?1 ic ^WE-UNIVE'- *vl o V3WV >- I r-**n ™* 33 ^'' Aiivaan P" - KCa/lnyL 7 rnc,.^//or^,. fL i : PLAYERS AND PLAYWRIGHTS I HAVE KNOWN PLAYERS and PLAYWRIGHTS I HAVE KNOWN By JOHN COLEMAN AUTHOR OF 'CL'KLY,' 'THE RIVAL QUEENS,' 'TALES TOLD BY TWILIGHT,' ETC. 'Come like shadows, so depart!' IN TWO VOLUMES VOL. I. HontJon CHATTO & WINDUS, PICCADILLY 1SS8 [A// rights reserved \ • ■ * • en CO en CONTENTS OF VOL. I. First Person Singular BOOK I. THE VICTORS. CHAPTER PAGE I. MACREADV - - 1 5 II. THE KEANS - - - - - 65 III. PHELPS - - - - - - 117 IV. CHARLES MATHEWS - - - 209 V. MADAME VESTRIS - - 245 | +1 VI. THE WIGANS - - - - - 26^ VII. BENJAMIN WEBSTER - - - -279 VIII. WILLIAM WOOLGAR - - - 294 IX. RVDER : AN AUTOBIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH - - 300 PLAYERS AND PLAYWRIGHTS I HAVE KNOWN. FIRST PERSON SINGULAR. It was my intention to have sent forth the following pages with the briefest possible induction, merely stating that some of the chapters had already appeared in Temple Bar, Longman 's, the Gentleman s Magazine, the National Review \ the Dramatic Review, Time, and other periodicals ; but my publishers having made it a sine qua non that I shall provide some- thing in the shape of an autobiographical introduc- tion, so as to place myself en rapport with the reader, I yield to their wishes. Soon after the interview with Mr. Macready, de- scribed in the reminiscences of that eminent actor, I was sent on trial to an architect and surveyor, again ran away, came on the stage, went to Leicester, where I first met Tom Robertson — to Belfast, where I encountered the Keans — to Scotland, where I struggled and starved through all the vicissitudes of a stroller's life, till I found myself a subordinate vol. :. i I PLAYERS AND PLAYWRIGHTS. me mber of a very powerful company organized by Anderson (•' The Wizard of the North ) for h [ s new and beautiful theatre on Glasgow Greer, destroyed by fire during the very first year of its eX From e Anderson I went to the famous showman David Prince Miller, at the Adelphi Theatre. Here my ill-luck left me, for, fortunately, Mr. Murray saw me act John Macdonald in Sergeant Talfourd s sombre tragedy "Glencoe," and engaged me at once for the Theatre Royal, Edinburgh. To be a member of that famous company was in itself a diploma of artistic ability. Edmund Glover, son of the great Mrs. Glover, afterwards for many years manager of the Theatre Royal, Glasgow, was the leading man. He was one of the best fellows in the world, modest, manly and unpretentious ; he was an admirable painter, and one of the best all-round actors that ever lived. Bob Wyndham and his accomplished wife, after- wards managers of the Edinburgh Theatre-both now enjoying the otium cum dig. upon a well-earned fortune-were also members of the company. _ Wyndham was the juvenile tragedian (vice Leigh Murray resigned for promotion in town) and Mrs. Wyndham was equally good in anything, from Lady Macbeth to Rosalind. George Maynard, from the Adelphi, was the " heavy" man ; William Howard, a capital actor, was the eccentric comedian ; Sam Cowell, the well-known droll of Evans's, and the facetious Lloyd, were the riRST PERSON SINGULAR. 3 low comedians, while old Ray, afterwards of Sadler's Wells, was the old man. This eccentric personage died the other day intestate, leaving behind him°a nice little fortune which has reverted to the Crown. Mackay, the famous Bailie Nicol Jarvie, was a kind of " stock star," appearing at frequent intervals in his original parts, the Bailie, Dominie Sampson (to Miss Cushman's Meg Merrilies), Caleb Balderstone, Meg Dodds, etc. It was at the banquet given at the Modern Athens in honour of this admirable actor that Sir Walter Scott first avowed himself the author of Waverley. A jolly old chap was the Bailie. We lived in the same neighbourhood in the old town, and I used to walk home with him nightly, a rapt listener to his racy reminiscences of auld lang syne. The regular leading ladies of the company were : Mrs. Leigh Murray, then, as now, a delightful and amiable woman, and an accomplished actress; Miss Cleaver, a mature and majestic spinster ; Miss Nicol, another spinster, if possible, rather more precise, but a very charming old lady and a sterling comedian ; the soubretle was the sprightly Mrs. Tellet (Clara Chaplin), at that period one of the most piquant,pretty, and "fetching" creatures I have ever beheld; Miss Macfarlane, a bright-haired, bright-eyed, modest girl, who afterwards became Mrs. Eburne, and Miss Julia St. George, then a most charming vocalist in the flower of youthful beauty. Mr. Mackenzie (an admirable musician and a gentleman), father of the present President of the I — 2 4 PLAYERS AND PLAYWRIGHTS. Royal Academy of Music, was the leader of the band. The minor members of the company were : Mr. Reynolds, for many years leading man with Mrs. Lane at the Britannia ; Jack Parselle, so long at the Lyceum and the Strand ; Melrose, the great Dougal and Dandie Dinmont ; Josephs, father of Miss Fanny Josephs ; Messrs. Eburne, Bernard, Stirling, Dalton, George Honey, and myself. Besides these, there was the inimitable Murray, beyond all question one of the most versatile and accomplished comedians that ever put foot upon the stage. I look round in vain at the present metropolitan theatres to find any company which can possibly compare with this troupe of country players. Despite this remarkable combination, we not in- frequently played to "a beggarly account of empty benches." In comparing notes with Charles Reade on this subject, he positively used to glow with a fervour of admiration of the Edinburgh actors. Although, a rabid partizan of Farren's, Reade always maintained that the "cock salmon" of the Haymarket did not come within measurable distance of the Edinburgh manager, in Old Goldthumb, in Jerrold's comedy, " Time Works Wonders," and many other parts of a similar character. He (Reade) has often told me that, when loafing about Newhaven in his " Christie Johnstone " days, when not engaged in the herring fishing, he used to stroll up nightly to the North Bridge. He was wont to deposit himself at full length on one of the pit seats ; indeed, he had FIRST PERSOX SINGULAR. 5 get so accustomed to have a row of seats entirely to himself up to half-price, that he positively grew to regard it as his peculiar privilege, and almost resented anything in the shape of intrusion on his domain. Then, our "stars!" It was an ao;e of giants! There were Macready, Charles and Mrs. Kean, Edwin Forrest, Fanny Kemble, Helen Faucit, the Yandenhoffs (father and daughter), the Cushmans (Charlotte and her sister), the Mathews (Charles and Madame Vestris), Buckstone and Fitzwilliam, Webster and Celeste, Braham, Sims Reeves, Rachel, Taglioni, etc. It was an artistic education merely to see these illustrious people in their great parts, but to be brought daily and hourly in contact with them was a pleasure kings might envy. I was exceptionally fortunate in this respect, inasmuch as my acquaint- ance with these distinguished artists, in many cases, ripened in after-years to friendly intimacy. Nor was this all. Many of these " choice and master spirits " deigned to advise and instruct me in the rudiments of my art. I was a docile pupil, and the result was that in an in- conceivably short space of time, I was light comedian in Manchester and Liverpool, and at nineteen years of age I became principal tragedian in Bath and Bristol, where I had the honour to act all the opposite parts to Mr. Macready during the farewell engagement of that distinguished actor. From there I went to the Worcester Circuit, the 6 PLAYERS AND PLAYWRIGHTS. Norwich Circuit, the Great Northern Circuit; thence to Newcastle-upon-Tyne. Soon after this I was engaged at Sheffield as a full-fledged "star" to oppose Charles Dillon in the great Shakespearean parts. Thence I went to the Theatre Royal, Manchester, where I acted Romeo, Orlando, Charles Surface, and Claude Melnotte to Miss Helen Faucit, and at one-and-twenty I became lessee of the Theatre Royal, Sheffield. Then commenced a period of arduous struggle and incessant labour, combined with ever-recurring vicissitudes of fortune, the briefest epitome of which would engross the entire space allotted to this work. Suffice it that I was successful beyond my antici- pations, for even in my premiere jeunesse, and with- out the metropolitan hall-mark, I was accepted as a " star ' : in every important theatre in the United Kingdom. The reader will doubtless wonder, this being the case, why I remained so long in the country. The answer is simple : it was because I had so little inducement to come to town. I was ambitious, and did not care to play second fiddle to anyone, and, indeed, had I consented to do so, the remuneration was so small that I could not have lived upon it. Mr. Kean and Mr. Phelps each offered me five pounds a week to play the juvenile tragedy. Mr. E. T. Smith at Drury Lane, Mr. Farren at the Olympic, and Mr. Augustus Harris, the elder (then FIRST PERSON SINGULAR. 7 at the Princess's), offered the same terms. Fechter, more liberally disposed, offered me ten pounds a week to divide the business with him ; but I knew that his " division " meant the oyster for him and the shells for me, and, to be frank, I preferred the oyster for myself. Hence my ambition and my interests alike com- bined to draw me into country management on an extensive scale. At one and the same period I was manager of the Great Northern Circuit, Leeds, where I built a new and beautiful theatre (subsequently destroyed by fire), Hull, York, Doncaster, Lincoln, Liverpool, Glasgow, and the Isle of Man, besides having three different companies on the road (precursors of the present travelling companies), one with " It's Never too Late to Mend," written by Charles Reade, another with "Clancarty," by Tom Taylor, and a third with my own starring eno-ao-ements. At length an eligible opening, or at least what I considered one, unfortunately occurred in town, and I took the Queen's Theatre in LonQf Acre, a building not inaptly designated by my vivacious friend, Mr. John Hollingshead, as "the catacomb of the British drama," commencing my campaign with Signor Salvini, then supposed to be a popular attrac- tion. All, however, is not gold that glitters. I prepared for the exploitation of this actor "Othello," " Hamlet," and "Macbeth" on a scale of great completeness. S PLAYERS AXD PLAYWRIGHTS. We opened in the height of the fashionable season, with expenses amounting to three hundred pounds a night. The receipts of the first night amounted to ninety pounds, which in the course of a few nights dribbled down to eighteen pounds, upon which the renowned Signor departed without beat of drum at a moment's notice to his beloved Italy, leaving me with an empty theatre for three months, and landing me with a loss of five thousand pounds before I com- menced the winter season, when I made my first appearance in London as Henry V., assisted by one of the best companies then in existence, including Mr. Phelps and many other eminent artists. Perhaps no actor ever made a more triumphal entry into London than he who impersonated the hero of Agincourt on that occasion, and certainly no actor ever experienced a more bitter reverse of fortune. Thus far, in the fewest possible words, of the main incidents in a career which brought the writer into continual contact with the most dis- tinguished members of his craft. The reminiscences which follow owe their on'ofin to the following concatenation of circumstances : During our prolonged intimacy, Charles Reade was wont to continually rally me about my indolence in not committing certain romantic episodes in my life to paper. The great demand made upon my time by my duties as manager, stage manager, actor, and occa- sional dramatist, combined with the claims of society, FIRST PERSON SINGULAR. 