It is uncertain indeed in what degree the advent of the first actress affected her audience; whether the novelty of the proceeding gratified or shocked them the more.  It was really a startling innovation—­a wonderful improvement as it seems to us; yet assuredly there were numerous conservative playgoers who held fast to the old ways of the theatre, and approved “boy-actresses”—­not needing such aids to illusion as the personation of women by women, but rather objecting thereto, for the same reason that they deprecated the introduction of scenery, because of appeal and stimulus to the imagination of the audience becoming in such wise greatly and perilously reduced.  Then of course there were staid and sober folk who judged the profession of the stage to be most ill-suited for women.  And certainly this view of the matter was much confirmed by the conduct of our earlier actresses, which was indeed open to the gravest reproach.  From Mr. Jordan’s prologue may be gathered some notion of the situation of the spectators on the night, or rather the afternoon, of December 8th, 1660.  The theatre was probably but a poor-looking structure, hastily put together in the Tennis-court to serve the purpose of the manager for a time merely.  Seven years later, Tom Killigrew, talking to Mr. Pepys, boasted that the stage had become “by his pains a thousand times better and more glorious than ever before.”  There had been improvement in the candles; the audience was more civilised; the orchestra had been increased; the rushes had been swept from the stage; everything that had been mean was now “all otherwise.”  The manager possibly had in his mind during this retrospect the condition of the Vere Street Theatre while under his management.  The audience possessed an unruly element.  ’Prentices and servants filled the gallery; there were citizens and tradesmen in the pit, with yet a contingent of spruce gallants and scented fops, who combed their wigs during the pauses in the performance, took snuff, ogled the ladies in the boxes, and bantered the orange-girls.  The prologue begins: 

I come, unknown to any of the rest,
To tell the news:  I saw the lady drest—­
The woman plays to-day; mistake me not,
No man in gown or page in petticoat.

* * * * *

’Tis possible a virtuous woman may
Abhor all sorts of looseness and yet play;
Play on the stage—­where all eyes are upon her: 
Shall we count that a crime France counts an honour? 
In other kingdoms husbands safely trust ’em. 
The difference lies only in the custom.

The gentlemen sitting in that “Star Chamber of the house, the pit,” were then besought to think respectfully and modestly of the actress, and not to run “to give her visits when the play is done.”  We have, then, a picture of the male performers of female characters: