VH Z0 DDDDHET711fl ^ % . c$> * V .A rvX c_ » \ v -y x <£* ;v THE ROAD TO THE STAGE, CONTAINS CLEAR AND AMPLE INSTRUCTIONS FOR OBTAINING THEATRICAL ENGAGEMENTS; WITH A-LIST OF THE PROVINCIAL THEATRES, NAMES OF THE MANAGERS, AND PARTICULARS AS TO SALARIES, RULES, FINES, &C. ; AN ACCOUNT OF THINGS NECESSARY ON AN OUTSET IN THE PROFESSION, HOW AND WHERE OBTAINED J AND A CLEAR ELUCIDATION OF ALL THE TECHNICALITIES OF THE HISTRIONIC ART. TO WHICH IS ADDED, A LIST OF THE LONDON THEATRES; Copies of their Rules and Articles of Engagement ; &n Account of tfje Uramatic ^utfjorg' j&ocutg ; THE MEMBERS ; SCALE OF PRICES ; AND A COPY OF THE DRAMATIC COPYRIGHT ACT. BY THE LATE LEMAN THOMAS REDE. A NEW EDITION, REVISED AND IMPROVED. LONDON : PUBLISHED BY J. ONWHYN, CATHERINE STREET, STRAND . ' 1836. "T^s. 1,** "'■-i WILLIAM HENRY COX, Great Queen Street, Lincoln's Inn Fields. MEMOIR OF THE AUTHOR. Leman Thomas Tertius Rede (the author of the following pages) was the son of Mr. L. T. Rede, of the Inner Temple, author of " An Essay on the Laws of England," " Anecdotes and Biography," &c. &c., who died at Hamburgh, December, 1806, when the writer of the little work to which this notice is affixed was only seven years of age, he having been born on the 14th of October, 1799, in Clerkenwell Close, London. At an early age, Mr. Rede chose the law for his profession ; but his design of treading in the steps of his father and that father's father, was frustrated by a dramatic bias, which in- duced him to leave " Common law to common men," and attempt the stage. He made his first appear- ance as Wilford, in the town of Stafford, in 1819; and in the year 1821 appeared at the Adelphi Theatre, London, in a farce called " Capers at Can- terbury." An accident, which befel him at Margate shortly afterwards, induced him to resign the idea of making the stage permanently his profession ; he became connected with the press, and devoted his attention to literary pursuits. In 1824, he pro- jected an extended dramatic biography ; towards the close of that year, he married the widow of the late Mr. Oxberry, the comedian, and produced the IV MEMOIR OF THE AUTHOR. first volume of the work known by the title of " Oxberry's Dramatic Biography and Histrionic Anecdotes." "With the aid of a relative, this work was extended to seven volumes; but in consequence of some of the lives having been withdrawn, and some portions occasionally cancelled, it is to this hour incomplete. He also produced " The Modern Speaker," with an Essay on Elocution; and in 1827 a "Life of Canning," one volume, thick octavo. This work (in which the aid of the relative before alluded to is fraternally acknowledged) is the one that does most credit to his talents. He was the author also of many volumes to which he did not put his name ; whilst, on some few occasions, he gave the use of it to productions with which he had nothing to do : indeed, in the case of a provincial work, entitled " York Castle in the Nineteenth Century," to which his name is prefixed, a prefatory notice admits that the alleged author had never even seen a line of the book. He was an occasional contributor to some periodicals, and connected at different times with various newspapers. As a companion, he was much sought; his powers were less dazzling than en- gaging; and, perhaps, few men had a more exten- sive circle of convivial acquaintances. In 1829, he returned to the stage, and conducted the Queen's Theatre for a short period ; and from that period to the time of his death, he occasionally (though seldom) acted. In November, 1832, he per- formed The Gentleman in Black in his brother's drama of " The Loves of the Devils," at Sadler's Wells, for the benefit of Miss Forde. On the 12th of December following, he expired (after a short but severe illness) of a disorder of the heart, His remains were interred in Clerkenwell Church-yard. Of one, whose social qualities, talents, and disposi- tion, made him the delight of every circle in which he mingled, much more might justly be said, but MEMOIR OF THE AUTHOR. V the subject can only involve the obtrusion of private sorrows on the public ear. Mr. Rede's enemies (if he had any) will declare that he was in heart and mind a man, in manners a gentleman, in acquirement a scholar, of unquestioned courage, gentle, cha- ritable, and unassuming ; formed to adorn any sta- tion, from his personal as well as mental advantages. He met death as a certain visitor, who came sooner than he had hoped, but whose approaches he en- countered with an unchanged mind. He left a widow, but no child, to deplore him; and is sur- vived bj>- his mother, by three sisters, and a brother, who feels his irreparable loss too much to add one word more to this brief notice. ADVERTISEMENT. " The Road to the Stage" was out of print prior to the Author's decease; his illness prevented the pro- duction of a new edition, with additions, which was contemplated by him. The alteration produced in the law of dramatic copyright by 3 Gul. IV., cap. 15, and the great changes that have occurred in dramatic property of all descriptions since 1827, made the former lists useless ; much has therefore been written anew, much has been added and nothing taken from the work in this edition, save only such matter as by the lapse of time and change of circumstance had become wholly useless.* Amid the additions will be found extended and corrected lists of London and provincial managers ; an account of the Dramatic Authors' Society, a list of its members, a scale of its charges, and a copy of the Dramatic Copyright Bill. W. L. R. London, March, 1835. * Mr. Rede had alluded in several places to some scenic efforts of the present Editor, which he has of course in this edition omitted. THE AUTHOR'S PREFACE, It is so customary to state in all prefaces, that the work produced was imperatively called for, that I should hesitate in adopting so threadbare an expedient, if it did not singu- larly occur that, with regard to the book I have written, it is literally the fact. I am aware of no treatise, essay, or article, professing to point out the incipient steps to the green-room : whether I have done wisely in attempting one, it rests with the public to determine. Too poor to write for fame, I trust I am also too honest to write for money only ; and I should "dwell in mine necessity" rather than give these pages to the press, if I imagined their effect would be injurious. " They will render access to the boards more easy, and ruin the apprentices and lawyers' clerks," say my oppo- nents. " They will do the first, but not the second," replies Experience. Minds, like pigs, love to run a different road from that which they are driven ; drive them then to the wrong road, and they will diverge to the point you wish — in fact, all opposition heightens the dramatic bias. After the perusal of the following pages, any one will be enabled to find his way to the footlights of some provincial theatre, the experience of which will do more to cure him of his mania, than all the arguments and persuasions that ingenuity ever invented. A country actor in a small company, and aspiring to a first-rate situation, will invariably have to study about five hundred lines per diem — (it is astonishing how many persons are cured by this alone ;) this will occupy the possessor of a good memory for six hours — his duties at the theatre embrace four more in the morning for rehearsal, and about five at night; here are fifteen hours devoted to labour alone, to say nothing of the time required to study the character, after the mere attainment of the words. Let the stage-struck aspirant endure this, and, if a radical cure be not effected, he has the scenic phobia, and had better be given to the stage at once, for he will never fix to anything viii author's preface. For success upon the stage, it is requisite to possess good sense — a good face, good figure — good education — good voice — and, above all, good luck — but the latter ingredient makes man independent of all the others, and the reader will have no difficulty in pointing out many metropolitan actors, who owe their situations to the latter, though totally destitute of all the other attributes. " A dog of mine," says the celebrated Mathews, " should not go upon the stage," and he says wisely, for the profes- sion is fraught with toil, anxiety, and misery, beyond any other; but if that dog cannot be happy out of this hotbed of misery, in Heaven's name let him be a miserable puppy in it. The few pages which I have obtruded on the public view, I have sought to render easy to every capacity — I have said plain things in plain words, willing to save myself and the reader trouble — I only recommend the book on the score of utility, and whoever pleases is at liberty to criticise it for its dulness. Having had some experience (to my sorrow) , I am apt to believe my judgment tolerably correct on theatrical matters ; I have also consulted the judgment of others, and, in several instances, have " laid down my opinion to take up theirs." I have spared no pains to obtain accurate information, and have preferred saying nothing to saying that which I could not substantiate — I presume, therefore, that I have done my duty to my readers. I am well aware that most of those who may peruse this little volume will pass over the Preface, and I am also assured that, had I the eloquence of Suavia, I should not persuade any reader to adopt my opinions in preference to his own. I shall therefore conclude, by assuring my perusers that I am, their humble servant, LEMAN THOMAS REDE. London, 1827- THE ROAD TO THE STAGE. That a general prejudice exists in the breasts of parents and preceptors against the stage, is as unde- niable, as that a love of it is common to the young and inexperienced. That the oft reiterated complaints of the uncertainty attending this ill-fated profession are true, I shall not attempt to deny, but it must be remembered that its rewards are also considerable. If we are to be told that numbers have existed in barns, and expired in workhouses, we should also recollect that many have rolled in carriages, that could never, but for the stage, have emerged from behind a counter. I should not advise any being, however great his or her powers may be — however lavish nature may have been in the dispensation of those gifts, by which, as it is supposed, success in the histrionic art, may be insured — I should not advise any being to go upon the stage ; nor should I ever attempt to deter any one from embracing it. I too well know the futility of counsel where it has to combat inclination. It is cer- tain that no man can succeed in any business whilst his mind is fixed upon another pursuit — and those who know how strong a dramatic infatuation is, will, I think, agree with me, that parents sacrifice their children's interests in determinedly opposing it. John Reeve quitted a banking-house contrary to 2 THE ROAD TO THE STAGE. the advice of all his relatives, yet he has cause to re- joice in a resolution that has raised him at once to an income he could never have hoped to have gained in his original station — indeed, he blesses the day when he left ofTbeing a cheque-taker to turn comedian. Perhaps that father would most truly study the welfare of his child who should, on discovering his dramatic bias, send him at once to some country company, instead of driving him, by his opposition, to duplicity when at home, and to seek his favourite amusement in private theatres abroad; — as long as acting affords entertainment to the performer, he must like it — make it his business — his duty — and, in nine cases out of ten, a cure will be effected, The practice that a private theatre affords is usually pernicious, and mistaken are those parents who consent to their children performing at those establishments, to learn the rudiments of the profes- sion. At private theatres, no man studies rudiments — everyone grasps at first-rate characters, which are awarded, not to strength of intellect, but of pocket — for the merest booby who could command two pounds, would be cast Richard, in preference to a Kean, if he could only afford ten shillings. I do not wish to join in the common-place censure levelled at private theatres, though I have reason to fear there is too much truth in the character generally given of these places. There are indeed exceptions, but their number is limited. To any person whose mind is so far engaged with the dramatic mania, as to be unsettled with regard to other professions — to one to whom all other modes of existence appear "flat, stale, and unprofitable " — I should say enter it at once — and now the how be- comes the question. I shall reserve the mention of the things necessary for any performer on his outset for another part of THE ROAD TO THE STAGE. 3 the work, and proceed at once to explain the method of procuring a situation. At the Harp (a public- house in Russell-street, immediately opposite the pit-door of Drury), resides Mr. Sims, the theatrical agent, and his hours of business are from eleven o'clock until three. On the payment of an intro- ductory fee of seven shillings, he enters the name of; the applicant in his books, together with the line of the drama he may wish to fill — and, on the procura- tion of a situation, he proportions his demand to the amount of the salary obtained; but it seldom exceeds the total of one week's stipend. Mr. Sims holds the situation held for so many years by his father; to the manners and acquire- ments of a gentleman, he adds an intimate know- ledge of the profession, and his promptitude in business is only equalled by his urbanity and good- nature. It has been matter of regret in the profes- sion, that Mr. Sims has not chosen some other place for his house of business, as it is peculiarly unplea- sant, especially to ladies, to make calls at a house of public entertainment. Mr. S. will, it is trusted, take this hint as it is meant : his duties are most important, and we should be glad to see him adopt all the means in his power for affording a greater facility of com- munication w T ith all dramatic professors. Mr. Turnour (of Covent Garden Theatre) has an office in Bow-street, and is also a dramatic agent — his mode of transacting business is similar to that of Mr. Sims. Mr. Kenneth, at the corner of the same street, also procures engagements for aspirants, and Mr. Miller, of Henrietta Street, Covent Garden, is in constant communication with all provincial managers (as agent to the Dramatic Author's So- ciety) though he does not act as an agent between actors and managers except indeed such as meditate a transatlantic trip. Though every creature that places a foot upon the 4 THE ROAD TO THE STAGE. boards does so in expectation of becoming a favourite in the metropolis, it is ascertained that only one in one hundred, on an average, comes to the royal theatres in any capacity at all — nor do I mention this as matter of regret. Many provincial situations are preferable to London ones ; the favourite of the Bath, Dublin, Edinburgh, and Glasgow Theatres, may, with reasonable prudence, realize from four to five hundred pounds per annum; and an income equal to that has been amassed in the York circuit. An engagement of twelve guineas per week at a royal theatre amounts, with the deductions made during Lent, Passion Week, and the usual vaca- tion to something less than five hundred pounds a year. The usual amount of salaries in our provinces will be seen in the subjoined list. The greatest care has been taken to make it correct — but complete ac- curacy it is impossible to attain :* the reader may depend upon its being very nearly so, as it has been procured from sources accessible to few. There are some itinerant companies unnamed in this list; but no company of any importance has been omitted; and the reader must be aware, that to have rendered an account of all the wandering Thespians of the United Kingdom, would have been difficult and Useless. * Chelmsford has changed its manager every year for four sea- sons. Cheltenham and Birmingham has also had a vast variety of managers ; all therefore that can he done is to vouch that the list is correct up to the day of publication. THE ROAD TO THE STAGE. A LIST OF THE PRINCIPAL PROVINCIAL MANAGERS IN ENGLAND, IRELAND, SCOTLAND, AND WALES, Man. Names. Town or Circuits, Salary , fyc. A j E ^ NDER '}Carlisle, Glasgow 18s. to £2 10s. (The latter town is Mr. A's head quarters, and he visits several other towns in Scot- land). f Varying at the f Croydon, Guildford,New- | small Towns Barnett, E.<* bury, Oxford, Reading,<( from 18s. to l^and Ryde j ^1 5s., Oxford Up to £3 (Open all the Year), {Ashby de la Zouch,^ Shrewsbury, Worcester, ( Wolverhampton, and i Stourbridge J Bennett, (Devonport, Exeter, and) Mrs \ Guernsey J -r, I Queen's Theatre, Liver- 1 Beverley, J ^ and the Minor9 at ( £l tQ £2 (Manchester J ^'V^a}^- (The Season generally com- mences about the close of July, and ends in February). Burroughs, \ Bdfest and Preston Watkins J Ca j c w FT ' \ Dublin Theatre R °y al £l l0s - t0 ^ 6 (Sometimes the Company migrate to Cork and other Towns). B2 6 THE ROAD TO THE STAGE. Man. Names, Town or Circuits. Salary, fyc Calvert Dublin Minor £\ to £3 CI £*&!U } Manchester > Live n>ooi SGainsboro castle, L ham, Pc Worksop C Gainsborough, Horn- ^\ Clarke and J castle, Louth, Rother- f lg5 tQ n^ ^ Huggins... j ham, Pontefract, and t Dawson, J f Bodmin, Penryn, Pen-"| ...2 zance, Falmouth, and > t Truro J C York Circuit— i. e. York, ~) Downe, T.J. < Leeds, Hull, and Wake->£1 to £5 £ field > (At York, generally at Races and Assizes— in Leeds, dur- ing summer — and at Hull, from November to March). "Beccles, Bungay, Down- ^ham, Eyr, East Durham, f Fisher, C....<^Halesworth, Sudbury, > Average £ I ^Swaffham, Newmarket, and Woodbridge 1 Doncaster, (opening at"J t T A1l/r „ rkV __ lRaces), the Liver, Liver- / w J -±OS» tO ^,1 IS. Clarke ... j ham, Pontefract, and , (_ Worksop {Aylesbury, Banbury, "\ Bedford, Buckingham, f k>j Wallingford, Woburn, ( £l and Woodstock j Lee -{ Bridport, Taunton, Tor- >£\ THE ROAD TO THE STAGE. 7 Man. Names* Town or Circuits. Salary, Sfc. Jones, Cap t.... Richmond, Surrey £1 5s. to £2 (Generally from July to Nov.) Kelly Portsmouth ( Barnstaple, Bridgwater,' . < Bridport, Taunton, Tor- (rington, Wells, &c. &c. Lfwis I Liverpool, and Manches- ) „. « liEWXS (ter Theatre Royal J A1 t0 * 5 M MRS EADY ' } Bristo1 £1 to £2 10,. {Bolton, Chesterfield,^ KwSf-dswK toiei55 - ford ) MaxfieldH. ) Portsmouth and Kelly ) ( Edinburgh Theatre Royal £1 5s. to £7 Murray, W.< and Adelphi, Edinburgh C £1 to £5 ( (late Caledonian) -Jin some cases (Generally makes up Two ^unlimited. distinct Companies). Penley, S Newcastle-upon-Tyne & i *>, ^^ Sampson ....* Windsor J* 110 *^ Penley, B. > Le icester & Anderson $ T Chester, and the Liver, Raymond ... . } 8 THE ROAD TO THE STAGE. Saville, J. Faucit . Man. Names. Town or Circuits. Salary ^ Sfc. {Durham, Scarborough,"} North and South Shields [ £{ £l lQ Stockton-on-Tees, and f Sunderland J {Aberdeen, Belfast, (Ire-") land), Perth, Kircaldy, ! £ £ , 1Q> and various towns in I Scotland J Deal, Greenwich, Mar-} gate, Ramsgate, St. Al-> 155. to £1 5*. bans, Sandwich, &c. &c. 3 (Sometimes at the Theatres there, and at others with a Peripatetic Company, in a cast-iron ambulatory Thea- tre). Scott, J Northampton 15s. to,£l 15$, ShaldersW... Salisbury 15*. to £1 15$. {Canterbury, Chatham," Dover, Gravesend, Ton- bridge Wells, Maid stone, and Rochester fBarnsley, Barton, Be-"] verley, Bishop's Castle, Brigg, Burlington Quay, Grimsby, Horncastle, ^ Howden, Malton, Mans- field, Market Deeping, March, Melton Mow- I bray, Sleaford, South- Lwell, &c Sloman, J. Smedley § £lto£l 10*. Average 15*., .with some be- fnefit allow- ance at each in every Two Years). !Bury St. Edmonds, Cam-"} mouth J A ' '-(Cheltenham £2 10*. THE ROAD TO THE STAGE. 9 Man. Names, Town or Circuits, Salary, tyc. ! Ashbourne, Bridgnorth, "} Burton -on- Trent, New- f A /»i i castle-under-Lyne, Os- \ Av ^ £i ls ' westry, and Stafford j Woulds, J. ...Bath and Swansea £1 to £3 From this list has been excluded the names of many managers, who appear to be migratory, and whose localities, if stated now, would be incorrect, perhaps, during the period of printing; we add a list of those omitted, with a notice of their last spe- culation. Managers or TTr7 , , m Proprietors* Where last heard °f- Armestead and ) „. T . W1 , N Batty > Circus, Liverpool (closed) t> f Lymington and City Theatre, London ( (closed) Buller Abingdon Chamberlain ...Walsall Cole well Upton-upon-Severn Collier Cardiff and Cardigan Copeland Dumfries and Lancaster Coppin East Durham Dowton, T- Canterbury (2 months) Gibbs Jersey Hay Weymouth Holloway A Minor, at Liverpool Howell Tullamore Irish Gosport Jackson Market, Harborough 10 THE ROAD TO THE STAGE. Managers or Prop. Where last heard of* M TERT. a . ndPoT "} Aber y stwlth and Merth y r T y dvil Parry, J. E Ramsgate Read, O. E Hull, Minor (closed) Robberds Hull, Minor (closed) Rogers Horsham Sandford Plymouth Sh alders Blandford Stanley Worthing (closed) Starmer Chelmsford and Brentwood Waldigrave Hastings All mention of travelling troops, such as Richard- son's, Scouton and Holloway's, Ryan's, Adams's, &c. would be here out of place, as these persons it is presumed do not even style themselves theatrical managers. In Scotland and Ireland, and in remote parts of England, some small strolling companies doubtless exist, which it has been found impracticable to in- clude here; amid them the names of Watson, Wilson, Hutchinson, Conroy, and Wright occur. Most of them form what are termed SHARING COMPANIES. Sharing Companies were once numerous in Eng- land, but they are, happily, becoming extinct ; it is of course impossible to point out where these com- panies may be found, as their haunts are uncertain. The principal sharing schemes are those of — Man. Names. Towns and Circuits. Shares, Sfc. r^xru • •* ™r • 1 C The Shares are „ (Who visits Warwick, I , Chamber- » d . h J supposed to LAIN lenity /....., ) a ; e e ; k a f £l P« THE ROAD TO THE STAGE. 