9 left me little leisure and less inclination to follow this advice. At length came a prolonged vacation. "Satan finds some mischief still For idle hands to do.'' The immature poet always goes for an epic, the embryo dramatist for a tragedy in blank verse. Naturally I commenced my scribbling campaign with a novel in the orthodox and idiotic three volumes. Upon submitting it to Messrs. Bentley, both father and son assured me that it had great merit, etc., but — there always is a " but." They have, however, a saying in Scotland that " every ' but ' has a ' ben,' " and my " ben " occurred after this fashion. I had several interviews with the Bentleys, pcre et Jils, and long talks, with the result that the elder gentleman suggested that my own reminiscences would prove interesting reading. A few days afterwards the younger Mr. Bentley wrote me as follows : "If you could only write as you describe the various incidents, your reminiscences would be charm incr. " Could you not plunge in without any formal beginning or end ;* but recounting quite naturally your own personal reminiscences of Kean, etc.? * The autocrats of Piccadilly evidently differ from the autocrats of New Burlington Street ; but who shall decide when doctors differ? io PLAYERS AND PLAYWRIGHTS. You ought to be able to dash off a series of papers full of curious contretemps, amusing break-downs, stray anecdotes, your recollection of the Macready incident at Edinburgh, and so on — in fact, from the large and varied experiences you have to draw upon, the difficulty should be to avoid an embarras de richesscs." Now it so happened that a very short time after this Charles Reade died. As I walked homeward after the funeral with his nephew Arthur, Mr. Bentley's suggestion recurred to my mind. Then came the recollection of Reade's own advice, above all came the remembrance that I knew more of the inner life of my dead friend than anvone else. That afternoon I wrote the two first chapters of the Reade reminiscences, and forwarded them to New Burlington Street. By return of post came the following letter from the elder Mr. Bentley : " Your genial reminiscences of Charles Reade reach me here " (Tenby). " By all means send me the finish, and I will have them put in type at once for Temple Bar." At a moment when the future copyright arrange- ment between America and the Fatherland is such a burning question, I may perhaps be permitted to mention that the eminent Philadelphia firm of Lip- pincott paid me handsomely for the advance sheets of the Reade papers, and that consequently they appeared simultaneously in both hemispheres. FIRST PERSOX SINGULAR. u Having- thus made the first plunge, it was easy to follow Messrs. Bentley's advice; hence the following papers, many of which may perchance supply current links in dramatic history known only to the writer; others which I hope will prove of general interest, and all of which may form material, however slight, for the future historian of the English sta^e in the nineteenth century. BOOK I. THE VICTORS. CHAPTER I. MACREADY. Although this great actor was approaching the termination of his career when I commenced mine, I venture to think the circumstances under which we became acquainted are not without interest. While yet a boy of fourteen, I was bitten with the theatrical mania, and having read of Macready's efforts to raise the fallen glories of the great national theatres, and also of the phenomenal triumphs of Master Betty at a previous period of dramatic de- cadence, I had arrived at the modest conclusion that I might emulate them. I had displayed some precocious ability at school and elsewhere, and indiscreet adulation only added fuel to the fire ; hence it was that I had the audacity to write to Mr. Macready in my father's name, re- questing a hearing. I received a very courteous autograph reply, point- ing out that "any, the least degree of eminence in the histrionic art could only be achieved by years of continual application." But that, notwithstanding, 16 PLAYERS AXD PLAYWRIGHTS. in the event of my coming to London, Mr. Macready would be happy to see me. On receipt of this communication, I ran away from home, and made tracks for town. My resources were limited, and I had to travel third-class. The carriages then were open tubs exposed to rain, hail, snow, sleet, and the four winds of heaven ; and by the time we got to Rugby I felt as if the very marrow in my bones was frozen. I had just lost my mother, and some kind motherly women, who were fellow-travellers, took compassion on me. One of them spread out a rug upon the bottom of the carriage for me to lie upon, the others (for they were nearly all women in my compartment) spread out their petticoats over me, and sheltered me from the snow and the wind until my frozen limbs were thawed ; and growing quite warm and comfortable, I fell fast asleep and never woke till we got to London. At Euston Square an old schoolfellow met me and took me home with him. Mr. Macready's letter was dated "Clarence Ter- race, Regent's Park," and thither I went the next morning at ten o'clock, only to find that he had already gone to Drury Lane for rehearsal. So to the theatre I followed him. Sending up my card (my father's), I was conducted to a room which was filled with books, MSS., and play-bills. Here I waited for half an hour or more, until Mr. Serle, Macready's manager, came and interviewed MACREADY. 17 me. He was very complaisant, and presently led me towards the Grand Saloon, where the great tragedian was waiting; to hear me recite. Only think of the graciousness of this distin- guished man, every hour of whose life must have o J been engrossed by matters of imperial moment, de- voting half an hour of his valuable time to an unsophisticated and impudent boy from the country, who ought to have had his ears boxed previous to being- sent home by the next train. The day was bitterly cold. Mr. Macready was wrapped up in a long close-fitting coat with a fur collar. His person did not impress me, but his demeanour did. His features appeared irregular and corrugated. He had a spacious brow and deli- cately pencilled eyebrows, but his nose was of a most composite order — a mixture of Grecian, Milesian, and snub, with no power of dilation in the nostrils. His eyes were dull and lustreless by day, but at night, as I afterwards discovered, they were orbs of fire. His mouth, though small, was well cut and decided ; the lower jaw, which was firm and massive, was very much underhung. His closely shorn and blue- black beard imparted a grim and saturnine cast to his features. He wore his hair, which was begin- ning to show the marks of time, clubbed in huge masses over his ears. Just imagine this imposing and portentous figure contrasted with a fair, long-haired, ruddy-cheeked boy of fourteen, clad in a pelisse of light-blue cloth, braided with black, a huge frilled shirt-collar over VOL. I. 2 iS PLAYERS AND PLAYWRIGHTS. his shoulders, a camlet cloak lined with red, and a dogskin collar, and a velvet hanging cap. When I recall this occurrence, even at this period of my life, I protest I never do so without a blush of shame at my matchless effrontery. I could no more do such a thing now than I could stand on my head. " Fools," however, " rush in where angels fear to tread," and when Mr. Macready desired me to give him a taste of my quality, I asked him which he preferred — Hamlet, Young Norval, or Zanga in the " Revenge " (a part which, by the way, although I had studied then, I have never yet acted). He selected Young Norval, and I spouted, " My name is Norval ;" then, gaining confidence as I pro- ceeded, I let him have Hamlet's first soliloquy, and a scene from " Zanga." I suppose I must have amused him, for he came and patted my head, and tcld me I was too young. I mentioned Master Betty. He laughed, and said Betty was a phenomenon. (It was evident he did not think me one.) I ventured to suggest that as he was about to produce " King John," I might do for Prince Arthur, and when he told me that unfor- tunately the part had been already allotted to Miss Priscilla Hcrton, I thought myself rather ill-used. Advising me to be a good boy, to go home and go back to school, he brought our interview to an end, and I left the theatre crestfallen and heart- broken. When I came to the stage-door, I found my friend, tired of waiting, had left me, and I was literally MACREADY. 19 alone in London. There was nothing for it but to follow Mr. Macready's advice and get home, the sooner the better. In my grief and despair, I took the wrong train, and on my arrival at Rugby, found I could get no further that night. As I had not the means to pay for a bed, in the last extremity I was glad to take shelter under the lee of a haystack to the windward of a snow-storm. I made a nest for myself in the hay, where, by the way, I narrowly escaped suffocation, for during the night the wind changed, and I was nearly snowed- up. When I got home, the stern parent gave me a sound beating ; but what's bred in the bone will out in the flesh, and no amount of beating could beat the love of the theatre out of my heart. When I came to town soon afterwards, Macready's management was approaching a termination, and I was unfortunately debarred, through circumstances beyond my control, from witnessing any of his great productions except " Coriolanus," apropos of which I am tempted here to reproduce from memory the opinion of Fox, the famous Unitarian divine and Member for Oldham. Speaking of this work, of which a certain wasp- ish, small-minded critic, referring to the composite structure of the great tragedian's nasal organ, said, " All was Roman but the Roman's nose," Fox states, as nearly as I can remember (for I am quoting from a boyish memory), something like this : co PLAYERS AND PLAYWRIGHTS. "When Caius Marcius had fallen beneath the assassin's steel, horror and shame struck the Vol- scians dumb. Each man looked upon the other, as who should say, ' 'Twas thy hand, not mine, that struck the felon blow !' Then came silence — silence, awful and profound. Presently was heard the sound of a distant trumpet, followed by another, and yet another. Men passed rapidly forth in answer to the signal, doubtless to relate how Caius Marcius fell. Again silence — more eloquent than speech. Ill news spreads fsst. From afar arose the cry of women and children ; then there came hurrying through the camp a host of fair maidens and stately matrons, piercing the air with lamentations, as they waved their arms aloft, and tossed aside their dishevelled hair. Before them strode a majestic figure, like one • of the Eumenides. It was the Roman mother, Volumnia, who confronted, with pale face and flash- ing eyes, the men who had done to death her lion- hearted son. Next came his fair young wife, Virgilia, and his boy, the little Marcius, followed by Valeria — " ' The noble sister of Publicola, The moon of Rome — chaste as the icicle That's curdled by the frost from purest snow, And hangs on Dian's temple.' While with tears and piteous cries they bewailed their warrior dead, the murderers stood aghast, con- science-stricken, and appalled, until at a signal from their leader, the muffled drums and the shrill trump of the clarion made mournful music. Then the MA CREADY. 21 chiefest warriors bore aloft upon their bucklers all that was mortal left of him who, once upon a time, had '• ' Like an eagle in a dovecote Fluttered the Volscians in Corioli.' The soldiers trailed their steel spikes, and as they moved forth with rhythmic tread, the mother of the murdered hero followed, still erect and defiant. Next came the weeping wife and child, and the fair Valeria, while, with eyes cast down, bareheaded and repentant, Tullus Aufidius followed. The sad procession wound, snakelike, round the defile, and as it passed forth towards the city of the Seven Hills, and the music faded into ' a sound so fine, that nothing lived 'twixt it and silence ' — the curtain fell, shutting- the solemn pageant slowly out of sight." All this, and more than my poor pen has power to describe, the genius of the poet-player had de- veloped out of the simple stage direction : " Exeunt soldiers, bearing the body of Caius Marcius." An equally eloquent testimony to the splendour and taste of Macready emanates from Phelps, who himself said to me : " I tell ye, sir, as far as I am qualified to form an opinion, at no period before or since, not even in the palmy days of Garrick, or the Kembles, or the Siddons, has the dramatic art been more poetically and intellectually expounded, or magnificently illus- trated, than it was during the Macready regime. That Uetterton, Booth, and Quin were great 22 PLAYERS AND PLAYWRIGHTS. actors, that Garrick was a genius, that the Siddons was a woman of phenomenal gifts, that the Kembles, Youncr and Elliston were gentlemen and scholars first, and admirable actors after, that Cooke and Kean were lurid meteors, illumining the age and the stage, and that all these great people were sur- rounded by actors of most distinguished ability, is as true as that the stars are shining over our heads at this moment ; but I doubt whether at any time the works of our great masters have ever received in their entirety such admirable rendition and such per- fect illustration in every detail as they obtained during the matchless management of William Charles Mac- ready !" The first work I ever saw during this period at Drury Lane was a now-forgotten play of Sheridan Knowles's, called "The Secretary." It was founded on a novel of Grattan's, called " Highways and Bye- ways." The time is that of William III., and refers to some plot against the "little Dutchman's" life. The "little Dutchman" on that occasion was a bie one ; I am rather inclined to think Ryder was his Batavian Majesty. The company were all big men, except Elton. Macready was Colonel Green ; Ander- son, Wilton Brown (the Secretary) ; Hudson, the Irish comedian, was a young light comedy Lord, whose name I can't remember ; George Bennett was the Duke of Gaveston ; Elliot Graham, a giant six feet two or three, played some small part or other ; Helen Faucit and Mrs. W r arner were both in the piece, and Phelps played Lord Byerdale, who was MACREADY. 