Chapter II: Part 2

The comedy with which the New Theater was opened in 1732, “The Recruiting Officer,” is the earliest play known to have been acted in North America, for though, as has been stated, there was a play-house in Williamsburg ten years before, it is not known what plays were acted there until 1736, when four are referred to, and “The Recruiting Officer” was one of them, which had the attraction for Virginia that the Colony was referred to in it. It was a popular play in the early part of the last century, and continued to be acted frequently for nearly a century and a half. Much of its wit and sprightliness is in language that would not be tolerated now on any stage, as also some of the minor incidents of the plot; but its raciness in this respect was no doubt, at that time, a part of its attraction, and then its leading parts have been enacted by great players. It was written by George Farquhar, one of four dramatists--Wycherley, Congreve, Vanbrugh, and himself--who are generally referred to as the leading comic dramatists of the Restoration; and of the four, this production of Farquhar was the one that continued the longest upon the stage. Leigh Hunt, a very competent critic, considered “The Recruiting Officer” one of the very best of Farquhar’s plays. Every character, he says, of any importance, is a genuine transcript from nature; that there is a charm of gaiety and good humor throughout it, and the fresh, clear air of a ruddy-making remote English town neighborhooded by ample elegance. It was performed in New York in 1843, and was revived February 8, 1885, in the same city, by Mr. Augustin Daly, who has done so much to enable the present generation to see what these witty and sprightly old comedies are when represented on the stage, so far as it can be done, by detaching from them what would be objectionable in the present age, and which, in the revival of “The Recruiting Officer,” he did by reducing its five acts to three. It will not, I think, be out of place to show what was the result by inserting two clever criticisms that appeared in two of the New York journals on the morning after this revival, by writers who were not only excellent dramatic critics, but also evidently thoroughly well acquainted with the dramatic literature of the period when “The Recruiting Officer” was written, and the correctness of whose account of the performance on that evening I am able to corroborate, having been myself one of the audience on that occasion. There is a freshness and vividness moreover in an account of the performance of a play written immediately after seeing it, which can rarely be imparted afterwards.

This is one of the articles:

“THE RECRUITING OFFICER.

_Captain Plume_ Mr. DREW
_Captain Brazen_ Mr. PARKES
_Justice Balance_ Mr. FISHER
_Sergeant Kite_ Mr. LEWIS
_Mr. Worthy_ Mr. SKINNER
_Bullock_ Mr. GILBERT
_Appletree_ Mr. BOND
_Pearman_ Mr. WILKS
_Balance’s Steward_ Mr. BEEKMAN
_Mistress Melinda_ Miss VIRGINIA DREHER
_Rose_ Miss MAY FIELDING
_Lucy_ Miss MAY IRWIN
_Sylvia_ Miss ADA REHAN

“I am called Captain, sir, by all the drawers and groom-porters in London,” said Miss Ada Rehan at Daly’s Theater last night. And bravely she wore her red coat and sword, the martial twist in her cravat, the fierce knot in her periwig, the cane upon her button, and the dice in her pocket. The audience were in ecstasies.

It was a revival of “The Recruiting Officer,” by George Farquhar. The manners of Queen Anne’s day were reproduced on Mr. Daly’s stage. _Captain Plume_ and _Sergeant Kite_ were enlisting the country lads and paying court to the country lasses. _Justice Balance_ was keeping watch over the morals of his daughter _Sylvia_. Sprightly _Mistress Melinda_ was intriguing for the hand of young _Worthy_. _Brazen_ was bragging of his service in Flanders against the French and in Hungary against the Turks. The atmosphere was charged with love, and the stage resounded with the tap of the drum.

The audience was in a curious and observant mood. The doings on the stage were of a wholly unfamiliar kind. The language sounded strangely fantastic to modern ears. Ladies held their breath at the bygone sentiment of the play. Men met in groups between the acts and wondered what was the secret of its original success. Its secret was tolerably simple. It was written at the time of Marlborough’s earlier victories. Blenheim had just been won. A military fever possessed the country. Rustics went marching round the fields with ribbons in their caps. The recruiting officer was seen in every town. The popular song of the hour was:

Over the hills and over the main
To Flanders, Portugal and Spain:
The Queen commands and we’ll obey;
Over the hills and far away.

Moreover, there was a steady flow of indecency in the comedy. The town had been growing dull. Congreve had retired into the intimacy of the Duchess of Marlborough. Wycherley was writing feeble poems under the tutorship of that rising young man, Alexander Pope. Vanbrugh was giving his attention to architecture. Jeremy Collier and his moral tractate had exorcised the merry devils off the stage, and the pit mourned their departure. So “The Recruiting Officer,” with its broad jests, was particularly welcome. _Captain Plume_, with his amorous devices, became the ideal of the army, and pretty _Rose_, with her chickens, furnished laughter for the mess-room and coffee-houses.

Human nature has not much changed. Mr. Daly’s audience last night was as fashionable an audience as could be gathered in the city. Yet the few suggestive lines which he has left in the piece excited the loudest laugh. Americans are not squeamish with these old plays. They know that the comedies of the Restoration were not models of propriety. They know that George Farquhar, the rollicking Irish captain, was not a preacher of morality. And if the piece hung fire at times, if it seemed a trifle heavy and monotonous, it was because the spectators had been credited with a prudery which they did not seem to possess.

The company was a little out of its element. Mr. Drew, in particular, should have been livelier and airier, conducting his love affairs with as light a touch as Charles Mathews might have conducted them in other days, or Mr. Wallack to-day. Mr. Fisher, too, pressed with too heavy a hand on such niceties of character as have been discovered in _Justice Balance_; and Mr. James Lewis, though discreet and refined in his humor, extracted none of the exuberant fun from _Sergeant Kite_ with which critics of the past have supposed that unscrupulous personage to overflow. Mr. Skinner was a dignified young lover, and Mr. Parkes amused as _Brazen_. But the honors of the evening rested with Miss Virginia Dreher, who looked radiantly beautiful in a web of lace and gold, and with Miss Ada Rehan, who had the bold step, the rakish toss and the impudent air of your true military gallant. She was not Peg Woffington, perhaps, but she was a charming woman in disguise, and the town will be curious to see her.