11 Watson- Davenport Brewer Mayhew and Smith Perry and The average of their shares cannot be esti- mated. Man. Names. Towns and Circuits, Shares^ §c. {Who frequently opens at"*) Highgate, Hampstead, I and other places near the j metropolis J f These managers visit so") many towns, and so un- certain are their visita- tions, that it is impossible ^ to fix their locality. They V - generally seek towns ' where the theatre has for a considerable time been | ^closed J c k .-u • -x e f Average profits Laverock... j^ *^!^* ' ° f Vaca ^ by shaL about \ ted theatres* \ 15*. V week. The system of sharing companies being nearly exploded, it is only necessary to briefly explain the principles on which they are conducted. If there were eight actors and four actresses, be- sides the manager, the receipts would be divided into seventeen parts or shares : One to each actor and actress ; One to the manager, as an actor ; One to him for dresses ; One for scenery; One for properties ; One also as manager. Thus if the receipts any one night amounted to 17 Li the manager took 5/., and the company 11. a piece. In addition to this, as some little outlay must occur, the manager advancing this called it a stock debt, for which whenever they had a tolerable house, he made a large deduction. * Mr. L/s name deserves a place as the oldest one in the records of management, his ancestors having kept together a company for a great number of years. 12 THE ROAD TO THE STAGE. LIST OF LONDON THEATRES. Name. Where situated. Season. Managers. fMichaelmas to"] Easter, or Six 1 ,- ,, . Adelphi Strand <> Months, com- l?J essrs ^f U jmencing 1st of f tnews & Yates LOctober J r Generally from 1 Astley's Am- c Westminster } Easter to Mi-TDucrow and phitheatre tRoad 1 chaelmas, but (West ( really unlimited ) CityThea- c Milton Street, ( S^ r ic f ^ ed ' r tre I Fore Street . . j ^ e f™ _ _ ^ h " Clarence ....King's Cross.... Ditto C Rnw strPPt C Generally from ) Covent Gar- \ f° w 5555) the middle of f A1 - , _ 1 and _ Covent 1 SpT * flTn v pr tft , hp > Alfred Buim DEN •(G-rienM^^fXfjSe*-^ f BrydgesStreet, J Generally from } ■n^TTTJv t Avt- 3 Russell Street, (the middle off A1 - , „ Drury Lane j aM Dmr ^ V September t0 the V Alfred Bunn ' Lane 3 end of June .... 3 English Ope- -> Qf . j Seven Months > ra House i Strand -J commencing at > J. S. Arnold ( Easter ) Fitzroy } Theatre f Tottenham ^ .,. .. v (late Queen's, £ Court Road . . 5 A11 tfte * ear - • • • &c. &c.) 3 fUnlimited, but"! ( Leman Street. I generally about n . . Garrick ....-{Goodman's gene _ WD. E. Morris. rally about Whit I l^sunday J London } Tooley Street, > Unlicenced and B ridge .... 5 Borough .... 3 unlimited THE ROAD TO THE STAGE. 13 Name. Where situated. Season, Managers, vr„,~ r\ r„™»« £ Windmill St., } Unlicenced and New Queen s \ Haymarket # , \ unlimited f Michaelmas to } ~ c Newcastle St. ) Easter, or Sixf^.- , Voof •. Olympic . . . . { Dmry Lan6j _ _ -j Month ' g> com _ V Mad. \ estns 'mencingOct. 1st j Pavilion . . . . { R^^f ?* } All the Year J. Farrell S Well*' S } Islington Road. . All the Year G. Almar Saks So CCI . . . .LeieesterPlaee { ™^ d . ™* } 1 Between Sur-1 Strand f rey Street, and > Ditto J. Glossop ) King's College ) Surrey BlackfriarsRd. . . All the Year G. B . Davidge V Coburg) A(late } Waterloo Road.. All the Year J. Glossop TtIr MIN " 1 George Street " * Unlicenced In addition to these theatres there are several buildings about London occasionally devoted to dramatic purposes ; amid them are The Minor, Catherine Street, Strand; Theatre, Berwick Street, Soho ; Pym's Theatre, "Wilson Street, Gray's Inn Lane ; The Shakspeare, Curtain Road; Wilmington House, Wilmington Square ; Theatre, Rawstone Street, Islington, &c. &c. These places are let by the night or week, for either public or private performances, or most usually for public performances (admittance being had by tickets sold at places in the vicinity) by amateur actors; it is unnecessary to add, that everything is to be heard at such receptacles except good English, and every- thing to be seen except good acting. On a rough calculation the United Kingdom is 14 THE ROAD TO THE STAGE. supposed to contain about 3000 performers ; that is to say, individuals of both sexes who really under- stand their business — the amount of persons connived at by their friends and the public as actors and act- resses must be about seven times that number. As music is becoming daily more popular in this country, first singers are proportionably in request. At Liverpool the leading vocalist has a salary of five pounds per week; and such is the dearth of male singers, that that is now considered the most pro- fitable and safe line, and one for which an engage- ment can always be obtained. Tragedy is, it has been justly observed, going out of fashion. Whether England will ever become so completely fashionable as to dislike Shakspeare it is difficult to say, but certainly he has been latterly played to houses, that would indicate that the im- mortal bard's attraction was declining ; but as im- provements generally originate in the metropolis, so also do innovations, and tragedy, though unattractive in London, is not yet scouted in the provinces. As nearly all aspirants commence as tragedians, this line has always numerous professors ; it is now, from the arrangements of modern managers, become im- perative that a leading man should provide his own wardrobe (the expenses of which I shall speak of hereafter). A tragedian always commands the best salary in the theatre, and in large establishments his situation is easy and profitable ; in small ones he is expected to blend the light comedy with the serious business, and thus his labour, though not his profit is marvellously increased. Genteel Comedy has been long called the most profitable line upon the stage — it requires a good modern wardrobe. In small theatres the light comedian must play the seconds in tragedy (Macduff, Richmond, &c.) — the salary is generally first-rate — at all events next to that of the leading man. THE ROAD TO THE STAGE. 15 Low Comedy is supposed to be the best line, with reference to the benefits it ensures, but this is trusting to a very precarious chance — the salary is generally on a par with the light comedians. First Old Men obtain somewhat similar terms. Walking Gentlemen (Charles Stanley, Henry Mor eland, Harry Thunder, &c.) is a line that also requires an extensive wardrobe ; this business is usually assigned to persons learning the rudiments of the profession — the salary is generally low ; in Dublin even, not exceeding two guineas per week, and in many respectable companies not more than one. The observations already made, apply to the other sex equally with regard to the First Tragedy — Fine Ladies — Singing Chambermaids — Old Women — and Walking Ladies. First Singing Ladies are much more numerous than male vocalists, a circumstance which the system of modern education accounts for — and, perhaps, for a Lady the Old Women may be considered the most profitable and safe line. Any young lady embracing this line, and possessed of even a moderate share of talent, could seldom lack a provincial engagement, and would stand an excellent chance of metropolitan distinction. Having premised thus much, it is now necessary to place before my readers the regulations of pro- vincial establishments. The following is an exact copy from the rules, fines, &c. of one of the best of our country theatres — they are very similar to those of the London estab- lishments. 16 THE ROAD TO THE STAGE. GENERAL REGULATIONS OF THE PRIN- CIPAL PROVINCIAL THEATRES. First. — All engagements are terminable by four weeks' notice from either party. Second. — Salaries are not paid when theatrical performances are suspended on account of any public calamity. Third. — Performers exercising their talents for the advantage of any other establishment, where money is taken for admission (by subscription or otherwise), without permission of the manager, incur a penalty of one week's salary; and a repe- tition of the offence will be held a forfeiture of their engagement. Fourth. — Every performer is expected to go on the stage and assist in all the processions and cho- russes, where it has been customary in London for principals to be engaged, as in Macbeth, Pizarro, Juliet's dirge, Alexander's entry, &c. — non-compli- ance with this regulation subjects the party to a fine of ten shillings. Fifth. — Every performer is required to go on the stage, if in the theatre, or within call, whenever it is deemed expedient to sing the national airs, except such airs are introduced in the dramatic performance, or forfeit ten shillings. Sixth. — Any performer refusing to x act a part, cast by the manager, incurs the forfeiture of one guinea. Seventh. — Performers are not to go into the front of the house during the performance of a piece in which they act. Eighth. — Dresses appointed to be worn are not to be changed without the consent of the manager. Ninth. — Saturday is considered the first day of the week, as in the London theatres. Tenth. — On benefit nights, performers are expected THE ROAD TO THE STAGE. 17 not to go into the front of the house without the per- mission of the person whose benefit it is. RULES OF REHEARSAL. First. — Notice of pieces to be rehearsed to be posted in the green-room, and the time of beginning, before the end of the play on the previous night of performance; and it is the call-boy's duty to give notice to every performer who does not perform that evening. Second. — Ten minutes' grace allowed for the com- mencement of the first piece rehearsed, but not for any subsequent one. Third. — Every performer absent from rehearsal (without having previously assigned a sufficient cause), to forfeit for the first scene one shilling, and for every subsequent one sixpence ; but not more than five shillings for a whole play, and half a crown for a farce. Fourth. — For standing on, or walking across the stage, when not engaged in the scene, sixpence. Fifth. — For not being reasonably perfect at the last rehearsal (sufficient time having been given for study), five shillings. Sixth. — Music-room rehearsals subject to the same regulations in regard to time as those on the stage. The duets, glees, chorusses, &c. to be played before the songs, and each absentee to forfeit sixpence for every concerted piece, but not for songs. Seventh. — Apologies for non-attendance at re- hearsals of every description must be delivered, before the party has incurred the penalty. RULES DURING PERFORMANCE. Every 'performer liable to the following forfeits. First. — For not being ready to begin at the time announced in the bills, five shillings. c2 18 THE ROAD TO THE STAGE. Second. — For keeping the stage waiting after having been called, two shillings and sixpence. Third. — For going on or off the stage in any other place than that settled at rehearsals, one shilling. Fourth. — For opening the stage door when not required in the business two shillings and sixpence. Fifth. — For standing at the wings in sight of the audience, or sitting at the wings, two shillings and sixpence. Sixth. — For being obviously intoxicated when engaged in the performance, one guinea. Seventh. — For omitting, or introducing a scene or song without the consent of the manager, five shil- lings. Eighth. — For not attending to perform the part allotted, one guinea. *** None but performers or persons engaged in the business, permitted to be behind the scenes, either at rehearsal, or during the performance, on any pretence whatever. BENEFIT REGULATIONS. First. — Previous to the benefits a notice will be placed in the green-room, for three days, for the signature of those performers who intend taking benefits — and those who do not sign within the time will be considered as having declined one. Second. — The charges of each night to be as follows,* security for which several sums must be given before any advertisement can appear: — the manager allows the customary stock printing, pro- perty bill, and not more than twenty supernu- meraries. The manager has a discretionary power * Thes3 sums of course differ according to the size of the theatre, &c. At Liverpool, the charge is sixty guineas for the house. At Bath, the same, except in spring, then only fifty. At Hull, you share with the manager after £20 ; i. e. he takes the first £20 and gives you half of the remaining receipts. THE ROAD TO THE STAGE. 19 of restraining the performances within a convenient length. Third, — Performers are not permitted to curtail pieces ; but any piece that has been compressed in either of the patent theatres in London, may be acted from the same copy at Birmingham. Fourth. — No alteration in the price of admission at benefits, on pain of forfeiture of the benefit and engagement. Fifth. — No comic pantomime allowed but to the harlequin, columbine, and clown, who shall throw for precedence, and only take such pantomimes as have been acted in the stock business during the season. Sixth. — No play or farce to be acted for a benefit, unless appropriate scenery, dresses, &c. are already in the stock, or furnished by the performer. Seventh. — Performers, and others, taking tickets, to take them on such nights as the manager shall fix for that purpose, and give security if required. Eighth. — Any bill or advertisement published with- out having been signed by the manager, or added to, after such signature, subjects the party to a forfeiture of the benefit. The indispensable Requisites as regard a Theatrical Wardrobe for an outset in the prof ession. The number of actors that of late years have been in the habit of furnishing their own wardrobe, has given the, managers a hint which they have pretty generally taken. Every man likes to appear to ad- vantage, and many therefore find their own dresses, if they do not approve of the old suits in the stock ; but as our best actors have generally been the poorest men, it is necessary for me to state the things it is absolutely expected that an actor is to find him- self in. 20 THE ROAD TO THE STAGE. List of Properties. Feathers, hats, ruffs, collars, boots, shoes, swords, belts, ornaments of all descriptions, tight white pan- taloons, fleshings, sandals, wigs, stockings, buckles, and breeches. Every one of these articles an actor in a small com- pany should possess, for the various characters he will have to assume will bring them in requisition, and they are never found by the management. I shall now run through the principal lines of act- ing, and separately enumerate the things most likely to be required for each. TRAGEDY. A first tragedian, as theatres are now stocked, should possess : — Complete dresses for Hamlet, Richard, Macbeth, and Rolla; and with them, and the stock, he may manage to dress a variety of characters. He should have a wig for Octavian; ditto for Othello ; ditto for Richard ; and ditto for Lear ; ringlets, &c. An old English sword,* a Roman sword; a dress and regulation sword. Stage hats of several descriptions, which I cannot explain upon paper ; these are most essential, as he will find no hats of any sort in country wardrobes ; an opera and military hat are both indispensable. Tight pantaloons, black and white, for comedies, (Lovemore, &c), and red, blue, and green, will be found highly useful. Russet boots and shoes ; gauntlets, handsome and plain. Lace collars and ruffs. Sword belts, both of leather and chains. Feathers, white and black, and heron's feathers for Rob Roy, &e. THE ROAD TO THE STAGE. 21 The ornaments are innumerable. A star, hat ornaments, and a blue garter, wanted in all our his- torical plays, are amongst those of primary con- sideration. I have seen young gentlemen come down to lead with one wig and one sword. A carpenter might as well undertake to do his work in a building with only a saw and a gimlet. LIGHT COMEDY. Every thing that constitutes a fashionable modern wardrobe will be absolutely necessary. Dress coats with steel buttons, trimmed as the court dresses are worn ; an old coat with good buttons looks as well as a new one, as almost all theatrical things depend upon the ornaments upon them. A military infantry uniform;* sword ditto. Ditto cavalry. A dress sword; sword loop, or white silk belt. An opera hat, buckles, and latchets. A naval coat is also useful, though, even in the metropolis, T have seen a common blue coat with epaulettes worn. Epaulettes, both of silver and gold, the performer will do well to provide, for stock epaulettes are never peculiar for then* brilliancy. Wigs are less essential here, as most comedians wear their own hair, but for such parts as Rochester, they will be found indispensable. OLD MEN. The number of wigs required in this line is con- siderable; let the reader remember what he has * There is scarcely any stock so destitute as to be without a military coat ; hut my readers need not be informed that a dress, calculated to fit every body, never does actually fit any body, and that which every one may wear, no one can bear to be seen in. 22 THE ROAD TO THE STAGE. seen for Simpson, Sir Peter Teazle, Sir Anthony Absolute, Old Dowlas, Adam Winterton, &c, and he will form a more correct notion of what may be required than it is possible to convey to him by writing. Square-toed shoes; buckles for the knees and shoes of various descriptions, of paste, gold, and silver; steel sword, and shape hats, feathers, &c, for such characters as Lopez, " Wonder," Don Lewis, " Love Makes a Man," and for which it will be necessary to provide many of the things placed under the head of tragedy ; a three-cornered hat. It fortunately occurs that almost all wardrobes are well stocked with (English) old men's dresses, there- fore performers in this line may well dispense with any entire dress. Stockings, ruffs, waistbands, and lace frills. Canes. COUNTRY BOYS. It is nearly as essential to possess a wardrobe for this line as for tragedy, especially if the performer's figure be petite ; Knight received a certain sum in addition to his salary, as a consideration for finding his own dresses. The things most material are — leathern unmentionables, and white flannel ditto ; shoes called high-lows, with thongs, and square-toed shoes ; flowered waistcoats, which are generally made of bed- furniture, or worked in worsted upon calico; coloured neckerchiefs; of coats, to play the line, I should recommend an actor's providing — a sky blue one, a white flannel one, and one of vel- veteen; the latter was a favourite garment with poor Emery, and such coats are much worn to the present day in Yorkshire. Round hats, white and black. "Wigs — red, in short curl ; ditto long hair ; flaxen, THE ROAD TO THE STAGE. 23 in curl; and ditto straight. Knight had twenty dif- ferent red wigs that he constantly wore. Buckles of plain steel. Sticks — nothing can be more characteristic than a good stick. Knight's twig in Jerry Blossom, and Emery's staff in Ashfield, will not be forgotten. Stockings, blue, red, and striped, LOW COMEDY. The term low comedy is extremely comprehensive, and embraces, in a country company, many, indeed most of the parts assumed in the metropolis by Lis- ton and Harley, many of Munden's, and frequently Emery's also. The number of wigs requisite it is almost impossible to say, but he will assuredly require — A Caleb Quotem's wig; a Mingle's wig; a bowl wig, i. e. round, for Crack, &c; a red wig; a dress one for Lissardo, &c; old men's wigs; a skull cap, i. e, a complete head covering, made of calico, dyed the colour of the scalp; a bald front, with black hair at back, for Copp, Michael, Bruhl, &c. ; a long black haired wig for Dominie Sampson. Ruffs, collars, frills, russet boots and shoes, and pantaloons, for such parts as Jaques, " Honeymoon," Lissardo, &c. It will be remembered that, in the most respect- able provincial theatres, the low comedian is ex- pected to go on for the Lord Mayor, in " Richard the Third," and other characters of minor importance in tragedy. A countryman's coat and inexpressibles, of leather and cloth of divers hues. Stockings of different colours in silk and worsted, and they should be long enough to wear w T ith trunks in shape pieces ; * Scotch stockings. * That is, to come half- way up the thigh. 24 THE ROAD TO THE STAGE. One or two complete shape dresses for comic ser- vants will be found absolutely necessary. Hats — shape — of velvet or serge, and beaver ones, round, square, white and black. A servant's hatband and cockade ; for the informa- tion of the unlearned, it may be as well to state that a cockade marks the servant of a military gentleman or nobleman. Top boots, and false military black tops, for Rattan, Sturgeon, &c. Feathers of various descriptions. Sword belts, and one sword at least. WALKING GENTLEMEN Will require most of the things (perhaps all) enume- rated under the head of light comedy. SECONDS IN TRAGEDY; OR, JUVENILE TRAGEDY, ( which frequently goes with the light comedy), Will require the things named under the head tragedy, wdth the exception of the complete dresses. A person professing juvenile tragedy should have a dress for Norval, which will also serve for Macduff, and other parts; a black bugled one for Romeo's second dress, and which will also do for Laertes in the last act : and a plain shape dress, and plain tunic, for Wilford, &c. SECOND OLD MEN May refer to the title Old Men for all they require. ECCENTRICS, &C. (i. e. Frenchmen, Ollapods, and those parts that cannot be reduced to any specific line), Must refer to all the different heads, for the articles they want are innumerable. Dick Cypher goes with THE ROAD TO THE STAGE. 