23 " a villain of the deepest dye." Yes, that was the first time I ever saw him, and an atrocious villain I thought he was. Beyond the villainy of Phelps, and the interest which surrounded Anderson (who ap- peared a veritable Apollo), I remember nothing, save that Macready, who was engaged in the conspiracy, made some touching appeal to Anderson ; that he replied, offering to lie down and die for Macready, or something of that kind ; that he dropped into a chair, and, falling forward upon the table with his head on his arms, burst into a mighty passion of tears ; and that I began crying, too, out of sheer sympathy. I tear, however, I displayed sad want of taste for a sucking tragedian, inasmuch as I remember far more clearly the after-piece. It was not only the first night of a new play, but it was also the first night I ever saw the famous extravaganza of " Fortunio and his Seven Gifted Servants," written by the ever-genial and accomplished J. R. Planche, whom I was destined to know intimately here- after. I can remember, as though it were yesterday, when the curtain rose. Hudson (who was an in- solvent King) sang a parody on the well-known song, " In the days that we went gipsying." I remember, too, Morris Barnet (Monsieur Jacques) ; he was the impecunious Baron Dunover. Best of all, I remember Priscilla Horton as Fortunio, filling the stage with sunshine whenever she ap- 24 PLAYERS AND PLAYWRIGHTS. peared. I can hear her magnificent voice now, as she sang : " Now rest thee here, My father dear. Hush ! hush ! for up I go To put a light Silk pair of tight Etceteras on below. Oh ! if I look in male attire But half as well as he I saw one night dance on the wire, What an angel I should be !' Then came her naughty sister (also disguised as a boy), a lady whom I remember chiefly by her mar- vellously beautiful legs. Charles Selby, capital comedian and prolific author, was an Emperor Somebody, and the re- doubtable Tom Matthews, or W. H. Payne — I am not quite sure which — was one of the gifted servants, endowed with a preternatural "twist," who, to my astonishment, by some occult process, devoured the whole of the bread in the Royal bakery. Oh ! night of golden dreams — of rapture and en- chantment, never to be recalled ! From that time to this I have never seen a child at the play for the first time but I have envied him ! A gentleman who sat next me in the pit seemed interested — perhaps amused — at my unsophisticated admiration of the play and the players. He appeared to know everything and everybody, and was very communicative. MAC READY. 25 As we left the theatre, he asked me which way I was going. When I replied " To Westbourne Green," he said, "Jump in, young shaver ; I'll give you a lift as far as Portman Square." With the ingenuousness of youth, I confided to him my name and calling, and then modestly inquired his name and occupation. " Oh, I'm a gardener," he said, "and my name is Joseph Paxtcn." When next I heard that name, there was a handle to it. Joseph had become Sir Joseph, about the year of the first great Exhibition. Soon afterwards I made my way to Drury Lane to see a performance of " Much Ado about Nothing." It was literally "much ado about nothing" forme, inasmuch as the Duke of Sussex had taken it into his head to die that day, and consequently the theatre was closed that night. The next time I saw Mr. Macready was at a pre- sentation of a piece of plate to him at Willis's Rooms, St. James's. There were a crowd of noble " swells" present, and Macready made a very noble speech, and the piece of plate was a noble piece of work, and that is all I remember about it. A short time afterwards I came on the stage. After a couple of years' probation, I found myself in Edinburgh, where 1 again encountered the great tragedian. By this time the scales had fallen from my eyes, and being thoroughly disillusioned, I was sensible of 26 PLAYERS AND PLAYWRIGHTS. the unparalleled audacity of my conduct on our first interview, hence it was that I had sense enough to avoid reminding Mr. Macready of that circumstance. He opened in " Hamlet," in which I was allotted Marcellus. My trials and troubles had so changed me that, fortunately, he didn't recognise me. I was changed, too, in other ways. My sublime assurance had changed to the most abject trepidation. I trembled from head to foot, and was so paralyzed with stage fright, that I scarcely knew whether I stood on my head or my feet, and could not articu- late a single word of the text. He growled and grunted my part as well as his own, and I became so embarrassed that I broke down altogether. Then the "eminent one" said something personally rude. Some proud blood which I inherit enabled me to resent this indignity, and having once found my tongue, I regained my courage and spoke out boldly. That night an extraordinary and indeed historical scene occurred during the performance. Edwin Forrest, the great American tragedian (ah, you good people, who " gush " about Salvini, should have seen Forrest in " Othello " a quarter of a century ago !), had played an engagement to very indifferent houses, and, sooth to say, had met with but scant courtesy from the management and the press. He had endeared himself to every member of the company by his modesty, his manliness, and his courtesy. Our manager alone was systematically hostile or disdainfully unsympathetic. The reason was not far to seek. Forrest's engage- MACREADY. 27 ment was a failure. Macready's was destined to be a success, for while the former was playing to empty benches, the box-office was besieged by eager appli- cants for seats during the forthcoming engagement of the latter. Besides this, Macready was on terms of friendly intimacy with the social and literary big-wigs of the Modern Athens ; while Forrest, who was too manly to play the tuft-hunter, knew no one out of the theatre, and did not care to cultivate casual acquaint- ances. The members of the company were as much impressed with the American's ability as his urbanity. Mine were only boyish impressions, but they re- main unchanged to this day ; and I have no hesita- tion in proclaiming now, when I have seen, and been repeatedly brought in personal contact with the greatest living actors, that none of them have come within measurable distance of what Forrest was then — at the zenith of his powers — in Othello, Damon, and Spartacus. It is given to no actor to be great in everything, and his Richelieu and his Lear were not to be named in the same category with Macready ;* while his robust * Ultimately Lear came to be considered his greatest performance ; indeed, he himself regarded it as his chef-d'oeuvre. In his interesting memoir of the great American tragedian, Mr. Lawrence Barrett (himself an admirable and accomplished actor) says : 'Towards the end of his (Forrest's) career he wasactingat St. Louis. He was very feeble in health, and his lameness was a source of great anxiety to him. " After a performance of Lear, a friend remarked to him : ' I never saw you play Lear so well as you did to-night.' "Whereupon the veteran almost indignantly replied : 'Play Lear 23 PLAYERS AND PLAYWRIGHTS. and virile physique utterly disqualified him for Richard and Hamlet. Indeed, in the latter character, in the very first soliloquy, he struck a note of disso- nance which pervaded the entire assumption. When he exclaimed : " My father's brother, but no more like my father Than I to Hercules !" the exclamation appeared absurd, for he was Her- cules — the Farnese Hercules incarnate ! But that which was his bane in " Hamlet," became his antidote in " The Gladiator" — he was the Gladiator himself. My mind does not enable me to conceive anything more superbly symmetrical or perfectly majestic than this man in this part. Bear with me, O gentle reader, while I try to de- scribe this " paragon of animals :" Imagine, if you can, some marble majesty of the elder world stepping down from its pedestal, instinct with life and motion. The head and shoulders are those of a demi-god. He is dark-eyed, dark-haired, olive-complexioned, with limbs of matchless sym- metry — limbs of which every muscle can be clearly discerned through the transparent silken fleshings in which the majestic image is clad from head to foot. A simple flowing garment of marone-coloured stuff, unrelieved by a single ornament, falls from the left shoulder down to the waist on the opposite side, leaving the amole chest and the massive ri^ht arm quite bare. sir ! I do not play Lear ! I play Hamlet, Richard, Shylock, Vir- ginius, if you please ; but by ! I am Lear I'" MAC READY. 29 Try to conceive this gorgeous creature, making the stage alive with classic grace and dignity, and then you may form some faint idea of what this great actor was like in those clays. The ladies, always the supreme arbiters on the subject of manly beauty, were wont to maintain, with feminine ardour and a spontaneity of unanimity, that he was the most magnificent man they had ever seen. I entirely subscribed to their opinion. It is true there were some ladies who thought otherwise. For instance, Miss Fanny Kemble states in her diary that in 1S32 she went to see the young American tragedian act at the Bowery Theatre, New York. This distinguished woman is nothing if not critical, and she certainly never goes out of her way to call a spade a pitchfork. This is her summary of the tragedian : " What a mountain of a man !" In a somewhat similar strain writes a would-be facetious American journalist : " Well, he was tall, and he was muscular. Such calves as his I have seldom seen." Nor have I ; but I have heard of calves even more phenomenal — those pertaining to the father of the all- accomplished Fanny aforesaid — the gallant Charles Kemble, of whom Jack Bannister is reported to have said : " I now know, Charles, why you are a Catholic. 'Tis to enable you to obtain a dispensation from the Holy Father to wear the calves of your legs down- wards !" Coming across Bunn's interesting book " The 3° PLAYERS AND PLAYWRIGHTS. Stage," the other clay, I note that he speaks of the American tragedian after this fashion : " There has been no performer that I have seen play, save and except Mr. Kean and his son, who has half the earnestness of Mr. Forrest, and earnest- ness is half the battle ; and as one proof of it, I can safely say, that when in the arena, where the Gladiator, " ' Butcher'd to make a Roman holiday,' was required to kneel at the foot of the Emperor, presiding over such 'playthings of a crowd,' he exclaimed to the officer who dictated this duty to him : '" Kneel thou, whose craven soul was formed for crouching ; I am here to FIGHT I' and when I gazed on the noble, athletic form of him who had just given so proper an intimation of his prowess, I felt extremely glad it was not I who had to fight with him. Mr. Forrest is a fine actor, and a fine fellow ; and although we happened to differ very much on one point, and upon one point only, and that was an apocalyptic one, I trust he will accept this faint tribute, whether it meets his eye in the crowded halls of admiring auditors, or " 'Where he stays by the wave of the Schuylkill alone,' from one who properly estimates his public talent and his private worth." Having been very scurvily used by the critics, both in Edinburgh and London, Forrest erroneously attributed their hostility to Macready's influence. MACREADY. 