* * * * *

This is the other:

“THE RECRUITING OFFICER.”

Another “first night” in Mr. Daly’s comfortable theater, and the same assemblage of well-dressed people, with faces one knows by sight on every side, and pleasurable expectancy the predominating sensation. “Love on Crutches” has ambled gracefully out of sight, and instead of the fresh daintiness of the modern play there were to come rollicking humor, the buoyant spirits, the intrigue and broad wit of old English comedy. No longer the New York fine lady, Miss Rehan was to depict the healthy English maiden of nearly two centuries ago, and to masquerade as well in the character of _Jack Wilful_; Mr. Drew, who had so cleverly portrayed the young New Yorker of the last quarter of the nineteenth century, was to assume the becoming uniform, the rakish air, and the frolicsome manners of a British officer in the first quarter of the eighteenth; instead of a meek and virtuous family physician, Mr. Lewis was to be seen as a rattling and reprehensible recruiting sergeant. In other words, George Farquhar’s bright and witty comedy, “The Recruiting Officer,” was to be revealed to a generation of playgoers who scarcely remembered even its title, so long had it been left upon the shelf. Pleasurable expectations of the production were in many respects realized. The comedy was tastefully mounted, though without extravagance, the costumes were handsome and appropriate to the time represented, and consequently the stage pictures revealed were both handsome and quaint. That the old-time flavor was fully preserved in the action it would be folly to say. An intelligent performance of Farquhar’s comedy was given, however, with much of the original text, and everybody present interested in the history and literature of the English stage found abundant entertainment. Mr. Daly has compressed the five acts of Farquhar into three, slightly altering the sequence of some of the scenes, expunging lines of dubious meaning, and many not at all dubious, and quickening the dénouement. While “The Recruiting Officer,” is not so ingeniously constructed as “The Beaux’ Stratagem,” its dialogue bristles with repartee, every character is clearly defined, and the plot is clever though slight. The scene is laid at Shrewsbury, and the personages are simple townsfolk and military men. There is a quartet of lovers, a wise father, a noisy braggart, the _Sergeant_, who fills the position of intriguing valet to the hero, a designing lady’s maid, a knowing market girl, and a trio of bumpkins. The heroine, being sent away by her father to avoid her lover, returns in male attire to test the hero’s affections, and after some strange experiences weds him. The play, of course, has famous associations. Peg Woffington played _Sylvia_ when the veteran Quin was _Justice Balance_; Elliston played _Captain Plume_, and in later years this was one of Charles Kemble’s favorite parts; Munden and Knight were the original representatives of the two recruits, _Pearmain_ and _Appletree_,[16] and Irish Johnstone was _Sergeant Kite_. In that cast Ann Oldfield was _Sylvia_, Cibber _Brazen_ and Wilks, Farquhar’s nearest friend, _Captain Plume_. It was a fancy of Farquhar’s friends that _Plume_ was a portrait of himself. He had been a dashing officer during his brief and eventful career, as well as actor and dramatist. Farquhar’s life was a sad one, in spite of the legacy of merriment he left to the world in his works. He left college to go upon the stage, which, after accidentally wounding a brother actor in a fencing combat, he abandoned for the army. He died at the age of thirty, leaving no fortune for his family, although within a decade he had written seven successful comedies, “Love and a Bottle,” “The Constant Couple,” “The Inconstant; or, Wine Works Wonders,” “The Stage Coach,” “The Recruiting Officer,” and “The Beaux’ Stratagem,” during the run of which he expired, in the Spring of 1707. Farquhar was a man of genius, a keen observer, and, like most of his kind, a stanch foe to all pretense. His low-comedy characters were true to nature in their conceits and frailties, as well as in their manner of speech; his high-bred dames were not always circumspect in their behavior, while his young gentlemen were devil-may-care fellows, glib of tongue, affable, generous, but not exactly proper. He belonged to his age, and, compared with the work of some of his contemporaries and immediate predecessors, his writings were purity itself. With the exception of “The Inconstant” we do not remember that any of his comedies had been performed here in recent years, until “The Recruiting Officer” was seen last evening. They demand of actors dashing manners, freedom and breadth of style, which few performers of the present day possess. The charm of last evening’s representation lay in the portrayal of _Sylvia_ by Miss Rehan. Indeed this was the only individual piece of work that could be said to have any charm, and although _Sylvia_ is the heroine the part is scarcely more important than at least two of the others. Miss Rehan was not only successful in catching the spirit of the piece, and transmitting it to the audience, so far as her own part was concerned, but she invested the character with womanly tenderness and delicacy, and put more meaning into a few important lines of the text than appears on the surface. As _Sylvia_ herself, she was the affectionate and dutiful daughter, who felt more sorrow for her brother’s death, doubtless, than the author intended; as _Master Jack Wilful_, and his _alter ego_, _Captain Pinch_, who took snuff with a pinch, and in short, could do anything at a pinch, her imitation of the foppish manners and languid nonchalance of the London buck was deliciously droll and seemed not a bit incongruous, though it is not likely that it was so pronounced as Mistress Ann Oldfield’s treatment of the same passages. Miss Rehan, in short, was thoroughly at home in the old comedy. If her work was not strictly in keeping with traditions, it was still delightful and artistic. She interpreted Farquhar in her own way, but without missing his meaning, except where his meaning would not be tasteful to a modern audience. Her treatment of the scenes with _Rose_, for instance, was admirable; and the tact and refinement of the actress were needed in these in spite of careful “editing” and expunging. It is needless to say that Miss Rehan presented a handsome picture in the fine raiment of _Master Wilful_, and the well-setting uniform of the gay _Captain_. Mr. Charles Fisher handled the character of old _Balance_ in his accustomed manner; the mode of old comedy is familiar to this veteran, for he was educated to it, and was a rising actor when Farquhar’s comedy was last given at the old “Park,” forty-two years ago. Miss Dreher spoke the lines of languid _Miss Melinda_ in the right spirit, and was a fine lady to the life, but the part is of little interest. Mr. Drew bore himself well in his uniform, and his acting was extremely good at some points, notably, in the combat with _Brazen_. But he lacks the joyous, rattling style essential to the proper rendering of such a character. No one, for instance, would ever take _Captain Plume_, as played by Mr. Drew, for a portrait of George Farquhar. Mr. Lewis, as _Kite_, was Mr. Lewis; Mr. Skinner, as _Worthy_, was Guy Roverly dressed for a masquerade; _Brazen_, in the hands of Mr. Parkes, should be renamed Wooden; _Bullock_ was made by Mr. Gilbert, an ill-fed fellow, dry instead of unctuous, and the two recruits were colorless sketches. Miss Fielding was pretty and interesting as the chicken girl, and Miss Irwin amusing as _Melinda’s_ maid. At times the performance dragged when Miss Rehan was off the stage, but Mr. Daly is to be thanked for the revival all the same, which, as we have intimated, is well worth seeing.

