: CIBBER AND HIS “APOLOGY." 127 get had passed away to another world, where there were neither lawsuits nor unreasonable managers. Colley was too old a bird to be deceived by the trick, but seeing that he might himself make capital out of it, answered the letter as though he believed the sad news, and took occasion to deliver a fervent eulogy on the character of the supposed dead man. Dogget was only human, and when he was shown what his former friend had so kindly written about him, his heart softened. us the result: But let the diplomatist himself tell "One day sitting over-against him, at the same coffee-house, where we often mixt at the same table, tho' we never exchanged a single syllable, he graciously extended his hand, for a pinch of my snuff. As this seem'd from him, a sort of breaking the ice of his temper, I took courage upon it, to break silence on my side, and ask'd him how he lik'd it. To which, with a slow hesitation, naturally assisted by the action of his taking the snuff, he reply'd-Umh! the best-UmhI have tasted a great while." And, after "a few days of these coy lady-like compliances on his side, he grew into a more conversable temper." For all his managerial prosperity, his success as a playwright and his popularity as a comedian, departments wherein he was in his legitimate sphere, Colley Cibber probably cared less than for his appointment, in 1730, to the Poet Laureateship. Yet among men with literary pretensions he was the least deserving of the laurel, for as has been well said, in the whole twentyseven years that he boasted of the honor (he died in 1757) he never wrote a really good poem. He made it a point to laugh publicly at his own effusions, but he must have had a belief, in that curious old heart of his, that they were by no means as poor as some jealous fellow-poets would make out. 66 His friends gave out," Dr. Johnson tells Boswell, "that he intended his birthday Odes should be bad; but that was not the case, Sir; for he kept them many months by him, and a few years before he died he showed me one of them with great solicitude to render it as perfect as might be, and I made some corrections to which he was not very willing to submit. I remember the following couplet in allusion to the King * and himself: 'Perch'd on the eagle's soaring wing, The lowly linnet loves to sing.' Sir, he had heard something of the fabulous tale of the wren sitting upon the eagle's wing, and he had applied it to a linnet." But the Poet Laureate probably still considered himself a linnet, despite the objections of the ponderous philosopher, and went on singing as badly and happily as ever until death put an end to his career. He had gone through many experiences, some of them passing bitter (had not Pope ungenerously made him the hero of his Dunciad?) but he would write verses to the end. They are long since forgotten, but that entrancing Apology with its delightful pictures of his theatrical contemporaries, is as fresh as ever. It will be read when greater poets than he have sunk into oblivion, and thus perpetuate the name of one of the most remarkable characters of a by-gone epoch. 9 CHAPTER VII. NEW MASKS AND FACES. "Odious! in woollen ! 't would a saint provoke,' HUS wrote the classic Pope in an imaginary T1 description of the last moments of that most ravishing and graceful comedienne of her day, Mistress Anne Oldfield, whose greatness consisted in a thousand and one dainty attractions which still live in the writings of her contemporaries. That she is preserved to us even in this shadowy form is cause for gratitude, for until the indefatigable Edison shall have improved his kinetoscope, so that the achievements of a player, either in gesture, voice, or look, may be stereotyped for all time, the lover of the drama can only familiarize himself with dead-and-gone heroes and heroines of the stage by reading the testimony of their admirers. If such testimony is to count for anything, "Nance" Oldfield was one of the most näive and fascinating women who ever trod the boards of an English theatre. And yet, strange to say, this daughter of Comedy, who was to win such unforgettable distinction in impersonating ladies of quality, was apprenticed in early life to a seamstress, and had for her humble relative a Mrs. Voss, hostess of the Mitre Tavern, in St. James Market, London. Nance, as a young girl, made her headquarters at this public house, and it was here that the dashing Farquhar accidently heard her reading a play as she stood behind the bar. He was so much impressed "with the proper emphasis and agreeable turn that she gave to each character, that he swore the girl was cut out for the stage." As the child had a wild desire to become an actress, her mother, "the next time she saw Captain Vanbrugh (afterward Sir John) who had a great respect for the family, acquainted him with Captain Farquhar's opinion, on which he desired to know whether her heart was most tragedy or comedy. Miss being called in, informed him that her principal inclination was to the latter, having at that time gone through all Beaumont and Fletcher's comedies; and the play she was reading when Captain Farquhar had dined there having been The Scornful Lady." As a result of this confession of youthful ambition Captain Vanbrugh soon introduced Nance to the patentee of Drury Lane, Mr. Rich, who took her into his house at the sumptuous salary of fifteen shillings a a week. However, her agreeable figure and sweetness of voice soon gave her the preference in the opin |