirits. The Spencers
Avere in town, and he was to take them on a Satur
day to see Fielding's posthumous play, for which he
had written a prologue. That charming lady had
insisted on the usual Christmas visit to Althorpe ;
and after many postponements he had fixed to be
there by New Year's day, " well or ill dressed."
This Avas to be his last visit to that delightful
house, and to the people who were so dear to him.
Yet he Avas not to take down with him a mind as free
from anxieties as he hoped. For the state of Drury
Lane was now growing serious iudeed.
The decay had at last set in. The notion of
managing by a junto is the most foolish of delusions.
It was characteristic, that Sheridan, who had encou
raged the players to strike, and neglect their duty,
when it was his interest to do so, now found them
turning the same arts against himself; and he thus
was to learn that in "management," no less than In
the world, the profit Avas to be found in self-restraint and
decency. Had he cared to consult Garrick's life, or
experience, he might have learned the lesson far more
cheaply. When Garrick left town for his last holiday
jaunt to the country, he had misgivings as to Avhat
would happen. Hopkins, the prompter, often wrote to
him accounts of what they were doing, and how plays
went off. What sort was the miserable management

1779.] ILLNESS AND DEATH. 439
may be conceived from a specimen during that
Christmas. On one night "Much Ado about No
thing" Avas in the biUs. At noon Henderson sent
word to the theatre that he could not play. They
hurried off to Covent Garden, and obtained " the loan "
of Lewis to supply his place. Soon after arrived a
message from Parsons, to the effect that he could not
play. Moody was put into his part ; and then, later,
Vernon announced that he would not play. The
prompter thought himself very lucky in being able to
stop all these serious gaps so happily. But during
the first act, he found that one La Mash — a small
creature— who did Borachio, had neither come to his
duty, nor sent any excuse. There was no one to take
the part, and they had to cut out his scenes altogether.
There was a wretched house. " The School for
Scandal " was doAvn for the next night, but Parsons
could not play. No wonder the harassed prompter said
they were in a dreadful situation. The worst symptom
Avas the inferior player, La Mash, venturing to absent
himself What a change from the discipline of the
late manager, under whose rule no one dared to have
offered such disrespect to the public.
Their only hope was In the pantomime, got up with
gorgeous scenery, and the famous Grimaldi as clown.
He was the very life and soul of it ; but though galleries
and pit were full, the boxes were thin. Pantomimes
were not the happy restoratives they have since
proved. Yet now, Avlth his last sickness alinost on him, was
to come a blow-^— a shape-^— a' something, which all
through his life, had been what he most shrunk from,
a plague that had cost him a fortune to avert, and

440 THB LIFE OF DAVID GARRICK. [1778—
which now at his last hour, was to come actually to
his sick bed, like a horrid spectre. A ruffian, who
signed himself Curtius, and who had got a corner in
some of the papers, thought that something was to be
made out of the actor's old fear of attacks, and libels.
He had the effrontery to write, threatening a sort of
public exposure, and offering to send him " a fair copy
of three letters which wUl in a short time appear."
" The pubhc," he said, " have hitherto only seen
you in the polished mhror of a parasite's adulation.
. . . Garrick's nature must be humbled to the
dust. . . . Roscius hates rags. . . . Would
to God it was not necessary to enrol the downfall of
Roscius on the list of Curtius' s victories. " But
he would be generous, and " if. In the swelhng heap
of charges they contain, you can obviate some, they
shall be expunged." Garrick had the inconceivable
folly to answer these threats, and expostulate humbly
with the writer. "Will Curtius take the word of the
accused for his innocence ? Does Curtius really think
of me as he writes ? I hope — I believe not ; for if I
am not mistaken, this terrible, most abominable cul
prit himself, has received some marks of good-wIU
from his present accuser." " I honestly assure you,"
he adds, in conclusion, " that I had much rather have
your praise than your blame ; but I would as much
scorn to obtain it meanly, as you would scorn to grant
it." Surely this was treating such a bully with infi
nitely too much respect, and was actually an invitation
for future attacks. We may be certain he took down
with him to the Althorpe Christmas merriment, an
anxious heart. While there, the fellow pursued him
with another letter, teUing him that there was inserted

1779,] ILLNESS AND DEATH. 441
" In the ' Ledger ' of to-day a reason for the silence of
Curtius." Politics had interfered. " But the hour of
leisure is again returning, when he wUl re-devote him
self to Roscius." This could not have cheered him.
" In the midst of that social happiness, and rational
pleasure," says Mr. Thomas Davies, in his best valet
manner, ''''which everybody enjoys with that noble
family," he was attacked by his old enemies, gout
and stone ; but this tinie an alarming eruption,
known as herpes, came with it. He was imprudent,
and thought -by gaiety and motion, to forget his pains.
His friend Becket wrote, with an instinctive misgiving,
wished he was home again, and at rest in his arm
chair, for he was afraid they would make too much of
him, and make him IU. Garrick raUied vigorously,
but still was being pursued by plays which he was
asked to read, and by copies of criticisms on Drury
Lane, reviews, " two answers " to some of his little
papers, to say nothing of his own critiques, which he
was labouring at, and pohshing. Those who sent him
these little cares, cautioned him against a relapse. He
was to take care, and not to come out too soon. " What
a hard bout ! " wrote Becket of the struggle his friend
had made. The country doctor, however, thought
lightly of the attack.
He was brought up to London by easy stages.
He arrived at the Adelphi on the evening of the 15th
of January. The next day he sent for his apothecary,
Laurence, who found him up, and dressing, and appa
rently better. Young O'Keeffe, then newly come to
London, a raw Irish lad, recollected seeing him walk
ing briskly up and down, in front of his house on the
Adelphi-terrace. Thus Ul, it must have inflamed his

442 THE LIFE OF DAVID GARRICK. [1778—
sufferings yet more, to receive a reminder from the
ruffian who called himself " Curtius ; " Avho, with affected
compassion, promised to suspend his attacks until
" Mr. Garrick was In a state of body, to answer any
public charges. He hopes to be the explainer and
corrector of his affecta'tlon and tyranny, and jealousy
and partiality," a comforting prospect for the sick man.
But the end was at hand. There were some alarm
ing symptoms, which made the apothecary advise
sending for Dr. Cadogan ; who, Avhen he came, pro
nounced the matter so uncertain and serious, that he
recommended the sick man to settle his affairs at once.
Garrick answered him calmly, that nothing of that
kind remained to be done, and that as for himself, he
was quite ready to die. From that hour his malady
made steady way, bringing on a sort of dulness from
want of circulation, which increased into stupor.
During these sad days there was one picture which
must have long haunted his wife. Weary with cease
less watching and attendance, she made an agreeable
friend stay and dine, expecting to find some distrac
tion In his society. As they Avere talking, the door
opened, and Ganick came in. In a sort of rich dress
ing-gown, but fearfully changed ; his face yellow and
shrunk, his eyes dim, and his gait slow and tottering.
By a strange association he seemed to the guest
like Lusignan, in the high-floAvn " Zara," one of his
favourite characters, of the old, old years, when he
wore just such a dr,ess. He sat down on the sofa
wearily, remained for more than an hour, but never
spoke a word. He seemed to look at them with a
morbid fretfulness. He then Avent back to his room,
which he never left again.

1779.] ILLNESS AND D^ATH. 443
Greater physicians were now called in — Warren,
and Heberden, Johnson's friend. Many more came
later — all friends — eager to give their aid and advice.
When the sick man saw the face of Dr. Schomberg,
he put out his hand, and with one of the old sweet
smUes, said, " Though last, not least in love ! " It
Avas known indeed that there could be no hope.
This last scene, in this last act, was to be as gra
cious and becoming, as every other scene in his life,
he had played, and so finely played. Though the stupor
was gaining on him, he could at times talk calmly
and cheerfully. He told one of his friends that he
did not regret his having no children, for had they
turned out unkind or disobedient, he could not have
supported such a trial. On the last day of his life, a
letter was brought in — the last he ever received, and
It ran to the old, old story — acknowledgment of his
kindness. It was from the young Irish Miss Farren,
thanking him for civilities, kind notice, and encourage
ment. At times the film cleared away from his eyes, and
he saw the room filled with figures. He asked who all
those people were. When he was told they were phy
sicians, the old pleasant sense of the grotesque came
back on him, and he shook his head, muttering, from
"The Fair Penitent": " Another and another still suoceedsj
And the last fool is welcome as the former."
His old friend Johnson found his way to his bed^
gide : but, it was remarked, could not be persuaded
that he was in the least danger. It would seem as
though he would not let the thought move him. To
one with so morbid a terror of death, it was too near a

444 THE LIFE OP DAVID GARRICK. [1778—
reminder. For there was the "Davy" ofthe Lichfield
days — the child when he had been a boy — passing
away before him. All that day he was composed,
and talked at intervals with exceeding tranquillity.
Early the next morning, January the 20th, about
eight o'clock, the scene at last shifted, and he passed
gently from that human stage — where he had played
AvIth as much excellence and dignity, as he had ever
done on his own — and the folds of that greater cur
tain came slowly doAvn before the eyes of the dying
actor. The funeral was indeed imposing. The greatest of
English players was to be laid in Westminster Abbey.
That honour was then something cheaper than it has
since become ; but the ceremonial was one of extra
ordinary magnificence. It took place on the first of
February. The line of carriages extended from the
Strand to the Abbey. The streets were crowded. His
pennon was carried in front. Covent Garden was repre
sented by twelve players, and Drury Lane by the same
number. The mourners were his two nephews ; but
the faithful brother and henchman, George, was lying
In his last sickness, and died only two days later. Four
mourning coaches were filled with the members of the
Literary Club, — seven others with intimate friends.
At three o'clock, the procession entered the great west
door, where the Bishop of Rochester received it.
Then began a yet more solemn part of the show. The
train moved up the aisle to Purcell's fine old anthem
— the great aisles Avere crowded, and on each side of
this player's bier, holding the pall, walked the Duke
of Devonshire, Lord Camden, the Earl of Ossory,
Earl Spencer, Lord Palmerston, Sir Watkyn Wynne.

1779,] IJjLNESS AND DEATH,

445

And round his grave, appropriately opened under
Shakspeare's monument, crowded Johnson, Dunning,
Edmund Burke, Charles Fox, Colonel Barr^, and a
great number of gentlemen of distinction.
Sheridan mourned him in " a monody," full of rather
theatrical grief, but which was much admired at the
time : — "0 loveliest mourner ! gentle muse ! be thine
The pleasing woe to guard the laurell'd shrine,
*****
ChiUing thy tender bosom, clasp his urn ;
And viith soft sighs disperse the irreverent dust,
Which time may strew upon his sacred, bust."
This conceit is in the affetuoso key, and sounds poorly
beside Goldsmith's good verse. It ran through many edi
tions. A monument was soon talked of in the Abbey,
and Mr. WaUis, his friend, took on himself the expense
and duty of erecting it. Both monument and inscription
are in questionable taste. We need hear no better
opinion than that of Elia.*
A far finer tribute came from Johnson — some of
that noble English which (dropped from his pen, when
he gave full liberty to his emotion. In one of his
"Lives," he recalled his friend Gilbert Walmesley, and
* " Taking a turn the other day in the Abbey, I was struck with the afi'ected
attitude of a figure which I do not remember to have seen before, and which
upon examination proved to be a whole length of the celebrated Mr. Garrick.
Though I would not go so far with some good Catholics abroad, as to shut
players altogether out of consecrated ground, yet I own I was not a little
scandalized at the introduction of theatrical airs and gestures into a place set
apart to remind us of the saddest reaUties. Going nearer, I found under this
harlequin figure the foUowing lines ; —
"To paint fair nature, by divine command.
Her magic pencU in his glowing hand,
A Shakespeare rose ; then, to expand his fame
'Wide o'er the " breathing world," a Garrick came.
Though sunk in death the forms the poet drew.
The actor's genius bade them breathe anew ;
Though, like the bard himself, in night they lay,
Immortal Garrick call'd them back to-day," &o,

446 THE LIFE OF DAVID GifflRICK. [1778—
the old Lichfield days ; with these came back the image
of the cheerful "Davy," and he broke out: "I am
disappointed by that stroke of death, which has
eclipsed the gaiety of nations, and impoverished the
public stock of harmless pleasure." And though there
were some to take a sort of special demurrer to this
flight, as if there was only one nation who thus suf
fered, there Is no extravagance in the eulogium. For
the profession belongs to all countries, without distinc
tion ; and where one portion of the community suffers
such a loss, the rest must be indirectly affected. No
happier praise, for its length, could be conceived, even
to the nice choice of words — " harmless pleasure " — ^in
an age when there was so much pleasure that was not
harmless ; and, with infinite good taste, Mrs. Garrick
had the Avords engraved on his monument at Lich
field.* Johnson does not seem to have been as deeply
affected as we might have supposed. " Futurity is un
certain," he wrote ; " poor David had doubtless many
futurities in his head, which death has intercepted : a
death, I believe, totally unexpected. He did not in his
last hour seem to think his life in danger." Thus, to the

* The Cathedral at Hereford had a fairer claim to such a memorial. Murphy
repeats a stupid insinuation against Mrs. Garrick, as to the monument in
Westminster, His friend " waited a long time, with an idea that, for the
erection of a monument, orders would be given by Mrs. Garrick, Finding on
application to that lady, that nothing of the sort was to be intended. Mi-.
Wallis, in the most liberal manner, resolved, &c," The sculptor whom he em
ployed became bankrupt, " Mr. Wallis was not deterred by that event : he had
recourse to that eminent statuary, Mr, Webber, who finished the business in
an elegant style . . . . Mr, Wallis has la.telj jjaid his debt to nature."
Mrs, Garrick had her own plan of a monument at Lichfield, There were
many who thus slandered her, Davies, after writing severely of her husband,
s ent her messages, to ask her to point out what she thought was disagreeable ;
and when no notice was taken, told the public how he had offended her, and
what steps he had taken.