Which ends this second writer’s notice of the revival.

* * * * *

The first representation of the play was at Drury Lane in 1706. The original Sylvia was Mrs. Oldfield, a tall, beautiful, finely formed woman, with an exquisite, clear, and powerful voice, that made her as impressive in tragedy as she was fascinating in comedy. Fielding, the novelist, says that her “ravishing perfection made her the admiration of every eye and every ear”; and Colley Cibber and other contemporaries unite in giving her the most unstinted praise. Such an actress, in such a part as Sylvia, the most interesting character in the play, must have been very attractive, especially in that portion of it where Sylvia appears in male attire, dressed as a young officer. It was to her that Pope referred, according to Warton, in the well-known lines, descriptive of a feminine wish at the closing moment of life:

“Odious! in woollen! ’twould a saint provoke”
(Were the last words that poor Narcissa spoke).
“No, let a charming chintz and Brussels lace
Wrap my cold limbs and shade my lifeless face.
One would not, sure, be frightful when one’s dead
And--Betty--give this cheek a little Red.”

The original Captain Plume, the recruiting officer, was Wilks, the most distinguished actor at that time on the English stage, and this part continued for a long time thereafter to be a favorite one with actors who had the advantages of a handsome face, a fine person, and the temperament to impart to it that vivacity and airiness that the character requires. The original Kite, the recruiting sergeant, a part that affords great scope for the powers of a low comedian, was Estcourt, a famous mimic, of whom Colley Cibber says: “This man was so amazing and extraordinary a mimic that no man or woman from the coquette to the privy councillor ever moved or spoke before him but he could carry their voice, look, mien, and motion instantly into another company,” and he adds, “even to the manner of thinking of an eminent pleader of the bar with every, the least article and singularity of his utterance so perfectly imitated that he was the very _alter ipse_, scarcely to be distinguished from his original.”[17] Farquhar, the author of the comedy, schooled him for this particular part, his performance of which has been highly praised. “Witness” says Dowse, “his Sergeant Kite; he is not only excellent in it, but a superlative mimic.” “Mr. Estcourt,” says Chetwood, “the original Sergeant Kite, every night of performance entertained the audience with a variety of little catches and flights of humor that pleased all but his critics.”

This allusion to his critics refers to Cibber and some others who, whilst admitting his great powers as a mimic, declared that he was but an indifferent actor, an opinion in which others who were equally competent to judge did not concur, and which on Cibber’s part was attributed to his desire to play leading parts, to which he could not succeed during Estcourt’s life. Estcourt may by his imitations of their acting or peculiarities have offended actors and others, who, however much they might enjoy such a representation of others, may have looked very differently upon a like representation of themselves, a good illustration of which is found in an anecdote of Estcourt and Sir Godfrey Kneller, the celebrated portrait painter of that period.

Secretary Craggs, when a young man, in company with some of his friends, went with Estcourt to Sir Godfrey Kneller’s, and whispered to him that a gentleman present was able to give such a representation of many among his most principal patrons as would occasion the greatest surprise. Estcourt accordingly, at the artist’s earnest desire, mimicked Lords Somers, Halifax, Godolphin, and others so exactly that Kneller was delighted and laughed heartily at the imitation. Craggs gave a signal as previously concerted, and Estcourt immediately imitated Kneller himself, who cried out in a transport of ungovernable conviction, “Nay, there you are out, man. By G----, that’s not me!”

In the colonial society, or “people of figure,” as they were then called in New York, where so much depended upon manners, well-arranged apparel and a flowing wig, a peruke maker was, at least in his own estimation, a person of consequence, as appears from the manner in which Mr. Heady is referred to in the paragraph that has been quoted, and also from an announcement that appeared in the “New York Weekly Post Boy” of March 5, 1750, about three weeks after the opening of the Nassau Street Theater by Kean & Murray’s company, as mentioned in my former paper, which announcement is as follows:

“This is to acquaint the public that there is lately arrived from London the _Wonder_ of the _World, an honest Barber and Peruke Maker_, who might have worked for the King if his Majesty would have employed him; it was not for the want of money that he came here, for he had enough of that at Home; nor for the want of Business that he advertises himself; but to acquaint the gentlemen and ladies that such a _Person is now in Town_ living near _Rosemary Lane_, where Gentlemen and Ladies may be supplied with Goods as follows, viz.: Tyes, Full Bottoms, Myers, Spencers, Fox-Tails, Ramilies, Tucks, Cut kinds of head coverings and adornments, and bob Perukes; also Ladies’ Talemalongues and Towers, after the Manner that is now wore at Court. By their humble and obedient Servant,

“JOHN STILL.”