25 the eccentrics, and the performer is expected to find every thing, even to the box coat. GENERAL UTILITY. This is what young performers are generally en- gaged for, though to fulfil the duties of general utility requires an old actor; it is, in fact, to play the inferior parts in every line — to have the most to do — the least notice of doing it — and receive the lowest salary ; it is (next to the situation of prompter) the Pandemonium of the profession. For general utility, a man should have almost all the things enumerated under all the different heads, excepting the complete dresses in every one. I know it will be said that a performer can em- bark in the profession without the properties I have mentioned. I can myself adduce instances. A gen- tleman, now a member of Drury Lane Theatre, started in Brunton's company with a pair of stage boots only, and they were a partnership concern between himself and another ; but it is unnecessary to mention the misery and privation that individual suffered, or to name the number of parts that were taken from him, not because he could not play, but because he could not dress them. LADIES' WARDROBE. Female aspirants for the pleasures of the scenic art are perhaps seldom aware that our provincial theatres have no wardrobe at all for the ladies, and that every thing they wear must be provided by themselves. TRAGEDY. Black velvet dress with long and short sleeves. White satin dress with long and short sleeves. D 26 THE ROAD TO THE STAGE. Scarlet robe ; sandals. Point lace drapery; black and white points. Gold spangled trimming. Silver spangled trimming. Plain and spangled drapery. Dagger ; coronet ; stomacher. Ornamented cestus for the waist. Beads of all descriptions. Ornaments of every kind for ear-rings, bracelets, and armlets. COMEDY. Pink, blue, and white satin dresses. Leno dresses with spangled trimming. Leno dresses with satin trimming. Feathers; fan; reticule. Fashionable hat. Shoes, silk stockings, and gloves. Black and white lace veils. Flowers; beads; scarf. Points for Spanish dresses. MELO-DRAME. Scarlet stuff dress, with blue ribbons, pocket made in dress ; French cap ; white muslin apron trimmed. Buff dress with blue or green ribbons. Black velvet body made with stomacher. Black ribbon and cross. Gipsy hat; black mits; white mits. Black shoes with buckles or clasps. French head dress. Black velvet body with long and short sleeves. Boy's dress,, Quaker's dress. Dove coloured silk open dress ; white cuffs ; white muslin neckerchief trimmed with white satin rib- bon; white satin petticoat; white muslin apron THE ROAD TO THE STAGE. 27 trimmed with white satin ribbon; quaked s cap; white satin ribbon formed as a stomacher. CHAMBERMAIDS. Coloured cotton and muslin dresses: trimmed apron ; caps and flowers. GENERAL BUSINESS AND ECCENTRICS. Silk fleshings. Frock coat and trousers ; white waistcoat. Gentleman's shirt ; false wristbands. Black stock for neck % "Wellington boots. These are essential for such characters as the "Young Widow," Harriette, in "Is he Jealous?'' the " Irish Widow," and numerous other parts in the drama. Tunic; white silk pantaloons; russet boots. Worked collar or frill for neck. Hat and feathers; for the "Blind Boy," Myrtillo, in the "Broken Sword," the "Wandering Boys," &c. A complete Indian dress, with head-dress formed of feathers ; bracelets and beads of all descriptions ; — for Umba, in "Perouse," and Yarico, in "Incle and Yarico." A white satin or coloured fly; white satin loose Turkish trousers; slippers turned up at the toes; vest and turban with birds of Paradise plume ; — for Artaxerxes, Aladdin, Zorayda,in the "Mountaineers," and numerous other parts. Peasant's dress, Swiss, French, Spanish, Old English, &c. for Savoyards of all nations. Straw hat; check shirt; black neckerchief. White waistcoat with blue binding. A blue jacket; white or blue trousers. Striped stockings, shoes, and buckles. A short cane ; — for Little Pickle. Old woman's head-dress. 28 THE ROAD TO THE STAGE. High heeled shoes. A large and old-fashioned fan. Mittens — long, short, plain, and ornamented with lace; muslin neckerchief for neck, Old-fashioned ear-rings, and other ornaments. Hooped petticoat ; an open wrapper. Old-fashioned bedgown and nightcap. Various coloured things of the descriptions named will be requisite ; — for Old Women. THE LINE OP CONDUCT TO BE OBSERVED ON FIRST ENTERING A THEATRE. The first person you should inquire for is the promp- ter, to whom you make yourself known, and give your address; the prompter will introduce you to the stage-manager, who conducts you to the green-room, and introduces you to the rest of the company. The part assigned you, and a notice as to the rehearsal, will be sent you according to the address given, or delivered to you at the theatre by the call-boy, or prompter's assistant. As you read your character you will ascertain what properties are wanted in the different scenes you have to act, such as a purse, book, keys, bottle, &c. &c; these you will make memorandums of, and on the night of performance hand the list to, or ask for them of, the property- man,* who will provide what you want, which, as you conclude each scene, you return to him. It is essential that these things should be returned in- stanter, as they may be wanted in the next scene ; but if you have to deliver them to any party on the stage, the onus of returning them rests on him or her. After the rehearsal, your next care is to find the * In a respectably conducted theatre the performer is saved this trouble, as at the last rehearsal and at night the call-boy brings him the properties required when he makes each call. THE ROAD TO THE STAGE. 29 wardrobe-keeper, and ask to look at your dress; try it on, and show the dresser what alterations (if any) are necessary. It is the rule of every well-regulated theatre that you should wear no dress that has not been approved of by the manager; but in light comedy, where you provide every thing, it is left to your own discretion. In such pieces it will be wise to consult your brother performers as to what cos- tume they intend assuming; from a neglect of this precaution, I have seen, at one of our first provincial theatres, Sir Benjamin Backbite, and Charles and Joseph Surface, habited exactly alike, a thing dis- pleasing to the eye of the auditor, and destructive of scenic effect. In the dressing-room, to which the prompter's boy w T ill conduct you, you will find your name written at that part of it assigned for you to dress in; there the things provided by the theatre for you to wear will be sent by the wardrobe-keeper. It is no part of the duty of the dresser of a provincial theatre to clean the shoes or boots which you wear upon the stage ; but this is usually done by him, for which he expects some little remuneration. Some few years since it was understood that the things worn in the play should be washed for you by the esta- blishment, but this custom is growing into disuse in the provinces — neither is it now general for a hair- dresser to attend at the manager's expense; the per- former will therefore be prepared to attend to him- self in this particular ; and it may be well to remark, that one of our greatest actors has said — "Wear your own locks whenever it is not absolutely im- proper — the best wig is not so good as the worst head of hair." Wigging is a science in itself; Suett had a com- plete gallery of wigs. I shall consider this subject in another portion of my work, and shall merely re- mark here, that the use of wigs must be left to the d2 =^8« 30 THE ROAD TO THE STAGE. judgment and observation of the actor. Custom has established red wigs for countrymen, and black ones for Roman and all tragic characters, though it would be difficult to assign a reason for either practice. The English rustic is not generally seen with carroty locks, though they are strongly indicative of the Scotch and Welsh, and the Romans were not partial to raven ringlets ; how far it may be wise to depart from these professional prejudices or vices it is not for me to determine. Auditors will fancy that Alexander was of gigantic stature, though historical records will vouch for his slender form and crooked neck; and a tall Richard, or a short Coriolanus, offend our pre- possession of these characters. For leaving any portion of your dress, or com- pleting the adjustment of it, in the green-room, there are established fines, but the necessities of the stage occasion these rules to be frequently departed from. A short change, such as that made by Risk, in " Love Laughs at Locksmiths," those of Buskin, in " Killing no Murder," Variella, " Weathercock," or " The Actress of All Work," are made either in what is technically called "a building" behind the scenes or in a room close at hand; in some cases even in the green-room itself. When dressed the performer should proceed in- stantly to the green-room, as no notice but of the music having been rung-in, is given in the dressing- room; the call-boy enters the green-room to call each actor and actress as they are wanted, in each scene, who should then refer to their parts, to ascer- tain whether the scene is a hall, chamber, or garden, and not present the impropriety so often seen, even in London, of persons traversing the open air with- out hats, bonnets, shawls, or gloves, or the vulgarity of entering drawing-rooms with their heads covered ; indeed, it is highly improper to enter in a room-scene with a hat at all. THE ROAD TO THE STAGE. 31 ON MAKING UP THE FIGURE. The attempts of those to whom nature has denied the graces of person, to supply her deficiencies, have been treated undeservedly with satirical rigour; those who are not of happy person, say some, should not embrace the profession. Alas! we none of us see ourselves. It is the singular exclamation of a great actor of this day that, if he could go in front and see himself act, he should profit more in one hour of self-observation, than he could from the best and most candid of critics in a year. Where nature has granted symmetry, there are often inherent de- fects of manner ; and if it be praiseworthy to endea- vour to overcome them, it must surely also be so to obviate, if possible, our natural disqualifications. One of the greatest tragedians of the day always plays in a dress completely padded from the shoulder to the heel, and made with the most scrupulous ac- curacy, to fill up the voids (he being extremely thin) where nature is found deficient. If a performer dis- pleases the eye of his auditor he will find it very hard to gain upon him at all, and it is surely very allow- able to endeavour, by any means, to obtain this pre- possession. Mr. Sheldrake has long been celebrated as the maker of false calves, full shoulders, &c; but a performer, possessing an excellent figure may require the aid of art for the performance of certain characters. If it fell to the lot of Mr. R. Jones (of Co vent Garden) to play the Sir Anthony Absolute, &c, could he possibly produce any effect unless he stuffed? I have known many actors who look very well on the stage, except when compelled to exhibit their legs either in silk stockings or pantaloons. Now, where it happens that the leg is what is termed bandy or buck-shinned, no method can be devised for totally concealing the defect, although I have heard 32 THE ROAD TO THE STAGE. that there are means of decreasing even this eyesore; but it requires an ingenuity beyond any that has ever fallen under my observation. When the leg is straight and thin, the most approved method is to cut the feet and tops of as many pair of old silk stockings as may produce the desired increase of size, carefully leaving a little less on each succeeding stocking, both at the top and bottom; and having thus made the leg per- fectly shapely, lastly pull on the stocking that is to face the audience, unmindful of the shabby scoun- drels that it covers. This was the custom, now pad- dings regularly ivoven to order are to be had of Mr. Tresher. ON MAKING UP THE FACE FOR THE STAGE. How essential a part of a performer's duty this is ; an hundred examples might be brought to attest; to ladies it is of the utmost importance. More than one instance could be cited of great metropolitan fa- vourites, who owe all their attractions to the manner of decking their persons. There can be little doubt that all paint is injurious to the skin, and the object should be therefore to neutralize its pernicious qua- lities as much as possible. Chinese vermillion boiled in milk, and then suffered to dry, and afterwards mixed with about half the quantity of carmine, is de- cidedly the best colour an actor can use ; it is said to be too powerful for a female face, but this I am inclined to consider an error, especially as the late introduction of gas into our theatres has rendered a more powerful colouring than that formerly used decidedly necessary. Rouge is an ineffective colour, and seldom lies well on the face ; previous to painting it is best to pass a napkin, with a little pomatum upon it, over the part intended to receive the colour,* * The late Mr. Knight used to cover his cheek with a thin coat oi pomatum, and paint upon it, without rubbing the face dry, but this, THE ROAD TO THE STAGE. 33 then touch the cheek with a little hair-powder, which will set the colour, and then lay on the vermillion and carmine. A rabbit's foot is better than any thing else for distributing the paint equally. Performers should bear in mind that it is better to have too little than too much colour ; but they would also do well to remember that, when heated, colour will sink, and it may be well, in the course of a long part, to re- touch the countenance. Ladies have generally sufficient knowledge of the arts of decking the human face divine, therefore the few observations I have yet to offer on this subject will be confined to the other sex. It is a common, though slovenly, habit to make mustachios and whiskers by means of a burnt cork — an idle filthy mode — involving too the danger of trans- ferring your lip ornaments to the cheek of a lady, if it be necessary in the scene to salute her. A camel' s hair pencil and Indian ink will, with very little trouble, give a more correct imitation of nature; and if the brush be wetted in gum water, there can be little danger of the ink running, either by the effect of heat or otherwise. What is termed lining the face, is the marking it, so as to represent the wrinkles of age ; this art, for it is one, is little understood upon the English stage — our Parisian neighbours are adepts. It is impossible to give instructions for it upon paper ; the best instru- ment to perform it with, is a piece of round wire, like a black hair pin; this, held in the smoke of a candle, communicates a finer and more distinct line than can be made by dipping it in Indian ink. which he effected cleverly, may be found difficult to perform, where it is necessary to have a powerful colour as in country boys, clowns, &c, it is decidedly the proper method, 34 THE ROAD TO THE STAGE. HOW TO COLOUR THE FACE FOR THE RE- PRESENTATION OF MOORS, NEGROES, &c. Othello used not in former days to sport a coloured countenance, but wore the same sables as Mungo, in the "Padlock;" but this, as being destructive of the effect of the face, and preventing the possibility of the expression being observable, has become an ob- solete custom. A tawny tinge is now the colour used for the gallant Moor, for Bajazet, and Zanga ; Spanish brown is the best preparation for the purpose. Pre- vious to using it, the whole of the face should be rubbed with pomatum, or the colour will not adhere. Some persons mix the colouring with carmine, and, wetting it, apply it to the face, but I never saw this plan answer. Sadi, Bulcazin, Muley, Rolla, &c. should be coloured with Spanish brown, though it is very common, especially for comic performers, to use only an extraordinary quantity of vermillion or car- mine spread over the whole of the face. To produce the black necessary for the negro face of Hassan, Wouski, Mungo, or Sambo, the performer should cover the face and neck with a thin coat of pomatum, or what is better, though more disagree- able, of lard; then burn a cork to powder, and apply it with a hare's foot, or a cloth, the hands wet with beer which will fix the colouring matter. Wearing black gloves is unnatural, for the colour is too intense to represent the skin, and negroes invariably cover themselves with light clothing. Arms of black silk, often worn in Hassan, have a very bad effect : arm- ings dyed with a strong infusion of Spanish annatto look much more natural, for a negro's arms it will be observed are generally lighter than his counte- nance. A strong colouring of carmine should be laid upon the face after the black, as otherwise the ex- pression of countenance and eye will be destroyed. THE ROAD TO THE STAGE. 35 OF REMOVING COLOUR. All persons have witnessed the great effect pro- duced by suddenly removing the colour in any scene of fright or surprise; to do this cleverly requires some expertness. In the scene in the " Iron Chest," where Wilford kneek to inspect the chest, it is easily effected by means of a greased napkin, whilst his face is averted from the audience. In Richard, a celebrated tragedian of the present day always re- moves his colour in the dreaming scene, and applies pomatum to his countenance, and then drops water upon his forehead ; and this he effects while tossing and tumbling in the assumed throes of mental agony, on rushing to the front, at — " Give me another horse — bind up my vounds ;" his countenance is an exemplification of the text — " Cold drops of sweat hang on my trembling limbs." In Carlos' (Isabella) last scene, where, at the sudden discovery of his guilt, he might naturally be sup- posed to turn pale, I have seen performers try strange expedients; some, having removed the colour previous to coming on, have played the scene, till the point of discovery, with their backs to the audience, an offensive mode which has also the dis- advantage of preparing the auditors for the trick. The thing can be generally sufficiently effected by oiling the inside of your gloves, and burying your face in your hands at the moment of accusation; colour adheres to oil immediately, and, without the appearance of error, the paint will be removed; it would be tedious to enumerate the many tricks of this nature that may be practised. Legitimate act- ing wants little of this aid, and nothing but expe- rience can point out when any ruse de theatre can be properly attempted. For such situations as those of Colonel Regolio, " Broken Sword," at the table, 36 THE ROAD TO THE STAGE. with the lights burning before him, it is usual to whiten the face, and blacken beneath the eyes, which gives them a hollow and sunken appearance. In Macbeth' s return with the daggers, the same ex- pedient is resorted to. In Bertram and De Mont- ford the torches of the monks are sometimes im- pregnated with a chemical preparation, which throws a ghastly hue upon the hero's countenance when it is held before them, a hue resembling that commu- nicated to the face by the mixture displayed in the windows of our druggists. My readers will call to mind the excellent " making up" of Mr. T. P. Cooke, in the Monster, " Frankenstein," and confess that attention to this part of the profession may be neces- sary, as in that case, the appearance may be the main feature of a part. TREADING THE STAGE. Every actor should allow himself some paces to settle his step previous to appearing in sight of the audience; it is necessary also to pay attention in making an exit, for nothing is more offensive to the eye of an auditor than to see an actor forego the character he is assuming the moment he approaches the wing. It frequently happens in the course of a scene that one character has to invite another to an inner apartment, as in the following lines — " But this place is too public — retire with me, Robert — the seclu- sion of the closet is best fitted for such a disclosure." Now, if the actors stalk off, the scene appears ridi- culous and unnatural, but if they make use of what is termed bye-play, and preserve the appearance of conversation by their gestures, the effect is kept up, as it should be, to the last moment ; again, in the last acts of our comedies, as the eclair cissement of the various incidents is effected, and the lovers are THE ROAD TO THE STAGE. 37 reconciled, it is necessary for the different characters to leave the front of the stage to others, for the like purpose, previous to forming the picture at the close of the piece. Here it is that bye-play is indispen- sable, It is peculiarly difficult to explain on paper the business of an actor and actress ; when on the stage, and not engaged prominently in the scene, there is always something to do, although there may be nothing to say — for instance, you lead a lady aside, and then the thousand little elegancies may be acted, that are duly appreciated, and mark the mastery of the art ; or in acting a servant, a superior character may drop a glove, handkerchief, &c. — here is an opportunity for supporting the character, by doing that which a servant in such a situation would natu- rally do. The reader may remember a scene between Sir Edward Mortimer and Wilford, in Gorman's play of " The Iron Chest" Sir Edward has long and im- passioned speeches to deliver, and Wilford has to stand with little or nothing to say; this scene is peculiarly fatiguing to the man who really acts Wil- ford — he has so much to express, and so frequently to change his gestures in the course of it. To see and know that this is the case, persons should place themselves in the pit of a theatre, as near the or- chestra as possible, during the performances of some good actors; by this means the term " dressing the stage" will also be understood. All theatrical people that know their business (no matter how many may be engaged in the scene) form a picture ; to under- stand the consequence of attending to dressing the stage, people should pay a visit to a private theatre, where, from the straggling manner in which the per- formers stand, some stuck close together, others at the extreme corner of the stage from each other, &e. E 38 THE ROAD TO THE STAGE. &c. as if uncertain of their ultimate place of desti- nation, the whole effect is marred. The late Mr. Knight used to say, that you learnt quite as much by seeing bad acting as good, for you observed on I the one hand what was done, on the other what was ' left undone. No man was more indefatigable at re- hearsals than poor Knight. At a country theatre he thought nothing of continuing rehearsing from ten till four; he was termed "the ghost of Drury" from his incessant attendance. Amateurs generally feel indignant at the fatigue, and what they consider the unnecessary trouble of rehearsing ; all old actors are fond of rehearsing, because they, from experience, know of what consequence it is. Knight never had his equal for neatness of execution (and this was effected by measuring every inch of the stage), and making what is termed situations, he was always perfect at the first rehearsal of a new piece, there- fore, by the time it was produced, he was quite mel- lowed in his part, and could play with it. There is an actor, at present in London, who declares he will not again go on in a part until he has " chewed the cud upon it;" i. e.,has been in possession of the part for some days, and has thought thoroughly on the different bearings of it ; so that he appears on the stage perfectly master of the character, as he has, from strict and scrutinizing observation, conceived it. A number of actors, and with sorrow do I assert the fact, never trouble themselves to move from the beaten track ; the only questi on that arises with them being, what does Mr. S do in the part? how does he play it? where does he enter, and where exit? Fortune may, and has favoured many of these sort of men, and put them in first-rate London situations ; but an actor, in the true sense of the word, reads the play with attention, takes all the characters, dissects them until he discovers what the author means, and THE ROAD TO THE STAGE. 