, a celebrated English actor, was born in Tothill-street, Westminster,
, a celebrated English actor,
was born in Tothill-street, Westminster, 1635; and, after
having left school, is said to have been put apprentice to
a bookseller. The particulars, however, relating to the
early part of his life, are not ascertained. It is generally
thought that he made his first appearance on the stage in
1656, at the opera-house in Charter-house-yard, under
the direction of sir William Davenant, and continued to
perform here till the restoration, when king Charles grained
patents to two companies, the one called the king’s cornpa ly, and the other the duke’s. The former acted at the
theatre royal in Drury-lane, and the latter at the theatre
in Lincoln’s-Inn-fields. Betterton went over to Paris, at the
command of king Charles II. to take a view of the French
scenery, and at his return made such improvements as
added greatly to the lustre of the English stage. For several
years both companies acted with the highest applause, and
the taste for dramatic entertainments was never stronger
than whilst these two companies played . The two companies were however at length united; though the time of
this union is not precisely known, Gildon placing it in
1682, and Cibber in 1684. But however this may be, it
was in this united company that Mr. 'Betterton first shone
forth with the greatest degree of lustre for, having survived the famous actors upon whose model he had formed
himself, he was now at liberty to display his genius in its
full extent. His merit as an actor cannot now be very accurately displayed, and much of the following passage
from Gibber’s Apology, seems to be mere stage-cant and
declamation. Cibber says, “Betterton was an actor,
as Shakspeare was an author, both without competitors,
formed for the mutual assistance and illustration of each
other’s genius! How Shakspeare wrote, all men who
have a taste for nature may read and know; but with what
higher rapture would he still be read, could they conceive
how Betterton played him! Then might they know the
one was born alone to speak what the other only knew to
write! Pity it is that the momentary beauties, flowing
from an harmonious elocution, cannot, like those of poetry, be their own record! that the animated graces of
the player can live no longer than the instant breath and
motion that present them, or at best can but faintly glimmer through the memory or imperfect attestation of a few
surviving spectators! Could how Betterton spoke be as
easily known as what he spoke, then might you see the
muse of Shakspeare in her triumph, with all her beauties
in her best array, rising into real life, and charming her
beholders. But alas! since all this is so far out of the
reach of description, how shall I shew you Betterton?
Should I therefore tell you that all the Othellos, Hamlets,
Hotspurs, Macbeths, and Brutuses, you have seen since
his time, have fallen short of him, this still would give you
no idea of his particular excellence. Let us see then what
a particular comparison may do, whether that may yet
draw him nearer to you? You have seen a Hamlet perhaps, who, on the first appearance of his father’s spirit,
has thrown himself into all the straining vociferation requisite to express rage and fury; and the house has thundered
with applause, though the misguided actor was all the
while (as Shakspeare terms it) tearing a passion into rags.
I am the more bold to offer you this particular instance,
because the late Mr. Addison, while I sat by him to see
this scene acted, made the same observation asking me,
with some surprise, if I thought Hamlet should be in so
violent a passion with the ghost, which, though it might
have astonished, had not provoked him? For you may
observe, that in this beautiful speech, the passion never
rises beyond an almost breathless astonishment, or an impatience, limited by a filial reverence, to inquire into the
suspected wrongs that may have raised nim from his peaceful
tomb and a desire to know what a spirit so seemingly
distrest might wish or enjoin a sorrowful son to execute
towards his future quiet in the grave. This was the light
into which Betterton threw this scene; which he opened with
a pause of mute amazement! Then rising slowly to a
solemn, trembling voice, he made the ghost equally terrible to the spectator as to himself. And in the descriptive part of the natural emotions which the ghastlyvision gave him, the boldness tit‘ his expostulation was still
governed by decency manly, but not braving his voice
never rising into that seeming outrage, or wild deli an ce,
of what he naturally revered. But, alas to preserve this
medium between mouthing, and meaning too little, to
keep the attention more pleasingly awake by a ’tempered
spirit, than by mere vehemence of voice, is, of all the
master strokes of an actor, the most difficult to reach. In.
this none have equalled Betterton. He that feels not himself the passion he would raise, will talk to a sleeping audience. But this was
” never the fault of Be item n. A farther excellence in him was, that he could vary iiis spirit to
the different characters he acted. Those wild impatient
starts, that fierce and flashing fire which he threw into
Hotspur, never came from the unruffled temper of his
Brutus (for I have more than once seen a Brutus as warm as Hotspur): when the Betterton Brutus was provoked in
his dispute with Cassius, his spirits flew out of his eyes his
steady looks alone supplied that terror which he disdained
an intemperance in his voice should rise to. Thus, with a
settled dignity of contempt, like an unheeding rock, he
repelled upon himself the foam of Cassius; not but in some
part of this scene, where he reproaches Cassius, his temper is not under this suppression, but opens into that
warmth which becomes a man of virtue; yet this is that
hasty spark of anger, which Brutus himself endeavours to
excuse. But with whatever strength of nature we see the
poet shew at once the philosopher and the hero, yet the
image of the actor’s excellence will be still imperfect to
you, unless language could put colours in our words to
paint the voice with. The most that a Vandyck can arrive at is, to make his portraits of great persons seem to
think a Shakspeare goes farther yet, and tells you what
his pictures thought; a BetU-rton steps beyond them both,
and calls them from the grave to breathe, and be themselves again in feature, speech, and motion, at once united
and gratifies at once-your eye, your ear, your understanding. From these various excel lenci s, Betterton had so
full a possession of the esteem and regard of his auditors,
that, upon his entrance into every scene, he seemed to
seize upon the eyes and ears of the giddy and inadvertent.
To have talked or looked another way, would have been
thought insensibility or ignorance. In all his soliloquies of
moment, the strongest intelligence of attitude and aspect
drew you into such an impatient gaze and eager expectation, that you almost imbibed the sentiment with your eye,'
before the er could reach it."