The hibernicism that he did not put in the advertisement for the want of business, nor to make money, of which he had plenty, but merely to apprise the ladies and gentlemen that _such a person_ was then in town, was, if genuine, an exhibition of enormous self-importance, or it was what is more probable, a comic effort to attract attention to his calling by one who was something of an adept in that way, who may have been a member of the theatrical company that were then performing, and who followed the three pursuits of a barber, a peruke maker, and an actor.

It would appear that there was a second opening of a theater in New York seven years afterwards. All that I know respecting it is that there is a manuscript volume in the possession of Mr. William Nelson, of Paterson, New Jersey, handsomely engrossed with ornamental lettering, entitled:

POEMS

ON

SEVERAL OCCASIONS

BY

ARCHIBALD HOME, ESQ.,

Late Secretary and One of His Majesties Council
for the province of New Jersey North America,

which was purchased by Mr. Nelson from a London dealer in 1890, and that one of these poems is entitled

PROLOGUE,

INTENDED FOR THE SECOND OPENING OF THE
THEATRE AT NEW YORK, ANNO 1739,

which is as follows:

Encourag’d by th’ Indulgence you have shown,
Again we strive to entertain the Town,
This gen’rous Town which nurs’d our infant Stage
And cast a Shelter o’er its tender Age,
It’s young Attempts beyond their Merits prais’d
Fond of the little Bantling she had rais’d
Go on to cherish to a Stronger Size
This Spur to Virtue, this keen Scourge to Vice!
Ye Faultless Fair, lend all your influence here!
O Patronize the Child, you cannot Fear.

Oft when the Serious Admonition Fails
O’er the lov’d Fault the Comick Mask prevails;
Safe From the Bar, the Pulpit, and the Throne,
Vice blushing yields to ridicule alone.
This ancient Greece this the Great Romans knew,
They held th’ instructive Mirrour Fair to view;
That each his own Deformities might trace
And smooth his features by the Faithful Glass.

When Arts and Sciences began to Smile,
And shed their Lustre on our Parent Isle,
Attendant on their Steps the Drama came,
Like theirs th’ Improvement of Mankind her Aim;
Intent on this with them she journeys West,
To our New World, a wish’d, a welcome Guest;
Here pleas’d she sees her Stage erect its head,
Her Children honour’d, & her Servants Fed;
Prophetick views in you her second Rome
And swells her Breast with Empire yet to come.[18]

The researches of the writer of an article in “The New-York Times” of December the 15th, 1895, has brought to light some information hitherto unknown of these early American theaters. He has examined the newspaper files of the Library Society in Charleston, South Carolina, from 1732, and finds, on the 24th of January, 1735, that a play was acted in Charles Town, as the name was then written, and he gives this advertisement of it in the “South Carolina Gazette,” dated, as was then customary, from Jan. 18, 1734-35:

On Friday, the 24th inst., in the Court Room, will be attempted a tragedy called “The Orphan, or The Unhappy Marriage.”

Tickets will be delivered out on Tuesday next, at Mr. Shepheard’s, at 40s. each.

Forty shillings would seem to be a high price at that time to pay for a ticket to a dramatic entertainment. But what the value of a shilling was then in South Carolina compared to the value of a pound sterling, I do not know. The price of a box ticket at Kean & Murray’s theater in Nassau street fifteen years afterwards was five shillings New York currency, which was about the value of two dollars at the present day, and if the value of the South Carolina currency at that day was anything near that of New York, this high price for admission would imply either that the Court House where the performance of Otway’s Orphan took place did not afford room for many spectators or that the number of persons who were expected to patronize the entertainment was small, so that a high price of admission was necessary to meet the expenses and afford some remuneration to the players, who, I infer, were a regular theatrical company, as a charge was made for admission, and the performances were continued once a week, from the 24th of January to March 23, 1735-36, during which tragedies, comedies, farces, and other entertainments were given.

The writer in the “Times” says that the play announced in the advertisement, Otway’s “Orphan,” was performed, though the next “Gazette” took no notice of it, the “local” being of the briefest character; but the number of the “Gazette” of February, 1736, published the Prologue spoken on the opening night, which has at least the merit of easy versification and of being appropriate to such an occasion: He gives it as follows:

PROLOGUE.

When first Columbus touch’d this distant shore,
And vainly hoped his Fears and Dangers o’er,
One boundless Wilderness in view appear’d
No Champain Plains or rising Cities cheer’d
His wearied Eye.
Monsters unknown travers’d the hideous Waste,
And men more savage than the Beasts they chased.
But mark! How soon these gloomy Prospects clear,
And the new World’s late Horrors disappear.
The Soil obedient to the industrious swains,
What happy Harvests crown their honest Pains,
And Peace and Plenty triumph o’er the Plains.
What various products float on every Tide?
What numerous Navies in our Harbors ride?
Tillage and Trade conjoin their friendly Aid,
T’ enrich, the thriving Boy and lovely Maid,
Hispania, ’tis true, her precious mines engross’d,
And bore her shining Entrails to its Coast.
Britannia more humane supplies her wants,
The British sense and British beauty plants.
The aged Sire beholds with sweet surprise
In foreign climes a numerous offspring rise,
Sense, Virtue, Worth, and Honour stand confest
In each brave male, his prosperous hands have blessed,
While the admiring Eye improved may trace,
The Mother’s Charms in each chaste Virgin’s Face.
Hence we presume to usher in those Arts
Which oft have warm’d the best and bravest Hearts.
Faint our Endeavours, wide are our Essays,
We strive to please, but can’t pretend to Praise;
Forgiving Smiles o’er pay the grateful task,
Those all we hope and all we humbly ask.