39 does what Kean directed Sherwin to do, however he may have been led to admire a reigning favourite — " Forgets the god, and is himself alone." THE BEST MODE OF STUDYING, With instances of acton who possessed wonderful memories. To study, requires a determination to give your whole and undivided attention to the part, to read slowly, and with marked emphasis, not through the whole part, but scene by scene, until you are perfect. One hour's patient perseverance is worth four, if you read with indecision and distaste. The simple circumstance that every school-boy can learn his task, is a sufficient stimulant to an actor, of whatever grade in the profession, at least to know the words, however unhappy he may be in delivering them. Mr. Beverley, who has had under his management, at the West London Theatre, and elsewhere, more than half the actors at present engaged at our royal theatres, says, when an actor in his company is im- perfect, " Learn the words, sir, then talk about act- ing — you can't act if you are fishing for the words." Barnard owed his success entirely to his quick study ; for Mrs. Gibbs once, on a starring expedition, was announced for Lady Teazle, but on the morning of rehearsal, the performer who should have played Joseph Surface was absent — Barnard undertook it, and played it perfect. Mrs. Gibbs was so delighted with his celerity, that she strongly recommended him to Colman, and in the following season he appeared at the Haymarket. One of our most perfect actors is Jones; it is needless to add, he is also one of our best, In provincial theatres instances of memory occur nightly, that are little short of marvellous. Mr. Munroe, now of the Haymarket Theatre, has, on several occasions, studied twelve to fourteen lengths 40 THE ROAD TO THE STAGE. from rehearsal till night; and I remember his play- ing Colonel Hardy quite perfect, having received notice of it at four o'clock, and going to the theatre at half-past six — the part is at least five hundred lines. I have known others to study a hundred lines per hour for five or six hours in succession, but these are extraordinary instances. Most actors find that writing out a part greatly facilitates their acquisition of it. Slow writers im- press the words more on their memory than rapid ones ; and it is said, that you study more perfectly from an ill-written copy than a good manuscript, as the pains taken to ascertain the sentences impress them indelibly on the memory. This is carrying matters perhaps a little too far. Cathcart (late of the Cobourg) never wrote out a part, or kept a book; once studied, he never forgets a line. Mr. Munroe never wrote out a line in his life, and will repeat parts at one reading that he has performed a dozen years before. Mr. Bartley, of Covent Garden, possesses a w 7 onderful memory, and advocates re- peating the part aloud, as the best means of study. Knight always learnt the entire scene in which he w 7 as engaged, and not the words of his part alone. My readers are familiar w T ith the story of Lyon, a country actor, learning the contents of a newspaper by heart in one night. The thing seems incredible ; but it will be remembered, that, when this feat was performed, newspapers did not contain one-third of ' the matter they do at present, and their contents were not half so miscellaneous. A member of the present Covent Garden company, whilst sojourning at Greenwich, a few years back, undertook to get by heart a copy of the Times newspaper; in the course of that week he had also to study seven parts for the theatre, yet he completed his task, and won his wager, delivering the whole of the journal from the title and date to the end — this was averaged at six THE ROAD TO THE STAGE* 41 thousand lines ; but the wonder consists more in the perplexing nature of the thing studied than the quantity. Learning line by line, as a school-boy acquires his task, though laborious in practice, will be found the most rapid method in the end ; a scene thus learnt should then be repeated throughout, and never pro- ceed to the following one till you are easy in the first. Jf you have to deliver the concluding lines, or tag of the piece, study them first ; an error in any other part of the performance may be overlooked, but to blunder in the catastrophe is irretrievable, and sure to obtain that sort of notice that every performer is anxious to avoid. Always study any letter you have to read upon the stage; prompters, to save themselves trouble, often write them incorrectly or illegibly, besides it is difficult to read upon the stage, as the lights are below you ; and if these considerations do not weigh with you, remember that few persons have nerve enough to read audibly at first sight Ascertain at rehearsal how the names are pro- nounced — no education can direct you in this ; the slender and broad a are variously used in Gratiano, Bassanio, &c. — as Mathews sa}^s of the muskets, " it don't matter which, but be all of a piece." In the " Quito Gate," I remember two actors in the metropolis calling the hero Gy-o-neche, and the others Ge-o-net-che, which, it being an Italian name, was proper, but many of the auditors imagined that they spoke of different persons. e2 42 THE ROAD TO THE STAGE. ON THE MANAGEMENT 6f THE VOICE. Means of improving and strengthening it, and restoring it when weakened or exhausted. If a good voice be one of the requisites for the profession, it will he matter of surprise that so many who lack this advantage should have succeeded; but the fact is, that the terms good and bad are applied to voices very improperly. All our critics declared Young's voice to be good, though he was afflicted with a lisp that rendered his enunciation thick and indistinct, whilst Kean's voice was declared to be bad and harsh, though the lower tones of it were more beautiful than those of any other per- former. It is the management, rather than the nature, of the voice that is of importance. John Kemble's tones were naturally weak and mono- tonous, yet he produced great effect, whilst Mr. Archer, who has a most extensive, powerful, and harmonious voice, seems really to study to display it to the greatest disadvantage. We are not all blessed with Stentorian power, but the weakness of the organs of speech should not be considered a bar to success upon the stage : one of the least powerful voices (Keeley's) has been brought to effect wonders in low comedy, and the great Miss Kelly affects her audiences through the medium of an organ anything but strong. Practice will strengthen any voice, and attention to the mode of living give fulness to its tones, un- less indeed in very peculiar cases. The Reverend Dr. B. Colly er's voice, and voices of that description, could never perhaps be brought to any degree of fulness, but these are peculiar instances. To be in perfect voice, it is necessary to be in perfect health, this is certain ; and all the quackeries of empirics, or the efforts of medicine, will fail if the health is affected. THE ROAD TO THE STAGE. 43 Actors of all beings should least encumber them- selves with the ridiculous appendages of modern attire — cravats. As it is necessary in all shape dresses that the throat should be exposed, they are continually subjected, in their changes from their ordinary to their dramatic attire, to catch cold, and become afflicted with hoarseness, the irritation at- tending which tends materially to weaken the vocal powers; warmth of any kind should not be applied to the throat — bathing. in cold water, and gargling with the same, has been advised, and will be found efficacious. All stimulants for the voice are de- cidedly bad; acids, which restore the tone for an in- stant, do material injury ultimately. In all cases of obstruction, be it remembered, that to gargle the throat is better than to drink ; a gargle of port wine and water will do wonders with some systems, but it has an injurious effect on the finer tones of the voice, and should not be used by singers. The Italians, who attend more to their tones than any other nation, prohibit all stone fruits, nuts, oranges, lemons, tea, cheese, port wine, &c. &c. ; this is perhaps too severe a regimen, but there is little doubt but that an inordinate use of any of these articles does an injury to the tone, if not to the power of the organs of speech. Frequent exercise of all the tones of the voice to the whole of its compass, both in singing and speak- ing, give a firmness and certainty to a speaker ; and this, with abstemious living, is the best pre- scription for strengthening the weak, or sustaining the strong. When the voice, from exertion, begins to fail, as in the case of an actor playing two or three characters per night is too likely to occur, the best stimulant is sal prunella, a piece of which, about the size of a hazel nut, dissolved in the mouth, will restore the voice. An anchovy with some persons will answer the purpose, whilst others £nd an egg beat up in a glass of Madeira equally 44 THE ROAD TO THE STAGE. efficacious ; brandy is a restorative pro tempore, but the voice will be apt to fail again almost im- mediately. To ladies I should decidedly recommend the Madeira and egg ; or Sherry, if good Madeira cannot be procured; or three spoonsful of the com- pound tincture of cinnamon in water. A gargle, composed of vinegar, salt, and cayenne pepper, sparingly used, will generally restore the voice pro tempore. It has been said that there is no music like that of the human voice — it may be added, there is no in- strument so likely to get out of tune; it is the key to the general state of the health, for the throat and tongue are nearly the first places where ordinary illnesses discover themselves. Gargling the throat at night is important to all persons with regard to their general health, as well as their vocal efforts. I may perhaps be charged with violating the trust of friendship in giving the celebrated recipe, (which I here insert), to the public, but the good nature of Mrs. Salmon will, I am sure, excuse me ; she has for years derived great benefit from the following mix- ture, and will not begrudge her sisters and brothers of the drama any advantage they may gain by its use. A quarter of a pound of pearl barley simmered until almost boiling, then mix two ounces of Spanish liquorice cut into small pieces ; let it boil for ten minutes, strain off the whole, gently pressing the mixture, and before it is cold add one gill of Madeira. The quantity of water to boil the pearl barley in is three pints and a half. After boiling and pressing, it will reduce to three half pints. Previous to singing or speaking, drink one gill, the second time half a gill, and so on, reducing the quantity through the night. No acid to be introduced into or used with the mixture. This recipe, though expressly meant for a singer, THE ROAD TO THE STAGE. 45 will be found useful to the actor, or orator, it acting on the throat, by preventing the accumulation of phlegm. Pantomime performers invariably use barley water to sustain them during their exertions, and this, as a general medicine, is perhaps the safest and best. Madeira, though excellent, is of a more exciting nature, and such a medicine perhaps few of my male readers would have forbearance enough to use in moderation. THE REQUISITE ACCOMPLISHMENTS FOR AN ACTOR OR ACTRESS. Previous to considering this part of my subject, I must inform my readers, that very many most suc- cessful actors, so far from possessing accomplish- ments, were, on their outset in the profession, abso- lutely, wholly uneducated. I could mention two in- dividuals now walking the first green-rooms of our national theatres, who actually could not read until they had been some time on the stage; poorF — — , a country actor of great genius and promise, was under the necessity of having characters read to him, and in this way he studied Richard the Third, &c. &c. The many dilemmas that such an actor must occasionally fall into may be conceived; at the same time, a man, well knowing his deficiency, will be (and almost invariably is) doubly diligent, but the exigences of a theatre are sure, sooner or later, to bring this lamentable want to light, however care- fully it may be attempted to be concealed. I have been induced to say this much to prove that education is not an indispensable to acting, al- though no one will for a moment have the temerity to deny that, to an extent, it is requisite. Of accomplishments for the stage, I shall first 46 THE ROAD TO THE STAGE. mention Dancing, without the aid of which the fol- lowing characters cannot be played, according to their respective authors — Duke Aranza, "Honey Moon"— Henry, "Speed the Plough"— My Lord Duke, "High Life Below Stairs" — Splash, "Young Widow"— The Three Singles— Frank Heartall, " Soldier's Daughter," &c. &c. Many o'f those who will honour me by perusing these pages, may remember an actor, in the cha- racter of Corinthian Tom, dancing in the Almack scene; although the gentleman's performance of that character was very excellent, yet, from not having cultivated an acquaintance with Terpsichore, he in this one scene destroyed all our prepossessions of the all-accomplished Tom; whereas Connor, if he did not, by his admirable Hibernian jig, completely make the character of Dr. O'Tool, at least consider- ably heightened the effect of it. Ellistonwas the only Doricourt upon the stage who danced the Minuet de la Cour, and this he made a great feature of his performance; while Egerton, though he opened in the Duke Aranza, at the Hay- market, did not dance at all, thus marring the whole effect of the scene, as the duke pointedly insists on Juliana dancing, and declares his intention of joining the merry circle himself. MUSIC. Opera has made such rapid strides within a few years, that almost all members of a theatre are called into action in this department. Music has become a mania in this country — it is the indispensable ac- complishment of females in almost all stations of life, and to be ignorant of it is at once a disclosure of a confined education. It is with deep regret that I observe how much this rage for crotchets is destroy- THE ROAD TO THE STAGE. 47 ing the legitimate drama of the country; we are imitating the French, the Germans, and the Italians, in their amusements. Places of amusement are de- serted for puhlic houses, where a set of ignorant fel- lows, who unfortunately are capable of roaring forth a song, are engaged. These individuals mart their exertions for liquor, and these gratuitous perform- ances of course tend to thin the benches of our thea- tres. Bagnigge Wells and the Grecian Saloon have long put forth entertainments of this description, and a more formidable attempt has lately been made at a place called the Rotunda, in Blackfriars-road. Here a set of singers are regularly engaged, and the auditor is admitted for the sake of the wine he is expected to consume, The inducements such a place holds forth to the Bacchanal I need not enlarge upon, and I can only express my wonder that any lady can be prevailed upon to sing at a receptacle for general company, and where it is more than probable that half her auditors will be intoxicated. If the theatres do not interfere to protect themselves, musical meetings of this description will increase, and the drama only live in record. Shakspeare, Otway, Congreve, and Sheridan, will fall beneath the efforts of Richards' comic songs and port wine negus. It is useless to reprobate the bad taste that the visitors of such places display, the fault is in those who per- mit the existence of the temptation. The drama is a national good; it should be guarded by govern- ment, and these innovations quelled as nuisances. I beg to disclaim, in these observations, any indivi- dualism; several talented persons may be found con- nected with such establishments, but they are assu- redly putting their talents to a very mean use ; they are destroying all the intellectuality of a public performance, by suffering mental amusement to be blended wath the coarsest physical enjoyment. If, as I deeply fear, a few years increases these 48 THE ROAD TO THE STAGE. Apollonian and Bacchanalian resorts, and decreases our theatres, I shall have some satisfaction in re- membering that, humble as my power was, I was the first to raise my voice against a system, injurious to the best interests of the stage, and destructive to the respectability of its professors. There is one theatre in London for which no actor will be engaged unless he has some knowledge of music, viz. — the Theatre Royal, English Opera House. Although the season is a short one, yet this theatre, under the able management of Mr. Arnold, has been the stepping-stone to some of our leading actors. Harley, Wilkinson, and J. Russell, all made their first metropolitan bows in one season here; . poor Chatterley also appeared the same year. Miss Love's first introduction to the stage was on these boards; here it was that Miss Kelly developed her splendid endowments; and it has been the arena where Mathews has displayed all his versatility. There is no line of the drama in which it may not be requisite to sing. Iago, Falkland, Edgar, (" King Lear,") and Incle, all vocalize, and it cannot be very agreeable to the feelings of any tragedian, after being highly applauded for his exertions in the course of the character, to be laughed at for his attempt to sing. In light comedy it is continually requisite to execute music, and sometimes of no very easy cha- racter, as Baron Willinghurst, Captain Beldare, and Delaval (as originally written), Sparkish, The Singles, &c. &c. Old Men and Low Comedians must sing. Terry was the only performer that I can call to mind who pertinaciously persisted in a re- fusal. The lack of power to execute any music pre- cluded the late Oxberry from a number of characters, in which he might otherwise have outstripped all competition. No person, however deficient he may be, should despair of being enabled, by practice, to execute any THE ROAD TO THE STAGE. 49 music commonly assigned to a comedian. I say commonly, for the music of Figaro, and some other modern productions and adaptations, are exceptions to this observation. It is necessary for every per- former to acquire at least such a knowledge as to distinguish the various notes and keys, and to count the time of every different movement, "With this knowledge, which he may acquire in a short time, he may avoid committing himself. With regard to singing, practice, and nothing but practice, can assist him ; and learning to play on an instrument is the readiest way to create a voice, and correct a bad ear. Lack of ear and vocal power are generally co-existent, and though I do not mean to affirm that a first singer can be made, an endurable one decidedly can from the most unpromising materials. I could give a hundred instances, but I fear I should hurt the feelings of some of my friends . I shall venture how- ever to mention one extreme case, and though I have not the honour of the gentleman's acquaint- ance, I think I may rely on his good sense and good humour to excuse the mention of his name. Mr. Yates had an ear so little attuned to harmony, that he was said to be scarcely capable of distinguishing between "God save the King" and "Over the Water to Charley," and on one occasion, it is affirmed, whilst singing "Bartholomew Fair," the band, for a frolic, struck up another air, but the performer pro- ceeded quite unmindful of the alteration ; yet any of my readers that may be (and most of them doubtless have been) delighted by Mr. Yates' performances a la Mathews, will remark that he now executes his songs, to say the least, in a style of respectability. Under the head of " Means of Improving the Voice," the reader will find some observations that may be useful, and prescriptions that will facilitate his vocal exertions. In melo-drama, and serious pantomime, a slight F 50 THE ROAD TO THE STAGE. knowledge of music is indispensable, where a cer- tain number of things are to be done upon the stage during the execution of so many bars of music ; the cues too for entrances and exits are frequently only the changes of the air, and unless the ear is culti- vated (if naturally bad) the performer will be led into error. At the time I was myself in the habit of perpetrating divers melo-dramatic characters in the provinces, I was obliged to get my brother to attend me behind the scenes to tell me when my music was on ; when, as continually occurs, a certain act is to be done to a single note, nothing but learning the music, or counting the time, can insure correctness. One visit to the Cobourg Theatre will convince any sceptic how much effect is enhanced by attention to these minutiee ; the things are indeed little, but the effect is great. Kean and Young both considered music essential — the latter gentleman is an excellent pianiste j the late John Kemble, whenever he had music at his exits, was as particular in his observance of it as any serio-pantomimic performer ; and Mrs. Siddons', acting to the music of the march, (in Coriolanus) has been made the object of an eulogy by her last biographer, Campbell. FENCING. Fencing on the stage is more cultivated for effect than any thing else, and a very slender knowledge of the art is sufficient; grace goes further than skill; a few lessons, if the pupil is not uncommonly dull, will be sufficient ; it is not essential to rival Kean, or the late Bengough, in the use of the sword, but utter ignorance of the art is destructive to any one; Edwards' failure in Richard, at Covent Garden, was decided by his wretched combat — I need not add how Kean's success was enhanced by his excellent one. I should recommend an actor studying fencing the road to the stage. 