31 Of course the great " Mac " would have disdained to lend himself to anything so ignoble ; and, indeed, he had himself, all through his career, sufficient cause of complaint against certain members of the fourth estate. It is, however, too true that many of his admirers and partisans (no less a personage than the late John Forster amongst the number) had put their knives most cruelly and unjustly into Forrest, and he was not the sort of man " to take a blow without (jiving a thrust." Unfortunately, the American remained in the city to see his rival's debut in Hamlet. The house was crowded in all parts by an eager and excited audi- ence. When the scene drew off, Macready was dis- covered amidst a tempest of applause. I could not realize why on earth the people applauded him. With the modesty of youth, I mentally ejaculated, " What an antiquated guy!" He wore a dress the waist of which nearly reached his arms ; a hat with a sable plume big enough to cover a hearse ; a pair of black silk gloves, much too large for him ; a ballet shirt of straw-coloured satin, which looked simply dirty ; and, what with his gaunt, awkward, angular figure, his grizzled hair, his dark beard close shaven to his square jaws, yet unsoftened by a trace of pigment, his irregular features, his queer, extraordinary nose — unlike anything else in the shape of a nose I have ever seen — and his long skinny neck, he appeared positively hideous. But, after all, " mind is the brightness of the body," and, O ye gods ! when he spoke, how he brightened, 32 PL A YERS A ND PLA Y WRIGHTS. illumined, irradiated the atmosphere; his gaucker.ie, his ugliness, disappeared, and he became transformed into the very beau-iddal of the most poetic, subtle, intellectual, dramatic, and truly human Prince of Denmark I have ever seen. But although he lifted you to heaven one moment, he brought you to earth the next by some weird eccentricity. For example, in the Play scene, he strutted from side to side, waving his handkerchief above his head, in the most extravagant manner. Ashe uttered the words, " Of the chameleon's dish I eat, the air, promise-crammed, you cannot feed capons so !" a mighty hiss arose in front — a hiss like that of a steam-engine. At the sound, he trembled and turned pale ; then he became livid, and convulsed with passion, abso- lutely hysterical with rage. Turning to the quarter whence the sibilation proceeded, he bowed derisively, then staofo-ered back and sank into a chair. Looking to the upper side boxes, on the right, I saw the American tragedian. A conspicuous figure at all times, Forrest was now more conspicuous than ever. At this moment, from the Students' Gallery (which was separated from the upper boxes only by some interfoliated iron-work) a cry arose of " Turn him out !" I can see him now. The square brow, the noble, majestic head, the dark eyes flashing fire, the pallor of the white face enhanced by his blue-black beard, which contrasted strangely with his turned- down white collar (an unusual mode of wearing- the collar at that time), his jaw set like a bull-dog's, his arms folded on his broad chest. As he rose and faced MACREADY. 33 his would-be assailants, he looked exactly as he used to look in " The Gladiator," when he said, " Let them come ; we are prepared." The people on the other side of the screen absolutely recoiled, as if they expected some king of the forest to leap from his iron den amongst them ; thev then concluded to let the American alone. On the stage the actors were at a standstill ; in the auditorium the multitude were awed into silence. After a short pause, I suppose the man's better nature prevailed, for Edwin Forrest slowly turned away, and left the house. Then Macready, like a man possessed, leaped into the breach, and took the house by storm. Surely he must have been inspired by the ordeal through which he had passed. Such a delirium of excitement for actors and audience as followed that Play scene and the Closet scene I have rarely, if ever, witnessed. Next day the papers were full of this miserable affair. The English and the American tragedians had been on terms of friendly intimacy. Macready had been an old friend of the lady who afterwards un- fortunately became Mrs. Forrest, and he was present at their ill-omened marriage. After the scene in Edinburgh a hollow friendship gave place to open enmity. There were statements and counter-statements. In his diary Macready says : " Edinburgh, March 2, 1846. — Acted Hamlet, really with particular care, energy, and discrimina- vol. 1. 3 34 PLAYERS AND PLAYWRIGHTS. tion. The audience gave less applause to the first soliloquy than I am in the habit of receiving- ; but I was bent on acting the part, and I felt, if I can feel at all, that I had strongly excited them, and that their sympathies were cordially, indeed enthusiasti- cally, with me. On reviewing the performance, I can conscientiously pronounce it one of the very best I have criven of Hamlet. At the waving of the handkerchief before the play, and ' I must be idle,' a man on the right side of the stage — upper boxes or gallery, but said to be upper boxes — hissed ! The audience took it up, and I waved the more, and bowed derisively and contemptuously to the indi- vidual. The audience carried it, though he was very stanch to his purpose. It discomposed me, and alas ! might have ruined many ; but I bore it down. I thought of speaking to the audience, if called on, and spoke to Murray about it, but he, very discreetly, dissuaded me. Was called for and very warmly greeted. Ryder came and spoke to me, and told me that the hisser was observed, and said to be a Mr. W , who was in company with Mr. Forrest. The man writes in the Journal, a paper depreciating me and eulogizing Mr. F., sent to me from this place." " Forrest came back to his own countrv with a raging heart against England and Englishmen, and particularly against Macready. The case became an international one — the quarrel of John Bull and his young offspring, Brother Jonathan. Forrest's reception became a matter of patriotism ; the Demo- MACREADY. 35 cracy rallied as one man to vindicate his honour and that of the nation insulted in his person. A storm was brewing which only waited the return of his rival to burst and scatter death and destruction in its course." — Lawrence Barrett, passim. At length (in September, 1S4S) Macready did return, and was hissed in Philadelphia (Forrest's native city), whereupon he addressed the audience in allusion to the scene in Edinburgh. Forrest replied to this accusation after this fashion : " Mr. Macready, in his speech last night to the audience assembled at the Arch Street Theatre, made allusion, I understand, to an ' American actor ' who had the temerity on one occasion ' openly to hiss him.' This is true, and, by the way, the only trutli which I have been enabled to gather from the whole scope of his address. But why say ' an American actor ' ? \\ ny not openly charge me with the act ? for I did it, and publicly avowed it in T/w Times newspaper, of London, and at the same time asserted my right to do so. " On the occasion alluded to, Mr. Macready intro- duced a fancy dance into his performance of Ham- let, which I designated as a pas dc mouchoir, and which I hissed, for I thought it a desecration of the scene ; and the audience thought so, too ; for, a few nights afterwards, when Mr. Macready repeated the part of Hamlet with the same 'tomfoolery,' the in- telligent audience greeted it with a universal hiss.'" It is regrettable enough that a man gifted with * Untrue— J. C. 3—2 36 PLAYERS AND PLAYWRIGHTS. such generous impulses could have suffered his fancied wrongs to have goaded him in a moment of madness into an act so scandalous ; but no words can be found strong enough to reprehend the tone of mind which permitted him in cold blood to justify conduct so unbecoming an actor and a gentleman. Oh! "the pity of it" that the matter didn't end with this wordy warfare, but alas ! it led to that disgraceful and dreadful business in New York, the riots, the loss of life, and Macready's subsequent flight to England in disguise. To return, however, to Edinburgh. During this engagement I acted in all Mac's plays. In " Lear " I had a small part of a few lines. It was my duty to assist in carrying the " eminent one " off the stage, when he is supposed to fall asleep in the Heath scene. We had a long and fatigu- ing rehearsal — Mac's rehearsals were no joke. At that time it was the fashion to wear gaiter-bottomed trousers. My continuations fitted like my skin, and I was strapped up within an inch of my life. The moment had arrived when I had to lift up the sleep- ing king. I was in doubt as to whether my precious pantaloons (for they were quite new) would stand the strain. While I paused, dubitating as to whether I might venture on the experiment, Lear growled, " Err — now then, sir ; err — look alive." I hesitated no longer, but " bent each corporal agent to this terrible feat," when lo ! bang ! squash ! smash ! my unfortunate trousers burst in every direction. Mac, whose eyes were shut all the time, and who was utterly oblivious MAC READY. 37 of my unfortunate position, growled out like a bear with a sore head : " Err — err, sir, am I to lie here till the middle of next week ? Why, err — err in the name of fate, don't you lift me ?" " Because I can't, sir." " Because you can't, sir ; err — a great strapping young fellow like you ; stuff and nonsense ; why — err — can't you ?" ,; Because I've burst my bags," I exclaimed, as I bolted, amidst roars of laughter. When next I met the great tragedian, during his farewell engagement at Bristol, I, then in my eighteenth year, had blossomed into a full-fledged tragedian myself. His irascibility and exacerbation were notorious. Everyone was nervous at the thought of meeting him, and I really think I was more nervous than anvone. He had not recognised me when I was in the ranks, but now that I had come to the fore, my all-pervading fear was that he might recognise in the immature tragedian of the Bath and Bristol Theatres the precocious boy who had the audacity to spout before him in the saloon of Old Drury, and that consequently I might be taken out of my parts. Only one member of the company remained im- pervious to nerves. This was a stalwart wig block, who had a profound belief in his manly beaut)', his power to mash the too susceptible fair, and his artistic ability. I le was wont to pose himself nightly 3S PLAYERS AND PLAYWRIGHTS. before the mirror in the green-room, and apostrophize himself thus, coram populo : " Yes, George, my boy, you have the figure of a man and the bearing of a gentleman, and the girls, poor creatures ! can't help admiring you ; and you can act — yes, by Jove ! there is no doubt about that." This gentleman was popularly known as the " Big Pot." A short time previous he had met Macready for one night, and had actually acted De Mauprat with him. The " Big Pot ' was never weary of descanting upon his peaceful triumphs on this occasion, and was wont to state that at the end of the play Macready had sent for him to his dressing-room to compliment him. All this, and much more, he related to James Chute, the manager for Mrs. Macready, manageress of the Bath and Bristol Theatres, and the oreat Mac's mother-in-law. When he went up to town to consult the eminent one as to the casting of the pieces, Chute mentioned the name of the " Biof Pot " for certain parts, such as Malcolm and De Beringhen, etc. "Err— 'Big Pot, Big Pot,'" said Mac, "I don't know the name." " Oh yes, you do, sir ; you met him at Blankstone, where he played De Mauprat." " Blankstone — ' Richelieu.' Oh, good heavens, that was one of my black nights ; and De Mauprat — De Mauprat, too ? I remember the beast ; can I ever forget him ? a loose - limbed, florid-complexioned, crude young man." " The description is fairly accurate, sir ; but he MACREADY. 39 assured me that when the play was over you sent for him to your room." " So I did — so I did ; but, by Jove ! it was to blow him up for having slaughtered me!" On his return to Bristol, Chute, related this story with embellishments ; but Mr. Big Pot's vanity was invulnerable, and he replied : " Mere spite and burn- ing: envy, by the gods ! Wait till Mac sees me at rehearsal, and I'll bet an oyster supper to a red herring that I'm the only man with whom he shakes hands."' When the rehearsal of the opening play, "Macbeth," took place, everyone looked anxiously for the meeting between the great tragedian and the " Great Pot." When Macbeth first encounters Malcolm (the part enacted by the Big Pot), it is customary for " Bellona's bridegroom ' : to shake hands with the Heir Apparent. As he instinctively extended his hand, Macready saw Mr. Big Pot winking at the onlookers with a broad grin, as who should say, "Look here — make no error about it— I'm going to win that red herring !" At the sight the irate tragedian drew himself up in disgust, avoided the proffered hand — growled " Beast !" — his favourite expletive — and crossed into the O.P. corner amidst a roar of laughter. Possiblv there was not much to be said for the good taste of either Mac or his victim ; but the fun of it was irresistible, and poor Big Pot never heard the last of it. Being the leading man of the company, I had the 40 PLAYERS AND PLAYWRIGHTS. honour of acting Othello to Macready's Iago. Talk about being nervous ! I was a bundle of nerves during every night of his engagement. The " Othello" night was a proud one for me — indeed, I had reason to be proud to be permitted to try my prentice hand beside such an Iago. What a masterpiece it was ! what a revelation of subtle, poetic, vigorous, manly, many-minded devilry ! The audience were more than usually kind — and after I had got my first plunge over, I took heart of grace ; and bv the time I had reached the third act, I forgot that he was anything more than " mine ancient." I remembered only that I was Othello. Neither then nor now could I act with gloves on my hands. I had removed, as I thought, all traces of the pigment with which I had "made up" from the palms of my hands, but as my excitement in- creased, the wretched stuff seemed to ooze out of my very pores. When I came to the famous speech : "Villain ! be sure you prove my love is false," I sprang upon Iago, and seized him by the throat. I remembered nothing until I found that I had literally flung him bodily down upon the stage, and stood above him, erect, and quivering with wrath. On his part, he growled like an angry lion. The incident was as unprecedented as it was unpre- meditated, and its effect upon the audience was electrical. They got up, and cheered, and for some time the progress of the. play was interrupted. This gave me time to collect myself, when, to my horror, I perceived that, in the tempest of my rage, I had MACREADY. 