The further information that this interesting article contains it will be more satisfactory to give in the author’s own words:

“The Orphan” was repeated January 28, and again February 4, with the addition of “a new Pantomime Entertainment in Grotesque Characters, called, ‘The Adventures of Harlequin and Scaramouch, with the Burgo-Master Trick’d.’”

After this run of three nights it was necessary to change the programme, and so the “Gazette” for February 18, 1734-35, announces “‘The Opera of Flora; or, Hob in the Well,’ with the Dance of the two Pierrots and a new Pantomime Entertainment, etc., to begin at 6 o’clock precisely.”

On Tuesday, March 25, they played the comedy called “The Spanish Fryar; or, The Double Discovery,” and on Thursday of the same week the play was repeated “for the benefit of Monimia.” Who was Monimia?

This benefit seems to have closed the season, but the people must have been pleased, for on May 3 the following advertisement appears:

Any gentlemen that are disposed to encourage the exhibition of plays next Winter, may have the sight of the proposals for a subscription at Mr. Shepheard’s in Broad Street. And any persons that are desirous of having a share in the performance thereof, upon application to Mr. Shepheard shall receive a satisfactory answer. N. B.--The subscription will be closed the last day of this month.

There is not another word in “The Gazette” concerning theatrical affairs until January 24, 1735-36, when the proposals appear to have borne fruit, for it is announced that--

On Thursday, the 12th of February, will be opened the new theatre in Dock Street, in which will be performed the comedy called “The Recruiting Officer.”

Tickets for the pitt and boxes will be delivered at Mr. Charles Shepheard’s, on Thursday, the 5th of February. Boxes, 30s; pitt, 20s; and tickets for the gallery, 15s, which will be delivered at the theatre the day of playing.

N. B.--The doors will be opened all the afternoon. The subscribers are desired to send to the stage door in the forenoon to bespeak places, otherwise it will be too late.

Dunlap evidently had never heard of the “new theatre in Dock Street,” for he says that “in 1773 the first theater was built in Charleston, S. C., David Douglass having gained permission from the magistrates, and being invited by the inhabitants. In September he went thither and the company followed him. They played fifty-one nights in that city, closing the campaign in June, 1774. On October 24, 1774, the first Congress agreed to discountenance gaming, cock fighting, exhibition of shows, plays, and other expensive diversions and entertainments.”

The Charles Town “Gazette” does not notice so important an event as the opening of the first theater in the South, and probably on this continent, in its news columns, but the advertisements announce that on February 23 Otway’s “Orphan” was played, and the next “Gazette” announces:

By desire of the officers of the Troop and Foot Companies, at the new theatre, Queen street, will be acted on Tuesday next, a comedy called the “Recruiting Officer,” with several entertainments as will be expressed in the great bills.

Tickets to be had at Mr. Charles Shepheard’s and at the theatre.

Charles Town was at that time a rapidly growing town, and plebeian “Dock” street, as shown by the advertisements, had been changed to “Queen” street, as it is still known.

Once a week seems to have been the rule for the plays, but the next piece, George Lillo’s famous “The London Merchant, or the History of George Barnwell,” was not put upon the boards until March 9. Seven days later it was repeated “for the last time,” with the addition of a farce, “The Devil to Pay, or the Wives Metamorphosed.” This was Coffey’s celebrated work, whose “female character Nell * * * made the fortunes of several actresses.”

The season seems to have closed with the perennial “Orphan” and the above-named farce, which were played March 23, 1735-36. This is all that can be gleaned from the “Gazette” as to the plays and theater, but the new venture seems to have very soon come to grief. The “Gazette” for May 22-29 contains this epigram:

ON THE SALE OF THE THEATRE.

How cruel Fortune, and how fickle, too,
To crop the Method made for making you!
Changes tho’ common, yet when great they prove,
Make men distrust the care of Mighty Jove;
Half made in thought (though not in fact) we find
You bought and sold, but left poor H. behind.
P. S.--Since so it is ne’er mind the silly trick,
The pair will please, when Pierrot makes you sick.

Who sold and who bought is a mystery, but the transaction did not change the theater to other uses, for the “Gazette” announces: “A ball at the play-house in Queen street on February 3 next. To begin at 6 o’clock.” In the paper for January 8-15, 1737, and in May of the same year: “At the request of the Ancient and Honorable Society of Free and Accepted Masons, at the theatre in Queen Street, on Thursday next, the 26th instant, will be performed a comedy, called ‘The Recruiting Officer,’ with a prologue, epilogue and song suitable to the occasion, to which will be added a new dance called ‘Harlequin,’ and the clown and the song, ‘Mad Tom’ in proper habiliments, by a person that has never yet appeared upon the stage.”

This performance seems to have been a great success, for the next “Gazette” accords it this most extended notice:

CHARLESTOWN, May 28.

On Thursday night last “The Recruiting Officer” was acted for the entertainment of the ancient and honorable society of Free and Accepted Masons, who came to the Play House about 7 o’clock, in the usual manner, and made a very decent and solemn appearance; there was a fuller house on this occasion than ever had been known in this place, and the entered apprentice and masters songs, sung upon the stage, which were joined in chorus by the Masons in the pitt to the satisfaction and entertainment of the whole audience.

After the play the Masons returned to the lodge at Mr. Shepheard’s, in the same order observed in coming to the Play House.

Mad Tom’s song must have been taken from “King Lear,” and, if so, is the first recorded instance of the production of any of Shakespeare’s works on this continent.

