“by authority.”  The house was crowded immediately after the opening of the doors.  But the audience soon gave evidence of their sentiments by singing in chorus “The Roast Beef of Old England.”  Then followed loud huzzas and general tumult.  Deveil, one of the Justices of the Peace for Westminster, who was present, declared the proceedings to be riotous, and announced his intention to maintain the King’s authority.  He stated, further, that it was the King’s command that the play should be acted, and that all offenders would be immediately secured by the guards in waiting.  In opposition to the magistrate it was maintained “that the audience had a legal right to show their dislike to any play or actor; that the judicature of the pit had been acquiesced in, time immemorial; and as the present set of actors were to take their fate from the public, they were free to receive them as they pleased.”  When the curtain drew up the actors were discovered standing between two files of grenadiers, with their bayonets fixed and resting on their firelocks.  This seeming endeavour to secure the success of French acting by the aid of British bayonets still more infuriated the audience.  Even Justice Deveil thought it prudent to order the withdrawal of the military.  The actors attempted to speak, but their voices were overborne by hisses, groans, and “not only catcalls, but all the various portable instruments that could make a disagreeable noise.”  A dance was next essayed; but even this had been provided against:  showers of peas descended upon the stage, and “made capering very unsafe.”  The French and Spanish Ambassadors, with their ladies, who had occupied the stage-box, now withdrew, only to be insulted outside the theatre by the mob, who had cut the traces of their carriages.  The curtain at last fell, and the attempt to present French plays at the Haymarket was abandoned, “the public being justly indignant that whilst an arbitrary Act suppressed native talent, foreign adventurers should be patronised and encouraged.”  It must be said, however, that the French actors suffered for sins not their own, and that the wrath of the public did not really reach the Lord Chamberlain, or effect any change in the Licensing Act.

For twenty years the Haymarket remained without a license of any endurance.  The theatre was occasionally opened, however, for brief seasons, by special permission of the Chamberlain, or in defiance of his authority, many ingenious subterfuges being resorted to, so that the penalties imposed by the Act might be evaded.  One of the advertisements ran—­“At Cibber’s Academy, in the Haymarket, will be a concert, after which will be exhibited (gratis) a rehearsal, in form of a play, called Romeo and Juliet.”  Macklin, the actor, opened the theatre in 1744, and under the pretence of instructing “unfledged performers” in “the science of acting,” gave a variety of dramatic representations.  It was expressly announced that no money would be taken