41 torn open Iago's vest, and, worse still, left the marks of my ten fingers on his beautiful white cashmere dress. When we came off the stage together he glared at me, and growled : " Err — -well, sir, what have you to say ?" " I'm very sorry, IMr. Macready." " Err — sorry, sir. By , you sprang upon me more like a voting tiger than a human being !" " I was carried away by the passion of the scene ; I must ask you to remember the novelty of the posi- tion in which I have been placed, being permitted to attempt so great a part beside so distinguished an actor as yourself." " Don't humbug me, sir!" " I scorn to attempt it ; nevertheless, the honour vou have done me to-night might well have turned an older head than mine. Pray, sir, make some allowance for my excitement." At this he relaxed into a grim smile, and growled : " Say no more — say no more — only remember the next time you play this part with me, confine your excitement to your mind, and not to your muscles ! ' During this engagement Mr. Macready acted Macbeth twice, Hamlet twice, Iago twice, Werner once, Virginius once, Richelieu twice, Lear twice, Lord Townley ("Provoked Husband''), and Henry IV. (Act IV., Part II.) for his benefit, Although these plays were done from night to night, they were admirably acted ; needless to say, had not the company been both numerous and effi- cient, they could not have been done at all. 42 PLAYERS AND PLAYWRIGHTS. Although declining "into the vale of years," and unassisted by Ryder, who previously had taken much of the hard work upon himself, Macready kept us day after day from ten to four o'clock, following every situation, every scene, every line, every word of the text, with an interest as eager and unabated as if he had been acting each play for the first instead of the last time. It is true that he flurried, and worried, and bullied us, but his petu- lance was peppered with brains ; his irascibility arose more from dyspepsia than bad temper ; and everything he touched was irradiated with the sacred fire of genius. "Hamlet," "Othello," "Macbeth" (the latter with the music) were rehearsed letter perfect, words and music, with only one rehearsal ; but for the other plays we had two. Only think of this, young ladies and gentlemen, who nowadays have a hundred rehearsals for one part ! I had acted Othello, Macduff, and the Ghost frequently before ; but Ulric, Icilius, De Mauprat, Edgar, and the Prince of Wales were all new parts, which involved sitting up half the night with wet towels on my head and strong coffee in my stomach. It was a matter of honour to be letter perfect in these great works, and, indeed, the imputation of being imperfect in the text was considered a grievous stigma upon an actor's professional reputa- tion in those days. There was a strong feeling of esprit do corps amongst us, too. We all assisted in the music of MACREADY. 43 " Macbeth." As leading man, 1 set the example, and rushed off from the murder scene, and the next minute was on in the stage as a witch. We had four leading ladies : Mrs. Pauncefort, then a young and lovely girl, the beautiful Mrs. Mad- docks, Mrs. Marcus Elmore, and Mrs. Faucit Saville. When the latter lady played Lady Macbeth, the other three Lady Macbeths sat on in the banquet scene as speechless gentlewomen. I have before mentioned Macready's irascibility and exacerbation, but you had only to bell the cat to bring him to book — e.g., on the morning of his benefit at Bristol, I met him in the street and bowed ; he did not respond, and passed on in silence. When we met on the stage, half an hour later, for the rehearsal of " Henry IV.," he bade me good morning. Remembering his discourtesy, half an hour previous, I did not respond. " I said — -err — good-morning, sir," he said. "So did I, half an hour ago, sir," I replied. " To me, sir ?" " Yes, to you, sir." " Where ?" " In the street." 'Pon my honour, I didn't see you. Besides, my young friend, if you — err — had no liver, or at least none worth speaking of, an overflow of bile, com- bined with chronic dyspepsia — above all, if you had tried the experiment of — err — living upon two mutton chops for three weeks — you wouldn't be — - err — Lord Chesterfield to everybody !" 44 PLAYERS AND PLAYWRIGHTS. Of course, there was no getting over an argument like this. It is scarcely possible to convey even the ap- proximation of an idea of what we, the youth of that day, gained by being brought into contact with that master mind. He poured forth treasures of know- ledge in reckless, never-ending profusion. Our only difficulty in following his directions was, that some- times they were given sotto voce, and in a growl. In rehearsing the last scene of Werner, he said to me : " Sir, will you be good enough to — err — to do me the favour when I say — err — err — to stand — err — err ■ — and don't move hand or foot till I lift my — err — err • You understand me ?" " Not quite, sir." " Good God ! Am I not speaking the English lancrua^e ?" " Undoubtedly ; but if you will kindly tell me once more where I am to stand when you say — err — err — I won't move hand or foot till you lift your — err — err " He looked at me dubiously, and even angrily, for a moment, then repeated the direction with clearness and precision. Apropos of Mr. Macready's remarkable vocal eccentricities, Mr. Murdoch — the eminent American actor, whom I remember with pleasure to have seen act Young Mirabel ("The Inconstant ") at the Hay- market — in his interesting book, " The Stage," accounts for them by a very ingenious hypothesis. MACREADY. 45 He says : " The ordinary current of his articulation was marked by a certain catching of the breath, preceding the utterance of the initial syllable of certain words. A sudden catch of the glottis, which causes a short cough-like sound to be heard previous to the articulative movement of the voice, was a distinctly marked characteristic of Kean's utterance. "This peculiar organic act is the resultof a dropping of the jaw and consequent depression of the larynx : it eives strength to the muscles which are called into play, and controls the organs of vocality, thus enabling the speaker to execute the vowel sound from what may be called the carduous parts of the mouth — that space which includes the roots of the tongue, the glottis, and pharynx. " This power, when joined to the guttural murmur or deeply aspirated quality of the voice, is a strong element of expressive force in the suppressive utter- ance of passionate language in the drama. . . . " In his youth, Macready possessed a voice of great clearness, compass, and beauty. . . . "The performances, however, lacked the so-termed originality of effect which brings an audience to their feet and makes them hoarse with approving plaudits. " Disappointed in his hopes, and comparing his acting with that of other tragedians who were more successful, he accepted in due time the idea so pre- valent that what is popular must be perfect. He therefore remodelled his style by degrees, though it 46 PLAYERS AND PLAYWRIGHTS. may be without intending imitation, and acquired some of the peculiarly expressive traits of certain distinguished performers then masters of the situation in London. " In consequence of this change of base, his acting became more theatrical or stagey. His fervour and impulse were not in the least abated, and were still influenced by taste and good judgment, which it was not in his nature to lose sight of; but his effects were produced more in con- formitv with the fashion of the times, and were at last pronounced brilliant manifestations of artistic skill. " Thus he established a reputation of increased pecuniary worth, and finally became the embodiment of what was ultimately termed the highest develop- ment of genius." If Murdoch's theory be — as it seems to be — correct, it is a lamentable conclusion to arrive at. It appears to be certain that Macready's "voice lost its clear ring and other attractive qualities of tone, and became harsh, and was at times repulsive ; this, in addition to his strongly-marked peculiarities of speech, became as much the nature of the actor as if it had been born with him." Thousands of illustrations of this great actor's vocal eccentricities mi^ht be °fiven, but none more amusing than the following : A poor utility actor had to announce the pheno- menon of the " movincr grove ' : in the last act of Macbeth. MACREADY. 47 In great perturbation he exclaimed : " Within these three miles you may see it a-coming." "No.no, sir!" growled Mac. "Err — err, '^-coming' won't do. Try back !" The poor fellow did try back, but still he saw the grove " ^-coming." " Good God, no ! Err — err — no, no ! This is blank verse, and a single misplaced — err — syllable — err — destrovs the measure. When you say — err — ' ^-coming,' don't you perceive the a is an inter- polated sound ? Surely you know that — err — 'comine' begins with — err — err — a c. and therefore you should say : ' Within these three miles you may see it — err — err — err — coming.' Don't you see, sir — err— don't you — err — see ?" "No, sir, I don't," replied the mortified messenger. " I only see that I put one big A before ' coming,' while you put half a dozen little ones !" During the rehearsal of Werner, Mr. Macready told me how he came to improvise a sublime gag in the last scene of this gloomy play. He acted the part for the first time in that very theatre. Carried away by the passion of the scene, he rushed d^wn to Charles Kemble Mason, who played Gabor, and demanded, "Are you a father?" Then he whispered, " Say ' No ';" whereupon Gabor shouted " No !" and Macready, in a burst of paternal emotion, rejoined : "Then you cannot feel for misery like mine ! : ' and the pit rose at him. 43 PLAYERS AND PLAYWRIGHTS. It was under exactly similar circumstances that he introduced the famous line : " Oh for an hour of youth !" in the fourth act of " Richelieu," apropos of which, of all his performances, I venture to think this was the greatest and most perfect creation. I had seen Forrest before him ; I have seen all the great actors since ; I have myself acted the part more frequently than any living man, but I have never yet seen anyone approach within measurable distance of Macready in this wonderful impersona- tion. His smile, when Julie de Mauprat sat at his feet, irradiated his grim face with an angelic beauty. His business with the sword and the pen in two minutes took the auditor back two ages ; one moment he was the mail-clad warrior fighting before Rochelle, smiting " the stalwart Englisher to the waist ;" the next he was the feeble but mighty statesman, wielding a weapon more potent than the sword of Charles Martel. The famous "Never-say-fail " speech thrilled through one like a trumpet-call. His tenderness to his orphan ward contrasted in strong relief to his scornful denunciation of the traitor Baradas, while his love of country dominated over all. In the last scene, when, awaking from his simulated trance, he leaped up, and, dilating to pre- ternatural proportions, exclaimed, "There, at my feet ! ' he realized a picture, once seen, never to be forgotten. When in this situation he glided down the stage, I protest he always suggested to me the Divine Image grown gray and ghastly through the MACREADY. 