51 under a brother performer, rather than a professor, who will trouble him with the technicalities, not the utilities, of the art. Mr. Blanchard, of the Cobourg and Drury Lane Theatres, is an exquisite swords- man, and an able instructor. The first position is the most important feature of dramatic fencing, and if the reader has ever noticed Elliston, C. Kemble, Warde, or Talbot (the Irish manager), in attitude, he will admit the justice of my observation. The broad-sword is of easier acquisition; it is essential in Macbeth, and in all melo-drames. Messrs. Bradley and Blanchard brought this species of combat to perfection upon the minor stages ; and Wallack and T. P, Cooke have afforded some exquisite specimens of it at the English Opera House, and the two Royal Theatres ; a good combat has saved a bad piece, for John Bull is a lover of fighting of all descriptions. FRENCH. A knowledge of this language is a component part of that education every actor should have received; to a light comedian, and the performer of eccentrics, it is indispensable. Crackley, in " Green Man," and a multitude of other parts, cannot be personated by a man ignorant of the Gallic tongue. In this, as in fencing, a superficial knowledge may be sufficient ; correct pronunciation is of courSe the grand re- quisite; Mathews is a model for imitation; J.Rus- sell is also a good Frenchman; Miss Walpole, once at Covent Garden, and afterwards at the Olympic, is the best French scholar I have ever had the pleasure of meeting in the profession. On the subject of language, I need scarcely re- mark, that however confined an actor's education may have been, nothing can excuse his attempting Panglos, Gradus, or Tommy, in " All at Coventry," 52 THE ROAD TO THE STAGE. without having ascertained the literal meaning and proper accentuation of the quotations he has to deliver. BENEFITS. In your engagement this subject must not be over- looked ; when you are aware on what terms you can have it. The first thing to be considered is, whe- ther it is advisable to risk taking the whole house on yourself, share with the manager after a certain sum, or whether you will take one half of the house. If you are not disposed to run any of these risks, you can take what is termed a ticket night, L e. sell as many tickets as you can on the night appointed, and for all that come in, you pay the manager half, reserving to yourself the other half, out of which you have to pay your extra printing, such as announce bills, tickets, &c, the manager only finding the usual bills for the night's performance ; unless you can sell four pounds worth of tickets you will, in all probability, be out of pocket for printing alone. A portion of the inhabitants of every town are what is termed play-going people, and amongst these are many who mislead an actor as to the amount of tickets they can dispose of for his benefit. When violent professions of services on these occa- sions are made, they ought to be received cautiously, for it is not uncommon, on the morning of your benefit, to receive a note with every ticket returned to you from the very man who had promised you most unlimited support, making some slight excuse, and lamenting that your benefit cannot be put off to some more favourable period. Men say over their glass at night much more than they care to remem- ber over their tea-cup in the morning ; and if a per- former obtains five per cent, on his promises, he THE ROAD TO THE STAGE. 53 may consider himself fortunate. In the metropolis, it has been of late years deemed unfashionable to go to benefits ; that this was the expedient of the unwil- ling to avoid or evade the fulfilment of promises, made in a moment of excitement, is not improbable ; but from whatever cause it has arisen, it is certainly but too true; and that a comedian of Dowton's value cannot venture to take the house, is a sufficient voucher for the fact. It is to be regretted that benefits cannot be abolished, as they tend to the degradation of the professors of the histrionic art, those who have least talent to procure friends, having generally the most perseverance in soliciting patronage ; and the under- ling of a theatre, who can and will go from house to house like a pauper to vend his tickets, will often procure a bumper, where a man of genius finds but a beggarly account of empty boxes. Kean's provin- cial benefits were always failures. There is a distinc- tion between carelesness to your own interest, and degrading humiliation : as the hope of a benefit is some consideration in an engagement, all fair and honourable means of obtaining support should be resorted to. In some towns (Bath for one) per- formers are prohibited from visiting or writing to solicit patronage. Benefit-making is an art \ Rayner, it has been said, could make one upon Salisbury Plain, but few have such a facility. I shall not pre- tend to lay down any rules upon the subject, but a few words of advice may not be thrown away. Do not select pieces to exhibit or please yourself, but to give pleasure to your auditors. Do not make experiments on that night by play- ing a part out of your line ; if you are determined to make a fool of yourself, do not do it when all your friends are around you, for of all persons you have the least right to disgust or annoy them. Precedence of benefits is generally decided by v 2 54 THE ROAD TO THE STAGE* drawing lots, though it is sometimes left to the nomination of the manager. On receiving notice of the night intended, your duty is to inform the ma- nager of the pieces you wish to select, and he will acquiesce or dissent according to the power of the company to enact them. A play, interlude, and farce, are generally allowed, but upon this subject the regulations of theatres differ. The manager will give you the cast of pieces, though it is generally allowed, as a matter of courtesy, that you should choose the part you would yourself represent. On receiving the casts of the pieces, you must make out your bill, and include every thing you intend having done upon the night, either song, dance, or other- wise. This bill the manager peruses, approves, and signs; to publish your bill without his sanc- tion, is in some theatres a forfeiture of your benefit in toto. That robberies have been committed by door- keepers has been too clearly proved by recent inves- tigations ; every performer who takes a benefit has a right to put his own cheque-takers at the door — no false notion of delicacy should prevent an actor taking this precaution. One provincial manager had his circuit bought out of his hands by one of his money-takers, and a person at Coventry received a double salary for years, as money-taker, as a reward for having discovered and exposed the robberies nightly made by his predecessors. A mistaken notion prevails respecting benefits generally, which in all cases are more profitable to the manager than the performer; they are attended with the utmost anxiety and trouble, and poor Denning, who expired at Bristol, is not the only instance of a man whose life has been sacrificed in the effort to make a house. Rely little upon tavern companions, and remember that, against your profits (if any) from them, you THE ROAD TO THE STAGE, 55 should set off the Bacchanalian expenses that your acquaintance with them involved. If the pieces you select require the aid of super- numeraries, you must pay them ; if it involves any peculiar properties, such as supper, wine, &c, the property man's bill must be liquidated by you. This, in some cases ("High Life Below Stairs"), may become a serious consideration. Amongst the many usages of other days, that of the performer, taking the benefit, sending in some refreshment to his brethren, was one which I must regret to see becoming obsolete ; it tended to pre- serve the spirit of good fellowship, that alone can make a, theatre endurable. The custom is abolished in many circuits, and a performer will of course use his own discretion as to reviving it where it is not now done, or acquiescing where it is. If the music, or book of the piece you require to be played, is not in the stock, you must procure them at your own expense ; for the arrangement of the music for the band you must remunerate the leader of the band. The standard regulation of most theatres is, that no performer shall produce more than one new piece on his night; but this rule is so frequently departed from, that it may be said to have ceased to exist. A common thing at benefits is to obtain the as- sistance of some amateur, who, for permission to expose his inefficiency, will take a certain number of tickets. This evil is spreading rapidly ; it would be well if performers considered the just prejudice existing against private actors, and reflected how much an amateur's name will keep out of the house, and set that off against any sum he may bring in. An actor should also consider that he has the same ground to tread the following year, and that, if his friends have been once annoyed by the crude efforts of an uninitiated novice, they will be in no great 56 THE ROAD TO THE STAGE. hurry to run the chance of a repetition of the suf- fering. It is not among the recognised rights of per- formers to introduce any one not engaged at the theatre, and in some cases it is strictly prohibited, but leave is generally granted on application to the manager. It is my duty to state the best method of making a benefit, however contrary to my feelings all ex- pedients on this subject may be.' The first point is, to enter alphabetically in a book the names of all the persons you know in every town in which you sojourn. This was Munden's system, and his habit with regard to orders was, to book his acquaintances in regular succession day after day for them, and when he presented his tickets, he was prepared to enforce his claims to their patronage by the mention of the number of orders he had presented them with. In this way, benefit-making is a mere bargain and sale of orders, and perhaps this is a better footing to place it on, than any reliance on the kindness of casual acquaintances. A man, whose private conduct is good, and whose public talent is even respectable, will find little difficulty in obtaining from one town letters of recommendation to the residence of another. These should be obtained, as to them are many performers solely indebted for their character of being the best benefit-makers in the profession. If you take half of the house with any other per- former, it will be necessary to have a private agree- ment with regard to tickets; for if he can only sell ten, and you fifty pounds' worth, it would be manifestly unjust that the tickets should be equally divided. The best way, in these cases, is to divide the money taken at the doors equally, and for each party to stand by his own tickets. I remember Miss S , at Drury, from neglecting this pre- THE ROAD TO THE STAGE. 5? caution, having to pay one hundred and ninety- eight pounds, out of her ticket money alone, to her co-partner in the benefit. Though it may be the custom of the theatre to advertise the performances of the night in the journal of the town, the advertisement of a benefit is expected to be drawn, sent, and paid for, by the performer himself, and a copy of the advertisement should be submitted to the manager's approval previous to printing. The number of days allowed the performer for the announcement of his benefit differs in various places, but a week's notice may be considered as the average time allowed. A few years ago it would have been superfluous in a work of this nature, to have offered a word on the subject of benefits, as connected with the metro- politan theatres ; but now that we have first appear- ances by dozens, and persons absolutely learning their business before a London audience, and in a national theatre, it may not be improper to state that it is utter madness for any, but a few favoured in- dividuals, and those who have powerful interest, to attempt to risk a benefit, the doing which involves an actor's pnding security to the amount of upwards of two hundred pounds, taking the venture of some powerful counter attractions, wet nights, &c. The present licenser of plays has introduced divers nouvelle regulations, and though this work is not addressed to metropolitan performers, it may be as well to hint, that no song can now be sung at a benefit unless it has passed the licenser's ordeal, and he has received two guineas for his sanction. Emery and Knight, who often sang three new songs each on their benefits, would have found this a heavy tax. 5$ THE ROAD TO THE STAGE. ON MAKING SUPERIOR ENGAGEMENTS. I shall now presume to offer a few hints to those who have overcome the first difficulties of the pro- fession, and are looking forward to a little comfort. " Ladies and Gentlemen — Don't believe every body that tells you you are the eighth wonder of the w T orld." It is the custom of stars, when they choose to be agreeable, to single out one or more members of a country company as persons whom they are pleased to say " are wanted in London," and this so far misleads the individual, that, should an offer be made from the metropolis, it is too readily caught at. It is the height of madness to come out in London upon speculation, that is, to depend on an opening part; watch the London play bills, and ask what has become of the Gentlemen and Ladies from such and such theatres, and " their first appearance in Lon- don ? " Many of them well received, but what does that signify, they had fifty pounds' worth of friends on the night to support them, and the managers know, by experience, that such support will not be continued, therefore the interest in the debutant no longer exists. No actor or actress should come to London except under an engagement, and not then if they hold comfortable country situations, unless, indeed, they see the field open for them. Harley hit upon a golden moment— Lovegrove dead, or dying — Banister retiring, &c. — thus Mr. H. had an immense range of business, and, from being con- tinually before the public, increased nightly in their good graces, and is now an established favourite ; Miss Jarman set a price on her exertions, and re- sisted all offers until her terms were complied with ; Salter, of the Manchester theatre, had an offer of a three years' engagement at Drury, on his own terms as to salary, but refused to risk the loss of his pro- vincial fame by dividing the leading business with THE ROAD TO THE STAGE. 59 another. Mr. S. practised his profession so success- fully in the country, as to net an income of five hun- dred pounds per annum. It would be tedious to mention the many talented individuals who have to lament having depended on an opening in a London theatre; often, too, having to add to their mortification that they appeared in a part the very reverse of what they desired, merely because it suited the exigences of the theatre. Mr. Osbaldiston, who was engaged as a leading trage- dian, at the Haymarket, after refusing various cha- racters, was compelled, not wishing to appear too fastidious, to open in Rolamo, in " Clari." At one period, the minor theatres — the Surrey, Cobourg, Olympic, East London, Sadler's Wells, and the Adelphi, held out a prospect of a few com- fortable situations, but now, with the exception of two or three salaries, there is nothing to tempt an actor from the country, except at the latter theatre, and there he will find much to contend with, as the company is a good one, and many of its members established favourites with the town. It is much to be lamented that the minors have so lost ground, but their managers may thank themselves. I once remember hearing a Mr. say, that Mr. Dunn compelled him to take four benefits per year ; he therefore considered that he paid Mr. D. one shilling and ten-pence per week for acting under his management. None but fools or madmen will work for twelve hours (independent of study and benefit making) for a guinea per week, besides being compelled to annoy every soul that is unfortunate enough to be within their reach, to do what is termed support them at their benefit. The avarice of managers has induced them to encourage a set of idlers, who exist on foolishly fond mothers, doting aunts, and a few de- 60 THE ROAD TO THE STAGE. luded fathers, who, knowing nothing of the stage, for a year or two are lulled by the dream that their hopeful offspring is "learning his profession," a thing utterly impossible as minor theatres are now conducted. It is not uncommon to meet, amongst these poor deluded creatures, some who have been articled to a third-rate actor, and who has, perhaps, received twenty pounds for teaching his pupils to talk on the only subject that these gentry ever broach — theatricals. It is not my wish to be in- vidious, but there are some instances too glaring to be omitted. Mr. B , late of the Olympic, had at one period eight pupils ! The talent of Mr. B. as an actor is not the question, but that gentleman must be aware that there is nothing that he can teach that can possibly be beneficial to any man, woman, or child in existence. Garrick truly said no man can teach acting — it is as ridiculous as attempting to make a man a poet. The hope that these perfor- mers should obtain engagements for their unfor- tunate pupils is also fallacious. These gentlemen,, in the present uncertain state of dramatic specu- lations, can seldom insure engagements for them- selves; and in the way of dramatic promotion, perhaps more than in any other mundane concern, " charity beginneth at home." The rule of all leading engagements is that the performer should name his first three parts, though in the case of a lady, who has recently appeared, ten characters were agreed upon, which the manager bound himself to let her perform in the course of the season. The celebrated Smith, the original Charles Sur- face, made it one of the express terms of his engage- ment, that he should never be required to blacken his face, or to descend a trap. The late Mr. Lewis had an understanding with the proprietors of Covent THE ROAD TO THE STAGE. 61 Garden, that he should not be called upon to per- form any part in which he had to wear a shabby dress ; and, in consequence of this, it was sometime ere he was persuaded to appear as Lackland, in " Fontainbleau;' , his success in this, however, in- duced him to consent to wear faded habiliments in Jeremy Diddler, which he had positively refused to do in Sponge, in "Cheap Living." All the engagements for our royal theatres are now made terminable at the pleasure of the manager, though not of the performer, at the end of the first season ; it is better not to come to town at all, than to consent to this. The circumstance of a performer being discharged thus (which maybe done in a mo- ment of managerial caprice), damns him for ever in London ; one season is not a sufficient period to make an impression in the metropolis — the run of a piece may limit your performance to a few nights. Mr. G. Bennett was engaged at the Haymarket some few summers since, and, in consequence of the run of their lightpieces, never appeared at all, though retained at a large salary. Some may consider this a very plea- sant and easy method of amassing money, but mark the result — managers soon cease to engage those they can do without, and Mr. B. is not at present a mem- ber of either of the theatres. This exclusion ex- isted for one or two seasons, until Mr. B. re-created a provincial fame, and was re-engaged for Drury. Had his engagement been for three years certain, in the second season, in all probability, his talent would have been in requisition, and, his value being appreciated by the exertion afforded it, he might have renewed at the expiration of his agreement. 62 THE ROAD TO THE STAGE. Articles and Rules of the Theatre Royal, Drury Lane. Articles of Agreement indented, made, and entered into this day of , one thousand eight hundred and , between S. P , of the Theatre Royal, Drury Lane, within the city and liberties of Westminster, Esquire, of the one part, and of the other part, (that is to say) The said S. P , doth hereby agree to engage and employ, and by these presents doth engage and employ the said as a performer at the said Theatre Royal, Drury Lane, for the term of to commence from the day of , or as soon after as the theatre shall be opened, at the rate of the weekly salary, and according to the usual playhouse payment of for every six nights of theatrical performances at the said Theatre Royal, Drury Lane, and so in proportion for any less num- ber of nights of theatrical performances in the week, so long as the said shall and do well and duly perform, and fulfil the engagements and agreements hereinafter contained, on part; such weekly salary or payment to be made, if demanded, on the last day of every week of performance, at the trea- sury or pay office of the said theatre, during the usual office hours, the stoppages, as herein men- tioned, if any shall be incurred, being first deducted. And the said S. P , for himself, his executors, administrators, successors, or assigns, doth hereby covenant and agree to and with the said executors, or administrators, that the said having duly performed agreements and en- THE ROAD TO THE STAGE. 