The most careful search has failed to find any mention of plays for some years, but a map of Charlestown dated 1738 marks the site of the theater on the south side of Queen, a little west of Church street, on the lot of land now occupied by the rear portion of the old Planters’ Hotel, within less than a hundred yards of the Huguenot and St. Philip’s Churches, and in October, 1743, a ball is advertised to take place at the theater in Queen street.

A similar notice appears in the paper for November 19, 1774, and the next link is an advertisement in the “Gazette,” October 3, 1748, of a school “over against the Play House,” and the following extract from “an exhortation to the inhabitants of South Carolina,” written by a Quakeress, Sophia Hume, in 1748, and published in London in 1752.

The good lady, after setting forth the sins of the people of the province, says: “You have no masquerades nor music gardens to entertain you, neither are theatrical entertainments frequent among you,” which implies that they took place sometimes.

May her shade grant pardon for the use of her book in an article on the play-house.

But Sophia Hume exhorted in vain, for the “Gazette,” in its issue for October 3, 1754, contains this rather contradictory advertisement:

“At the New Theatre on Monday next, (by a company of comedians from London,) a tragedy called the ‘Fair Penitent.’ Tickets to be had of Mr. John Remington and at the printer’s. Price, stage box 50s.; front and side boxes, 40s.; pitt, 30s., and gallery, 20s.”

The “Gazette” dramatic reporter says of the play: “Last Monday evening the New Theatre in this town was opened, when a company of comedians performed the tragedy called the ‘Fair Penitent,’ much to the satisfaction of the audience.”

The theatrical history of Charleston from this time on, however, is familiar.[19]

In the paucity of information about the drama in America at this early period, it may be admissible to refer to what fiction has attempted respecting it in a novel by John Esten Cooke, entitled “The Virginia Comedians,” in which he describes the Williamsburg theater, and the representation in it of a play of Shakespeare’s. As Shakespeare expressed it, “imagination bodies forth the form of things unknown,” and men of genius, like Sir Walter Scott and the elder Dumas, could, in the exercise of this faculty, represent scenes and incidents of the past more vividly and apparently as truthfully as can be derived from the scant material usually left for the historian--an illustration of which will be found in Dumas’s account of the trial and execution of Charles I., in his sequel to “The Three Musketeers,” “Twenty Years After”; and in Scott’s novels there are many like illustrations. “This history,” says Fielding, in the preface to his celebrated novel which he calls “The History of Tom Jones,” “differs from other histories in this, that in other histories nothing is true but the names, whilst in this everything is true but the names”; and the author of “The Virginia Comedians,” though not ranking with the great masters of fiction that have been referred to, appears to have been well informed respecting Colonial Virginia, and may be accepted as having given what is probably a fair picture of a night in the Williamsburg theater during the Colonial period.[20]

One of the principal characters in the novel is a young Virginian, Mr. Effingham, who, after a visit and some stay at Oxford and in London, has returned to the paternal home, Effingham Hall, in Virginia, and whilst riding on horseback to visit a manorial estate on a plantation known as Riverhead, of a gentleman called Lee, the father of two very attractive daughters, draws up suddenly in the road, seeing a young lady on horseback in the center of it apparently awaiting his approach, who is thus described:

The lady was mounted on a tall white horse, which stood perfectly quiet in the middle of the road, and seemed to be docility itself, though the fiery eyes contradicted the first impression. Rather would one acquainted with the singular character of horses have said that this animal was subdued by the gentle hand of the rider, and so laid aside, from pure affection, all his waywardness.

The rider was a young girl about eighteen, and of rare and extraordinary beauty. Her hair--so much of it as was visible beneath her hood--seemed to be dark chestnut, and her complexion was dazzling. The eyes were large, full, and dark--instinct with fire and softness, feminine modesty and collected firmness, the firmness, however, predominating. But the lips were different. They were the lips of a child--soft, guileless, tender, and confiding; they were purity and innocence itself, and seemed to say that however much the brain might become hard and worldly, the heart of this young woman never could be other than the tender and delicately sensitive heart of a child.

She was clad in a riding-dress of pearl color, and from the uniformity of this tint, it seemed to be a favorite with her. The hood was of silk, and the delicately gloved hand held a little ivory-handled riding-whip, which now dangled at her side. The other gloved hand supported her cheek; and in this position the unknown lady calmly awaited Mr. Effingham’s approach still nearer, though he was already near touching her.

Mr. Effingham took off his hat and bowed with elegant courtesy. The lady returned the inclination by a graceful movement of the head.

“Would you be kind enough to point out the road to the town of Williamsburg, sir?” she said, in a calm and clear voice.

“With great pleasure, madam,” replied Mr. Effingham. “You have lost your way?”

“Yes, sir, and very strangely; and as evening drew on I was afraid of being benighted.”

“You have but to follow the road until you reach Effingham Hall, madam,” he said,--“the house in the distance yonder; then turn to the left, and you are in the highway to town.”

“Thanks, sir,” the young girl said, with another calm inclination of her head, and she touched her horse with the whip.

“But cannot I accompany you?” asked Mr. Effingham, whose curiosity was greatly aroused, and found his eyes, he knew not why, riveted to the rare beauty of his companion’s face; “do you not need me as a guide?”

“Indeed, I think not, sir,” she said, with the same calmness. “Your direction is very plain, and I am accustomed to ride by myself.”

“But, really,” began Mr. Effingham, somewhat piqued, “I know it is intrusive--I know I have not the honor--”

She interrupted him with her immovable calmness.

“You would say you do not know me, and that your offer is intrusive. I believe, sir, I do not consider it so--it is very kind; but I am not a fearful girl, and need not trouble you at all.”

And so bowed.

“One moment, madam,” said Mr. Effingham; “I am really dying with curiosity to know you. ’Tis very rude to say so, of course--but I am acquainted with every lady in the neighborhood, and I do not recall any former occasion upon which I had the pleasure--”

“It is very easily explained, sir,” the young girl said.