49 efflux of the ages and once more floating- over the Sea of Galilee. For subtlety, intellectuality, and vigour his Mac- beth has never been approached in our time ; and he was the only possible Lear I have ever seen. He galvanized the dull and dreary abortion of Werner into life, while his Virginius — but words are feeble to express my admiration of this matchless creation. In Edinburgh I remember he wore a beastly bald wig which made him hideous ; in Bristol he wore his own beautiful and abundant iron-pray hair curled, and certainly looked superbly hand- some. His Lord Townley appeared to me affected, lachrymose and tedious ; but his Henry IV. was of the highest order of excellence. His Iagfo I have before spoken of. His Othello, which I saw him act in Edinburgh, was the least satisfactory and impres- sive of his Shakespearian performances. I may here remark that he was the only actor I ever saw make up for the Moor with an entirely black face — a face, in fact, black as a Christy minstrel. Possibly his comparative failure in Othello may have arisen from the fact that he never liked the part — so, at least, he told me. Actors are not always just to each other, but the late Mr. Yandenhoff, in speaking of Macready, said to me, " Except Macbeth and I ago, I never cared (9: length yielded to my persuasions and consented to accompany me. On this occasion his health was proposed by the Lord Mayor in connection with the Shakespearian drama. His reply was of so remarkable a character that I transcribe it here in full : " I can say very little to you about the Shake- spearian drama beyond what I dare say the greater portion of you already know. But my object in speaking to you to-night is for a very different purpose. "The Lord Mayor has spoken much of the educa- tional power of the drama. You will forgive me if I speak of myself more than good taste would suggest. If I do so, it is only as exemplifying what is to come after. " Some years ago I took an obscure theatre in the north of London called Sadler's Wells, and nearly the whole of my brethren in the profession, and many out of it, said it would not last a fortnight. It lasted eighteen years, and my stock-in-trade chiefly consisted of the plays of Shakespeare. Now, I determined to act, if possible, the whole of Shake- speare's plays. I acted thirty-one of all sorts, ' from aged Lear to youthful Pericles,' and the thought be- gotten in my mind latterly was, that if that theatre could be made to pay, as I did make it pay, not making a fortune certainly, but bringing up a large family and paying my way — well, ladies and gentle- men, I thought if I could do that for eighteen years, why could it not be done again ? But, mark you, I 13- 196 rLAYERS AND PLAYWRIGHTS. found that about every five or six years I had fresh audiences, that plays would bear repeating again and again, and by a peculiar economic method of my own I was enabled to repeat them without any very great expense. Well, if that could be done by me as a humble individual, why could it not be done by the Government of this country ? Why could not a subsidized theatre, upon a moderate scale of ex- pense, be added to the late educational scheme, by which children are forced somehow or other into school ? " I maintain, from the experience of eighteen years, that the perpetual iteration of Shakespeare's words, if nothing more, going on daily for so many months in the year, must and would produce a great effect upon the public mind. Moreover, I have at this moment in my possession hundreds of letters from men of all sorts and conditions who came to see me at Sadler's Wells as boys, and who have written to me as men to say that they received their first glimpse of education at that theatre. They have gone on improving in the world, doing this, and that, and the other, which I cannot tell, as I have not time, but I have those letters in my house in proof of what I say. " If I could find any member of Parliament (which I fear is hopeless), I would willingly devote what little of life remains to me to point out the way in which this could be done, and I. would willingly give evidence in the House of Commons to prove the truth of Shakespeare's educating powers. PHELPS. 197 " I merely throw my bread upon the waters ; it may float away and disappear for ever, but I throw out the hint in the earnest hope that it may gather strength, and that it may come back after many days." Eleven years have elapsed since these memorable words were spoken. Alas ! they fell upon deaf ears, and the bread which was cast upon the waters has not yet come back. No member of Parliament has responded to the appeal, and the House of Commons still remains mute on this important subject. The National Theatre is devoted to bier shows, marvels of spectacular splendour — but in the National Theatre the national drama finds little place. Individual enterprise and managerial skill have done much, at the Lyceum and the Princess's, to preserve the traditions of the poetic drama ; but these are fashionable and expensive, theatres, and I fear our poets have to be buttered and highly peppered to induce our upper ten to swallow the dose ; but a people's theatre, at people's prices — prices within the reach of all — a theatre which, ade- quately subsidized, would correspond in England to the house of Moliere in France — a theatre devoted to the national drama (by which I do not merely mean the drama of the dead !), where plays could be acted for a run of a week or a month, or even two or three months, and then handed over to the reper- tory, so that in the fulness of time we miefht have i 9 8 PLAYERS AXD PLAYWRIGHTS. consecutive performances of the historical plays of Shakespeare, given as they are given at Berlin and elsewhere — this ouerht to be the theatre of the future. The demand for such an institution is more im- perative now than it ever was, inasmuch as the centralizing system has utterly destroyed the great provincial circuits, which were formerly training schools for the actor's art, an art which in its higher form of development not only threatens to become extinct, but which will most assuredly perish unless some such means as I have here ventured to indi- cate be taken for its preservation. Surely a project of such national importance, not only from its satisfying an artistic want, but con- sidered as a mere educational medium, to preserve at its highest standard of purity and perfection the language which Shakespeare taught aad Milton wrote, is well worth the attention of advanced social reformers in the next educational scheme. The hour has come, but where is the man ? Where is the M.P. ? Alas! Echo answers, " Where ?" Perhaps when the Repeal of the Union is carried, the Land Question disposed of, the House of Lords abolished, the Church disestablished, the Eastern Question settled, and the Republic proclaimed, we shall begin to think about the necessity of providing a People's Theatre for the People. The end of my task approaches — and here I pro- pose to paint a crude yet faithful picture of the man and the actor. PHELPS. 199 Though straight and lithe of motion, Phelps had but a meagre figure. Its slenderness, however, became an advantage as he grew older, and his singularly abstemious habits, combined with his regular mode of living, enabled him to present to the last an elasticity of gait and a singular youthful- ness of proportion quite exceptional in a man of threescore and ten. Certain criticasters, legitimate descendants of the " common cry of curs " who ages ago yelped at great Caesar's heels because his brow was bald, and who later carped at the wart upon the brow of the mighty Oliver, whose representatives to-day mea- sure Gladstone's genius by the dimensions of his shirt-collar, maintained with " damnable iteration " that Phelps' demeanour was bourgeois, that his eyes were colourless and lacked lustre, that his features were commonplace, and inexpressive ; yet even these small fry were compelled to admit that his brow was lofty and arched like the dome of a temple, the nasal column straight and strong, and that his mouth and chin were firm, powerful, and determined. Though his hands were large-boned, gnarled and even ugly, he made them eloquently expressive, and he had taught every muscle of his body to respond instinctively to the motion of his mind. His voice, which he assured me was originally a piping, weak, reed-like thing, had by constant application been trained into a potent resonant organ capable of ex- pressing every varying mood of tragic or comic art. 200 PLAYERS AND PLAYWRIGHTS. That he was a mannerist his greatest admirers will never seek to deny. It is remarkable that his mannerisms should have assimilated so closely to those of Macready, when it is remembered the two men never met till Phelps was thirty-four years of age, when one would have thought his style was fixed. At Sadler's Wells all the young actors glided irresistibly into the Phelps mannerism, and at the Princess's, during the representation of that delight- ful and magnificent spectacle, " A Midsummer Night's Dream," although the Keans did not act in the play, yet when Helena and Hermia, Lysander and Demetrius were lost in the wood, and out of sight of the audience, during the changing scene, their various voices emitted from different sides of the stage such unconscious burlesque imitations of Mr. and Mrs. Kean's most marked peculiarities as to evoke roars of laug-hter throucrh the entire house. It is unfortunate that on these occasions the scholar's zeal invariably induces him to reproduce the exag- gerations and not the excellences of his master. The most remarkable thing about the Phelps mannerism was the fact that it persistently asserted itself in his tragic assumptions, while in comedy he obliterated it so effectively as to efface his own personal identity. For my own poor part, the only drawback I ever experienced to my perfect enjoyment of his acting was his mannerism. Discussing this peculiarity one day with the PHELPS. 201 veteran dramatist, Palgrave Simpson, speaking of a mutual friend who had not succeeded according to his deserts, Pal broke out : "X. is too good an actor to be a great one ! I admit he looks like a man, and speaks like a gentle- man ; so much the worse. He ought to growl, or grunt, or stutter, or have a French, or at least a provincial, accent ; in fact, he ought to be a mannerist. No man has ever been a popular favourite in my time unless he was a pronounced mannerist. Charles Young was a mellifluous, mouth- ing mannerist ; Charles Kemble was a silver-toned, sententious mannerist ; Edmund Kean was a stutter- ing, spasmodic mannerist ; then he got drunk, my boy, and people had the delicious excitement and uncertainty of doubt as to whether he was ' half seas over or wholly gone.' Macready and Phelps were always grim, and growling over their bones ; Charles Kean had a chronic cold in his head ; Lemaitre was always drunk or delirious (what could be more exciting than that ?) ; Keeley was sleek and sleepy ; Bucky was a chuckler, and always loose in the text ; Compton was as funny as a funeral ; Ben Webster was always imperfect, and had a Somerset dialect ; Mathews was Mephisto in kid gloves and patent-leather boots — and nothing but Mephisto (but you know the ' Prince of Darkness is a gentleman,' so was Charley) ; Ryder was a roarer; in fact, all these great actors owed their popularity to the fact of their being more or less pronounced mannerists. Ergo, your friend Phelps owed a great 202 PLAYERS AND PLAYWRIGHTS. deal of his hold upon the public to the fact that he was a confirmed mannerist !" Mannerist or no mannerist, no actor has left so remarkable a record behind him as Samuel Phelps. It is no hyperbole to say that the student who had the good fortune to follow him through his eighteen years' work at Sadler's Wells has mastered the entire range of our dramatic literature, or at least all that is worth mastering. Many actors of our time have surpassed him in various parts, but none of them have ever acted so many parts so well. Although he fell short of the physical and intellectual ideal of some of the characters he essayed, yet he never played one single part on which he did not throw some light. If he failed here, he soared there, and everything he attempted was instinct with brains, life, motion, colour, vigour, and variety. His Lear, Macbeth, Leontes, Henry IV., Shy- lock, Wolsey, Cassius, King John, Hubert, Master Walter, Louis XL, and Bertuccio were per- formances of the very highest order of excel- lence. I did not subscribe to the appreciation generally entertained of his Richelieu, while I always esti- mated his Othello at a much loftier standard than that at which it was popularly appraised. His Malvolio, Justice Shallow, Bottom the Weaver, Cantwell, Old Dornton, Job Thornberry, and Sir Pertinax MacSycophant were beyond compare, the PHELPS. 