1779,] ILLNESS AND DEATH. 447
end (unconsciously, I believe), perverting every act of his
friend. It Avas Johnson himself who would not believe in
the danger. Garrick, as we have seen, knew it, and
accepted it with resignation. But in matter of death,
Johnson's morbid mind always clung to any straw that
would give him superiority over another, and put those
grim terrors farther away. In the carriage, as the funeral
moved on to Westminster, he talked over their lost
friend. A few days later, he called at the Adelphi, and
wrote a kind message of inquiry after Mrs. Garrick.*
When the subject of collecting Garrick's verses was
talked of, and suggested to him, he seemed to say,
rather complacently, he would accept the duty, if he
was commissioned officially by Mrs. Garrick. She,
however, took no notice of the hint. The " Sage's "
previous treatment of her husband in print did not
encourage the selection of such an editor ; and there
was no knowing how far Jolmson's critical severity
might lead him, if so tempting an opportunity offered.f
No actor had ever died so rich. Roughly estimating
the various bequests in his will, we might value his
estate as close upon a hundred thousand pounds,:]:
* This card is in existence : — " Dr, Johnson presents respectful condolence
to Mrs . Garrick, and wishes that any endeavour of his could enable her to
support a loss, which the world cannot repair."
t Years after, when the subject of the funeral was'talked of at a party and in
his presence, and was said to have been extravagantly expensive, Johnson con
tradicted this assertion. He did not relish that magnificence in the obsequies
of one who, when alive, "might have been better attacked for living more
splendidly than became a player." Mrs. Burney asked if there were not six
horses to each coach. " Madam," was his reply, " there were no more six
horses than six phoenixes." Yet the mourning coach in which Johnson sat
had six horses. .
J Garrick had lost money in a West India speculation, A hundred thou
sand pounds would seem over the mark, for he had lived almost beyond his
means.

448 THE LIFE OP DAVID GARRICK, [1778-
He provided handsomely for all his relations. To Mrs.
Garrick was left Hampton, and the Adelphi house,
with the plate, linen, wines, pictures, &c., six thousand
pounds in money, and fifteen hundred a year.* George
Garrick was bequeathed 10,000?., Peter, 3,000?. His
two nephews, 6,000?. and 5,000?. ; .his two nieces,
6,000?. each ; his sister. Menial Docksey, 3,000?. ; and
Mrs. Garrick's German niece, 1,000?. To these lega
cies, however, Mrs. Garrick's annuity was to be para
mount, and they were to be abated if the personalty
fell short during her lifetime. Strange to say, that to
his many warm personal friends, for whom he must
have cared more than for some of his relations, he
left no memorials of any kind.
I have merely to close this memoir Arith a few words
about the woman whom Garrick so loved and valued.
She was to live on, to the surprising age of ninety-
eight years. Her figure becomes quite familiar, as we
look back to the pleasant groups and coteries, the
households, the chatty dinners and social evenings, of
which records are given by Boswell, Burney, Miss
Berry, and many more. Round this good lady, keep
ing up her two houses, at the Adelphi, and at Hampton,
cluster her numerous relations — " a hundred head of
nieces," who are found there one day by Miss Berry.
Her sister, Madame Ftirst, who had come to England
just before Garrick's death, had gone home again.
There was that half sad, half pleasant party at the
Adelphi. Hannah More, whom she called her chap
lain, had come to live with her ; and she was of the
party, the first since David's death, two years before ;
* It was subject only to the condition of her residing in England, If she
went to Ireland, Scotland, or the Continent, it was to be reduced.

1779,] ILLNESS AND DEATH, 449
Mrs. Boscawen, Mrs. Carter, Cohnan, Johnson,
Burney, and Boswell. They were elegantly enter
tained. Indeed, Boswell always thought and spoke
gratefully of his departed friend, acknowledging much
kindness. The hostess looked well, " talked of her
husband with complacency, and while she cast her eyes
on his portrait, which hung over the chimney-piece,
said ' that death was now the most agreeable object to
her.' " This was but \hefaqon de parler of a foreigner.
The day lingered fondly in Boswell's recollection : the
Lichfield ale, the splendid entertainment, the recollec
tion of "many pleasing hours spent with him who
gladdened life." In the evening there was a recep
tion, where too there was an amusing scene ; and on
going away, Boswell and his friend Johnson lingered
on the terrace, looking down on the Thames, and
thought of the two friends who had lived there, and
who were gone — Garrick and Beauclerk. "Ay, sir,"
said Johnson, tenderly and softly, " and two such
friends as cannot be supphed."
In 1807, many unfavourable remarks were made on
some law proceedings in Chancery, which she was ad
vised to institute, in reference to the distribution of her
husband's estate. By a residuary clause in her husband's
wUl, what remained over was to be divided among
the next of kin, the same as if he had died intestate.
It was thought a little " greedy " that she should
claim to be included under the denomination, " next of
kin." Her counsel, Romilly, urged that the words
were used hastily, and were meant to include her ; and,
looking to the testator's intentions, should be liberally
construed. The Chancellor, however, refused the ap
plication, acutely saying, that in such a construction,
VOL. II. 0 a

450 THB LIFE OP DAVID GARRICK. [1778—
the testator would have defeated his own intentions ;
as, in case of her forfeiting her rights (by living out of
the country), that forfeiture would merely have gone to
swell the residue, to a share in which she would have
become entitled.
The " relations," indeed, could not have been very
partial to her, especially when they heard, in the year
1815, she had distributed among her German relations
aU the money she had put by, during the thirty-six years
that had elapsed since her husband's death. It amounted
to some twelve thousand pounds. Her husband there
fore knew where her inclination led her, when he in
serted the condition of forfeiture, if she should go and
reside out of England. She always maintained her
connection with the theatre, and had her box at Drary
Lane. Many a new theatrical candidate was brought
to her for the sanction of her opinion. It is said that
Kean was the only one that she could admit ap
proached her David, and that was in Richard.* Mr.
Smith, of the British Museum, had a pleasant morning
with her there, in the Print Room, turning over that
wonderful collection of theatrical engravings made by
Dr. Burney ; and where her husband was to be seen in
every character and attitude. She Avrote her name
without spectacles, though she had not had a pen, she
said, in her hand for months ; gossiped about her agef
and her marriage. At Hampton, which she allowed
to get into sad disrepair, she was often visited by

* Her happy criticism of him in another part is weU known. " Dear Sir,
you cannot act Abel Drugger. — Yours, M. Garetok." The answer was,
"Madam, I know it.' — Youi's, E. Kean." There were many little stories
about her odd foreign capriciousness ; of her swearing at the mason who over
charged her : " Get out, you d — d fellow ! "
+ "My coachman," she said, " insists that I am above 100."

1779.] ILLNESS AND DEATH. 451
Queen Charlotte, who found her once peeling onions,
and herself got a knife and began to peel onions also.
George the Fourth, as well as his brothers, often called
on her. She was always thought of with honour and
esteem. The strange Monboddo persecuted her with
proposals. At last it came to the 16th October, 1822,
Elhston had been redecorating Drury Lane, and it had
been arranged that the Aridow of its former great
manager should come that night for a private view to
see the effect. The old lady was looking forward to it.
She had two or three dresses laid out on chairs, to see
the effect, her two maids standing by. In the evening,
when she was sitting in her chair, taking tea, one of
the maids handed her over a cup, and Mrs. Garrick
chid her a little testily : " Put it down, hussy ; do you
think I cannot help myself?" A strange ending for
the Vienna dancer was drawing on. That little excite
ment seemed to have been fatal, for she took the cup
herself, tasted the tea, and in a few seconds expired
quietly in her chair. Round those declining days must
have fluttered such strange old memories — Maria
Teresa and the Emperor's attentions — the old old
rebelhon of '45, when she came to town — ^the heads
on Temple Bar — David's great glories — recollections of
nearly a hundred years !*
* As has been mentioned, Mr. Robert Cruikshank etched a picture of her
in her old age, which has become so scarce that I have not been able to dis-
" cover a copy : and Mr, Smith — " Rainy Day" Smith — made a drawing of her
after death. Tho coffin was covered with the sheets which, he was told, were
the wedding sheets, in which both husband and wife wished to die. Dean
Stanley, in his " Westminster Memorials," quotes a little sketch of " a Uttle
bowed down old lady, leaning on a gold-headed stick, and always talking of
her Davy."

u u 2

452 EPrLOGUB.

EPILOGUE.

Such is the varied story of the great Enghsh actor, of
his life on the stage, whose " reformer " and glory he
is, and off the stage, where he is a no less admirable
model. As we look back to his times, one reflection, I
am sure, will occur to the reader who has attended
me thus far to the end : what days they were for
the stage — how glorious, how important, what figures
players then Avere — how they filled the public mind —
what prodigious entertainment, and significance, there
were in a play. Above all, how strange the contrast
with our own time ; how small the show, how little
the interest, how poor the entertainment. As this con
trast has been present to the writer all through, and
as the examination of many past theatrical matters has
furnished him with a favourable opportunity of judging
on this point, he may be pardoned here, for drawing
some profit out of Garrick's life, and pointing a moral
as it were from the memoir.
There is certainly an impression abroad, that there
exists a " sound healthy taste " for the drama, and that
these are the palmy days of the stage. The number
of theatres, the state of the profession, — like every
other, overcrowded, — the perfection to which scenery
and machinery have been brought, the salaries, the

EPILOGUE, 458
crowded houses, are thought substantial evidence of
this prosperity. With pieces "running" one hun
dred, and two hundred nights, with such triumphs of
"realism" as coal-mine shafts, water caves, set streets,
and city offices ; and, above all, conflagrations,
house-burnings, that to the eye can hardly be distin
guished from the originals, with water, fire, ice, grass,
unitated perfectly, — with the easier resource, where it
can be done, of bringing the real objects themselves on
the stage, — things surely ought to look palmy. Yet
it may be declared, that if we were to take the sense of
the profession generally, — of authors, managers and
actors, — it would be admitted that decay is setting
in. The mechanists, scene-painters, actors, and
writers, — named according to their proper precedence,
— are at the end of their tether. They have ex
hausted their fertile fancy. The burlesque " arrangers,"
and actors have tried every conceivable physical ex
travagance Arithin the compass of " break-downs," low
dresses, goddesses looped up at the knee, parodies of
songs, &c. The mythology is run out. The opera
stories are done. So, too, with scenic effects. In real
life, there are only half-a-dozen tremendous and dra
matic physical catastrophes which can confound and
surprise. When we have seen a fire, an earthquake,
a breaking of the ice, and drowning, an accident, very
few things remain either difficult to imitate, or likely
to astonish. What will come next, must be some
thing of this " school," new, but of lower interest, in
which case our excitement will be languid. The man
who has drunk brandy always, wUl find tea insipid.
So with the break-downs, the dressing, the mythology,
and the vulgar parodies of songs. They can only be re-

454 EPILOGUE.

produced. By-and-by even the admirers of this class of
entertainment AriU find that the stage has grovm dull.
For others, who expect another sort of entertain
ment, it may be fairly asked, is not the stage dull
now ? How many are there who set out for the
night's amusement, with a complacent alacrity of anti
cipation, as Johnson might say, and by eleven o'clock
are suffering a strange agony, compounded of tedious
ness, fatigue, a sort of eternal weariness, and a sense
that the whole will never end ! We hear laughter and
sounds of enjoyment, in the house ; but it must be re
membered that here are persons who have been work
ing hard all the day, and all the year, and to whom,
perhaps, the annual visit to the play-house, the sight
of the company, the lights, and the gay scenery, is a
treat itself The cheap test of what is called a run, now-
a days, is no evidence of a flourishing profession. A
certain class of people must go to the theatre, to fill In
their evenings ; and, above all, it must be remembered
that the London theatres are now theatres for the king
dom, and that the audiences are changing every night.
The manager is catering for England, Ireland, and
Scotland, and a sprinkling from the Continent. This
is another result of a fatal centralisation, and, it may
be added, of the " sensation " system now in fashion.
These costly spectacles cannot pay, unless exhibited
for so many hundred nights. Sight is a far more costly
sense than hearing ; the eye is more extravagant than
the ear, as any manager knows ; but no manager has
discovered as yet, — ^none at least have had the courage
to act on the discovery, — that the mind is the cheapest
of all to entertain.
As to this decay, what is the situation of the profes-

EPILOGUE. 455
sion ? Actors wiU teU us that " it is going to the bad ; "
that the stage is going down, but that some actors are
flourishuig. Salaries are high, and well paid — to
" stars." The profession, they wiU teU you. Is in con
fusion. It is a scramble. Neither training nor genius
tells. The fellow of yesterday, — raw, untutored, — has
the same chance now, as the old hand of ten or fifteen
years' service. Like the labourers in the vineyard,
those who come last are paid as hberally as those who
have worked all the day long. And it may be asked,
why not, according to present principles. Good looks,
a handsome face, and a pert voice, do not improve by
service, — rather, are in better condition, on the first
day. A tyro of a week's standing can wear a short
dress about as well, if not more becomingly, than a
lady who has served in the ranks. A few weeks'
training will teach the steps of a break-down. In
short, the physical gifts which sensation requires — are
found by nature.
We can make no reasonable protest against Panto
mimes. They are a genuine show; belong to their
proper season ; and come in weU, as an alterative.
They do not pretend to be more than they are. The
great Garrick had his pantomime every Christmas. We
have the associations of that cheerful season, — of the
delighted row of children's faces, whose exquisite relish
ofthe show should be a hint to the groAv^n-up, as to
the class of audience whom such things were meant
to entertain. Just as the conductor of the Grand
Opera lays doAvn his baton when the ballet begins, and
disappears, and another gentleman of inferior degree
takes his place, so may the Drama gracefully gather
up her dress, and sweep away with dignity, during

466 EPILOGUE.
that merry time, abdicating for a few weeks in favour
of her Cinderella sister. But the truth is, the proper
entertainment of the drama has passed away. The
delightful amusement that used to be known as " the
Stage " is not with us now. It is gone : and with it
the associations, the tone of mind and training, which
led audiences to enjoy it so exquisitely. Instead, the
eye is feasted, and the ear. The vulgar enjoyments of
the senses are gratified. Scenery and accompaniments,
which in the old days were merely a set-off, an adorn
ment, have usurped the chief place. We are In an
utterly false groove. As was said at the beginning,
we are no longer amused, simply because we have given
up the true " stage," and have gone after a pure fiction
and sham, — a series of costly shows. Sight-seeing in
cities, as we all have found, is the most wearisome thing
in the world, and will become so, on the stage.
What is the true foundation of theatrical enjoyment ?
It is found in the picture of human life, — the play of
mind on mind, of passion on passion, of wit on wit, set
off by shrewd observation, and elegant treatment. It
is the spectacle of mental action. The old Greeks un
derstood this perfectly, and had the finest principle in
the world for thefr tragedy, based on their Pagan belief,
that the soul was the creature of destiny, and at the
same time possessed the exercise of its free will. Here
were eleihents for a splendid dramatic struggle : the
good man struggling to do what was right, exercising
his will, sacrificing his inclination, and yet at the same
time being forced on to destruction, by the secret, unseen
power of destiny, acting on events and circumstances.
Such a struggle would absorb an audience, whose faith
was bound up in such a contrast. The whole city

EPILOGUE. 457
looked on, hi those vast amphitheatres, and from these
masters we can learn the true subordinate position of
scenery. They had one grand scene, which was inva
riably the outside of a temple, splendid and dignified, a
sort of link between the dramatic and real life, — not
wholly real, nor wholly scenic. They knew weU that
a surprising elaborateness, instead of satisfying, chal
lenges, the doubts of the spectators. It is so well done,
that it must be unreal. The true position of scenery,
as associated with the drama, is indicative ; it should
travel no higher than a general effect; and I firmly
beheve, that a good play should not be set off by any
thing more ambitious than an interior of a drawing-
room or a cottage, a forest, a street — all elegantly and
perfectly done of their kind, but more or less conven
tional. Elaborate set pieces, — mimicries of waterfalls,
fires, drownings, &c. — should be all relegated to scenic
pieces meant to show off such tours deforce. They
should be subsidiary.*
The bearing of this fatal corruption on " the music^
hall question," which is now attracting attention, is
more dfrect than would be supposed. It is the very
decay of the stage that has brought theatres to the
degradation of being threatened by the competition of
such places. The truth is, it is the theatres which
have encroached on the music-hall business ; and as

» This can be very'well iUustrated by an instance taken from the decoration
of pottery, and the law which regulates that branch of art. We often see a
whole diimer-sei'vice ' ' illustrated, " as it were, by painters of eminence ; every
plate set down before the guest, having a fine landscape iu the centre. The
result is not a decorated plate, but a landscape painted on a plate. The plate
has sunk into a secondary object ; it bas been devoured by what was meant to
adorn it. So with scenery and the drama. And instead of the former being
used so as to set-off the latter, the dramatic artist is now set to work to put
together a few characters and dialogues, to set-off the scenery and effects.