63 gagements in the manner hereinafter mentioned, but not otherwise, shall he allowed the use of the said theatre, for one benefit night in every season during the said term, to perform there one such play or opera, and one burletta, or ballet, or farce, or musical afterpiece, to be chosen out of the common stock list of acting plays, except any new piece, or revived piece, produced during the season, in which such benefit shall be taken, as shall fix upon, such night, as to the priority and order thereof, to be named and assigned by the manager for the time being of the said theatre, and according to the usage observed in the London theatres : the said first paying to the treasurer for the time being, of the said theatre, the sum of two hundred guineas for such use of the said theatre, exclusive of extra charges for new dresses, copying, printing, adver- tising, and supernumeraries, and other incidental charges, if any there be. Provided always, in case the said sum of two hundred guineas, and the amount of such extra charges, shall not be paid previously to such benefit night, then it is hereby agreed by and between the said parties hereto, that it shall and may be lawful to and for the said S. P , his executors, administrators, successors, or assigns, or the treasurer for the time being, to stop and retain the said sum of two hundred guineas, together with the amount of such extra charges out of the monies to be received on such benefit night at the doors of the said theatre : and in case the amount of the monies so to be re- ceived shall not be sufficient to pay and defray the same, that then the deficiency shall be retained and made good by and out of the weekly salary due or to become due to the said , and in case the amount of the said salary shall not be sufficient, then the said , executors, administrators, or assigns, shall and will be answerable for and pay the defi- ciency on demand, to the said S. P , his exe- 64 THE ROAD TO THE STAGE. cutors, administrators, successors, or assigns; or if the said S. P , his executors, administrators, suc- cessors, or assigns, shall think fit, give such reason- able security as may he demanded for the payment of deficiencies, that may be due on account of the said charges : Provided always, and it is hereby fur- ther declared and agreed, by and between the said parties, that in case the said shall at any time during the said term of , by sickness, indispo- sition, infirmity, or by any other restraint, accident, reason, or cause whatsoever, be absent from rehear- sal or performance, at the time or times , shall or may be required to attend then, and in every such case, and as often as it shall so happen, the salary, or a proportion thereof, according to the time or dura- tion of such absence, shall and may, at the discre- tion of the said S.P , his executors, administra- tors, successors, or assigns, or the manager of the said theatre for the time being, be suspended and not paid, but the same be thereupon retained. It being always understood, that the said shall give a written notice unto the said S. P , or his ma- nager, when the said shall be capable of resuming professional duties. And the said doth hereby covenant and agree with the said S. P , his executors, admi- nistrators, successors, or assigns, that the said shall and will at all times during the said term of attend rehearsals, and per- form all such characters or parts in any plays, operas, after-pieces, burlettas, chorusses, masks, ballets, preludes, interludes, pantomimes, dances, processions, and other pieces or entertainments to be performed or exhibited at the said theatre, or at, or in any other place or theatre, during the term of year as aforesaid, and recite such prologues and epilogues there as the said S. P , his executors, adminis- trators, successors, or assigns, or his or their ma- THE ROAD TO THE STAGE. 65 nager, or prompter, or other agent, for the time being, shall in the usual manner require the said to do, and as shall or may be within power or capability. And further that the said shall not, and will not, during the said term of perform, or assist, or take a benefit, or any part thereof, at any other theatre, or place of public amusement, be the same in play, opera, farce, burletta, oratorio, dance, concert, or otherwise, with- out the previous consent thereto, in writing, of the said S. P , his executors, administrators, suc- cessors, or assigns, or of his manager for the time being. And further that the said shall and may, if shall think fit, perform, or take a benefit or benefits, or any part thereof, during the summer recess of Drury Lane Theatre, provided such performance or benefit, or benefits, be not with- in six miles of Drury Lane Theatre. And further, that the said shall and will during the term of conform to the table of regulations, a copy whereof is hereunto an- nexed.. And further, that it shall and may be lawful for the said S. P , his executors, administrators, successors, or assigns, or his manager, to direct the treasurer for the time being of the said theatre, who shall thereupon, by and out of the current salary of the said or out of the receipt of benefit, to stop and retain the full amount of such sums as, according to the said table of regulations, shall become forfeited, and payable by the said And further, that in case the said shall refuse to accept or perform any part or cha- racter, which shall be cast or allotted to by the said S. P , his executors, administrators, successors or assigns, or his manager for the time being; then, and in that case the said shall and will forfeit and pay unto the said g2 66 THE ROAD TO THE STAGE. S. P , his executors, administrators, successors, or assigns, the sum of thirty pounds sterling and nine nights salary for every such refusal. Provided always nevertheless, and it is hereby declared and agreed to be the true intent and mean- ing of the said parties hereto and of these presents, that in case the said shall at any time during the said term of by sickness, in- disposition, infirmity, or by any other restraint, accident, reason, or cause whatever, be absent for the space of one month from the rehearsal or performance at the said theatre, at the time or times shall or may be required to attend, either by call to re- hearsal, or by public advertisement for performance, it shall and may be lawful to and for the said S. P , his executors, administrators, successors, or assigns, immediately after the expiration of the said one month, to cancel this agreement, by giving notice in writing to, or for the said accord- ing to the address of the said and which shall at all times be inserted by the said in a book kept for that purpose by the porter at the stage-door of the said theatre, and that then, and immediately thereupon these presents, and every payment and agreement, covenant, article, and clause herein contained on the part of the said S, P , his executors, administrators, successors, and assigns, to be paid, observed, and performed, shall cease, determine, and be at an end, and the said weekly salary of or any part thereof, shall be discontinued, and no longer paid or payable, any covenant, agreement, article, or thing hereinbefore contained to the contrary notwithstanding. And lastly, for the true performance of the several clauses and agreements hereinbefore mentioned and contained, the said parties do hereby bind them- selves and respectively each unto the other, THE ROAD TO THE STAGE. 67 in the penal sum of pounds of lawful money of Great Britain, firmly by these presents. Signed in presence of REGULATIONS Instituted for the Maintenance of Good Order in the Theatre Royal, Drury Lane, First, — The time of beginning the rehearsals and the performances is regulated by the green-room clock. Second. — The rehearsals, summoned at ten o'clock, begin at ten minutes after ten ; all other rehearsals begin precisely at the time mentioned in the promp- ter's notice. Third. — Any one absent from rehearsal shall for- feit, for such absence, in the following proportion of salary ; and if the part should consist of one scene only, it shall be considered as a whole rehearsal. Salaries of Per- First Scene in OtherScenesin WholeRehearsal formers. Play or Farce. Play or Farce. of Play or Farce. £ s. d. £ s. d. £ s. d. £ s. d. Up to 1 10 1 J 4 3 2 2 7 5 3 3 10 7 4 4 15 9 6 6 1 Nine pounds 1 and above J *** 8 8 2 Fourth. — Any one standing upon the stage at re- hearsal, when not concerned in the scene, shall for- feit half-a-crown. Fifth. — Any person opening the stage-door shall forfeit ten shillings. 68 THE ROAD TO THE STAGE. Sixth, — Any person standing in the entrances, not engaged in the scene, shall forfeit ten shil- lings. Seventh. — Any one not perfect in the words or music of a part, and not rehearsing it without book, at each of the last three rehearsals of a new play, opera, or farce, shall forfeit in the same proportion as for being absent from a whole rehearsal. Eighth. — Any one not perfect in the words or music of a part, and not rehearsing it without book, at the last or only rehearsal of an old play, opera, or farce, shall forfeit in the same proportion as for being absent from a whole rehearsal. Ninth. — Any one refusing to study, rehearse, and perform any character, or part, or prologue, or epilogue, or to assist in any dance, procession, chorus, mask, pantomime, and other pieces and en- tertainments at the appointment of the manager, .shall forfeit for such refusal thirty pounds and nine nights salary . Tenth. — Any one absent from the theatre at night, when expected by the manager to perform, shall forfeit one week's salary, or be liable to the forfeiture of the engagement, at the option of the manager, unless in the case of illness, confirmed by a medical certificate., Eleventh. — Any one imperfect in the words of a part at night shall forfeit that night's salary. Twelfth. — Every one shall have three weeks' notice to advertise a benefit play; but any one who sends an advertisement to a public print, or issues a bill, unless signed by the acting-manager, shall for- feit one week's salary. Thirteenth. — Any person taking the prompt-book or harpsichord-book away from the stage, or out of the theatre, shall forfeit ten shillings. Fourteenth. — All written music, if not returned THE ROAD TO THE STAGE. 69 before the close of each season, to be charged to the person who shall retain it. Fifteenth. — Every person engaged by the night to be subject to the same penalties for neglect of duty, according to the rate of salary, as those on the regular establishment of the theatre. Sixteenth. — Any performer, whose salary shall amount to five pounds per week, will be entitled to enter the first green-room. Seventeenth. — Any one being absent by sickness, indisposition, infirmity, or other cause whatsoever, from rehearsal or performance when required to at- tend, the salary of such absentee, or a part thereof, according to the duration of such absence, shall be forfeited, and written notice is to be given by the person when capable of resuming his or her ap- pointed duty; and should such absence exceed one month, the engagement to be cancelled at the option of the manager. Eighteenth. — Any person who shall perform, as- sist, or take a benefit, or part thereof, at any other theatre or place of public amusement, whether in play, opera, farce, burletta, oratorio, dance, concert, or otherwise, without previous consent in writing, shall forfeit one week's salary for every offence, and his or her engagement, at the option of the manager. DRAMATIC COPYRIGHT BILL. Mr. Bulwer's bill has established a legal right where a moral one had always existed; and has given to a dramatic author a claim to remuneration for the performance of his drama, whether printed or not, in any theatre in the United Kingdom. Since the passing of that act a question has arisen (Planch e 70 THE ItOAD TO THE STAGE. v. Cumberland) whether an author, selling to a printer and publisher the copyright of a drama, previous to the passing of the bill, did, by that act, include a sale to him of the profits arising from each individual re- presentation as well. Lord Denman held that it was so ; disputation here will not affect a decision of the Court of King's Bench, and monstrous as it seems to say that Mr. Planch e, in 1830, could or did as- sign a right that he did not possess or dream of pos- sessing until 1833, yet such is the law according to Lord Denman's exposition of it, and sufferance must be the badge of the dramatic bribe. It appears that judges and jurors cannot discriminate between copy- right ; that is, the right of printing and publishing how and when the purchaser pleases; and the right of representing when and where he pleases — two distinct powers, which from circumstances, could scarcely ever be actually exercised by one person, for I know no one w T ho is at once a publisher and manager. By 3 Wm. IV. cap. 15, it is enacted that no person shall perform any play, &c. written within ten years of that time ; that is to say, subsequent to 9th June, 1833, without the consent of the author or his assignee first had and obtained. Most of the dra- matic writers of the day have formed themselves into a society for mutual protection, entitled The Dramatic Authors* Society. The members of whom will be perceived by the following list. THE ROAD TO THE STAGE. 71 MEMBERS OF THE DRAMATIC AUTHORS' SOCIETY. Messrs. Arnold, S. J. Abbott, W. Addison, H. R. Barnett, Morris Bernard, W. B. Buckstone, J. B. Dance, C. Dance, Gr. Dibdin, T. Farrell, J. Fitzball, E. Holl, H. Jeirold, D. Kenney, J. Knowles, J. S. Livius, B. Lunn, T. Messrs. Millengen, T. Gr. Milner, H. M, MoncriefF, W. T. Parry, T. Peake, R. B. Planche\ T. R. Pocock, T. Pitt, D. Raymond, R. T. Rede, W. L. Rodwell, Gr. H. B, Serle, T. J. Selby, C. Thackerav, T. J, Trueba, CosiaT, Dc Webster, B. Wade, T. HONORARY MEMBERS. Lythgoe, Joseph, Esq. Mitford, Miss Planch^, Mrs. Wilson, Mrs. Cornwall B. Boaden, Miss Bulwer,E. L., Esq., M.P. Dacre, Rt. Hon. Lady Hemans, Mrs. Hill, Miss Isabel Mr. Rophino Lacy and some other dramatists have not joined the society — the claims for the productions of these gentlemen come from their private agents. Mr. Miller, of Henrietta Street, bookseller and publisher, is the agent for the society, and the scale of prices demanded and received by them is as fol- lows. His permission in writing being considered equivalent to that of any one member for whose piece he gives the authority, 72 THE ROAD TO THE STAGE. SCALE OF PRICES, For Pieces brought out prior to the passing of the Dramatic Copyright Act. COUNTRY THEATRES OF THE FIRST CLASS. Per Night. £ s. d. A Ml piece, of Five or Three Acts . .0100 „ of Two Acts . . . .070 „ of One Act . . . .050 SECOND CLASS. A full piece, of Five or Three Acts . .070 „ of Two Acts . . .050 „ of One Act . . . 3 THIRD CLASS. A full piece, of Five or Three Acts . .050 „ of Two Acts . . .030 „ of One Act . . . .020 N.B. — Mr. Knowles's prices are an exception to the scale, being charged as follows : — COUNTRY THEATRES, FIRST CLASS. The Wife 5 The Hunchback . . . . .300 William Tell 2 SECOND CLASS. The Wife 3 The Hunchback 2 William Tell 10 THIRD CLASS. The Wife 2 The Hunchback 10 William Tell 10 THE ROAD TO THE STAGE. 73 All pieces originally played at the English Opera, Adelphi, Surrey, and Olympic Theatres, as first pieces, whatever may be the number of the acts, will be charged as first pieces in the country. And all one act pieces brought out at the Olympic Theatre will be charged as afterpieces of two acts. [Mr. Knowles' object previous to his migratory trip, was to prevent his pieces being played; the sums asked almost interdicting them ; as it answered Mr. Knowles' views better to keep his productions back, until he (with Miss Jarman or Miss Tree) visited the various towns on a star-ing tour.] The first class, country theatres, include the stages of Dublin, Liverpool, Manchester, Bath, York, Hull, and Edinburgh. The second class, Brighton, Bristol, Portsmouth, Exeter, Norwich. The third ditto, Chelmsford, North and South Shields, Coventry, &c. &c. The society expect managers to transmit files of their bills to Mr. Miller ; on doing so the pieces liable to charges are marked according to the fore- going scale. Persons who do not choose to furnish this information play the pieces at their own peril, and in some cases the penalty (40s.) for each per- formance has been sued for and obtained. As it may occur that a manager being at variance with the society might injure the views of performers ; any actor so situated, on applying by letter, to Mr. Miller, will be allowed to act any piece for his benefit, on the terms here specified, although the manager (for the time being) is interdicted. The object of the society being not to impede per- formers or managers, but to attain the objects con- templated by the act in an amicable and reasonable manner. 74 the road to the stage. An Act to amend the Laws relating to Dramatic Literary Property. [10th June, 1833.] "Whereas by an act passed in the fifty-fourth year of the reign of his late Majesty King George the Third, intituled An Act to amend the several Acts for the encouragement of learning, by securing the copies and copyright of printed books to the authors of such books, or ilieir assigns, it was amongst other things provided and enacted, that from and after the passing of the said Act the author of any book or hooks composed,and not printed or published, or which should thereafter be composed and printed and published, and his assignee or assigns, should have the sole liberty of printing and re-printing such book or books for •the full term of twenty-eight years, to commence from the day of first publishing the same, and also, if the author should be living at the end of that period, for the residue of his natural life : and whereas, it is expe- dient to extend the provisions of the said Act ; be it therefore enacted by the King's most Excellent Majesty, by and with the advice and consent of the Lords Spiritual and Temporal, and Commons, in this present parliament assembled, and by the authority of the same, That from and after the passing of this Act, the author of any tragedy, comedy, play, opera, farce, or any other dramatic piece or entertainment, composed, and not printed and published by the au- thor thereof or his assignees, or wrSch hereafter shall be composed and not printed or published by the author thereof or his assignee, or the assignee of such author, shall have as his own property the sole liberty of representing, or causing to be repre- sented, at any place or places of dramatic entertain- ment whatsoever, in any part of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland, in the Isles of Man, Jersey, and Guernsey, or in any part of the British THE ROAD TO THE STAGE. /O Dominions, any such production as aforesaid, not printed and published by the author thereof or his assignee, and shall be deemed and taken to be the pro- prietor thereof; and that the author of any such pro- duction, printed and published within ten years before the passing of this Act by the author thereof or his assignee, or which shall hereafter be so printed and published, or the assignee of such author, shall, from the time of passing this Act, or from the time of such publication respectively, until the end of twenty- eight years from the day of such first publication of the same, and also, if the author or authors, or the survivor of the authors, shall be living at the end of that period, during the residue of his natural life, have as his own property the sole liberty of represent- ing, or causing to be represented, the same at any such place of dramatic entertainment as aforesaid, and shall be deemed and taken to be the proprietor thereof: provided nevertheless, that nothing in this Act contained shall prejudice, alter, or affect the right or authority of any person to represent or cause to be represented, at any place or places of dramatic entertainment whatsoever, any such production as aforesaid, in all cases in which the author thereof or his assignee shall, previously to the passing of this Act, have given his consent to or authorized such representation, but that such sole liberty of the au- thor or his assignee shall be subject to such right or authority. IL And be it further enacted, That if any person shall, during the continuance of such sole liberty as aforesaid, contrary to the intent of this Act, or right of the author or his assignee, represent, or cause to be represented, without the consent in writing of the author or other proprietor first had and obtained, at any place of dramatic entertainment within the limits aforesaid, any such production as aforesaid, or any part thereof, every such offender shall be liable 76 THE ROAD TO THE STAGE. for each and every such representation to the pay- ment of an amount not less than forty shillings, or to the full amount of the benefit or advantage arising from such representation, or the injury or loss sus- tained by the plaintiff" therefrom, whichever shall be the greater damages, to the author or other proprietor of such production so represented contrary to the true intent and meaning of this Act, to be recovered, together with double costs of suit, by such author or other proprietors, in any court having jurisdic- tion in such cases, in that part of the said United Kingdom or of the British Dominion sin which the offence shall be committed; and in every such pro- ceeding where the sole liberty of such author or his assignee as aforesaid shall be subject to such right or authority as aforesaid, it shall be sufficient for the plaintiff' to state that he has such sole liberty, without stating the same to be subject to such right or authority, or otherwise mentioning the same. III. Provided nevertheless, and be it further enacted, That all actions or proceedings for any offence or injury that shall be committed against this Act shall be brought, sued, and commenced within twelve calendar months next, after such offence com- mitted, or else the same shall be void and of no effect. IV. And be it further enacted, That whenever authors, persons, offenders, or others are spoken of in this Act in the singular number or in the mascu- line gender, the same shall extend to any number of persons and to either sex. METHOD OF EXPRESSING THE VARIOUS PASSIONS, EMOTIONS, &c. Many attempts have been made to arrange the passages of a play, under the head of different emotions or passions, and then, by referring them to THE ROAD TO THE STAGE. 