203 ripest, richest, most admirably finished, clearly articu- lated comedy impersonations of this epoch. Although his Sir Peter Teazle lacked elegance and refinement, yet taken from his point of view (that of a crusty, uxorious, provincial baronet), since the elder Farren no actor of these days (with the single exception of Sidney Davis !) has ever approached him in the part. I well remember, on the occasion of Ben Webster's farewell benefit at Drury Lane, how Phelps' Sir Peter stood out and dominated over all the other characters, always excepting Miss Faucit's Lady Teazle. It is said that when some one was speaking to the late Sidney Herbert about Mr. Gladstone's mind, the former replied, " Oh, never heed Gladstone's mind ; it's his body which amazes me !" In like manner it may be said that as mere efforts of physical strength, nothing so phenomenal has been seen in our time as Phelps' performance at sixty-five of Othello, Bertuccio and Sir Pertinax. From the beginning of each play to the end, the curtain was no sooner down than it was up again. Everyone of these parts was played at fever heat, and in a rush of fire and flame which held his audience spell-bound. Nature had done little for him, but art and appli- cation did so much that, notwithstanding his physical drawbacks, he became the foremost actor of his time ; perhaps I shall not be far wide of the mark when I say that if his reputation be gauged by the nature, extent, and value of his work, he may be justly pro- 204 PLA VERS A ND PL A Y WRIGHTS. nounced the most versatile and accomplished actor, and certainly the most indefatigable manager, the English stage has ever produced. From the beginning to the end of his career, though he steadily pursued his own aggrandizement as an actor, he had the welfare and the dignity of his profession always at heart. He appraised it at the highest standard, and lived up to it. His theatre and his home were alike sacred to him as the temple of a god ! His knowledge of men and things (though how he had leisure to acquire it heaven and himself only knew !) was varied and extensive, if not profound. He had a strangely compounded dual nature. He was a strong hater, but a firm lover ; a good friend, but a bad enemy. In the world he was rugged, irascible, jealous, obstinate, and intolerant of opposi- tion ; at home he was genial, gracious, generous, and the soul of hospitality. At home or abroad he was sincere, truthful and honourable — a fond father, a faithful husband, and a staunch friend. It is easy to be wise after the event, but it is only too obvious now, that, towards the termination of his career, Mr. Phelps would have best consulted his own dignity, and the conservation of his fame, had he said, with his great precursor, "the noblest Roman of them all " : " But years steal on, and higher duties crave Some space between the theatre and the grave." PHELPS. 205 We are, however, unfortunately only too ready to believe that all men are mortal except ourselves, and he had so lon^r defied the inroads of time, so loner resisted the insidious encroachments of ill-health, that he continued to tempt his fate, until he was at last stricken down in harness. It was during an engagement of a few mornings at the Imperial Theatre that the catastrophe occurred. He had always a superstitious dread of the word " farewell." At the time of Salvini's desertion, I urged Phelps to play his farewell engagement, but he refused, alleging that he had dreamt that he should die on the stage if he attempted a farewell speech. During the performance of " Henry VIII.," while acting Wolsey, while actually uttering the ominous words " Farewell ! a long farewell to all my greatness !" he broke down, in utter collapse, and the curtain as it slowly descended shut him out from the public gaze for ever. His presentiment had been realized in a manner he never dreamt of, and the "farewell" he could never teach his tongue to speak the poet had spoken for him. Congestion of the brain ensued on this attack. He retired to Epping to recuperate, rallied, came back to town, even contemplated playing a farewell engagement at Drury Lane ; a relapse occurred, he returned to his beloved Epping, where he was seized with dyspnoea and violent pains in the side. 206 PL A VERS A ND PL A Y WRIGHTS. Another attack of congestion supervened, which culminated in hallucinations and almost total uncon- sciousness, until Wednesday, November 6th, 1S78, when, surrounded by his children, and in the arms of his oldest and dearest friend, Mr. Henry Plow- man, he passed peacefully and unconsciously away in the seventy-fifth year of his age. His latest medical adviser stated in the Lancet that " Mr. Phelps suffered from no organic disease, but simply from a worn-out nervous system, due to over-exertion of his mental faculties, and the wear and tear of his profession." That no element of romance might be wanting to complete this romantic career, the undertakers lost their way on the road to Epping, and were many hours too late ; in fact, they did not arrive till mid- night, and it was past two in the morning when they set forth to return to London. Mr. Plowman, who remained to render the last pious offices, in his anxiety had omitted to provide a conveyance for himself; hence he had to travel to town " In the dead vast and middle of the night" seated upon the hearse. When all that was mortal of my beloved friend was borne to his last resting-place at Highgate, along the whole road the shops were closed, and the blinds of nearly all the private houses were drawn down. PHELPS. 207 It was a bitter day in early winter, but though the wind pierced to the bones, though the rain fell in one persistent drizzling downpour, thousands and thousands of people defied both wind and rain to do honour to his memory. When the funeral procession approached the cemetery, every head was bared, every voice was hushed, and a great awe fell upon the multi- tude. The most conspicuous figure among the crowd of relatives, actors, authors, journalists, painters, sculptors, musicians, soldiers, doctors, barristers, and clergymen who gathered round the grave was that of the dead man's old partner, Tom Green- wood, who bore his fourscore years as bravely as old memories would let him. Beside him, on either side, stood two of the great actor's oldest friends and comrades, Henry Marston and John Ryder. Both partner and comrades were destined soon to follow after, there, where even — " Golden lads and lasses must As chimney-sweepers come to dust." Strangest sight of all was the concourse of women of all ages and all stations who came to pay the homage of their heartfelt grief, and to bestrew his grave with flowers. It was a day the silence and the sadness whereof were things never to be forgotten by those who witnessed them. No painted pomp, no splendid pageant, could ever have realized a scene so touching in the tenderness 20S PLAYERS AND PLAYWRIGHTS. of its sympathy, so sublime in the depth of its unostentatious sorrow. " After life's fitful fever, he sleeps well " beside her who shared his early trials and his manhood's triumphs, and now he — " Fears no more the heat o' the sun, Nor the furious winter's rages ; For his worldly task is done, Home he's gone and ta'en his wages ;'' but so long as the name and fame of our master, the poet-player, endure, so long will the name of Samuel Phelps be remembered as " our great captain's captain," as his champion in an age of darkness and depression, of decadence and irreverence ; and when the history of the English Drama in the nineteenth century comes to be written by a more skilful pen than mine, the story of his trials, his struggles, and his extraordinary achievements must ever claim a foremost place. CHAPTER IV. CHARLES MATHEWS. The present generation knew Charles Mathews only as the brilliant comedian, the audacious Dazzle, the delightful raconteur, who always contrived to make himself en evidence in this "village" even when he was at the antipodes. Thirty years or more have elapsed since he bade adieu to the cares of manage- ment. Even then his administrative capacity appears to have been lost sight of in the train of misfortunes which invariably overshadowed his every managerial speculation. Of this, however, I can only speak from his own words in our moments of confidence, as this portion of his career was long before the period of our acquaintance, or, to be precise, long before my time. " Gentleman " Hooper, under whose banner I served in my ju venal ia, told me that when he was Madame Vestris's manager he engaged Charles Mathews for her at a salary of £6 a week ! Six pounds ! Why, the veriest tyro of a walking gentle- man gets that nowadays. VOL. I. 14 210 PLAYERS AND PLAYWRIGHTS. It was his intention to have made his debut in the provinces ; but his previous appearance in an extra- ordinary imitation of Perlet (the French comedian) at the Lyceum had been so successful, and his triumphs as an amateur actor had been so considerable, that Liston and Madame Vestris persuaded him to dis- pense with a provincial ordeal. The interest caused by his debut was phenomenal. Every place was taken days in advance of the per- formance, and the little theatre in Wych Street was crowded with notabilities of the literary and artistic world. Although the debutant had a great reception in the first piece (a trifle of his own writing called " The Humpbacked Lover "), it made little mark. The event of the night was " The Old and Young Stager," a comedy written for the occasion by William Lemare Rede, an actor-author of considerable ability. Liston was the Old Stager and Mathews the Young one. When they were discovered at work in the stable- yard — the old coachman brushing up his hammer- cloth, and the young tiger cleaning his cabriolet — ■ the house rose at them, and the excitement intensified when Liston took Mathews by the hand and led him down to the footlights. The enthusiasm thus commenced culminated at the close of the piece, and when the Old Stager told the Young one that he had reached home at last, and that he hoped his friends would be kind to him "for the sake of his father," the curtain fell amidst such a tempest of applause that Liston was over- CHARLES MATHEWS. 211 come by emotion, and sank down almost fainting in an arm-chair. After the play there was a regular levie on the stage, assisted at by some of the most distinguished men of the day in art, letters, and fashion. At one bound Charles Mathews had leaped into public favour, and from that moment to the day of his death he never lost touch of the public heart. Previous to his joining the company, thanks to the cultivated taste of the fair manageress and the skill and erudition of Planche, the Olympic had already acquired a very high reputation for taste, splendour, and refinement, but the accession of Mathews marked a decided step in advance. His facile pen and pencil were from that time forth in- cessantly occupied in writing bright little trifles or adapting them from the French, designing cos- tumes, etc. From first to last he was an iconoclast, and one of the most many-minded, modern-idea'd men I have ever met. " Good wine needs no bush," and the muster-roll of his achievements at the Olympic and Covent Garden speaks most eloquently for his industry and fecundity. He himself told me the story of the one work which survived his management, and which has become part and parcel of our dramatic literature. When " London Assurance" was sent in, it was a crude, inchoate, invertebrate sketch. The author was young, and at that time docile, and glad to 14—2 2i2 PLAYERS AND PLAYWRIGHTS. accept any hint from the eminent artists who sup- plied the unrivalled cast. He was also ready to cut, slash, alter, or turn the work inside out, if it were necessary. In point of fact, although the play was written by Boucicault, it was edited by Mathews and Co. Apropos, one of the canards which obtained years ago was that John Brougham had collaborated with D. B. in the production. During the run of that delightful play, " Arrah na Pogue," at the Prin- cess's, I asked Brougham if there was any truth in the rumour; his reply was, " Not the slightest." My own acquaintance with Mathews commenced in this wise. In my boyhood my friends had hoped (heaven save the mark !) to make an architect of me ; our principal was a man of pro- perty, and had some houses to let. Mathews took one of them. With what wonder and delight I gazed on this vivacious gentleman when he first entered our gloomy office, bringing the sunshine with him ! How he talked, and rattled, and jumped about like a parched pea, and what a " swell ' he was, with his tall hat curled up at the brim ; his high black stock with his collar turned down over it ; his frock-coat fitting like his skin ; his wristbands turned over his cuffs, and his pink coral links ; his primrose kids, his gaiter-bottomed trousers, and his patent- leather boots ! Although I had never seen him before, I had heard of him continually, for his debts and his diffi- culties, his extravagance and his accomplishments,, were in everybody's mouth. CHARLES MATHEWS. 