468 EPILOGUE.
they have descended to the competition, they must
bear the consequences of^ defeat. The music-hall is
quite in its right. It provides a class of show which
appeals to the eye and ear, — which requires no exer
tion of the mind, no attention even,- — which is so bold
in outline, as to allow of eating, and drinking, and con
versation, going on at the same time. The real drama,
true comedy, and tragedy, — observe, not the buffoonery
of our existing comic dramas, which have no story and
no dialogue, — ^require the most perfect silence and
attention, to follow the plot and the delicate Arit of the
dialogue. Mind, as well as eye and ear, must be kept
at work. Here is the distinction that should keep
music-halls and theatres ever distinct. Both could
flourish together. But on the present system, — a sen
sation piece running, with tremendous scenic effects,
and a plot that appeals to the eye, — the pots and
glasses and little tables might be present in the pit,
and do very little harm. Such theatres are half music-
halls already.
The palmy days of the drama were the days of the
good old comedies, beginning perhaps about a hundred
and twenty years ago with Garrick's management of
Drury Lane. When we see that under his judicious
reign of nearly thirty years, everything rose from the
most utter chaos into order ; that fine actors were
trained, fine plays written for the fine actors to act,
and fine and never-failing audiences came to see the
fine plays which the fine actors acted ; that the
moment he retired, and the wayward Brinsley took up
the reins, disorder and decay set in once more, it is
impossible not to come to the conclusion, that judicious
management has much to do with the control of the

EPILOGUE. 459
pubUc taste. Actors and actresses — with the exception
of the few who have to struggle against the system, —
where are they? Good acting hes buried under the
heavy folds of cumbrous scenery. There is no school,
no training, no serving in the ranks, as the old actors
did. As I have shoAvn, such is not requfred for the
sensation pieces. There is no opportunity to train
good actors, for when a piece " runs " three-quarters of
a year, there can be no training. In the real palmy
times of the drama a piece ran nine nights, — or at
most, a month,— together ; but it was judiciously put
into the repertoire and played at intervals, during the
season. In a theatre like Garrick's Drury Lane, Arith
a staff of clever actors, and a large staff too, each one
had his department and round of characters: — all
would have ranked as " stars " now ; — and each night
of the week brought a different play, perhaps different
actors, and an infinite variety. For this, too, is one of
the features and healthy conditions of the drama, — con
stant change, — and thus it trains, whUe it amuses.
Absolutely in our time, has been lost, with the other
good histrionic things, the art of filling the house Arith
the voice, and of making the features play. Above all,
too, has been lost or forgotten, the art of making words
teU, — the weighty, yet natural way of delivery which
comes of study, play, practice. We may see traces of
this sort of delivery in the few old actors, who have
been brought up in the traditions of the old school, and
whose delivery ofa single sentence seems to make it tell
in quite a surprising way. The old school of humour
seems quite gone. As I say, the new principles of
humour are conventional, meagre and limited. It does
not travel into the open iUimltable country of the mind :

460 EPILOGUE.
grins, twangs of voice, catch-words, oddities, are all
exhaustible. Even the principle of Burlesque, which
at least we think surely flourishes, is false. To discover
this we may go to a great enemy of the stage — the
absurd Sir John Hawkins : — " Gesticulation, mimicry,
and buffoonery Johnson hated ; but of the talent of
humour he had an almost enviable quantity. To
describe the nature of this faculty, as he was wont to
display it, I must say that it was ever of that arch and
dry kind, which lies concealed under the appearance of
gravity, and which acquiesces in an error for the pur
pose of refuting it." This is the true secret of humour
— unconsciousness. Even taking it at a low stage,
nothing is so diverting as the ignorance and bearing
of a person, who is in an absurd position, or even dress,
and does not know it. This is what carries off some of
the delightfiil extravagances of the French stage — that
air of being in earnest ; as, to take an Instance, in that
diverting absurdity, the Chapeau de Paille, where an
absurd Frenchman is always in pursuit of a straw
bonnet, always arriving a moment too late. The
almost passionate earnestness of the admhable actor
who plays the part — his real distress and disap
pointment when he fails, is what makes us laugh, and
laugh indeed. Translate it into English, or rather
produce it as an " original " farce on the EngUsh stage
— as the fashion is — and we have a grotesque figure,
striving every moment to make itself odd, strained
attitudes, odd slang, every " gag," in short that wUl
" get a laugh." This is English farce. So Arith
burlesque. The true notion of mythological tra-
vestie would be, to fit these old notions to modern
situations ; to try and conceive their relation under

EPILOGUE. 461
such new conditions ; and thus showing how absurdly
these old arrangements must have worked, in our own
time. Those who have seen the French La Belle
Helene, looked at the subject, much as a cynical and
satirical Greek of the day would have done at the
foppery of Paris, and the ridiculous claims of Calchas.*
The modern fashion is, like all the rest, addressed to
the eye. A modern farce relies on a ridiculous merry-
andrew dress, forced catch-words repeated again and
again, a kind of rapid pattering from the throat, in a
grotesque twang, a speaking out of the corner of the
mouth, and abundant " gag." All is absurd, exagge
rated buffooning, and out of nature. The French farce
lies in comic but not far-fetched situations, on French
soil, and among French gaiUards, which is carried off
by surprisingly natural acting, and an air of burlesque.
We steal these things, vulgarise them into doAvn-
rlght earnest, and force incidents which are natural to
French life and manners into British dress and habits
to which they are wholly foreign ; turning the light
French blagueur, — a Charles, or Jules, — into a vulgar
Cockney in pink and blue trousers.
If we look at Zoffany's portraits, or at the pictures of
scenes from plays which he painted, we can catch a
faint notion of what was the principle of humour then.
It was purely intellectual ; it was all unconscious. The
Garrick face in Abel Drugger, — all stupid delight, joy,
* The ol(l generation, too, of our o-vm stage, held by these honest principles.
I have spoken of that model farce, " High Life below Stairs,'' as a piece where
we shall find that bold, universal humour, which is independent of dress,
grimace, or slang. A piece.on the same subject was playing not long ago, and
the difference of " school " was almost amazing. Every " servant " competed
with his feUow — to be more extravagant than his feUow. Every one had a
walk, a speech, a dress, a pantomimic bearing, which was diverting in its way^
and made the groundlings laugh, but was an utter outrage on probabUity,

462 EPILOGUE.
expectation, and vanity, — shows what a surprising
power of expression he had, and how much could be
done by the mind working through the face. There
was an absurd oj ludicrous situation, and the actor
threw himself into it, and aimed at being perfectly and
naturally in earnest, striving to exhibit a real terror
and genuine alarm. Our present comic rule is to
exhibit comic pantomime at any crisis, — something
grotesque, but inappropriate.
There is a well-knoAvn essay of Lamb's on the
artificial comedy of the last century, in which he deals
with the delicacies of the older plajing, in the " School
for Scandal," and which shows fatally that we have not
the drama now. It gives us a faint ghmpse of what
" acting was, and it may be confessed that to see this
critique in the hands of one of our existing performers,
— ^to whom, no doubt, it is unfamiliar, — would be al
most amusing. It certainly would not be his notion of
acting. There were refinements then in playing, that we
never dream of now. "When I remember," says the
pleasant " Elia," speaking of Palmer — " Jack Palmer,"
— "the gay boldness, the graceful solemn plausibUity,
the measured step, the insinuating voice, . . . . I must
needs conclude the present generation of play-goers
more virtuous than myself, or more dense  The
pleasant old Teazle, King, too, is gone in good time.
His manner would not have passed current in our day.
.... Joseph Surface, to go doAvn now, must be a
doAvnright revolting villain. Oh, who that remembers
Parsons and Dodd, — the wasp and butterfly of the
'School for Scandal,' — would forego the trae scenic
delight, — ^the escape from life, the oblivion of conse
quences, the hohday barring-out of the Pedant Reflec-

EPILOGUE. 463
tion, — those Saturnaha of two or three brief hours, —
to sit instead at one of our modem plays ?" I repeat,
is not all this, — and there are many pages of this
exquisite analysis, — utterly unintelligible to our modem
actor, — certainly unknoAvn to the play-goer? "The
escape from life," or "hohday barring-out," is not to be
found at the play-house. This deUcate refining on
refining is a lost art.
Again. In those days London audiences were not
literally shut out of their own theatres by one piece
keeping possession of the house for months or years.
We open one of Geneste's wonderful ten volumes, —
a monument of laborious industry, — and choose a place
at random. The following is not a month's bUl of fare :
— " The Beggar's Opera " (Miss Pope) ; " Macbeth "
(Garrick and Mrs. Barry) ; " London Merchant ; "
" Clandestine Marriage " (King) ; " Mourning Bride ; "
"Rival Queens;" "Richard IIL" (Garrick); "Mer
chant of Venice; " " School for Lovers " (Mrs. Bad
deley) ; " Padlock " (Dibdin and Banister) ; " AU in
the Wrong ; " " Suspicious Husband " (Garrick) ;
" Zara " (Garrick) ; " As You Like It ; " " The Re
venge" (Holland); "The Stratagem;" "Much Ado
about Nothing ; " " Cymbeline " (Miss Younge) ; " The
Wonder" (Garrick) ; " Othello;" " Artaxerxes ; "
'' Tamerlane ; " and so on. These were the days of
entertainment ! No wonder the stage entered largely
into social life ; no wonder there were good houses,
and that people could talk of "going to the theatre "
with enjoyment. We meet elderly people now, who
were what was called " play-goers," who would be
there at least twice or three times a-week. The stage
had then a sort of fascination — a variety, a shifting

464 EPILOGUE,
stream — of many-coloured humours, oddities, exciting
stories, fine passions — passing across it from Monday
till Saturday. But managers will say, in the case of " a
run," if the public wish to see this particular piece, it
would be Quixotic to withdraw it. They would lose
money. They would lose the money of those who
come to see; but they would gain the money of a
superior, and far more constant constituency. The
groundlings who are delighted with " sensation," come
but once or so ; others who stay away now, would be
regular visitors. They would be entertained too at a
far less cost. Houses would be as good, without this
show, whose extravagant cost requires a ran of some
hundred nights to recover the outlay. But in the
end, a stop will have to be made, as a time will come
when the eyes, of even the groundlings, dazzled as they
are with the wildest phantasies of lime light, tinsel,
gold, silver, or colours that the racked brain of scene-
painters and artist can put together, will cease to be
astonished. The costly outlay will have to be in
curred, but there AriU be no return, and the records of
the drama wIU have become a splendid inventory, a
gorgeous series of pictures from the Arabian Nights,
but strange to say with no plays, and no actors to act
them. Leaving actors, and looking to the plays that used
to be written, a feeling almost of despair will come
upon us. Going to the library shelf, and taking down
even a few of these pieces, we shall be astounded at
the store of wit, gaiety, and, above aU, of humour.
Putting what is now written beside them, the writing,
as well as the acting, would seem to be a lost art.
What brightness, what briskness and gaiety, even

EPILOGUE, 465
where wit was wanting ! The collection of characters,
the tide of humour, aU in the key of Fielding and
Steele, — which turns on character writing, not on the
poor quiddities of punning and catch-words, — Is indeed
surprising. The gallery of portraits is long, and
painted in the freshest, clearest colours. Each cha
racter is round and distinct ; or even where there is
a failure or inferiority, there is the attempt at being
round and distinct. There were characters for actors
to play, and actors to play the characters. Even now,
when the drama makes a faint attempt at a rally, it takes
the shape of story, not of -character, — an utter forget
fulness of what is the true function of a play, that oft-
quoted holding a mirror up to nature, and not to the
novel or story-book. For what does nature show us
in common life ? Not these extraordinary and excep
tional adventures, but character, and its operation on
other characters, which, artfully suspended or checked,
constitutes the true secret of dramatic interest and
amusement. What a series, I say again ! Colley Cibber, — so
fi-esh, bold, and full of spirit, with his pleasant " Care
less Husband," and whose z.Am\x?>kA& Lord Foppington,,
and fashionable people, seem to have furnished the tone,
and treatment for the " School for Scandal." The
gaiety and' intellectual bustle, — for the plots are not
always very strong, — are as natural as can possibly be
conceived ; and the whole always sparkles with good
humour and good things, not ostentatiously introduced,
but flowing naturally from the cheerfulness of the
characters. Good spirits seems to be the undercur
rent. As when Lady Easy says, that a lady's favours
are not to be like places at court, " held for life,"

466 EPILOGUE.
Lady Betty Modish replies " no, indeed, for that if they
were, the poor fine women would be all used like
wives, and no more minded than the business of the
nation." So with other writers. So with " The
Provoked Wife," written with the most extraordinary
vigour and spirit, — in every line of the dialogue, cha
racter ; and that wonderful play " The Suspicious
Husband," the brightness and gaiety of which were
admirable ; and it is surprising no manager has thought
of reviving it. Its pendant, — and quite as good, —
" The Clandestine Marriage," this, also, would repay
revival ; it would be as fresh as the morning, inspirit
ing as mountain air ; and two newer and more spirited
characters than Lord Ogleby and Mrs. Heidleberg
could not be conceived. Colman's oavu " Jealous
Wife" is excellent. Macklin's "Man of the Worid,"
with Sir Pertinax, is familiar to our generation.
What a store of characters and humour in all Foote's
pieces, which run off as boisterously as the fun of a
lively rattling Frenchman at a supper-party. What
a variety—what " fun "—what pleasant reading even !
We have Goldsmith's two unique comedies, — alas !
only two ; Sheridan's " School for Scandal " and his
" Rivals : " Cumberland and Mrs. Sheridan, Mrs.
Cowley and Mrs. Centlivre, General Burgoyne and
Arthur Murphy, with his capital "Way to Keep
Hhn," " AU in the Wrong," " Know your Own Mind,"
and " The Upholsterer."
If these pieces are so good and substantial, and
really fine works, it must be recollected that the
Avriting of a play was then a different thing from what
it is now. Any one who turns over Garrick's vast
correspondence will see what a serious and important