77 some general rule of performance, to intimate how the whole should be executed. That this system is an erroneous one there can be no doubt: if the actor cannot feel what he utters, it woidd be useless to at- tempt to make him run the gauntlet through a^ set of emotions by rule. I have subjoined to this a celebrated analytical review of the effect of various emotions on the human frame, and though they may not be useful for the purpose I have alluded to. they will not be regarded with indifference by those really studying the stage. They contain some general observations, that every one should attend to, and their utility in correcting an erroneous representa- tion of any particular emotion will be found con- siderable. Joy, when sudden and violent, is expressed by clapping of hands and exulting looks ; the eyes are opened wide, and on some occasions raised to hea- ven; the countenance is smiling, not composedly, but with features aggravated; the voice rises, from time to time, to very high tones. Delight, or pleasure, is expressed by placid looks and moderate smiles. Tranquillity, or apathy, appears by the composure of the countenance, and general repose of the body and limbs, without the exertion of any one muscle; the countenance open, the forehead smooth, the eye- brows arched, the mouth not quite shut, and the eyes passing with easy motion from object to object, but not long dwelling upon any. Cheerfulness adds a smile, opening the mouth a little more. Mirth, or laughter, opens the mouth still more towards the ears, crisps the nose, lessens the aper- ture of the eyes, and sometimes fills them with tears; shakes and convulses the whole frame, and, appearing to give some pain, occasions holding the sides. h2 78 THE ROAD TO THE STAGE. Grief, sudden and violent, expresses itself by beating the head or forehead, tearing the hair, and catching the breath, as if choking ; also by screaming, weeping, stamping, lifting the eyes from time to time to heaven, and hurrying back- wards and forwards. This is a passion which admits, like many others, of a great deal of stage- trick; but which, if not well contrived, and equally as well executed, frequently fails of the desired effect. Melancholy, or fixed grief, is gloomy, sedentary, motionless; the lower jaw falls, the lips become pale, the eyes are cast down, half shut, and weep- ing, accompanied with a total inattention to every thing that passes. The words are dragged out rather than spoken; the accent weak and inter- rupted, sighs breaking into the middle of sentences and words. Despair, as in a condemned criminal (George Barnwell), or one who has lost all hope of salvation (Cardinal Wolsey), bends the eyebrows downward, clouds the forehead, rolls the eyes, and sometimes bites the lips, and gnashes with the teeth; the heart is supposed to be too much hardened to suffer the tears to flow, yet the eyeballs will be red and inflamed; the head is hung down upon the breast; the arms are bent at the elbows, the fist clinched hard, and the whole body strained and violently agitated ; groans, expressive of inward torture, ac- companying the words appertaining to his grief; the words are also uttered with a sullen, eager bit- terness, and the tone of his voice is often loud and furious. When despair is supposed to drive the actor to distraction and self-murder, it can seldom or ever be overacted. Fear, violent and sudden, opens the eyes and mouth very wide, draws down the eyebrows, gives the countenance an air of wildness, draws back the elbows parallej with the sides, lifts up the open THE ROAD TO THE STAGE. 7$ hand (the fingers together) to the height of the breast, so that the palms face the dreadful object, as shields opposed against it ; one foot is drawn back behind the other, so that the body seems shrinking from danger, and putting itself in a posture for fight ; the heart beats violently, the breath is fetched quick and short, and the whole body is thrown into a general tremor. Fear is also dis- played, frequently by a sudden start, and in ladies by a violent shriek, which produces fainting; the voice is w^eak and trembling. Hope brightens the countenance, arches the eye- brows, gives the eyes an eager wistful look, opens the mouth to half a smile, bends the body a little forward, the feet equal, spreads the arms, with the hands open, as to receive the object of its longings; the tone of the voice is eager and uneven, inclining to that of joy, but curbed by a degree of doubt and anxiety. Desire differs from hope as to the ex- pression in this particular, but there is more ap- pearance of doubt and anxiety in the former than the latter; for it is one thing to desire what is agreeable, and another to have a prospect of actually obtaining it. Desire expresses itself by bending the body for- ward, and stretching the arms towards the object as to grasp at it; the countenance smiling, but eager and wistful ; the eyes wide open, and the eyebrows raised ; the mouth open ; the tone of voice sup- pliant, but lively and cheerful (unless there be dis- tress as well as desire) ; the words are uttered with a kind of rapidity, accompanied (chiefly in distress) with sighs. Love, when successful, lights up the countenance into smiles ; the forehead is smooth and enlarged ; the eyebrows are arched ; the mouth a little open and smiling; the eyes languishing, and half shut, or gazing upon the beloved object. The counte- BO THE ROAD TO THE STAGE. nance assumes the eager and wistful look of desire, as above, but mixed with an air of satisfaction and repose. The accents are soft and winning, the tone of voice persuasive, flattering, pathetic, various, musical, rapturous, as in joy. The attitude much the same as that of desire; sometimes both hands pressed eagerly to the bosom. Love unsuccessful, adds an air of anxiety and melancholy. Kneeling is often necessary in all suppliant passions; but it is only necessary to bend one knee in cases of love, desire, &c, which must never be the one that is next the audience. Jealousy, which is a mixture of passions, directly contrary to one another, can only justly be repre- sented by one who is capable of delineating all those passions by turns. Jealousy shows itself by rest- lessness, peevishness, thoughtfulness, anxiety, ab- sence of mind, &c. ; sometimes itbursts out in piteous complaint and weeping; then a gleam of hope, that all is yet well, lights the countenance into a mo- mentary smile. Immediately, the face clouded with gloom shows the mind overcast again with horrid suspicions and frightful imaginations. Then the arms are folded upon the breast, the fists violently clenched, the rolling eyes darting fury (Othello). At sight of the charms of his once and still beloved object, reason may return, and she appears to his imagination like the sweetness of the rising dawn — (Alonzo, in " The Revenge") violent agitations suc- ceed, and this monster-breeding fancy represents her now as false as she is fair. His words are uttered with fury, and he spurns her from him. He throws himself on the ground, then he springs up, and with perturbed looks and actions, rails against all woman- kind (Castalio, in " The Orphan. ") As poets have variously described this passion, an actor must ac- cordingly vary his representation of it. As he must frequently fall upon the ground, he should pre- THE ROAD TO THE STAGE. 8l viously raise both hands clasped together, in order to denote anguish, and which will at the same time prevent him from hurting himself; he must then fall flat, either on his face or on his side, with his face to the audience ; for it would be ridiculous to see a man, who is supposed to be tormented with grief and fury, quietly lie down. This fall must be repeatedly studied, it being necessary in a variety of characters, and in the delineation of various passions and affections of the mind. Rage, or anger, expresses itself with rapidity, in- terruption, rant, harshness, and trepidation. The neck is stretched out, the head forward, often nod- ding, and shaken in a menacing manner against the object of the passion; the eyes alternately staring and rolling, the eyebrows drawn down over them, and the forehead wrinkled into clouds ; the nostrils stretched wide, and every muscle strained; the breast heaving, and the breath fetched hard ; the mouth open, and drawn on each side towards the ears, showing the teeth in a gnashing posture ; the feet often stamping; the right arm frequently thrown out, and menacing, with the clenched fist shaken, and a general and violent agitation of the whole body. Peevishness, or ill-nature, is a lower degree of anger, and is therefore expressed in the above manner, only more moderately; with half sentences and broken speeches, uttered hastily; the upper lip drawn up disdainfully; the eyes asquint upon the object of displeasure. Malice, or spite, sets the jaws, or gnashes with the teeth: the mouth is drawn towards the ears; both fists clenched, and the elbows bent in a straining manner. The tones of voice and expression are much the same with those of anger, but the pitch not so loud. Envy is a little more moderate in its gestures than malice, but much the same in kind. 82 THE ROAD TO THE STAGE. Revenge, tyranny, and cruelty, are expressed in the same manner as rage, malice, and the other irascible passions. Hatred, or aversion, expressed to or of any person or thing that is odious to the speaker, occasions his drawing back or avoiding the approach of what he hates ; the hands are at the same time thrown out, spread, as if to keep it off; the face turned away from the side toward which the hands are thrown out; the eyes looking angrily, and asquint, the same way the hands are directed; the eyebrows drawn downward; the upper lip disdainfully drawn up; the pitch of the voice loud, the tone chiding, very unequal, surly, vehement. Commendation, or approbation, from a superior puts on the aspect of love (excluding desire) and respect, and expresses itself in a mild tone of voice ; the palms of the hands towards the person approved. Courage, steady and cool, opens the countenance, and gives the whole form an erect and graceful air ; the accents are strong and articulate ; the voice firm and even. Exhorting, or encouraging, as of an army by a general, is expressed with some part of the looks and action of courage. Gravity, or seriousness, draws down the eyebrows a little ; casts down, or shuts, or raises the eyes to heaven ; shuts the mouth, and pinches the lips close ; the posture of the body and limbs is composed, and without much emotion ; the speech slow and solemn, the tone unvarying. Inquiry into an obscure subject fixes the body in one posture ; the head stooping and the eyes poring; the eyebrows drawn down. Attention to an esteemed or superior character has the same aspect; the eyes often cast down upon the ground, sometimes fixed on the face of the speaker, but not too pertly. THE ROAD TO THE STAGE. S3 Modesty, or submission, bends the body forward ; levels the eyes to the breast, if not to the feet of the superior character ; the voice low, and the tone submissive. Anxiety, or perplexity, which is always attended with some degree of uneasiness, draws all parts of the body together ; , gathers the arms upon the breast, unless one arm covers the eyes, or rubs the forehead; draws down the eyebrows; hangs the head upon the breast; casts down the eyes, shuts and pinches the eyelids close ; suddenly the whole body is vehemently agitated; the actor should sometimes walk about hastily, and stop abruptly. In soliloquies the tone of his voice is sometimes low, sometimes vehement ; his words sometimes slow, and sometimes quick. If speaking to another, his pauses are occasionally long. Vexation agitates the whole frame; and besides expressing itself with the looks, gestures, restless- ness, and tone of perplexity, it adds those of com- plaint, fretting, and lamenting. Pity, a mixed passion of love and grief, looks down upon the object of compassion with lifted hands; eyebrows drawn down; mouth open, and features drawn together; the voice is frequently to be interrupted with sighs ; the hand sometimes em- ployed in wiping the eyes. An actor, however, should not be fond of displaying his handkerchief, which is more becoming an actress. He should re- collect that weeping is effeminate, and may be dero- gatory to his character ; but, in some cases, a hero may even to his honour weep. Shame turns away the face from the beholder ; hangs the" head; casts down the eyes, and draws down the eyebrows; the speech is delivered in faltering accents. Shame, or confusion, in comedy, admits of some ridiculous gestures and grimaces. 84 THE ROAD TO THE STAGE. Remorse casts down the countenance, and clouds it with anxiety ; hangs down the head ; draws the eyebrows down upon the eyes; the right hand beats the breast; the teeth gnash; the whole body is strained and violently agitated. If this remorse be succeeded by the more gracious disposition of penitence and contrition, then the eyes are raised (but with great appearance of doubting and fear) to heaven, and immediately cast down upon the earth. The actor or actress should occasionally weep ; the knees are bent; the arms spread in a suppliant posture, and the voice of deprecation is uttered with sighs, groans, timidity, hesitation, and trembling. Boasting, or affected courage, is loud, blustering, threatening; the eyes stare; the eyebrows drawn down ; the face is red and bloated ; the mouth pouts out; the voice hollow and thundering; the arms are set akimbo ; the head often nodding in a menacing manner, and the right fist clenched, brandishing from time to time at the person threat- ened ; the right foot is often stamped upon the ground ; the legs take longer strides, and the steps are heavy. Pride assumes a lofty look ; the eyes are open, but with the eyebrows considerably drawn down; the mouth pouting out, mostly shut, and the lips pinched close; the words drawl out; a strut, with a slow, stiff, bombastic affectation of importance ; the arms are generally akimbo; and the legs at a distance from one another, taking large and solemn strides. Obstinacy adds to the aspect of pride, or dragged sourness, like that of malice. Authority opens the countenance, but draws down the eyebrows a little, so far as to give the look of gravity. Commanding requires an air a little more pe- remptory, with a look rather severe or stern; the hand is held out, and moved toward the person to -i THE ROAD TO THE STAGE. 85 whom the orders are given, with the palm upwards, and the head nods toward him. Forbidding, on the contrary, draws the head backward, and holds out the hand, with the palm towards the person; the voice is bold, and the accents strong. Affirming, if with an oath, is expressed by lifting the open right hand, and both hands and eyes toward heaven; sometimes kneeling; but if con- science be only appealed to, the right hand is laid upon the breast. Denying is expressed by pushing the open right hand from you, and turning the face the contrary way. Refusing, when accompanied with displeasure, is done with a visible reluctance which occasions the bringing out the words slowly, and with a shake of the head, Granting, when done with unreserved good will, is accompanied with a benevolent aspect and tone of voice; the right hand pressed to the left breast, to signify how heartily the favour is granted, and the benefactor's joy in conferring it. Dismissing, with approbation, is done with a kind aspect and tone of voice ; the right hand open, gently waved toward the person. With displeasure, besides the look and tone of voice, which suits displeasure, the hand is hastily thrown out toward the person dismissed, the back part toward him, the countenance at the same time turned away from him. Judging demands a grave steady look, with deep attention; the countenance altogether clear from any appearance of either disgust or favour ; the accents slow, distinct, emphatical, accompanied with little action, and that very grave. Reproving puts on astern aspect; lengthens the voice, and is accompanied with gestures, not much different from those of threatening, but not so lively. I 86 THE ROAD TO THE STAGE. Threatening puts on the same look and voice of reproving: brandishes the right hand, and some- times shakes it; the voice strong,andthe accents quick. Acquitting is performed with a benevolent, tranquil countenance, and tone of voice ; the right hand, if not both open, waved gently toward the person ac- quitted, expressing dismission. Condemning assumes a severe look, but mixed with pity; the sentence is to be expressed as with reluctance, Pardoning differs from acquitting, in that the lat- ter means clearing a person, after trial, of guilt; whereas the former supposes guilt, and signifies merely delivering the guilty person from punishment. It requires some degree of severity in aspect and tone of voice, because the pardoned person is not an object of entire unmixed approbation; otherwise its expression, is much the same as granting. Teaching, explaining, or giving orders, to an in- ferior, requires an air of superiority to be assumed ; the features are to be composed to an authoritative gravity ; the eyes steady and open ; the eyebrows a little drawn over, but not so much as to look surly or dogmatical (except in the character of a pedant) ; the pitch of the voice must be strong and clear, the tone varying according as the emphasis requires, and much accenting is necessary in expressing mat- ter of this sort; the articulation must also be distinct, the utterance slow, and the manner peremptory. Arguing requires a cool, sedate, attentive aspect, and a clear, slow, emphatical accent, with much de- monstrative action of the hand. Veneration, or addressing Heaven, requires, during the speech, the head to be raised, and the eyes lifted ; after the speech, the head shouldbow, and the brows be brought down in the most respectful manner ; one knee should be bent, and the features should demonstrate the most profound gravity. THE ROAD TO THE STAGE. 87 Duty, or respect, for a parent or superior, puts on the look and gesture of modesty. Giving, inviting, soliciting, and such like actions, which suppose some degree of affection, real, or pre- tended, are accompanied with much the same looks and gestures as express love, but more moderate. In soliciting it is frequently necessary to kneel, and to speak with ardour. Wonder, or amazement (without any other interest- ing passion, as love, esteem, &c.) opens the eyes, sometimes raising them, but oftener, and more ex- pressively, fixing them on the object, if visible, with the look (except the wildness) of fear ; if the hands hold any thing at the time when the object of wonder appears, they immediately let it drop, unconsciously ; the whole body fixes in a contracted, stooping pos- ture, the mouth open, and the hands held up open. Admiration, a mixed passion, consisting of wonder, and love, or esteem, takes away the familiar gesture and expression of love, but keeps the respectful look and attitude, like that of modesty and veneration ; the eyes are opened wide, and now and then raised ; the mouth opened ; the hands lifted up ; and the tone of voice rapturous. Gratitude puts on an aspect full of complacency, or love ; if the object thereof be a character greatly superior, it expresses much modesty and submission ; the right hand pressed upon the breast accompanies (very properly) the expression of sincere and hearty sensibility of obligation. Curiosity, as of a busy-body, opens the eyes and mouth ; lengthens the neck ; bends the body for- ward ; and fixes it in one posture, with that of ad- miration, assuming alternately the looks of hope, desire, attention, &c. Persuasion, puts on the look of moderate love ; its accents are soft, flattering, emphatical, and articu- late. 88 THE ROAD TO THE STAGE. Tempting, or wheedling, expresses itself much in the same way as persuasion, only carrying the fawn- ing part into excess. Promising is expressed by benevolent looks ; the nod of consent, and the open hands gently moved toward the person to whom the promise is made, the palms upwards : the sincerity of the promise may be expressed by laying the right hand gently upon the breast. Affectation displays itself in a thousand different gestures, motions, airs, and looks, according to the character. Affectation of learning gives a stiff forma- lity to the whole person; the words come out slowly, and every sentence is pronounced with solemnity, (in Doctor Pangloss, in "The Heir at Law," Gradus, "Who's the Dupe," Lingo, in the " Agreeable Sur- prise," &c.) Affectation of piety turns up the eyes now and then ; the hands are clasped together, and often lifted ; and the head often shaken with vehe- mence; the tone of the voice is canting — ("The Hypocrite.") Affectation of elegance and finery tosses the head with conceit, minces the words, and often assumes a squeaking voice ; uses the eye-glass frequently ; lolls about ; and throws himself in all the attitudes of a man of fashion — (Jessamy, in "Lionel and Clarissa," Lord Foppington, in "The Trip to Scarborough," Gradus, in the second act of "Who's the Dupe,'' Tom Shuffleton, in "John Bull," &c.) Affectation of drunkenness displays forced staggers, and assumes forced hiccups — (Don Felix, in the fifth act of " The Wonder.") Affectation of love assumes all the manners of that passion, mixed with the looks of hypocrisy — (Millwood, in " George Barnwell.") Affectation of beauty, in order to cap- tivate the beholder, puts the actress by turns into all sorts of forms, appearances, and attitudes. The coquetish affectation of a young lady is displayed by many unnatural gestures, and a continual admiration of her own sweet self— (Miss Sterling, in " The THE ROAD TO THE STAGE. 