The Palmy Days of Nance Oldfield | Page 5

whom the beau described in "The Careless
Husband," may be taken as an example: one "that's just come to a small
estate, and a great perriwig--he that sings himself among the
women--he won't speak to a gentleman when a lord's in company. You
always see him with a cane dangling at his button, his breast open, no
gloves, one eye tuck'd under his hat, and a toothpick."
What of the belles of the Bath? They seem to have been much after the
fashion of their modern sisters, with their harmless little vanities, their
love of expensive finery, and their pretty eyes ever watching for the
main chance, or a chance man. Odsbodkins! but the world has changed
very little, for even then we hear of dashing specimens of the New
Woman, in the persons of ladies who affected men's hats, feathers,
coats, and perriwigs, to such an extent that our dear friend Addison will
gently rebuke them during the reign of the Spectator. He doubts if this
masculinity will "smite more effectually their male beholders," for how
would the sweet creatures themselves be affected "should they meet a
man on horseback, in his breeches and jack-boots, and at the same time
dressed up in a commode[A] and a night raile?"
[Footnote A: A cumbersome head-dress made of lace or muslin.]
How charming it would have been to watch the whole gay crew, just as
Addison and Steele must have done, and to feel, like these two
delightful philosophers, that you were a little above the surroundings.
Poor Dick Steele may not always have been above those surroundings;
we can fancy him taking things comfortably in some tippling-house,
red-faced, happy, and winey, but even the most puritanical of us will
forgive him. Read, by the way, what he says of the Spa's morals[A]--"I
found a sober, modest man was always looked upon by both sexes as a
precise, unfashioned fellow of no life or spirit. It was ordinary for a
man who had been drunk in good company, or.... to speak of it next day

before women for whom he had the greatest respect. He was reproved,
perhaps, with a blow of the fan, or an 'Oh, fy!' but the angry lady still
preserved an apparent approbation in her countenance. He was called a
strange, wicked fellow, a sad wretch; he shrugs his shoulders, swears,
receives another blow, swears again he did not know he swore, and all
was well. You might often see men game in the presence of women,
and throw at once for more than they were worth, to recommend
themselves as men of spirit. I found by long experience that the loosest
principles and most abandoned behaviour carried all before them in
pretentions to women of fortune."
[Footnote A: _Spectator_, No. 154. Steele is writing as Simon
Honeycomb.]
Into this merry throng came Anne Oldfield during that
never-to-be-forgotten summer--not, however, as an equal, but as an
humble player of the troupe from Drury Lane. They had moved down
from London, these happy-go-lucky Bohemians, as they were wont to
do each season, among them being the ubiquitous Cibber, the
gentlemanly Wilks, and that very talented vagabond, George Powell.
Powell it was who liked his brandy not wisely but too well, and who
made such passionate love on the stage that Sir John Vanbrugh used to
wax nervous for the fate of the actresses. One great artiste was missing,
however. Mrs. Verbruggen was ill in London, and that shining
exponent of light comedy, who Cibber said was mistress of more
variety of humour than he ever knew in any one actress, would never
more tread those boards which were dearer to her than life.[A] Before
she disappears for ever from these "Palmy Days" let us read a page or
two about her from the graphic pictures in that famous "Apology for
the Life of Mr. Colley Cibber":--
* * * * *
"As she was naturally a pleasant mimick, she had the skill to make that
talent useful on the stage, a talent which may be surprising in a
conversation, and yet be lost when brought to the theatre.... But where
the elocution is round, distinct, voluble, and various, as Mrs. Montfort's
was, the mimick there is a great assistant to the actor."

[Footnote A: A brief memoir of Mrs. Verbruggen and her first husband,
handsome Will Mountford, will be found in "Echoes of the
Playhouse."]
* * * * *
Which reminds one that more than a baker's dozen of modern
comedians, so called, are nothing less than mimics. However, this is
digressing, and so we continue:
"Nothing, tho' ever so barren, if within the bounds of nature, could be
flat in her hands. She gave many heightening touches to characters but
coldly written, and often made an author vain