EPILOGUE. 467
business the writing of a play was. Author, manager,
and actors had all to be considered and consulted.
Whole acts were condemned and throAra out. Scenes
were re-written, and new situations contrived. The
preparation was often spread over years. And what
is a most important proof of the character of the com
position, its real value to the author was from the sale
of the copyright, — the piece being written to be read,
as well as to be seen. Goldsmith and other writers
received large sums from this source. This feature,
which seems extraordinary now, was then in the ordi
nary course. How few pieces would bear printing
now ! Even the smaller fry fell into the tone of the
good models before them, and got up a showy dash
and spuit and Arit that was respectable. How few
have heard of Mrs. Griffith, and yet she wrote a very
spirited comedy. As I have said, these were the days
when we could ainuse ourselves at the play-house.
There we were diverted with the strange side of
human nature — those turns and crannies of the human
heart, the oddities of our species, which it is not our
luck to fall in with, or we have not time to look for or
think about, which skilled men put before us. Mr.
Thackeray has somewhere a pleasant burst of gratitude
to Fielding and such writers, whose Amelia and Tom
Jones, and Parson Adams and Uncle Toby, he says,
are as real, or at least as well knoAvn to him, as Bayard
or Richard I., or any other figure of history. They
have been as much living characters ; — they are as
historical to us, as persons who have lived and died.
But on the same principle, Mr, Hardcastie and Lady
Teazle, Sir John Falstaff and the other figures of the
stage, have a better vitality ; for we can see them
E H 2

468 EPILOGUE.
in the flesh and blood, with their voice and bearing,
with their humours and weaknesses, —their dress and
gestures. Now that we have finished with this rather dismal
dramatic prospect, it may be asked, what is recom
mended? Is there no remedy — and can nothing be
done ? It Is only to be answered that the reform must
come, if it come at all, gradually. The fault is to be
distributed among all — for all are more or less account
able. Every one sees now the helplessness of the
public In the matter of criticism. The audience should
exercise a little of its old independence, — ^learn to be
pleased or displeased, without being told when or why.
Advertisement now takes the place of dramatic merit,
as it does in the case of merchandise ; and a piece well
advertised by criticism, and the hke means, is now a
true success. Managers should have the courage to go
back by degrees, and bring out pieces of the good old
sort, and actors should study such pieces. That such
would soon " pay," there can be no doubt. There
should be some classification of theatres, and bur
lesques and " sensation " things confined to proper
houses of their own. And very soon we might look
for the return of those " palmy days of the drama "
AvhIch seem to belong to the mythology, and find our
selves enjoying as hearty a laugh, and rich entertain
ment at our theatres, as ever audience did in the days
of old Drury Lane, under the management of the
great actor, and no less incomparable manager, David
Garrick.

APPENDIX.

APPENDIX A.

NUMBEE OF NIGHTS THAT GAEBICK ACTED,
Geneste, with unwearied diligence, seems to have searched all
the collections of bills, as well as the notices in the papers, and
noted the play and character for nearly every night. But there
are many gaps. I have added up the various lists, and we may
accept the following table as a fair average of his performances,
allowing a small margin for inaccuracies. It will be remarked,
how the number of performances gradually shorten : — times.*

1741—1742.

Goodman's Fields

. 138

1742—1743.

Drury

Lane

. (about)

69

1743—1744.

»

j>

(about)

70

1744—1745.

»

j>

(about)

72

1745—1746.

Covent Garden

6

1746—1747.

5)

))

72
1747—1748.
Drury
Lane
106
1748—1749.
»
104
1749—1750.
)>
85
1750—1751.
>j
99
1751—1752.
»
83
1752—1753.
J)
93
1758—1754.
j>
97
1754—1755.
j>
93
1755—1756.
ff
. 105
1756—1757.
>»
86
1757—1758.
)j
. 113
He acted on the evening of Christmas Day !
470

APPENDIX.

1758—1759.

Drury

Lane .

. 102

times

1759—1760.

))

JJ

96

JJ

1760—1761.

!J

JJ

87

JJ

1761—1762.

JJ

J*

. 104

JJ

1762—1763.

)>

JJ

. 100

JJ

1763—1765.

Abroad.

1765—1766.

Drury

Lane .

10

JJ

1766—1767.

JJ

5>

19

JJ

1767—1768.

JJ

5>

31

JJ

1768—1769.

J
JJ
23
j>
1769—1770.
JJ
JJ
20
JJ
1770—1771.
J
J»
15
JJ
1771—1772.
JJ
JJ
28
JJ
1772—1773.
»
JJ
29
JJ
1773—1774.
)
JJ •
33
JJ
1774—1775.
J
JJ
20
JJ
1775—1776.
J
J
7»
43
JJ
The following is a list of his characters, based on Davies's,
which has been carefully collated with Geneste and others.
Goodman's Fields, 1741-2, — Eichard III, ; Olodio, in Lotb Makes
a Man ; Chamont ; * Jack Smatter, in Pam.ela ; "Sharp, in Lying
Valet ; Lothario ; Ghost, in Hamlet ; Fondlewife ; Costar Pear-
man, in Eecruiting Officer ; Ahoan, in Oroonoko ; Witwou'd ;
Bayes ; Master Johnny, in Schoolboy ; King Lear ; Lord Fopping
ton, in Careless Husband ; Duretete, in Inconstant ; Pierre ; Capt.
Brazen,
At Dublin, in the summer of 1742. — Hamlet; Captain Plume.
Deuet Lane, 1742-3,— Captain Plume; Hamlet; Archer; *Milla-
mour, in Wedding Day; Hastings; Sir Harry "Wildair; Abel
. DruggSr, 1743-4,— Macbeth; ?Eegulus; Lord Townly; Biron, in Fatal
Marriage ; '"Zaphna, in Mahomet,
1744-5.— Sir John Brute ; Scrub ; King John ; Othello ;
¦"Tancred,
Dublin, 1745-6, — Faulconbridge; Orestes; lago, (He never played
Orestes in England,)
Covent Gaeden, 1746-7,— Hotspur; *Fribble; 'Eanger,
APPENDIX. 471
Deuet Lane, 1747-8,— Chorus, in Henry V,; Jaffier; *Toung Bel
mont, in Foundling,
1748-9. — Benedick; Poet, Frenchman, and Drunken Man, in
Lethe; *Demetrius, in Irene ; lago; '"Dorilas, in Merope.
1749 — 50. — *Bdward the Black Prince ; ''Horatius, in Eoman
Father. 1750-51. — Eomeo ; Osmyn, in Mourning Bride : *Gil Bias, in
ditto ; "Alfred, in ditto.
1751-2. — ^Kitely ; *Mercour, in Eugenia.
1752-3. — Loveless, in Love's Last Shift ; *Beverley, in Gamester ;
•Demetrius, in Brothers.
1753-4. — '*Dumnoris, in Boadicea ; Faulconbridge, in King John ;
"Virginius, in ditto ; Lusignan, in Zara ; *Aletes, in Creusa,
17o4-5. — Don John, in Chances; ¦* Achmet, in Barbarossa ; Don
Carlos, in Mistake.
1755-6, — "Leontes, in 'Winter's Tale altered; "Athelstan; Leon;
"Lord Chalkstone, in Lethe,
1756-7,— Don Pelis.
1757-8, — "'Wilding, in Gamesters altered ; "Lysander, in Agis ;
King, in Henry IV,, Part II, ; "Pamphlet, in Upholsterer,
1758-9, — Marplot; Antony, in Antony and Cleopatra ; "Heartly,
in Guardian ; Periander, in Eurydice ; "Zamti, in Orphan of China,
1759-60, — "Oroonoko, as altered; "Lovemore, in "Way to Keep
TTiTn ; "EmUius, in Siege of Aquileia ; Sir Harry Gubbin, in
Tender Husband.
1760-61.— "Oakly, in Jealous 'Wife; Mercutio.
1761-2. — ^Posthumus ; "Sir John Dorilant, in School for Lovers ;
'Farmer, in Farmer's Eeturn.
1762-3. — "Alonzo, in Elvira; "Sir Anthony Branville, in Dis
covery; Sciolto, * Originally.

472 APPENDIX,

APPENDIX B,

DEUEY LANE CHEONICLE DUEING GAEEICK'S
MANAGEMENT, 1747—1776.
Foe the convenience of readers, I have added here what might
be called a theatrical chronicle of the chief incidents at Drury
Lane during Garrick's twenty-nine seasons of management. It is
chiefly compressed from Geneste's Play-bills ; which, where neces
sary, are corrected. It will thus supply any details wanting in
the narrative.
1747 — 1748, Oct. 3, Albumazar, never acted there; Dryden's Pro
logue, by Garrick.
Dec. 15, Henry V., never acted there : Prologue and Chorus, Gar
rick, — 26, Tempest, not acted seven years.
Jan. 15, Othello, flrst time, Mrs, Pritchard in Emilia. — Jan. 18.
She "Would and She "Would Not, not acted for seven years.
Mrs, "Woffington in Flora, first time,
Feb. 18, Foundling ; never acted. Young Belmont, Garrick.
March 10, Distressed Mother, not acted for five years, Barry first
time ; Garrick as Fribble, in the Farce,
April 23, For the Benefit of the Sufferers in Comhill Fire, Garrick
paid into Bank 208Z, Is. — 27, The part of George Bam weU by
Mrs, Pritchard, — 28. Lovers' Melancholy, not acted for one
hundred years : and Farce of The dub of Fortune Hunters,
never acted, and attributed to Macklin.
1748—1749, Sept. 10, First appearance of "Woodward for seven years
in Busy Body, — 22, Sowdon's first appearance.
Oct. 1. Mrs, Clive's first appearance as Lady Wronghead, Provoked
Husband.^ — 19, A New Way to Pay Old Debts, never acted
there. First appearance of King in any character,
Nov. 3. Merchant of Venice ; Yates, first time, Shylock. Palmer's
second appearance iu any character.— 14, Much Ado about
Nothing, never acted there; Garrick first time as Benedick;
Mrs, Pritchard as Beatrice — acted eight times successively, — 29,
Eomeo and Juliet, never acted there, Eomeo, Barry ; Juliet,
Mrs. Cibber,
Dec. 26. Bold Stroke for a "Wife, not acted for ten years ; and The
Emperour of the Moon, not acted for twenty years.
Jan. 2, Lethe revived, Garrick acted the Poet, the Drunken Man,
and the Frenchman, — 13, Funeral, not acted for seven years.

APPENDIX, 473
Feb. 6, Mahomet and Irene, never acted ; Demetrius, Garrick ;
Aspasia and Irene, Mrs. Cibber and Mrs. Pritchard.
March 7. Mrs, Cibber's Benefit, Tancred and Sigismunda, Tan
cred, Garrick.
April 13, Provoked Husband, with Lethe, Frenchman, Garrick.
After which, Signor Oapitello Jumpedo wiU jump down his own
throat. — 15. Merope, never acted; Dorilas, Garrick; Merope,
Mrs. Pritchard ; acted eleven times.
1749 — 1750. — Sept. 28. Much Ado about Nothing, with Intriguing
Chambermaid. First appearance of Garrick since his marriage.
Oct. 7, A Farce, called The Little French Lawyer, never performed,
—•13. King Lear. Garrick. Mrs, "Ward's first appearance,
Dec. 2, Never acted, Chaplet, a musical trifle ; Pastora, Mrs, OHve.
Master Mattock's first appearance,
Jan. 6, Edward the Black Prince, never acted, Edward, Garrick ;
acted nine times, — 22, Not acted for thirty years. Friendship in
Fashion ; acted only once. Mrs. Clive as Lady Squeamish.
Feb. 9. Merope, for the author, Aaron Hill's, Benefit, by command
of the Prince of "Wales. — ^22. Merchant of Venice. Last appear
ance of Mills as Gratiano. He died of dropsy, April 18, — 24.
Eoman Father, never acted, Horatius, Garrick ; Horatia, Mrs.
Pritchard.
March 13. Mrs. Pritchard's Benefit. Fatal Marriage, not acted for
seven years. — 16. Mrs, Clive's Benefit, Hamlet, and (never
before acted) Eehearsal, or Baye in Petticoats, written by Mrs .
Clive.
April 5. Comus, with, occasional Prologue spoken by Garrick ; with
Lethe. For the benefit of Mrs. Forster, granddaughter and
only descendant of Milton. Dr, Johnson wrote the Prologue,
Profits of the night, 1302,
May 7, Performance for the Marshalsea Prisoners, Garrick as
Brute,
1750 — 1751, Sept. 8. Merchant of Venice, with occasional Prologue
by Garrick, — 27, Conscious Lovers ; by particular desire, the
occasional Prologue spoken by Garrick, positively the last time
of speaking, — 28, Eomeo and Juliet; Eomeo, first time of Gar
rick, Eomeo and Juliet the same night at Covent Garden,
Oct. 19. Jane Shore. Alicia, Miss J, Cibber, her first appearance
for six years ; did not continue on the stage, — 30, Pilgrim, not
acted for thirty years, with the Secular Masque, by Dryden ,
produced March 26, 1700.
Nov. 3. Eecruiting Officer, Kite, by Layfield, from Dublin, — 15.
"Way of the "World, not acted for ten years,
Dec. 3, Mourning Bride, not acted for ten years, Osmyn, Garrick^
first time, — 6, As You Like It, and Miss in Her Teens, for a
distressed Citizen's "Widow with Eight Children, — 19, Stra
tagem. Archer, Garrick, Tickets delivered by a daughter of