“Madam!”

“I do not live in the neighborhood.”

“Ah! no?”

“And I am not a lady, sir. Does not that explain it?”

Mr. Effingham scarcely believed his ears. These astounding words were uttered with such perfect calmness that there was no possible room to suppose that they were meant for a jest.

“You are surprised, sir,” the young girl said quite simply and gravely.

“Upon my word, madam,--never have I,--really--”

“Your surprise will not last long, sir.”

“How, madam?”

“Do you ever visit the town of Williamsburg?”

“Frequently.”

“Well, sir, I think you will see me again. Now I must continue my way, having returned my sincere thanks for your kindness.”

With which words, uttered in that wondrous voice of immovable calmness, the young girl again inclined her head, touched her white horse with the whip, and slowly rode out of sight.

The young man continued his journey to Riverhead; arrived there, and after an animated conversation with the two attractive young ladies, he encountered the father, a fine, portly old gentleman, who met him.

“Good morning, glad to see you.”

Effingham bowed and said:

“The morning was so fine that I thought I could not spend it more agreeably than in a ride to Riverhead, sir.”

“Delightful! These August days are excellent for the corn; what news?”

“Nothing, sir. I have not seen the ‘Gazette.’”

“Oh, the ‘Gazette’ never contains any intelligence; sometimes, it is true, we hear what is going on in Parliament, but it never condescends to afford us any news from Virginia. The tobacco on the south side may be all gone to the devil for anything you read in the ‘Gazette.’ Here it is--an abominable sheet! Ah, I see we are to have a theatrical performance in Williamsburg next week,” added the old gentleman, on glancing over the paper. “Mr. Hallam and his Virginia company of comedians--very politic that addition of Virginia--are to perform ‘The Merchant of Venice,’ by permission of his worship, the Mayor, at the _old_ theater near the capital, he announces. Truly we are improving, really becoming civilized, in this barbarous _terra incognita_.”

Mr. Effingham winced; he had more than once expressed a similar opinion of Virginia in good faith, not ironically, and the good old gentleman’s words seemed directed to himself. A moment’s reflection, however, persuaded him that this could not be the case; He had not visited Riverhead a dozen times since his arrival from Oxford and London, and on these occasions he never touched upon the subject of Virginia and its dreadful deficiencies.

“A play,” he said; “that is really good news; but the ‘Merchant of Venice,’ that is not one of my acquaintances.”

“Ah! you young men are wrong in giving up Will. Shakespeare for the Steeles, Addisons, and Vanbrughs. Mr. Addison’s essays are very pleasant and entertaining reading, and surely there never was a finer gentleman than Sir Roger; but in the drama Will. Shakespeare distances him all to nothing.”

“Let us go to the play,” said Henrietta.

“Oh, yes,” said Clara.

The old gentleman tenderly smoothed the bright golden hair.

“Certainly, if you wish it,” he said.

“And may I request permission to accompany the party, ladies,” said Mr. Effingham, languidly.

“How modest,” said Henrietta, laughing; “certainly you may go, sir. You will tell us when to hiss or applaud, you know, as you are just from London.”

“What a quick tongue she has,” said Mr. Lee, fondly; well, we will all go, and see what the Virginia company of comedians is like; not much I fear.”

At the appointed day the young man appears at Mr. Lee’s mansion and the young ladies come down to meet him, the elder, Henrietta, being described as “radiant in a dress of surpassing elegance--flowered satin, yellow lace, jewels, powdered hair, with pendants and rich furbelows,--the bright beauty of her laughing face assorting well with her flashing and glittering costume,” while the costume of the younger sister was more subdued, as her manner was more quiet.

A lively conversation follows, the subject of which ends with an inquiry on the part of the young man to the elder sister.

“Do you anticipate much pleasure?” referring to the play, to which the other replies:

“Oh, it will be delightful.” Then to the younger, “And you, Cousin Clara, do you think that these Virginia Comedians, as they call themselves, will afford you a very pleasant entertainment?”

“Oh, yes--I am sure I shall be pleased--you know I have never seen a play.”

“But read a plenty?”

“Oh, yes; and I like the ‘Merchant of Venice.’ The character of Portia is so delicate and noble.”

“Quite true; an excellent criticism; better than anything in Congreve I think, though I should hesitate to advance such an opinion in London.”

“Who will act Portia?”

“I don’t know, but can tell you without much difficulty. Here is a play-bill that I sent to town for yesterday.”

And Mr. Effingham drew daintily from his coat pocket a small, roughly printed hand-bill, which he spread out before the eyes of Clara.

“‘Virginia Company of Comedians,’” he read, “‘by permission of his worship the Mayor--in the old theatre near the capitol, on Thursday evening--a tragedy called ‘The Merchant of Venice,’ by Mr. William Shakespeare, boxes seven shillings sixpence’--‘Vivat Rex et Regina’--here it is, ‘Shylock, Mr. Rigby; Portia, Miss Beatrice Hallam.’ The part of Portia is to be performed by Miss Beatrice Hallam--I have never seen or heard of her.”

“Which means,” said Henrietta, laughing, “that Miss Beatrice cannot be very well worth seeing, as Mr. Champ Effingham, just from London, and conversant with all the celebrities there, has never heard of her existence.”

“My dear Cousin Henrietta,” said Mr. Effingham, languidly, “you really seem to sit in judgment on my wearisome conversation. I do not profess to know anything about celebrities. True, I very frequently lounged into the theater in London, but I assure you took very little interest in the plays or performers. Life itself is enough of a comedy for me, and I want nothing more. I know nothing of Miss Hallam. She may be a witch of Endor, or as beautiful as Cleopatra, Queen of Egypt, for all that I know. That I have not heard of her proves nothing. The best actors and actresses are often treated with neglect and indifference.”