89 Clandestine Marriage.") That of an old maid is displayed by an awkward imitation of youth and ju- venile manners — (Laurelia Durable, in " Raising the Wind.") Affectation of fashion in an old maid is expressed by a pompousness of accent, combined with extreme awkwardness — (Mrs. Heidelberg, in " The Clandestine Marriage.") Such characters can seldom be overacted. Sloth appears by yawning, dozing, snoring ; the head dangling sometimes on one side, and sometimes on the other; the arms stretched out; the eyes heavy, and sometimes closed; the words drawling out, scarcely audible, and sometimes broken off. People who walk in their sleep (Lady Macbeth) ap- pear as if in a dream with their eyes open. Fatigue gives a general langour to the body; the countenance is dejected ; the arms listless ; and the legs in walking, are dragged heavily along, and seem at every step to bend under the w T eight of the body ; the voice is weak. Intoxication, or drunkenness, shows itself by the eyes half shut, sleepy, stupid, and inflamed; an idiot smile, a ridiculous surliness, or affected bravado, mark the countenance ; the words are interrupted by hiccups, and without proper articulation ; the head seems too heavy for the neck ; the arms dangle from the shoulders ; the legs totter and bend at the knees ; and a general incapacity exhibits human nature sunk below the brutal. The actor, in staggering, may sometimes have occasion to fall, which must be done with great adroitness, as a drunken man's falls are generally violent. Complaining when under violent pain, (Aboan, in "Oroonoko,") distorts the features, almost closes the eyes, and sometimes raises them wistfully; opens the mouth, gnashes the teeth, draws up the upper lip, draws down the head upon the breast, and the whole body together ; the arms are violently bent on i 2 90 THE ROAD TO THE STAGE. the elbows, and fists strongly clenched ; the voice is uttered in groans* Dotage, or infirm old age, shows itself by hollow- ness of eyes and cheeks, dimness of sight, deafness and tremor of voice, hams weak, knees tottering, hands or head paralytic, hollow coughing, frequent expectoration, breathless wheezing, occasional groan- ing, and the body stooping under an insupportable load of years — (Adam, in the " Iron Chest.") Absence of mind displays an inattention to what passes, and commits every mistake with a seeming unconsciousness ; the least appearance of art destroys the whole effect of the character. Hypocrisy has generally a smile on the face when the person to be deceived is present ; and when alone, in his soliloquies, the villain is to be pourtrayed in the countenance — lago, in " Othello," Maskwell, in the "Double Dealer." Folly gives the face an habitual thoughtless grin, or is sometimes more effectually expressed by a wild stare and a vacuity of countenance — (Jacob Gawkey, in the "Chapter of Accidents.") Such characters admit of many grimaces and ridiculous gestures, &c. Madness opens the eyes to a frightful wildness, rolls them hastily and wildly from object to object, distorts every feature, and appears all agitation ; the voice sometimes loud, and sometimes plaintive, ac- companied with tears — (Octavian, in the "Moun- taineers.") Sickness displays extreme languor in every motion and utterance, the eyes dim, the voice faltering, the hands shaking, and the knees tottering. Fainting (which is common in ladies' characters) is represented by a seeming sudden deprivation of all senses. Death is exhibited by violent distortion, groaning, gasping for breath, stretching the body, raising it, and then letting it fall j dying in a chair, as often _ THE ROAD TO THE STAGE. 91 practised in some characters, is very unnatural, and has little or no effect. On this subject, a notice appeared in Mr. Leigh Hunt's Tatler, relative to the acting of Kean, that is worth all the rules that can be laid down. It was communicated by a brother actor, and we extract that portion of it that related to his dying in Hamlet and Othello. kean's dying scenes. " In Othello, death is occasioned by piercing him- self to the heart with a poignard : can you not mark the frozen shudder as the steel enters his frame, and the choking expression, with distended eyes and open mouth, the natural attendants of such an agony ? Death by a heart wound is instantaneous. Thus does he pourtray it ; he literally dies standing. It is the dead body only of Othello that falls ; heavily and at once ; there is no rebound which speaks of vitality and of living muscles. It is the dull weight of clay seeking its kindred earth." But the scene that actors admire most (perhaps auditors from the remoteness least), is his death in Hamlet. The prince does not die of a sword- wound, but from the poison impregnated in that wound : of ^ourse, from its rapidity in doing the work of death, X must have been a powerful mineral. What are the effects of such a poison ? Intense, internal pain, wandering vision, swelling veins in the temple. All this Kean details with awful reality ; his eye dilates and then loses lustre ; he gnaws his hand in the vain effort to repress emotion ; the veins thicken in his forehead ; his limbs shudder and quiver ; and as life grows fainter, and his hand drops from between his stiffening lips, he utters a cry of expiring nature, so exquisite, that I can only compare it to the stifled sob of a fainting woman, or the little wail of a suf- fering child, 92 THE ROAD TO THE STAGE. NEW READINGS, &c. A straining after originality has been the ruin of many actors, and however ineffective the system of treading only in a beaten track may be, it will be found less annoying than a sacrifice of sense to novelty. The modern system of acting by making points, instead of playing the character as a w T hole, has been very injurious to the best interests of the drama, and some of our most popular performers may be said rather to play tricks in certain characters than to act them. The number of disputed readings is very limited, and though I cannot pretend to recal them all to the minds of my readers, one or two may serve to awaken their recollections on the subject ; Hamlet was always made to say — " Did you not speak to it? " to Horatio, until the good sense of John Kemble discovered that it should be thus delivered — " Did you not, &c." for Hamlet meant to express his wonder that Hora- tio, his friend, should neglect to address the ghost. In Macbeth there is a disputed passage, some de- livering it — " Hang out your banners on the outward wall — The cry is still they come." And others — " Hangout your banners. On the outward wall The cry is still they come." And Mrs. Siddons, in Lady Macbeth, has given a new sense to a popular passage. All performers had replied to the Thane's doubt, with — " WTr'fiul." as ridiculing the idea or possibility of failure. Mrs. THE ROAD TO THE STAGE. 93 Siddons delivered it as if her mind was made up to the worst that could ensue — " We fail." In Mercutio, it has been usual to say — * A dream — Oh! then I see Queen Mao has been with you." Others read it — "A dream — Oh ! then I see — Queen Mab has been with you, &c." — applying the words, " Oh ! then I see," in their col- loquial acceptation — Oh ! now I perceive. Mr. Kean's returning, in Hamlet, to kiss Ophelia's hand after he has bid her "to a nunnery," is de- cidedly a new reading, as it marks his sense that Hamlet did not mean the reproach he uttered, and that he loved Ophelia. Dowton, when he played Shylock at Drury, made a point in a similar manner ; he stood firmly whilst he heard the duke's judgment pronounced, until the sentence of changing his religion came, at the men- tion of which he fainted ; this was strictly in keeping with Shylock's character — a cruel and revengeful being is likely to be a bigot, and the idea was both novel and excellent. Miss Kelly, in Lucy, repeats the line — " Shall I go with you ?" thrice, once as a casual question, then as a demand, and lastly, as an entreaty. The part of Valverde, in " Pizarro," is a bugbear to most performers, but I remember a gentleman, on the Birmingham boards, exciting universal admira- tion by the manly and pathetic manner in which he uttered this line to Elvira — " Whatever be my faults to others, / have none to you" I have heard John Bur greeted with three rounds of applause, and seen Roque become the third part, in point of effect, in the " Mountaineers." Great 94 THE ROAD TO THE STAGE. care, however, should be taken not to attempt to make a part a feature, that is only a portion of the feature of the play. Paris must not be long in his dying scene, because he throws Romeo into a dilemma ; but this consideration should not induce the performer to fall, as if struck by lightning, and move no more. To see a minor character in a play overdoing it, to vie with the hero, is as ridiculous as to hear the second singer in a duet straining to become louder than the first. On this subject I shall extract a few remarks from the work already quoted, well convinced that they will be more acceptable than any I could make: — " The subalterns of a company will not be per- suaded of it, yet nothing is more certain than that there requires less merit and parts to make a figure in trifles, than in characters of consequence, and that it is better to be applauded in a livery than laughed at in embroidery. " The supposing that good parts make people play well, cannot, indeed, much injure the characters of performers of established reputation, but the prin- ciple in itself is false, and the conclusions drawn from it occasions great imperfections in the gene- rality of our theatrical representations. The greater part of the young players conclude from it, that as they can expect nothing better for some years than to be made to put up with the least advantageous characters, they need not take a great deal of pains about them, since they would be only overlooked if they did. They think it a sort of injustice in an audience to expect any great perfection in them, while they continue in this class, and persuade them- selves that they may pass well enough without many of those natural advantages which the players who appear in the principal characters are expected to have. THE ROAD TO THE STAGE. 95 " It is not to be denied, indeed, that the excellence and importance of the character represented, con- tributes greatly to make the player shine in it ; and it is equally true, that an audience are patient under a sort of mediocrity in the performers of the lower characters. People do not trouble themselves nearly so much about the manner in which the parts of little consequence to the fable are played, as about the justness of the representation of those which are essential to the conduct of the whole ; but it is also true, that a good actor will often be able to give a sort of importance to a subordinate part, which, while as carelessly played as such usually are, the audience would never have known the beauty of it.* It is also certain, that though, in consideration of the deficiency of a number of proper subjects, we are induced to pardon, in the persons who only play subordinate parts, the want of a peculiarly graceful figure, or of that superiority in the gifts of nature in general, which we look for in the players of prin- cipal parts, yet we expect to find them tolerable ; and, indeed, there is not one of the natural advan- tages which we require to be possessed eminently by the first persons of the theatre, but we desire to see in some degree in all the rest. " Let us look into any one of the plays of our writers of credit, and examine by it the merits of this point, We shall find all the characters engaged in the whole play concerned in animating and giving force to every scene of it, either by the share their passions give them in the incidents of it, or by that * The very first-rate actors would find a way of increasing their reputation greatly, if they would sometimes take a pride in ap- pearing in the second, or even the third parts, in our better plays. The honour of occasioning an audience to discover beauties in a part which they had never found in it before, is, in reality, much superior to that of obtaining applause from any of those grand cha- racters which would itself command it, even though performed by but a moderate player. 96 THE ROAD TO THE STAGE. which they give to the passions of the rest, by the difficulties and perplexities they find themselves in, or by those into which their cunning, or their ab- surdity, throw the persons whom they mean to injure, or to serve ; by their well concerted blunders, the happy fruits of the sprightliness of the author's imagination, are the funds of everlasting pleasure to the greater part, at least, of every audience, and, when nicely conducted, to the whole ; or, finally, by their ambiguous action or discourse, which, pre- senting two separate faces, gives occasion to the error of some other character, which is to be de- ceived, and by their countenance kept up in the mistake they were destined to raise. The very lowest characters in comedy are, in this light, to be continually in motion, and they keep our minds agi- tated during the whole piece. The very least among these are honoured with the name of actor, in such or such a play ; a name only given to the persons in a dramatic work, because they ought to be in con- tinual action during the performance of it. " Yoice and memory are said by many to be all the qualifications that are necessary to the subordinate actors ; but can voice and memory alone be sufficient for the player, in representing those characters, which, though not placed in the very fullest points of view, are yet often not less difficult to perform than even the capital part in the play? If the players of this lower rank want understanding, or fire, or, above all things, if nature has left them deficient in sensibility, how is it possible that they should succeed, we do not say to please, but barely to make themselves supportable, even in the less considerable of those lesser characters, since we find there is not one of them on whom the more eminent personages of the piece, in a greater or smaller degree, have not a dependance." THE ROAD TO THE STAGE. 97 ON BYE PLAY, STAGE BUSINESS, &c. An evil habit has crept into our dramatic exhi- bitions, of always bestowing a purse with the con- tents, or a pocket-book with the notes in it; our intercourse with society convinces us of the folly of this ; no man gives away his pocket-book, which in all probability contains memoranda useful only to himself. I am not weak enough to think my obser- vation may induce a reform in this particular, but it is the duty of every man to enter his protest against absurdity, and I shall not fail to do so, even from a conviction of the futility of remonstrance. On re- ceiving a purse on the stage (in comic characters) the performer should invariably count its contents. Is it compatible with the natural eagerness, and cu- riosity of human nature, that a servant (and they are in general the dramatic receivers of purses) should quietly place it in his pocket, without ascer- taining the amount received? Property men in country theatres have contracted the habit of put- ting any substance to fill up purses, and in these cases it will be impossible to open them without ex- posing yourself to the disagreeable dilemma of showing broken bits of tobacco pipes, a common substitute for cash; by telling this person "that you want money to use" this danger will be obviated. When a letter is to be read on the stage, I have seen many performers stoop towards the foot lights to peruse it; this is extremely wrong, inasmuch as it is destructive of stage illusion. In day scenes the performer is of course presumed to receive light from the horizon, and in night scenes there should always be candles upon the stage. Character should never be lost sight of. I re- member a very inferior performer who procured notice, simply from his attention to minutiee; in Simpson (I think) when he received the letter, in- K 98 THE ROAD TO THE STAGE. stead of breaking the seal, he took forth his pocket scissars and cut the paper round it, this was charac- teristic of the regular and careful habits of the man he assumed to be Lovegold pausing, in his madness of rage, to pick up a pin, is perhaps carrying peculiarity too far, but this point was thought so admirable as to awaken the eulogies of the best dramatic critics in Paris. It is really disgraceful in a London theatre to see such anachronisms as an eye-glass for the fop in " Peeping Tom of Coventry," and this I myself be- held at the Haymarket; nay, I remember Munden's wearing spectacles in a piece, the time of which was one century antecedent to their invention ; Kean, as Crichton, played on a modern piano-forte; and pistols and guns are used in both our theatres, in many pieces, the supposed dates of which are prior to the invention of fire-arms. There are a thousand little points of etiquette or habit, which we observe every day in society, that, when brought upon the stage, aid the scene im- mensely. In the " Jealous Wife," Lewis' bow to Mrs. Oakley, handed down to us by the excellent imitation of Jones, is one of the most effective things upon the stage; and the simple point of Count Cassell's taking snuff, during Frederick's ap- peal to his charity in " Lovers' Vows," marked the unfeeling coxcomb more than the most heartless speech. The late Mr. Knight, w r hen he performed the character of a footman, never answered the greet- ings of the audience on his entry by bowing, but just touched his hat as menials usually do. T. P. Cooke, in " The Pilot," gives a characteris- tic touch that is invariably recognised, and applauded. Previous to commencing his combat with the Ser- jeant he pauses to take tobacco, and afterwards, when he has driven his adversary from him, claps his THE ROAD TO THE STAGE. 99 sword into his mouth whilst he hitches up his trousers ; these things are practical illustrations of cool habitual bravery. WHERE TO OBTAIN DRESSES, WIGS, &c. Never build while you can buy, is a rule with re- gard to tenements — never make dresses while you can purchase them, is a dramatic maxim. Theatrical things made at home always cost treble what they could be purchased for abroad. The descendants of Moses are notorious as venders of theatrical ward- robes, and to Hemming's Row and Holywell Street, I refer my readers. For those whose pockets are well furnished, Messrs. Brooks and Heath, or Messrs. Palmer, of Tavistock Street, are the best persons to apply to ; but for those Thespians who study eco- nomy in their purchases, the tribe of Israel should be resorted to. It has grown into custom, always to offer these gentlemen half what they ask, and I pre- sume this is the correct mode of dealing with them ; I can only ow r n that, as far as my personal expe- rience goes, I have found their charges for dramatic garbs extremely moderate, and that I have frequently bought dresses for less money than I must have ex- pended in the purchase of the mere materials. EPAULETTES. All ornaments of this description may be bought second hand of these gentlemen, and then the silver or gold will always bring back part of your pur- chase money; but if the expense of real epaulettes be too great an outlay, tinsel ones can be purchased at from 21 s. to 30,9. per pair. There is a shop for these articles, immediately opposite to the stage door of Covent Garden Theatre. 100 THE ROAD TO THE STAGE. The present distributor of grace to the heads of dramatic professors, is Mr. William Wilson, No. 2J7> Strand. Of the number of wigs necessary, it is impossible to speak ; Liston has nearly an hundred. Of the prices of wigs I can only give a general idea ; they vary of course, according to the nature and style of them, from 1/. to 21. or 31. A theatrical wig-maker, like Mr. Wilson, is generally a better judge of what wigs will be effective and appropriate than most performers. Mr. Wilson's charges are moderate. My labours are completed, and I am prepared to encounter all the ridicule that the peculiar subject of this trifle may excite. If it obtains any notice at all — if it is made the mark for the jests of criticism — I am content — it is easier to ridicule the efforts of others than to make similar exertions. I beg leave to repeat, that this production is not written with a view of increasing the candidates for the Sock and Buskin; on the contrary, I do hope it may be the means of diminishing their number, and, by pointing out the difficulties the profession involves, I am doing a public service. It is looked upon by young minds as a path of flowers ; experience too soon holds up the glass to truth, and pourtrays it a briary way, where the thorns of misery spring up beneath the feet of the wanderer, and where the poison trees of , malice and discord every where encompass him. It has its sunshine, but, alas ! the cheering beam is not for all, and the generality of the sons of the Drama must be content to dwell for ever in the shade. END. Printed by W. H. Cox, 5, Great Queen Street, London. .0 o / C* ^--A ■ •; ■■ ■•"■" 'o x %. Deacidified using the Bookkeeper process. Neutralizing agent: Magnesium Oxide Treatment Date: Oct. 2007 PreservationTechnologies A WORLD LEAOER IN COLLECTIONS PRESERVATION 111 Thomson Park Drive Cranberry Township, PA 16066 (724)779-2111 v ■.■■•■■ ■'v. iiil *■■"'. jo fgfi •'