474 APPENDIX.
Farquhar wiU be taken this night. ^ — 26. Beggar's Opera, with
a new entertainment in Italian grotesque characters, called
Queen Mab. Harlequin, "Woodward, first time for three years.
Shuter acted in it.
Feb. 2. Gil Bias, Gil Bias by Garrick, Acted nine times, — 23,
Alfred, Alfred, Garrick, Vocal parts by Mrs, Clive, Miss
Norris, Beard, Eeinhold, "Wilder ; Master Vernon, Alfred was
originally written by Thomeon and Mallet in 1740, and now
revived at great expense, but only acted nine times. The song
" Eule Britannia " in Alfred.
March 7. Othello, by ladies and gentlemen. Othello, Sir Francis
Delaval. — 12. Mrs, Clive's Benefit. Not acted for seven years.
Inconstant: Duretete, Garrick ; with Eehearsal, Mrs, Clive ma-de
additions to it, — 21, Stratagem, advertised for Beard's Benefit,
but deferred on account of Prince of "Wales' death, March 20.
No plays till April 8, — 10, Beard's Benefit, The Stratagem, a
Cantata, sung by Beard : and a Parody upon Shakspeare's
Stages of Life, by Garrick,
May 3. London Merchant, commanded by the City of London for
Barry, a jeweller, of Salisbury Street, in distress.- — 22, Con
scious Lovers, for the "Widow Eeinhold and Four Children,
1751 — 1752.— iSep*, 26, Eichardlll, Firstappearanoe of Mossop on the
English stage — received with great applause.
Oct. 3, Conscious Lovers. First appearance of Eoss on the English
stage, — 10, Eevenge, not acted for twenty years, — 17, Sir
Courtly Nice, not acted for flve years, — 22. Oronooko, not
acted for flve years. Oronooko by Dexter, his first appearance.
— 29. Eastward, Ho! never acted there, with a new Prologue by
Woodward. ("Wilkinson says the play was driven off the stage.)
Nov.?). Fair Penitent. Mossop first time as Horatio. — 19. Eevenge,
with, never acted. Shepherd's Lottery, a Musical trifle, — 28.
Phsedra and HippoUtus, not acted for twenty years, — 29, Every
Man in His Humour, never acted there, Kitely, Garrick ; with
a new occasional Prologue by Garrick.
Jan. 11, Eevenge, with, never acted. Taste, The Comedy was acted
only five times. — 28. Macbeth, First time of Mossop,
Feb. 6, Not acted for seven years. Lady Jane Grey. — 17. Eugenia,
never acted. Mercour, Garrick.
March 9, Mrs, Clive's Benefit. Not acted for seven years. The
Comical Lovers. — ^12. Mossop's Benefit, Othello ; lago, by
Montgomery, from Dublin, his first appearance in England, —
31. Boss's Benefit. Eomeo and Juliet. Eomeo, Eoss, first
time. After the play, an Eulogium, by Dryden, concluding
with Milton's Epitaph to the Memory of Shakspeare, spoken by
Eoss, representing the Shade of Shakspeare as it is figured on
his Monument in "Westminster Abbey. Nothing under full-
price win be taken during the time of performance.

APPENDIX. 475
April 3, Shuter's Benefit, Constant Couple, with Joe Heines' Epi
logue, on an Ass, by Shuter,— 10, Sowdon's Benefit, Henry
VIII,, not acted for eight years,— 20. The Unhappy Favourite,
for the Benefit of Mrs, Horton and the Sub-Treasurer. Queen
EUzabeth, Mrs. Horton, her first appearance for two years.
1752 — 1753. Sept. 23, First appearance of Mrs, Davies, from Dublin,
in the Careless Husband.
Oct. 26. Epicoene, or the Silent "Woman, not acted for flfteen years.
Acted only five times.
Nov. 16. Mrs. Davies as PoUy Peachum flrst time.
Dec. 7. Don Sebastian, not acted for twenty years, — 18. Love's Last
Shift. Loveless, Mr. Garrick; Amanda, Miss Hampton, her
first appearance on this stage. She had been at Covent Garden.
Feb. 6. Benefit of Cibber, jun. At the particular desire of persons
of quality, not acted for eight years. Nonjuror, 7, Never acted ,
Gamester. Beverley, Garrick, — 23. Eichard IIL, the first
appearance of Brown on the English stage,
March 3. Never acted. Brothers, Demetrius, Garrick ; Perseus,
Mossop. Griscine, Miss Bellamy, Acted eight or nine times.
"Written by Dr. Young.
1753 — 1754, Oc*. 2. Orphan, Chamont, Garrick, Mrs, Cibber's first
appearance there for four years, — 9, Mrs. Cowper's first appear
ance. — 20. Provoked Husband, with Englishman in Paris, Buck,
Foote, his first appearance there, engaged for a certain number
of nights ; he spoke a Prologue written by Garrick, which
was encored every night. Miss Macklin's first appearance as
Lucinda. Not acted for eight years. Old Batchelor,
Dec. 1. Boadicea, never acted. "Written by Glover. — 20. Macklin's
Benefit, The Eefusal ; a Farewell Prologue by Macklin.
Jan. 23, King John, not acted for ten years. Characters new
dressed. King John, Mossop, first time; Bastard, Garrick,
first time. Constance, Mrs. Cibber.
Feb. 5, Miss Macklin and Foote's first appearance together in the
Eecruiting Officer, — 9, Beggar's Opera, with a new Farce called
The Knights. — 22. For the Benefit of the Author of the Farces,
Old Bachelor, and Knights. — 25, Never acted, Virginius. First
appearance of Mrs, Graham, afterwards Mrs, Yates, as Marcia ,
March 25, Zara, not acted for seventeen years,
April 17, Merope, for the Beneflt of Mr. and Mrs. Cross. — 20.
Creusa, never acted. Acted nine times ; written by "Whitehead,
— 29. Mrs. Graham acted Jane Shore first time. — 30. A new
Faroe called The Grumbler : an alteration of Sir Charles Sedley's
Grumbler.
1754_17o5. Oct. 14. Beggar's Opera. Polly, first time, by Miss
Macklin.
Oct. 25, Drummer, not acted for ten years.

476 APPENDIX.
Nov. 7, Chances, revived to please the king, — 11, Coriolanus, never
acted there ; Coriolanus, Mossop, acted nine times,
Dec. 17, Barbarossa, never acted. Achmet, Garrick, Prologue
spoken by Garrick, Epilogue by Woodward,
Jan. 4, Drummer ; with a new entertainment, Proteus, or Harlequin
in China,
Feb. 3, A new English Opera called The Fairies, compiled from the
Midsummer Night's Dream, Garrick added twenty-seven
songs. — 22. Measure for Measure, not acted for flve years.
Mossop as Duke, first time.
March 13. Mrs, Pritchard's benefit. Not acted for thirty years. The
Mistake, — 20, Woodward's benefit, Hamlet, with, never acted.
Marplot in Lisbon, Alterations by Woodward,
April lo. Schemers, or the City Match ; never acted there. This
play acted for the benefit of the Lock Hospital. Alterations
attributed to Bromfield. — 25. Man of the Mode, with, not
for ten years, Tom Thumb, — 29, Miss in her Teens, by chil
dren.
May 9. Zara, with (never acted) Britannia, a masque, by Mallet.
Garrick spoke the Prologue as a drunken sailor.
1766 — 1756, Oct. 7. Fair Quaker of Deal, Not acted for thirty years,
Nov. 8,. By his Majesty's command. Fair Quaker, with (never per
formed) The Chinese Festival, A riot. — 18. Earl of Essex,
with Chinese Festival, Great riot.
Jan. 2. Oronooko, with (never acted) Apprentice. Dick, by Wood
ward. Bannister, and Lewis, afterwards very successful in this
part. Prologue written by Garrick and spoken by Woodward.
¦ — 21, A comedy altered from Shakspeare, called The Winter's
Tale, or Florizel and Perdita, with a Faroe called Catherine and
Petruchio, altered from The Taming of a Shrew.
Feb. 11, A new Opera called The Tempest, altered from Shak
speare, Attributed to Garrick, — 24. All's Well that Ends WeU,
notacted for eighteen years,' — 27. Athelstan, never acted. Athel-
stan, Duke of Mercia, Garrick, By Dr, Brown,
March 25, Woodward's benefit. Not acted for fifteen years, Eule a
Wife and Have a Wife. Leon, Garrick, — 27, Mrs, CUve's benefit.
Not acted for ten years, Lady's Last Stake,
April 3, Murphy's benefit. Fair Penitent ; with a new farce. The
EngUshman from Paris, by Murphy.- — ^24, Drummer, with
(never acted) Maiden "Whim,
1766 — 1767, Sept. 21. Eichard the Third. Mossop's flrst appearance
for two years,
Oct. 9, Eomeo and JuUet, Eomeo, Garrick, Miss Pritchard's first
appearance as JuUet, Mrs, Pritchard as Lady Oapulet, —
' 13, Gamester, not acted for twelve years, — 21. Mrs, Glen made
her first appearance as Lady Townly, — 28. King Lear, with
restorations from Shakspeare, — 29, Not acted for six years.

APPENDIX. 477
Double Dealer, First appearance of Miss Barton (Mrs,
Abington),
Nov. 6, Wonder, not acted for fom-teen years, Don FeUx, Garrick,
Dec. 3. Merope, with (never acted) LiUiput ; a tiifle written by
Garrick; exceUently performed by children.— 11, Cato, not
acted for twelve years,— 15, Amphitryon, not acted for twenty
years ; sUght alterations by Dr, Hawkesworth,
Jan. 20, EUza, an Opera in three acts, — 22, Merope, with (never
acted) Eeprisal, or the Tars of Old England, by Smollett,
Feb. 16, Cato, with (never acted) The Author, Cadwallader, Foote.
A great run, but suppressed, — 9. Miss Eoscoe's first appearance.
— 23, Spanish Fryar, not acted for twelve years,
March 24, Winter's Tale, Leontes, Garrick, With (never acted) The
Modern Fine Gentleman,
April 2. Provoked Husband, Lord Townly, Garrick; first time
for ten years ; with original Prologue, — 14, Provoked Husband.
Mrs. Yates, first time, as Lady Townly, — 30, Tamer Tamed, a
Comedy, taken from one written by Fletcher, without the assis
tance of Beaumont ; originally called Woman's Prize.
May 9, Not acted for sixteen years, The Toyshop,
1757 — 1758, Oct. 20, Not acted for fourteen years. The Tempest, by
Shakspeare,
Dec. 2, The Fatal Marriage, Biron, Garrick,- — 22, Never acted
there. Gamesters, altered from Shirley's Gamester, by Garrick.
— 29. Playhouses shut up on account of the death of Princess
CaroUne.
Feb. 21. Agis, never acted, by Home.
March 11. Frenchified Lady Never in Paris, never acted, — 13, Henry
the Fourth, not acted for twenty years. Prologue by Garrick.
— 30. Mossop's beneflt, Hamlet ; Mossop flrst time ; with (never
acted) the Upholsterer, Prologue spoken by Mossop.
April 25, A new Farce, No Matter What.
May 2, Squire of Alsatia, not acted for ten years,— 10, For Widow
Simpson and children. The Careless Husband.
June 1. The last appearance of Woodward (except in 1768) in Lethe.
1758—1759. Sept. 30, Eomeo and JuUet, Eomeo by Fleetwood, his
flrst appearance on the stage.
Oct. 3. First appearance of O'Brien— in Eecruiting Officer.— 17.
Measure for Measure, with The Diversions of the Morning, with
Foote and WUkinson. — 18. Firm Eivals, not acted for twelve
years.
Nov. 18. Siege of Damascus, not acted for twelve years.
Dec. 2, Garrick, first time, as Marplot in Busy Body,— 20, Zara,
with (never acted) The Eout, Dr, HUl,— 28, ^sop.
Jan. 3, Antony and Cleopatra, never acted there.
Feb. 1. Ambitious Step-mother, not acted for thirty years.— 3. Tho
Guardian, never acted. Adapted from the French by Garrick.

478 APPENDIX.
March 3. Eurydice, not acted for thirty years, — 15, Berry's last
appearance on the stage, — 24, Venice Preserved, Garrick as
Jaffier, first time for four years,
April 21. Orphan of China, never acted.
May i. Busy Body. An Epilogue to the Town by Garrick, — 21, Tan
cred, with (never acted) The Heiress ; or Anti-GalUcan, by
Mozeen. — 29, Seemingly the last appearance of Mossop at
Drury Lane in Osmyn,
June 19, Beggar's Opera, for the benefit of some distressed actors.
July 19. Arden of Feversham, for one night only, by LUlo.
Mrs. MackUn died in the course of this season.
1759—1760, Sept. 25, Mrs, Abington (late Miss Barton) as Dorcas in
Mercutio,
Oct. 2, King engaged as substitute for Woodward, — ^11, Double
GaUant, not acted for nine years. — 22, Henry the Eighth,
Moody, — 27, Confederacy, not acted for eight years. Miss
Pope's first appearance as a regular performer, — 31, High
Life Below Stairs, never before acted. Lady Bab, Mrs.
Abington.
Nov. 9, Woman's a Eiddle, not acted for twenty-five years, never
' at Drury Lane,
Dec, 1. Oronooko, with alterations. — 12, Macklin as Shylock, -with
Love a la Mode, Sir Archy Maosarcasm, MackUn. — 14, Zara,
with a new Burletta in three acts, taken from the Italian, and
caUed The Tutor, — 19, The Eefusal, not acted for six years, —
31, Harlequin's Mansion; a Christmas Gambol,
Jan. 11, Douglas, never acted there, — 16, For the sufferers in the
late fire in King Street. — 24. Desert Island, never acted, and
The Way to Keep Him, never acted, both written by Murphy.
Feb. 8, Funeral, not acted for ten years, — 20, Cross, the prompter,
died, — 21. Siege of AquUeia, never acted. EmiUus, Garrick,
March 20, Every Woman in her Humour, never acted, supposed to
be by Mrs, CUve, — 24. Marriage a la Mode, never acted,
April I'I. Garrick as Chamont, first time for four years. Mrs, Yates
as Monimia and GaUgantus, an entertainment taken from
Jack the Giant KiUer.
June 19. Miss Boss's first appearance,
1760 — 1761, Sept. 2Z. Beggar's Opera, Lowe's first appearance for
twelve years, and Mrs, Vincent's first appearance on any stage,
Oct. 9, Sheridan's first appearance for sixteen years in Eichard the
Third, — 10, Mrs. Kennedy's first appearance.
Nov. 22, Minor, never acted there,
Dec. 5, Polly Honeycombe, never acted there, by Colman, — 13, Con
federacy, and (never acted) Enchanter, or Love and Magic, —
17, King John, not acted for six years, — 29, Committee, not
acted for ten years.

