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Title: The Palmy Days of Nance Oldfield

Author: Edward Robins

Release Date: March 25, 2004 [eBook #11717]

Language: English

***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PALMY DAYS OF NANCE OLDFIELD***

E-text prepared by the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team

THE PALMY DAYS OF NANCE OLDFIELD

BY

EDWARD ROBINS

WITH PORTRAITS

1898

[Illustration: Mrs. Oldfield the celebrated Comedian]

CONTENTS

I. FROM TAVERN TO THEATRE II. AN ENTRE-ACTE III. A BELLE OF METTLE IV. MANAGERIAL WICKEDNESS V. A DEAD HERO VI. IN TRAGIC PATHS VII. NANCE AT HOME VIII. THE MIMIC WORLD IX. "GRIEF À LA MODE" X. THE BARTON BOOTHS XI. THE FADING OF A STAR APPENDIX

PORTRAITS

Frontispiece: Mrs. Anne Oldfield

Title-page: Mrs. Oldfield in the Character of Fair Rosamond

Colley Cibber in the Character of Sir Novelty Fashion

Robert Wilks

William Congreve

Mrs. Anne Bracegirdle

Mrs. Bracegirdle as the "Sultaness"

Joseph Addison

Mrs. Anne Oldfield

Mr. Mills, Mrs. Porter, Mr. Cibber

Sir John Vanbrugh

Sir Richard Steele

Barton Booth

THE PALMY DAYS OF NANCE OLDFIELD

CHAPTER I

FROM TAVERN TO THEATRE

"Out of question, you were born in a merry hour," says Don Pedro to the blithesome heroine of "Much Ado About Nothing."

"No, sure, my lord," answers Beatrice. "My mother cried; but then there was a star danced, and under that was I born."

Surely a star, possibly Venus, must have danced gaily on a certain night in the year of grace 1683, when the wife of Captain Oldfield, gentleman by birth and Royal Guardsman by profession, brought into the busy, unfeeling world of London a pretty mite of a girl. 'Twas a year of grace indeed, for the little stranger happened to be none other than Anne Oldfield, whose elegance of manner, charm of voice and action and loveliness of face would in time make her the most delightful comedienne of her day. Perhaps she found no instant welcome, this diminutive maiden who came smiling into existence laden with a message from the sunshine; her father was richer in ancestry than guineas, and the arrival of another daughter may have seemed an honour hardly worth the bestowal.[A] But Thalia laughed, as well she might, and even the stern features of Melpomene relaxed a little in witnessing the birth of one who would prove almost as wondrous in tragedy, when she so minded, as she was fascinating in the gentler phases of her art.

[Footnote A: According to Edmund Bellchambers, Anne Oldfield "would have possessed a tolerable fortune, had not her father, a captain in the army, expended it at a very early period."]

Yet the laughter of Thalia and the unbending of her sister Muse were hardly likely to make much impression in the Oldfield household, where money had more admirers than mythology, and so we are not surprised to learn that, with the death of the gallant captain, this "incomparable sweet girl," who would ere long reconcile even a supercilious Frenchman to the English stage, had to seek her living as a seamstress. How she sewed a bodice or hemmed a petticoat we know not, nor do we care; it is far more interesting to be told that, though only in her early teens, the toiler with the needle found her greatest recreation in reading Beaumont and Fletcher's plays. The modern young woman, be her station high or low, would take no pleasure in such a literary occupation, but in the days of Nance Oldfield to con the pages of Beaumont and Fletcher was considered a privilege rather than a duty. Then, again, the little seamstress had a soul above threads and thimbles; her heart was with the players, and we can imagine her running off some idle afternoon to peep slyly into Drury Lane Theatre, or perhaps walk over into Lincoln's Inn Fields, where the noble Betterton and his companions had formed a rival company. The performance over, she hurries to the Mitre Tavern, in St. James's Market, and here she is sure of a warm welcome, as is but natural, since the Mrs. Voss who rules the destinies of the hostelry is Anne's elder sister[A]. Here the girl loves to spend those rare moments of leisure, reading aloud the comedies of long ago and dreaming of the future; and here, too, it is that dashing Captain Farquhar listens in amazement as she recites the "Scornful Lady."

[Footnote A: According to one authority Mrs. Voss was Anne's aunt. We adhere, however, to Dr. Doran's account of the relationship.]

George Farquhar—how his name conjures up a vision of all that is brilliant, rakish, and bibulous in the expiring days of the seventeenth century! It is easy to picture him, as he stands near the congenial bar of the tavern, entranced by the liquid tones and marvellous expression of Nance's youthful voice. He has a whimsical, good-humoured face, perhaps showing the rubicund effects of steady drinking (as whose features did not in those halcyon times of merry nights and tired mornings?), and a general air of loving the world and its pleasures, despite a secret suspicion that a hard-hearted bailiff may be lying in wait around the corner. His flowing wig may seem a trifle old, the embroidery on his once resplendent vest look sadly tarnished, and the cloth of his skirted coat exhibit the unmistakable symptoms of age, but, for all that, Captain Farquhar stands forth an honourable, high-spirited gentleman. And gentleman George Farquhar is both by birth and bearing. Was he not the son of genteel parents living in the North of Ireland, and did he not receive a polite education at the University in Dublin? So polite, indeed, has his training been that he is already the author of that wonderful "Love and a Bottle," a comedy wherein he amusingly holds the mirror up to English vices, including his own. And, speaking of vices, he can now look back to those salad days when he wrote verses of unimpeachable morality, setting forth, among other sentiments, that—

  "The pliant Soul of erring Youth
  Is, like soft Wax, or moisten'd Clay,
  Apt to receive all heav'nly Truth,
  Or yield to Tyrant Ill the Sway.
  Shun Evil in your early Years,
  And Manhood may to Virtue rise;
  But he who, in his Youth, appears
  A Fool, in Age will ne'er be wise."

Poor fellow! He never will be wise in the material sense; he will trip gracefully through life with more brains and bonhomie than worldly discretion, yet eclipsing many steadier companions by writing the "Recruiting Officer" and other sparkling plays, not forgetting "The Inconstant," which will last even unto the end of the nineteenth century. At present—and 'tis the present rather than the past or future that most