“Well,” said Clara, smiling, “we soon shall see for ourselves, for there is papa coming, all ready dressed to go, and I hear the wheels of the chariot.”

Upon which they go to the play-house, which the novelist thus describes:

The “old theatre near the capitol,” discoursed of in the manifesto issued by Mr. Manager Hallam, was so far old that the walls were well browned by time, and the shutters to the windows of a pleasant neutral tint between rust and dust color. The building had, no doubt, been used for the present purpose in bygone times, before the days of the “Virginia Gazette,” which is our authority for many of the facts here stated, and in relation to the “Virginia Company of Comedians”--but of the former companies of “players,” as my Lord Hamlet calls them, and their successes and misfortunes, printed words tell us nothing, as far as the researches of the present “Chronicle” extend. That there had been such companies before, however, we repeat, there is some reason to believe; else why that addition “old” applied to the “theatre near the capitol.”

Within, the play-house presented a somewhat more attractive appearance. There was “box,” “pit,” and “gallery,” as in our own day; and the relative prices were arranged in much the same manner. The common mortals--gentlemen and ladies--were forced to occupy the boxes raised slightly above the level of the stage and hemmed in by velvet-cushioned railings--in front a flower-decorated panel extending all around the house--and for this position they were moreover compelled to pay an admission fee of seven shillings and sixpence. The demigods--so to speak--occupied a more eligible portion in the “pit,” from which they could procure a highly excellent view of the actors’ feet and ankles, just on a level with their noses; to conciliate the demigods this superior advantage had been offered, and the price for them was further still reduced to five shillings. But “the gods,” in truth, were the real favorites of the manager. To attract them he arranged the high upper “gallery” and left it untouched, unencumbered by railing, velvet cushions, or any other device; all was free space and liberal as the air; there were no troublesome seats for “the gods,” and three shillings and ninepence all that the manager would demand. The honor of their presence was enough.

From the boxes a stairway led down to the stage, and some rude scenes, visible at the edges of the curtain, completed the outfit.

When Mr. Lee and his daughters entered the box, which had been reserved for them next to the stage, the house was nearly full, and the neatness of the edifice was lost sight of in the sea of brilliant ladies’ faces and showy forms of cavaliers which extended, like a sea of glittering foam, around the semicircle of the boxes. The pit was occupied by well-dressed men of the lower class, as the times had it, and from the gallery proceeded hoarse murmurs and the unforgotten slang of London.

Many smiles and bows were interchanged between the parties in the different boxes and the young gallants, following the fashion of the day, gathered at each end of the stage, and often walked across, to exchange some polite speech with the smiling dames in the boxes nearest.

Mr. Champ Effingham was, upon the whole, much the most notable fop present, and his elegant _petit maître_ air as he strutted across the stage attracted many remarks, not invariably favorable. It was observed, however, that when the Virginia-bred youths, with honest plainness, called him “ridiculous,” the young ladies, their companions, took Mr. Effingham’s part, and defended him with great enthusiasm; but when they returned home he was more unmercifully criticized than he would otherwise have been.

A little bell rang, and the orchestra, represented by three or four foreign-looking gentlemen, bearded and moustached, entered with trumpet and violins. The trumpet made the roof shake indifferently in honor of the _Prince of Morocco_, or _King Richard_, or any other worthy whose entrance was marked in the play-book “with a flourish.” But before the orchestra ravished the ears of every one, the manager came forward in the costume of _Bassanio_, and made a low bow. Mr. Hallam was a fat little man, of fifty or fifty-five, with a rubicund and somewhat sensual face, and he expressed extraordinary delight at meeting so many of the “noble aristocracy of the great and noble colony of Virginia” assembled to witness his very humble representation. “It would be the chief and sole ambition of his life,” he said, “to please the gentry who so kindly patronized their servants--himself and his associates”--and then the smiling worthy concluded by bowing lower than before. Much applause from the pit and gallery and murmurs of approbation from the well-bred boxes greeted the address, and the orchestra having struck up, the curtain slowly rolled aloft, the young gallants scattered to the corner of the stage, seating themselves on stools or chairs or standing, and the “Merchant of Venice” commenced. _Bassanio_, having assumed a dignified and lofty part, embraced _Gratiano_ with courteous and lordly art, his friend _Antonio_ offered him his fortune with grand magnanimity in a loud, singing voice, worthy the utmost commendation, and the first act proceeded on its way in triumph.

The first act ends, the scene between _Portia_ and _Nerissa_ being omitted, the audience being highly pleased, and the actors receiving a “grateful guerdon of applause.” What transpires between the inmates of the box occupied by Effingham’s father and the Squire, as he is called, is manifest, consisting mainly of the conversation between the Squire and the local parson that the Squire had invited to witness the play, who sits on the front seat beside the Squire with solemn gravity and rubicund nose, surveying from his respectable position the agitated pit.

“Not so bad as you predicted, eh, parson?” says the Squire. “I don’t think that fellow _Antonio_ acts so badly.”

“Very well--very well,” is the latter’s response.

“The audience seems delighted. Look at the scamp of a son of mine, strutting up to friend Lee’s box and smoothing those enormous ruffles like a turkey cock.”

Effingham leaves the companions with whom he had been seated on the stage, interchanging remarks during the performance to the great disgust of the pit, and approaching Miss Clara, who sits nearest the stage, looking very beautiful and radiant with pleasure, asks:

“And how does my fair cousin relish the performance?”

“Oh, I was never more pleased with anything. And how do you like it?”

“Tolerably. But I never had a great relish for these things.”

“Because, to wit, life itself is a comedy,” said Henrietta, laughing.

“Yes,” replied Effingham, “and a very brilliant one it would be if all the world were Miss Henriettas. I hope, my dear cousin, the compliment is sufficiently broad.”