APPENDIX. 479
Jan. 3, Earl of Essex, by Brooke, never acted in England.—
31, Edgar and Emmeline, never acted,
Feb. 12. Jealous Wife, acted twenty times.
March 26, Inconstant, Garrick, first time for eight years ; and a new
piece, caUed The Island of Slaves,
April 1. New Hippocrates, never acted.— 6, Eomeo and JuUet,
Garrick first time as Mercutio ; and a new act, caUed Modern
Tragedy, by Foote,— 17, Bold Stroke for a Wife, not acted for
six years,— 20. Second time for sixteen years. Contrivances.-
25. Eegister Office, never acted.
June 15. All in the Wrong, never acted,
July 2, Citizen, never acted there, — 27. Wishes, or Harlequin's
Mouth Opeaed. Never acted there.
1761 — 1762. Sept. 30, Henry the Eighth, with Coronation and real
Bonfire.
Oct. 17, First appearance of Bridges on this stage, — 26, Arcadia;
or the Shepherd's Wedding, never acted, a trifle attributed to
Lloyd, A Dramatic Pastoral.
Nov. 28, CymbeUne, with alterations. Garrick as Posthumus.
Dec. 11, Hecuba, never acted,
Jan. 27, Florizel and Perdita, not acted for five years, — 29. The
Drummer, revived on account of the Cock Lane Ghost.
Feb. 10, School for Lovers, never acted, — 22, Lee's first appearance
for ten years in Venice Preserved.
March 1. Mourning Bride, with (never acted) Musical Lady, —
20, Farmer's Eeturn from London, never acted; a trifle by Gar
rick, with Old Maid,
April 1. The Constant Couple, not acted for ten years, — 30, Henry
the Fourth, Yates first time as Falstaff,
May 7, Love Makes a Man, not acted for seven years,- — 30. For the
benefit of Palmer, pit door-keeper, and three others.. The Con
federacy ; first appearance of T. Palmer on any stage.
1762 — 1763. Sept. 26, Henry IV., Part 1st; Love's first appearance
at Drury Lane.
Oct. 15, Lady Jane Gr3y, not acted ten years ; with a Pastoral, called
The Spring, attributed to Harris.
Dec. 2, Pantomime, The Witches ; or. Harlequin Cherokee. — 19,
Never acted, Elvira. — 22, Never acted there. Two Gentlemen
of Verona, altered by Victor.
Jan. 26. — Two Gentlemen of Verona, Serious riot.
Feb. 3, Never acted. The Discovery, — 24. Jealous Wife, with Old
Maid by Mrs, Daly, her first appearance,
April 6, CymbeUne, with, never acted. Elopement,
1763 — 1764, Oct. 8. Philaster revived for Powell, — 19, Not acted five
years. Twelfth Night,
Nov. 4. Never acted. The Deuce is in Him.
Dec. 10, Never acted. The Dupe,

480 APPENDIX,
Jan. 18. Henry IV,, Second Part; PoweU first time, — 27. Much
Ado about Nothing ; Benedick, O'Brien, first time.
Feb. 24. Never acted, Eoyal Shepherd,
March 20, Not acted twenty years, Eival Queens. Eoxana, Mrs,
Palmer ; Statira, Mrs, Pritchard,
1764—1765, Oct. 22. Not acted ten years. She Would and She Would
Not,
Nov. 2, Never performed, Alcmena, an opera. — 28, Never acted. Ca
pricious Lovers,
Jan. 1. PubUc Advertiser ; playbUls only to be inserted in this paper
(Garrick's),- — 24. Never acted, Mrs, Griffith's Platonic Wife,
Feb. 4, System, acted twice, and damned,
April 27, Hamlet ; Mrs, Baddeley's third appearance on any stage,
1765 — 1766, Jan. 8. Venice Preserved, with, never acted. Daphne
and Amintor, — 18, Fair Penitent; Mrs. FitzHenry's first ap
pearance there,
Nov. 1, Plays stopped ten days on account of the death of the Duke
of Cumberland, — 14. By command, Much Ado About Nothing,
Benedick, Garrick ; Garrick's re-appearance after his return
from abroad, — 25. Not acted twenty years, Mahomet.
Dec. 5. By command. Provoked Wife ; Brute, Garrick, — 7, Not acted
twenty years. Plain Dealer,
Jan. 23, By command, Zara ; Lusignan, Garrick,
Feb. 20. Never acted. Clandestine Marriage.
April 12. Love's beneflt ; never acted, Kenrick's Falstaff's Wed
ding. — 16, Never acted. The Hobby Horse,
May 3. Acted but once these twenty years, . Committee, — 22,
Towards a fund for reduced actors. Every Man in His Humour ;
Kitely, Garrick. — 30, Mrs, Cibber died,
1766—1767, Oct. 25. Never acted. Country Girl.
Nov. 6, Not acted seven years. Siege of Damascus, with- (never
acted). Neck or Nothing, — 21, Orphan, with (never acted) The
Cunning Man,
Dec. 7, Fair Penitent, Lothario (by desire), Garrick, — 13. Never
acted. Earl of Warwick.
Jan. 2, Never acted, Cymon,
Feb. 12, By command. Jealous Wife; Oakley, Garrick. — 21.
Never acted, EngUsh Merchant, — 28, HoUand's benefit. Never
acted, Dido,
April 22. Never acted there ; Marriage a la Mode,
1767—1768. Sept. 18, Provoked Husband; Eeddish's first appear
ance. No plays from Sept, 28 to Oct, 5, on account of Duke of
York's death.
Oct. 21. King Lear; Barry, his first appearance for ten years, — 23.
Never acted, A Peep Behind the Curtain ; or. The New Eehearsal,
Dec. 1. Stratagem ; Archer, Garrick, first appearance for five years.
— 5. Never acted, Widow'd Wife.

APPENDIX. 481
Jan. 23, Never acted, False Delicacy.— 27, Never acted, Zenobia,
— 29, By command, Hamlet ; Garrick,
Feb. 21, Never acted. Absent Man,— 24. Not acted eight years. Mer
chant of Venice.
April 12. Never acted there. Like Master Uke Man,— 24, Mrs, Prit
chard's last appearance on the stage,— 27, Not acted ten years,
Theodosius,
No plays from May 13 to May 23, on account of Princess Louisa's
death. — May 26, By particular desire, Eanger ; Garrick,
Sept. 8, By particular desire. Provoked Wife ; Brute, Garrick,
1768—1769, oa. 3. Never acted, Padlock.
Nov. 17. Never acted. Hypocrite.
Dec. 17. Never aeted, Zingis.
Feb.^. Never acted. School for Eakes. — 23. Never acted there.
Fatal Discovery. •
March. 28, Never acted. No Wit Uke a Woman's, — 31, Never per
formed there. Maid of the Mill,
April 3, Never acted there. Love in a Village,
1769—1770, Sep. 30, Ode on the Jubilee at Stratford,
Oct. 14, School for Eakes, with, never acted. Jubilee.
Nom. 23. Not acted nine years, Amphitryon. — 27, Holland's last
time of acting.
Dec. 23. Not acted five years. Love for Love,
Jan. 6. Fair Penitent, with, never acted. Trip to Scotland,
Feb. 8, Never acted there, Lionel and Clarissa.
March 3. Never acted. Word to the Wise, by Kelly ; disputes and
riots, — 31, Not acted forty years. Double Falsehood.
May 14. Never performed there, a farce, caUed The Brave Irish
man. — 24. Theatrical Fund : Every Man in his Humour.
June 5. JubUee, 91st time.
1770 — 1771. Oct. 29, Eomeo and Juliet; Cautherly, and a young
lady, her first appearance.
Nov. 24. Never acted, 'Tis Well it's no Worse.
Dec. 13, King Arthur revived, with sUght alterations by Garrick ;
acted twenty-one times, Charles Holland died Dec. 7,
Jan. 12. Never acted, Armida. — 19. Never acted, West Indian.
March 14. Not acted fourteen years, Author. — 16. Not acted fifteen
years. Gamester, — 18, High Life Below Stairs, Mrs, Abington,
first time on that stage.
April 12. Never acted. He Would if he Could ; or, an Old Fool
Worse than Any.
1771—1772, Oct. 21. Mrs. W. Barry died.— 28. Never acted. Institu
tion of the Garter.
Nov. 1, Every Man in His Humour ; Garrick was taken suddenly
iU, and the play changed to The West Indian, — 6. Not acted
eight years. Drummer, — 8, Every Man in his Humour ; Kitely,
Garrick; Master Stephen, Weston, first time, — 11, Not acted

482 APPENDIX.
seven years. Miser. — 12. Fair Penitent ; Horatio, Barry's first
appearance this season.
Dec. 4. Timon of Athens, revived, with alterations by Cumberland.
—10. TweKth Night.
Jan. 20. Never acted. Fashionable Lovers.
Feb. 8 to 17. Theatre shut on account of Princess of Wales' death.
— 26, Never acted, Grecian Daughter,
March20. Not acted twenty, probably not forty, years, Zimoleon,
April 25, Humours of the Jury.
1772 — 1773. Oct. 1, Eomeo and JuUet; Eomeo, Dimond, his first ap
pearance on any stage,- — 16, Alexander the Great ; CUnch's first
appearance there. — 23. Never acted, Irish Widow,
Dec. 2, Gamesters, with (never acted) Eose, — 8, Never acted. The
Duel, — 17, Not acted thirty-five years, AU for Love, — 18. Ham
let, with alterations ; Garrick.
Feb. 1. Never acted. Wedding Eing.— 27, Never acted, Alonzo,
May 17, Never acted. Maid of Kent,
1773 — 1774, Oct. 19, Not acted twenty-six years, Albumazer,
Nov. 2. Never acted. The Deserter. — ^11. Never acted. School for
Wives, — 27, Never acted, Christmas Tale,
Feb. 2, Not acted seven years. King John, — 9, Never acted. Note
of Hand, — 16. Never acted, Lethoria,
Mar. 19, Never acted, Heroine of the Cave, — 22, Never acted
there. Brothers, — 25, Never acted, Swindlers,
May 17. Theatrical Fund ; King Lear, Garrick ; pit and boxes laid
together ; James Love died.
1774—1775, Sept. 17,— New Prelude, caUed The Meeting of the Com
pany ; or, Bayes' Art of Acting. — 22, Eichard III, ; Smith's first
appearance there,
Oct. 15. Never acted there, Electra, — 29, Eichard III, at both
houses,
Nov. 5. Never acted, Maid of the Oaks, — 26. Acted not once there
fourteen years, IsabeUa. '
Dec. 9. Never acted. The Cobbler. — 19. Never acted. The Choleric
Man,
Jan. 21, Never acted, MatUda,
Feb. 1. Never acted, Eival Candidates, — 17, Never acted, Braganza,
March 18, Never acted, Bon Ton, by Garrick, — 21, Never acted
there, Timanthus,
April 20, Second time these sixteen years, Measure for Measure,
May 3. A new comic opera,' called The Quaker. — 26, Theatrical
Fund : Wonder, Don Felix, Garrick ; a new occasional Prologue
by Palmer, and an occasional EpUogue by Garrick,
1775 — 1776. — Theatre opened with a Prelude, attributed to Garrick,
and called The Theatrical Candidates,
Sept. 28, Venice Preserved ; Pierre, Bensley, his first appearance
there these eight years.

APPENDIX. 483
Oct. 13. As You Like It; Eosalind, Mrs, King, her first appearance
there.— 28, Never acted. May Day ; or. The Little Gipsy.
Nov. 9, Never acted. Old City Manners,
Dec. 11. Not acted three years. Plain Dealer.— 12. Never acted.
Sultan ; or, a Peep into the SeragUo ; Eoxalana, an English slave,
Mrs. Abington.— 18. Every Man in His Humour ; first time this
season ; Kitely, Garrick.— 29, Merchant of Venice ; Portia, a
young lady ; the young lady, Mrs, Siddons,
Jan. 13, Not acted twenty years, Epicoene ; or, the SUent Woman ;
Epicoene, Mrs, Siddons,
Jan. 20, Not acted twelve years. Discovery ; Sir Anthony BranvUle,
Garrick, — 22 and 24, Sir Anthony BranvUle (with an address
to the ladies), Garrick.
Feb. 1. Never acted. Blackamoor Washed "White. — 3. Garrick acted
Lusignan, with Blackamoor, third time. — 5. Garrick acted Brute,
with Blackamoor, fourth time ; a riot that evening. — 7. Garrick
acted Sir Anthony BranviUe. — 8. Garrick acted Kitely. — 12.
Much Ado About Nothing ; Benedick, Garrick ; Dogberry, Par
sons. — 14. Garrick acted Leon. — 15. Never acted, Eunaway.
March 7. Zara ; Lusignan, Garrick, last time ; with (never acted)
Spleen ; or, Islington Spa. — 12. Not acted ten years. Woman's
a Eiddle. — 13. Never acted there, Cyrus. — 23. Never acted,
Valentine's Day.
April 11. Garrick acted Abel Drugger, last time. — 15. Never
acted. Love's Metamorphoses, — 19, Not acted nine years, Maho
met, — 25, Garrick acted Kitely, last time, — 26, Not acted six
years. School for Eakes, — 27, Garrick acted Hamlet. - — 30,
Garrick acted Sir John Brute, last time.
May 2. Garrick acted Leon, last time. — 8. Not acted three years,
Constant Couple. — 9. Garrick acted Benedick, last time. — 13.
King Lear; Lear, Garrick. — 16, Wonder; Don FeUx, Gurrick. —
21. Garrick acted Lear. — 22. Not acted four years, Eomeo and
JuUet,— 23, Suspicious Husband; Eanger, Ganick, — 27, Eichard
III, ; Eichard, Garrick, first time for four years ; Lady Anne,
Mrs, Siddons, flrst time,— 30. For the beneflt of Theatrical
Fund : Hamlet, Garrick, last time,
June 1, Garrick acted Eanger, last time,— 3, Garrick announced
in the biUs as Eichard for the last time, but he acted the part
again, — 6. By command, Eichard III,, Garrick, last time ; Lady
Anne, Mrs, Siddons ; this was her last appearance for this season.
—8. Garrick acted King Lear, last time.— 10. Wonder; Don
FeUx, Garrick, being his last appearance on the stage. The
proflts of the night were appropriated to the Theatrical Fund.
The address was spoken by Garrick.

¦18-1 APPENDIX.

APPENDIX C.

GAEEICK'S PLAYS AND PEOLOGUES.
In every department of his life, Garrick was industrious. He
was thus dUigent in cultivating every accomplishment, for the one
great aim of advancing himself and his profession. Management,
acting, travelling, and social Ufe, might seem enough to absorb aU his
time ; yet he found opportunity to be not only an agreeable and
sprightly, but a very diligent writer. His letters alone are often a
whole essay and argument. His plays are of a superior order, easy,
natural, vivacious, and their author deserves a good place among the
dramatists of his day. The Ust of his dramas is long, and includes : —
The Lying Valet (1740) ; Miss in her Teens (1747), founded on La
Parisienne, of D'Ancourt; Lethe (1746); LiUiput (1757); The Male
Coquet (1757) ; The Guardian, founded on the PupiUe, of Fagan (1759) ;
The Clandestine Marriage (1766) ; Cymon (1767) ; A Peep Behind the
Cm-tain (1767); The Jubilee (1769); The Irish Widow (1772);
A Christmas Tale (1774) ; A Prelude (1774) ; May Day (1776) ;
Theatrical Candidates (1776); and High Life Below Stairs. There
were besides many alterations of plays ; the most important of
which were Eomeo and JuUet, Every Man in his Humour, Catherine
and Petruchio, and Hamlet. He wrote nearly one hundred prologues ;
and though it was absurd to name them with those of Dryden, they
have inflmte merit of their own, both for variety, as weU as for ease and
spirit. This is one incident of the old dramatic days which has now
grown obsolete. No new play was then complete without this intro
duction, or conclusion ; and very often, when in the hands of a skUful
or Uvely actor, prologue or epUogue became even a greater feature of
the night than the play itself. Thus Johnson's weU-known Drury
Lane Prologue had " a run " to itself, and had to be repeated night
after night. The custom shows us that the audience came to enjoy
their fuU night's pleasure, from the vei-y rising of the curtain ; and
the present languid, fitful way of taking our dramatic pleasure, may
be one of the reasons why the practice has passed away. They were
very famiUar aud " free and easy " in their tone.
Yet such famUiarity had its benefit, and an effect on the decency
and order of the stage. For the prologue and epUogue, allowing a
certain licence, became a sort of guarantee that the regular busi-

APPENDIX, 485
ness of the stage should be kept sacred from aU such freedoms.
Thus the audience could enjoy a kind of privileged intercoui'se
with their favourite, which their own respect refused to tolerate
in the play. Now, as this safety-valve is gone, the "gagging"
has forced its way into the regular business of the play itself. It
has been mentioned that Garrick was coUecting for pubUcation aU
his fugitive pieces, but his death put a stop to this plan. Two
Uttle volumes of his prologues and verses were later sent out ; but
the coUection is not by any means complete. His plays and adapta
tions have been also pubUshed in four volumes. Those who would
wish to see yet more of what this agreeable writer has left, may con
sult the third volume of "Dodsley's CoUection," " The New Foundling
Hospital for Wit," "Notes and Queries," ^assi-m; and some dramatic
criticisms in the St, James's Chronicle, after his retirement from Drury
Lane, Garrick had a very choice collection of ItaUan and French
works purchased abroad, and some of these have kept together. Book-
buyers wiU sometimes have come on a stray volume at a sale — his
book-plate at the beginning with Shakspeare's bust, and a shield and
motto from Menage, a Uttle French hint as to the two duties of the
book-borrower, his first being, to read it with aU dUigence, and then
return it as speedily as possible.

INDEX.

Abington, Mrs., her dislike to Gar
rick, ii., 335 ; her conduct to Gar
rick, ij., 878
Baddeley, Mrs., ier strange career, ii,,
310
Baretti, i,, 4.S4
Barrow by. Dr., i., 51
Barry, acting with Garrick in Dub
lin, i., 170 ; his gratitude to Gar
rick, i., 183 ; Ms debut in London,
i., 200 ; engaged by Garrick, his
grievances, i., 251 ; deserts to the
other honse, i., 252 ; Romeo con
test, i., 255 ; his " King Lear " rivalry
with Garrick, i., 321 ; his death, ii., 432
Bate, Rev. Mr,, his play damned, ii., 386
Beaumarchais, ii., 147
Bedford, The, and its coterie, i., 283
Beighton, The Rev. Mr., portrait of,
i., 394
Bellamy, Miss, at Sheridan's house at
Teddington, i., 158 ; at Dublin with
Garrick, i., 174 ; Ker treatment of
him, i., 176
Bensley, Elia's sketch of, ii., 311
Bickerstaff, his fate, ii., 277
Bos-well, at a dinner, i., 422 ; at the
Jubilee, ii., 227 ; his absurd beha
viour, ii., 228
Bower, Dr., his attack on Mr. and
Mrs. Garrick, ii., 17
Bracegirdle, Mrs., Garrick's opinion
of her playing, ii., 50
Bride, Miss, in the Rosciad, ii., 8
Brown, Dr., his Barbarossa, i., 301
Camden, Lord, i., 408
Carlyle, Dr., his acquaintance with
the Violette, i., 189, 393
Chatham, Lord, Ms verses, i., 415
Churchill, sketch of him at Vaux-
haU, ii., 2 n. ; his Rosciad, ii., 1 ; sit
ting in the pit, ii., 12 ; his strange
letter for assistance, ii., 13 ; his
death, ii., 136
Cibber, Colley, Ms dislike a,nd depre
ciation of the new actor, i., 103

Cibber, Mrs., proposal to Garrick to
join her and Quin in taking Drury
Lane, i., 165 ; claims to play Esti
fania, i., 307 ; her death, ii., 167 ;
sketch of her, ii., 299
Chesterfield, Lord, neglect of Garrick
in Dublin, i., 169
Chinese Pestival Riot, account of, i.,
309
Clairon, sketch of her acting, ii., 150 ;
her battle with the government, ii.,
157
Clancey, the blind doctor, i., 148
Clive, her retirement, ii., 200 ; her
pleasant letter, ibid. ; her skirmish
ing with Garrick, ii., 333, 344,
385, n. ; intercedes for Miss
Pope, ii., 342 ; her generous testi
mony to Garrick's merits, ii., 384
Clough, Anne, David's mother, i., 5 ;
her children, i., 6 ; touching letter
to her husband, i., 20 ; her death,
i., 52
Cobham, Lord, opinion of Garrick as
compared with Bett-erton, i., 99
Colson, drawn as Ge]idus, i., 42
Coventry, Lady, her patronage of
Crisp's play, i., 298
Crisp, his Virginia, i., 297
Cumberland's recollections of Garrick,
i., 203
Dance, his behaviour, i., 401
Davies, Tom, ii., 3, 4, n. ; account of
D'fion, the Chevalier, ii., 430
Delavals, their amateur performance
at Drury Lane, i., 267
Denmark, king of, visit to Drury
Lane, ii., 195
Dexter, i., 272
Dibdin, " his consummate impudence
and ingratitude," ii., 358
Dodd, Dr., i., 421
Dodd, the actor, Elia's sketch of, ii.,
312 ; Hoadly's ditto, 312 ; ibid. n.
Docksey, ii., 400
Dodsley, account of his Cleone, i., 376
Drury Lane ("Wren's) built, i., 66 ; its

488

INDEX.

patents, i., 157, n. ; charges on, i,,
213 ; plays suspended during Pas
sion "VVeek, i., 295
Dublin, account of, in 1742, i., 117
English stage, present state of, re
marks on, ii. , 452
Essex, Earl of, i., 407
Farquhar, his daughter alive in 1752,
i., 267
Pfarrington, Ms impression of Gar
rick's Hamlet, ii. , 105
Fielding, Henry, Ms Pasquin, i., 74 n.
Pitzpatrick, "Thady," account of, i.,
284 ; his quarrel with "Woodward, i.,
293 ; his attack on Garrick, ii., 31 ;
organises a riot against Garrick, ii.,
37 ; portrait of him iu the Rosciad,
ii., 43
Fleetwood, account of, i., 129 ; his em
barrassments, i., 137 ; riot against,
i., 152 ; tricks his creditors, i., 156
Poote, Samuel, his appearance at
Drury Lane, i., 148 ; Ms critique on
the Suspicious Husband, i., 209 ;
about to satirise Garrick and Lacy
in Ms " Tea," i., 226 ; quarrel with
¦Woodward, i., 246 ; Ms uniform con
duct to Garrick, i., 235 — 250 ; his
plan for ridiculing Woflfingtou stop
ped, i., 344 ; his conduct to Garrick,
i., 349 ; his quarrel with "Wilkinson,
i., 351 ; Ms quarrel with Hifferuan,
i., 379 ; at the Jubilee, ii., 218, 225
Forster, Mr., his description of the'
comedy of False Delicacy, ii., 193
Forster, Mrs., granddaughter of Mil
ton, i., 250
Pox's critique on Garrick's acting, ii.,
Ill
Prench, the, stage, account of, ii., 150
Fribbleriad, the, i., 33
Gainsborough, Ms " swearing letters,"
ii., 196
Gaekick, David :—
Vol. I. — Born at Hereford, 1 ; his
baptism, 6 ; his brothers and sis
ters, 7 ; patronage by "Walmesley, 9;
put to Lichfield school, ibid. ; his
master, ibid.; boyish theatricals, 12 ;
sent out to Portugal, 13 ; life there,
and return home, 14 ; letters to his
father, 17; life at Lichfield, 22;
visit to London, 26 ; sent to Edial,
29 ; sets out for London, 34 ; enters
at Lincoln's Inn, 37 ; legacy from
his uncle, 38 ; life at Rochester, 43 ;
starts as a wine merchant with his
brother; his Ufe, 46 ; plays for Cave,
52 ; and with Hogarth and Hoadly,
53; his critiques, iS-W.; his verses, 54;
his farce, 56 ; acquaintance with

"Woffington, ihid. ; Ms verses to her,
60; Hanbury'WiUiams, Msrival, 63;
appears at Drary Lane, 78 ; at Ips
wich, 78 ; Ms letters to Lichfield,
announcing Ms first appearance at
Goodman's Fields, 83 ; acconnt of
Ms debut, 84 ; bill, 85 ; praised by
Pope, 91 ; letters of excuse to rela
tions, 93 ; his new farce. The Lying
Valet, 96 ; encouraged and patron
ised by Mr. Pitt, Glover, Murray,
aud others, 102 ; scene -with Speaker
Onslow, 102, n. ; his retort on Quin,
106 ; plays Bayes, 107 ; his "taking
off" the old actors, 108; quarrel
with GifEard, ibid. ; attempts King
Lear, 110 ; provides for Ms brother,
113; resume of his labours during
the season, 114; plays at Drury
Lane, 115 ; sets off for DubUn with
"Woffington, 116; his success, 124;
there given the name of Roscius,
1 25 ; engages at Drury Lane with
Fleetwood, 127 ; keeps house with
Macklin and "Woffington, 132 ; re
fuses to act, and organises a revolt
against Fleetwood, 138 ; his quarrel
with Macklin, 141 ; storm on Ms
re-appearance, 144 ; Ms reply to
Macklin's " Case," 145 ; attempts
Othello, 153; coolness with Sheri
dan, 16-i ; illness, 155; acts at Sheri
dan's house, 158 ; his fitful intimacy
with 'Woffington, 159 ; promises to
marry her, ib'id. ; his final rupture
with her, 161 ; his farewell verses,
163 ; second visit to Dublin, 168 ;
Ms good humour to Bellamy, 177,
179 ; returns to town and plays be
fore the Prince of Hesse, 187 ; goes
to Cheltenham, 188 ; his rivalry with
Quin at the same theatre, 202 ; Ms
Fribble, 206; his iUness, 207 ; plays
Ranger, 208 ; joins with Lacy in
taking Drury Lane under a new
patent, 213; terms of their agree
ment, ibid. ; his life at Tunbridge
'Wells, 217 ; Ms engagement of
Pritchard and Macklin, 219 ; opens
the theatre, ib'id. ; his reforms,
220; "restores" Macbeth, 224; ei-
planation of his " fitful intimacy"
with Poote, 227; his Romeo adapta
tion, 229 ; brings out Irene, 231 ;
plays in Merope '• Uke an angel,"
234 ; stories connected with Ms
courtship of the Violette, ih'id. ; his
marriage, 240 ; Ms house in South
ampton Street, 243 ; attacks on him in
pampMets, 244 ; his re-appearance,
245 ; dispute with Poote, 246 ;
friendship with Hogarth, 248 ;
" Romeo " contest with Barry, 255 ;
disorder at the house, 259 ; iutro-

INDEX.

489

Gakbick, David. Vol.1, (continued).
, duces pantomimes, 266 ; Ms first
trip to Paris, 269 ; his adventure
there, 270 ; presented to the King
of Prance, 272 ; produces Every
Man in his Humour, 275, and
Zara, 299 ; revives The Chances,
300 ; brings out Barbarossa, 301 ;
said to " mammock " Shakspeare's
plays into operas, 305 ; brings
out his Chinese Pestiv.al, 309 ;
Ms resolute behaviour, 318 ; Ms
rivalry with Barry in Lear, 321 ;
plays with the debutante. Miss
Pritchard, 323 ; plays Don FeUx,
ibid. ; Ms dramatic School for
Children, ibid. ; his quarrel with
Dr. HUl, 329 ; tries Anthony, 330 ;
, patronage of "Wilkinson, 331 ; plea^
sant picture of him on an excur
sion, 335 ; hinders Poote from " tak
ing off " Woffington, 344 ; scene at
rehearsal at Drury Lane, 346 ; be
haviour of Wilkinson, 348 ; Foote's
enmity, 349 ; dispute with Murphy
about The Orphan of China, 355 ;
produces it, 363 ; obtains a pen
sion for Ralph, 367 ; quarrel with
Smollett, 368 ; declines Douglas,
373; his letter to Dodsley, 378; pur
chases a villa at Hampton, his life
there, 391 ; and at Althorpe, 402
his verses on Lord Warwick, 405
friendship with Lord Camden, 408
with Warburton, 412 ; with Sterne,
413; with Lyttleton, 414; -with Lord
Chatham, 415; with Burke, 416;
with the Duke of Newcastle, 417 ;
with Bute, ih'id. ; acquaintance with
Walpole, ibid. ; Ms fete at Hamp
ton, 420 ; picture of him when in
good spirits, 425 ; scene at Baretti's
trial, 435, n. ; author of High Life
Below Stairs, 438 ; " King John"
rivalry with Sheridan, 441 ; ac
quaintance -with Colman, 447
Vol. II. — Praised in the Rosciad, 8,
9 ; provokes the author, 1 1 ; his "sore
ness," ibid. ; appeal for Hogarth to
Churchill, 12 ; supposed author of
a pampMet, 15 ; his kindness to
Rich, 16 ; attacked' by Bower, 17 ;
dissuaded from bringing him on the
stage, 19 ; declines in popular fa
vour, 22 ; clears the stage of loun
gers, reforms the scenery, 22, 27 ;
his transformation scene, 28 ; quar
rel with Pitzpatrick, 31 ; attack on
Mm by Pitzpatrick, and riots at
Drury Lane, 38 ; his ode on Pitz
patrick, 42 ; his one bad house, 45 ;
visits Chatsworth to meet Quin, ibid.;
his epigram on Quin, 46, n.; de
scription of his physical advantages
VOL. II.

for acting, 50 ; detailed account of
his Richard, 51 ; of his King
Lear, 54 ; of his Hamlet, 60 ; Ms
Macbeth, 69 ; discussion as to his
height, 76 ; the King in Henry IV.,
78 ; his King John and Falcon-
bridge, 79 ; his Jaffier, 81 ; his
Chamont, 83 ; his Romeo, ibid.;
Othello, 84 ; the Ghost in HamUt,
85 ; Lusignan, ibid. ; Arbaces, 87 ;
Bayes, 89; Sir John Brute, 92;
Abel Drugger, 94 ; Lord Townly,
96 ; Benedick, ibid. ; Don Pelix,
ibid. ; Lord Chalkstone, ibid. ; Leon,
100 ; Archer, 101 ; Marplot, 102 ;
Sir Anthony Branville, 103 ; Virgi
nius, ibid. ; his " stage business,"
104 ; Hastings, 108 ; sets off on the
Grand Tour, 113; Ms journey to
Paris, 114; the state in which he
found Prench society, 1 17 ; and the
Prench stage, 118 ; his intimacy
with Clairon, ibid. ; visit to the
theatre, 120 ; the French Tancred,
ib'id. ; the " dagger scene " at Mr.
NevUle's, 123; sets off for Italy,
ibid. ; receives an invitation from
Voltaire, 124 ; meets Algarotti at
Florence, 125 ; visits Rome, 126 ;
and Naples, 127 ; treated with dis
tinction by the king, 129 ; his little
vanity, ibid. ; received by the Duke
of Parma 1 30 ; goes on to Venice,
131 ; seized with fever at Munich,
134 ; returns to Paris, 137 ; Ms un
easiness at Powell's success, ibid. ;
" Mr. Garrick's successor," ibid. ; his
generous advice to Powell, 138 ; Ms
life and amusements in Paris, 142 ;
his sympathy for Clairon, and gene
rous offer, 160 ; his return to Eng
land, 162 ; undecided whether he
wiU reappear, 163 ; but persuaded
by the king, 165 ; Ms reappearance
and address, 164; the Theatrical
Pund, 166; dispute with Colman
as to the Clandestine Marriage, 169;
their shares in its authorship dis
cussed, 171 ; their reconciliation,
176 ; plays before the king of Den
mark, 195 ; reconciled to Murphy,
197 ; fretted by Lacy, ibid. ; revives
The Nonjuror, J 99 ; frequents clubs,
202 ; his social arts, 203 ; little scene
exhibiting Ms uneasiness at praise
of another, 205, n; his vers de soci'et'e,
207 ; " gets up" the Stratford Jubilee,
210 ; account of it, ibid. ; gets up a
pageant at Ms theatre, 232 ; account
of Foote's behaviour to him, 235 ;
" For you know Poote hates me,"
249 ; Johnson's uniformly unkind
conduct, 250 ; moves to the Adelphi,
267 ; account of his house, 268 ; riot
I I *

490

INDEX.

Gareick, David. Vol.11.
on the production of KeUy's new
comedy, 270 ; goes on visits, 271 ;
warned by Junius, 273 ; Ms alarm,
274 ; Kenrick's libel, 277 ; Bicker
staff 's piteous appeal to him, 277 ;
new dispute with Murphy, 283 ;
alters Hamlet, 288 ; encouraged by
scholars, 289 ; produces it, 291 ; Ms
dreamy idea of an edition of Shak
speare, 292, n. ; goes to court, 320 ;
account of his preparations for
acting, 320 ; once intoxicated, 321 ;
his discipline, 322 ; his behaviour to
Ms actors, 323 ; scene with Frodsham,
325 ; Ms disputes with King, 329 ;
with Smith, 331 ; with Clive, 333 ;
with Abington, 335 ; with Mrs.
Yates, 338 ; with Miss Younge, 339;
with Miss Pope, 340 ; attacked by
David Williams, 350 ; his generous
letter as to Mossop, 357 ; writes an
epitaph on Goldsmith, 359 ; their
intimacy and misunderstandings,
362 ; his beha-viour to Henderson,
367 ; to Mrs. Siddons, 370 ; remodels
Drury Lane, 373 ; prepares to retire,
375 ; finds the receipts falling off,
ibid. ; supposed motives for this re
tirement, 377 ; discussion as to his
age, 380; proposes to Colman to buy
his share, 383 ; concludes with She
ridan and others, ibid. ; grateful tes
timony of Clive to his merits, 384 -.
a last riot, 386 ; Ms last season, 389 ;
the excitement, 390 ; his last per
formances, 391; the last night, "The
Wonder," 395 ; his kind behaviour
to Ms relations, 400 ; account of his
character, 409 ; instances of his
• liberality, 417 ; his portraits and
painters, 425 ; complimented by the
House of Commons, 429 ; offends
the Chevalier D'fion, 430 ; anxious
about the theatre, 431 ; goes on
visits, and is seen at a review,
437 ; decay at Drury Lane, 439 ; last
visit to Althorpe, 440 ; threatened
by " Curtius," ibid. ; seized with ill
ness at Althorpe, 441 ; account of
his last sickness, 442 ; his funeral,
444; his monument, 445; his wealth,
and his wiU, 447
Garrick, David, the Huguenot, flies
from Prance to London, i., 3 ; his
journal, i., ibid. ; his children, i., 4
 , Captain Peter, quartered at
Lichfield, i., 5 ; his marriage, i., 6 ;
sent to Hereford, i., 6, 7 ; his pro
motion, i., 13 ; goes out to Gibraltar,
i., 16 ; returns home, i., 32 ; his wiU,
i., 38 ; and death, i., 39
 , Mrs., on an excursion, i., 336 ;
at Hampton, i., 400 ; restored by

the mud baths of Albano, ii., 134 ;
admiration of the Prench for her,
ii., 148 ; her lastyears, ii., 448. (See
Violette.)
Garrick, David, the actor's uncle, sent
to Portugal, i., 5 ; Ms death, circa
1737, i., 39
 , Peter (David's brother), bom, i.,
7 : joins David in the wine trade, i.,
44 ; Ms character, i., ibid. ; Ms de
clining years, ii., 399
 , George, ii., 400
 , Carrington, ii., 403
 , David, the actor's nephew, ii.,404
 , Arabella and Catherine, the
actor's nieces, ii., 406
Gibbon's opinion of Garrick's Richard,
ii., Ill
Gifford, Henry, acconnt of, i., 67,
116, n.
Glover, i., 101 ; Ms Boadicea, i., 296.
Gluck, i., 193
Goldsmith, his relation to Garrick, ii.,
359
Goodman's Fields Theatre, account of
it, i., 67, 69 ; description of the in
terior, i., 86
Graham, Mr., his play, i., 380
Griffiths, Mr., i., 383
Grimm's opinion of Garrick's acting,
n., 98
Hampton, Garrick's villa at, i., 390,
396 ; a day at, i., 393
Havard, ii., 317
 , Churchill's sketch of, u., 3
Hawkesworth, Dr., i., 389
Hawkins, his Alfred, i., 385
 , Sir John, his prejudices against
the stage, i., 68, 69
Henderson, Ms relations to Garrick,
u., 367
Hiffeman, Dr.,i., 285
Hiffernan, Dr., frightens Poote, i., 379
HiU, Dr., probable reference to, i., 136 ;
account of, i., 287
Hoadly, Dr. Benjamin, Ms Suspicious
Husband, i., 208
Hogarth, plays Julius Csesar, with
Hoadly and Garrick, i., 63; his
verses, i., 249 ; Ms death, ii., 1 36
Holland, ii., 4
Home, account of his Douglas, i., 373
Irish stage, its great players, i., 118
James, Dr., i., 7
Jephson, i., 433
Johnson, Dr., at Lichfield, scene at the
strolling performance, i., 12 ; sets
up a school at Edial, i., 29 ; sup
plies Prologue for Drury Lane, i. ,
219 ; his discontent at the manner
Irene was brought out, i., 233 ; his

INDEX.

491

constant unkindness to Garrick, i.,
250—266 ; his jest on Earl of Es
sex, i., 446 ; at Garrick's funeral,
u., 446
Johnson, Michael, i., 7
KeUy, Hugh, his comedy, u,, 193
Kennedy, Dr., i., 51
Kenrick, Ms Ubel on Garrick, u., 277
King, Tom, EUa's sketch of, ii., 319 ;
his conduct to Garrick, ii., 329
Macbeth, Davenant's version, i., 223
Mackenzie, " The Man of Feeling," i.,
387
MackUn, Charles, Ms early friendship
with Garrick, i., 47 ; the first to in
troduce the natural school of act
ing, i., 64 ; his friendship with
Fleetwood, i., 130 ; Ms intimacy
with Garrick, and gross description
of Garrick's playing, ii., 106 ; his
closing days, ii., 304
MaUet, Ms play of Elvira, i., 36 ; his
Alfred, i., 269
Marr, ii., 317
Monsey, Dr., i., 427
Moody, ii., 5 ; Ms bold behaviour to
Fitzpatrick, u., 41
Moore, Ed., Ms Foundling, i., 221 ; his
Gil Bias, i., 269 ; his Gamester, i.,
278
More, Hannah, U., 429 ; her ode to
Dragon, 436
Mossop, Heniy, i., 273 ; his jealousy,
i., 287 ; leaves Drury Lane in dis
gust, i., 306 ; his elocution, ii., 345 ;
his fate, il., 347
Mudge, Dr., his impressions of Gar
rick's acting, ii., 105
Murphy, Arthur, i., 291 ; Ms quarrel
with Poote, i., 307 ; Ms mistaken
account of the king's remarks on
Garrick's Richard, i., 316, n. ; ac
count of The Orphan of China, i.,
355 ; Churchill's sketch of, ii., 5 ;
account of his later career, ii., 285 ;
his Uvely comedies, ii., 434
Newton, Bp., Ms encouragement of
Garrick, i., 97
Palmer, J., his death, ii., 196 ; Elia's
sketch of, ii., 313
Pantomime, account of, i., 262
Patu, i., 318
Place, De la, ii., 143
Pope, Miss, i., 323 ; criticised by
ChurchiU, U., 340
Porter, Mrs., her praise of Garrick, i.,
99
Powell, dra-wn by Garrick from a
" spouting" club in Wood Street, ii.,
113 ; Ms success, ii., 132

PreviUe, sketch of, ii., 152
Pritchard, Mrs., her death, u., 196 ;
her Beatrice, ii., 228
Pulteney, Mr. (late Lord Bath), i.,
100
Quin, Ms three dethronements, i.,
105 ; oaUs Garrick " the Whitfield
of the stage," ibid.j at Covent
Garden, i., 149 ; his jest on Gar
rick's Othello, i., 153 ; Ms sketch of
Warburton, i., 166 ; his rivalry
with Garrick at the same theatre,
i., 202 ; pendant to Cumberland's
picture of him and Garrick, i., 260 ;
Churchill's sketch of, ii,, 7 ; Ms
death, U,, 168
Ralph, i., 367
Reed, his Dido, i., 384
Reynolds, Sir Joshua, his nephew's
play declined by Garrick, i., 384 ; his
character of Garrick, ii., 423
Rich, his dislike to Garrick, i., 210 ;
his oddities, i., 263, n.
Rosciad, The, its effect, ii., 2
Ross, ii., 4 ; sketch of, ii., 272
Sheridan, Thomas, the actor, his pro
posals to Garrick, i., 160 ; Ms grow
ing jealousy, i., 154 ; engaged at
Covent Garden, i., 299 ; rivalry in
King- John, i., 443 ; Ms rudeness to
Garrick, ii., 436
 , Mrs. P., her comedy, ii., 44 ; her
gay letter, ibid., n.
 , B. B., his management, ii., 430 ;
his School for Scandal, ii., 433 ;
almost sole owner of Drury Lane,
U., 435
Shirley, Mr., Ms Black Prince, i., 250 ;
his behaviour to Garrick, i., 387
Shuter, i., 311 ; ii., 432
Siddons, Mrs., her admiration of Gar
rick's Richard, ii., 54
Smith, "the genteel," i., 311 ; his be
haviour, ii., 331
Smock Alley Theatre, 1., 119—121
Smollett, Ms behaviour to Garrick, i.,
368 ; Ms amende, i., 371
Spencer, Lord and Lady, Garrick's
intimacy with, i., 402
Steevens, his behaviour, i., 424
Stockdale, Percival, i., 431
Stage, the, in 1738, i., 49 ; theatres in
London about 1738, i., 66 ; persecu
tion of the players, i., 71 ; Licen
sing Act, i., 74 ; opposed by Lord
Chatham, i., 75
•Swinfen, Mr., his letter announcing
David's first appearance, i., 82
Thomson, his Tancred, i., 155
Townshend, Charles, i. 419

492

INDEX.

Violette, the (Mrs. Garrick), comes to
England, i., 189 ; account of her,
i., 190 ; dances before the Prince of
Hesse, i,, 187 ; ..patronised by the
Burlingtonsj, i, 191 ; her success,
i., 192 ; riot at Driiry Lane on ac
count of.her-bmiiiting a dance, i.,
194 ; question as to her parentage,
i., 196, n.
Warburton, i., 412
Warwick, Earl of, i,, 405 •
Weston, u., 432
Wilkes, Ms falsity, i., 275
WilkLuson, introduction to Garrick,
i., 331 ; scene at a country theatre,
335 ; Ms ride, 340, n.
Williams, David, opinion of Garrick's
playing, ii., 112 ; his advocacy of
Mossop, ii., 349
Williams, Hanbury, admirer of Wof
fington, and his verses to her,
i., 61, 160
Woffington, Margaret, account of, i.,
56 ; letter of, i., 135 ; her incon
stancy, i., 159 ; breaks off with Gar
rick, i., 161 ; account of her quarrel
with Garrick, i., 162 ; Ms " case," i..

164 ; her gallant behaviour to the
audience, i. 260 ; description of her
at Dublin, i., 299 ; scene on her
sudden iUness, i., 324 ; character of,
i., 325 ; a " convert," i., 326
Woffington, Miss PoUy, her marriage
with Mr. Cholmondely, i., 159
Woodward, deserts Garrick, i., 328 ;
ii.,4
Walpole depreciates Garrick, i., 102 ;
Ms relations with Garrick, i., 418 ;
low opinion of Ms acting, ii., 110
WalUs, Mr., his monument to Gar
rick, ii., 445
Walmesley, Gilbert, his character,!., 8 ;
his marriage, i. , 33 ; letters of recom
mendation to Colson, i., ibid.
Yates at BartholomewFair, ii., 303
Yates, Mrs., and Mrs. Barry playing
in their old age, ii., 301
York, the Duke of, on his tour, ii.,
129
Yorke, Charles, i., 419
Young, Dr., his opinion of Betterton
and Garrick, i., 99 ; The Brothers, i.,
280'
Younge, Miss, U., 339

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