213 A few days after this visit I had to take the draft lease to the Haymarket, where he was then acting. It was after office-hours, and I might have left the lease at the stage-door ; but that would not suit my purpose, as I had a deep-laid scheme in view. It was five o'clock when I inquired of the porter at what time Mr. Mathews was likely to arrive. Cerberus looked at me suspiciously, and growled : " Don't know ; perhaps he won't arrive at all !" This was unsatisfactory — the play-bill, however, was reassuring — for there was my hero announced for Dashwould, in " Know Your Own Mind." and Motley, in " He Would be an Actor." Madame, too, was announced for Lady Bell — so I prowled up and down Suffolk Street till six o'clock. At length my patience was rewarded. Just as the clock struck — up drove a brougham, and out jumped the airy light comedian, to assist Mrs. Mathews from the carriage. His back was turned to me, so, approach- ing timidly, I touched him on the arm. Turning round like a shot, he inquired : " At whose suit ?" As soon, however, as he saw me, he burst out laughing, as he exclaimed : " Oh, it's you, young shaver ! By Jove ! I thought it. was a copy of a writ ; but come along." Thus, under his protecting wing, was I permitted to penetrate behind the scenes of the Haymarket. Had I been alone, I think I should have dropped on my knees, as Hans Andersen did at the theatre in Stockholm. 214 PLAYERS AND PLAYWRIGHTS. As soon as we reached his dressing-room, I took heart of grace, and told Mathews " I wanted to be an actor — could he help me procure an engagement?" He laughed again, and asked me " what I would like to play ?" With the modesty of youth (setat fifteen) I replied, " Hamlet, Othello, Macbeth." He dryly suggested "that was rather high-flown to begin with, but " (for I was tall for my years — as tall as I am now — and had put a year or two on my age) " he would try to get me an engagement for Utility in the Norwich circuit " (which engagement never came to hand, by-the-bye). Then he asked me, " Would I like to see the play ?" "Would a cluck swim ?" He gave me his card and dismissed me — the next minute I was in the pit. In the comedy, besides himself and Madame Vestris, who, in Lady Bell, introduced the ballad of " Rise, gentle moon, and light me to my lover," there were William Farren, the elder — Tom Stuart, the growler — Mr. Henry Holl, a very handsome man, who unfortunately had a pair of legs like a parallelogram — had they been straight they would have been as handsome as their owner. Even as they were, they contrasted most advantageously with poor Dashwould's pipe-stems, which were as attenuated then as they were thirty years later. There was the great Mrs. Glover, most superb of comediennes, and there was Mrs. Edwin Yarnold, whom I remember chiefly because of her wonderful head of hair, which was as remarkable for its colour CHARLES MATHEWS. 215 as its abundance. It was red — deep Titianesque red — and came down, literally, to her knees. I'm afraid (I was always a susceptible youth !) I was very much " gone " on that young lady — and although I didn't know him, cherished an instinctive and insensate hatred for Mr. Edwin Yarnold, whoever that gentle- man may have been. The comedy was delightful enough, but — " He Would be an Actor " — oh ! Mathews never had a note in his voice, but how charmingly he sang "Jenny Jones !" He was the only actor who ever " sold " me in the matter of a disguise. When that elegant French o o lady came on, it was in vain I consulted the huge, splotchy playbill (in those days programmes were not) : the fair Parisienne's name was conspicuous by its absence. It was in vain I consulted my neigh- bours of more mature years : they were as ignorant as myself; indeed, it was not until the French beauty lifted up her skirts and made a bolt of it that I recognised Master Motley's Tappertit continuations under the petticoats. What a capital actor Strickland, the " Dicky Darling," was — or at least I thought so — for of course I knew nothing about it in those days. The next time I went to the Haymarket was to see the Prize comedy, " Quid pro Quo." The Mathews had thrown up their parts and seceded, and I saw no more of them until I met them at Edinburgh, where they played a variety of their pieces. I think they must have been with us a month from my recol- lection of their repertoire. They did " Used Up," 216 PLAYERS AND PLAYWRIGHTS. "Grist to the Mill," "The Queensbury Fete," " Somebody Else," " Loan of a Lover," " The Golden Fleece," etc. In these particular works they carried everything before them, but Master Charles took it into his head to try his hand at Goldfinch and Young Rapid, both of which were " about as bad as they make em," even nowadays. Although both Mr. and Mrs. Mathews were per- sonally most kind to me, my slight acquaintance stood me in little stead professionally — in fact, it was rather to my disadvantage. In " Grist to the Mill " I was cast for a somewhat important part — an antediluvian page, who is in attendance upon the Marchioness. After I had tried my prentice hand ineffectually, Madame cut me short, and, sans c^rdmonie, called out to the stage-manager, " Take away this boy and send me an actor." Ac- cordingly I was taken away, and to my supreme mortification George Honey was put in my place. Mathews tried to console me, pointed out that there was no affront meant to me — that youth and inexperience were faults I should grow out of in time — and as a solatium to my wounded feelings, invited me to dine with them on the following Sunday. I was the only guest, and a very pleasant time I had of it. Unable to o-ain an engagement in town, in conse- quence of the feud with Webster, the Mathews were again driven into management at the Lyceum, where ■I had the good fortune to see most of their admired productions. CHARLES MATHEWS. 217 Amongst them were " The Game of Speculation," " The Day of Reckoning," " Only a Clod," " Cool as a Cucumber," " Box and Cox," and " A Chain of Events," that huge, cumbrous drama (adapted from the French by George H. Lewes) which occupied the entire evening, and anticipated the sensations which have since made the fortunes of " The World," and a score of pieces of the same class. The stage management and mounting of this drama as nearly approached perfection as anything I have seen, but the productions par excellence of this management were those delightful, I may say classic, works of Planche, " The Good Woman in the Wood," "The King of the Peacocks," and "The Island of Jewels," in which, by the way, the first idea (the one which preceded E. T. Smith's memorable " leg of mutton ") of the present trans- formation scene was formulated by the great painter, William Beverley. One can scarcely realize that the net result of all this enterprise, skill, taste, and liberality should have been continual and unmitigated failure — yet so it was. Mathews himself told me that during the run of many of these justly admired works, supported by himself and his accomplished wife, Fred Robinson, Bucky, and Harley, Bob Roxby, Basil Baker, Suter, Belton, Rosiere, Clifford Cooper, Mr. and Mrs. Frank Mathews, Patty Oliver, Laura Keene, Julia St. George, etc., they frequently played to ten and twelve pounds a night ! The failure arose, doubtless, partly from the fact 218 PLAYERS AND PLAYWRIGHTS. that public taste was not at that period sufficiently educated to appreciate the lighter form of art — (alas ! our fathers liked their amusement as they liked their underdone beef and heavy port, with a head- ache in it) — but principally, I think, because there were no penny or halfpenny newspapers circulating daily and hourly in myriads, and advertising was in its infancy. Astley's, with its everlasting Battle of Waterloo, or the War in India, and Mazeppa ; Wombwell's Menagerie ; the Wizard of the North, and General Tom Thumb enjoyed the monopoly of monster posters, and pictures on the walls, and the tactics of the showman, as yet, had not been brought to bear upon the profession of a gentleman. Rail- way trains from the country were few and far between and very expensive. Penny omnibuses, penny tramcars, and the metropolitan railways were not in existence, hence communication from the suburbs to the centre was practically restricted to carriages and cabs, and even these (considerations of expense apart) were not always attainable. In addition to this, the population of the Metropolis itself was a fourth less than it is to-day. Troubles, trials, and difficulties surrounded this unfortunate enterprise from its first inception to its bitter end. Poor Mathews used to study his parts in cabs ; he had to sneak in and out of the theatre amongst the audience to avoid bailiffs and process- servers, and, ultimately, after almost superhuman efforts to stave off the inevitable, he broke down altogether. CHARLES MATHEWS. 219 At this period, to my certain knowledge, when it was currently reported that he was living in the wildest profligacy and extravagance, he was fre- quently without half-a-crown in his pocket. In this emergency Mr. John Knowles, of the Manchester Theatre, came to the rescue, and advanced certain sums to stave off the most pressing of his creditors ; but " Mr. Mun be done" (Knowles' nom de guerre) was a shrewd, hard-headed fellow, and took care to make himself sure. It was at this time I renewed my acquaintance with Mathews, whom I had engaged at a salary of ^150 a week. His first salutation upon arriving at Worcester was : "Are you married yet? Then you can feel for me — she's dreadfully ill — and I'm dreadfully hard up. You haven't such a thing as twenty pounds about you ? Thanks. Now send this telegram. We've visitors at Fulham who must be provided for." " Visitors ?" " Yes — the Bums, the bold Bums — they must have bread, and beef, and beer and baccy, and plenty of It. I hope it will be understood that I have cited this illustration of my poor friend's impecuniosity not out of ostentation, but merely as a proof of how much he was calumniated by the lying tongue of rumour. During these engagements we were inseparable ; travelled together and lived together. o o Whatever may have been his former tendency to 220 PLAYERS AND PLAYWRIGHTS. extravagance, he was now learning and practising economy. He had dropped his valet— dressed and packed for himself, which, with three parts a night, would have been hard work for a younger man. His habits were simple as they were regular and economical. We dined early, taking a bottle of thin claret between us — after dinner, a glass of whisky and water, and a cigar — then (his constant custom) he would adjourn to the sofa, and throw his handker- chief over his head. The next moment he was fast asleep. Sometimes I remonstrated with him about this, as I thought, pernicious habit. His invariable reply was : "Wait till you are as old as I am, dear boy, and you'll see whether it's pernicious." He was right. After all, there is a little difference between five-and-twenty and fifty. He never slept more than an hour, and awoke as regular as clockwork. The first thing he did upon awaking was to write home. I never knew him omit this office even once. Poor lady ! She was getting near the end of her journey, and his letters were her only gleams of sunshine. Despite his continual anxieties, what a flow of animal spirits he had, what a charming companion, what a delightful raconteur he was ! His manners were as destitute of affectation on the one hand as of pretension on the other. He made no parade of his erudition, or his acquirements — larded his dis- course with no shoppy scraps of French or Italian. CHARLES MATHEWS. 221 He was " all things to all men," and all women ; but with all these -good qualities he was, beyond all doubt, the most naively selfish man (except in his profound devotion to his family, which was para- mount to all other considerations) I have ever met with in my life. His idea certainly was — "greatest happiness of the greatest number ; greatest number, number one " — number one bein^ Charles Mathews. In rushing about the country we encountered some amusing adventures. One morning at six o'clock we left Lincoln en route for Shrewsbury, and came away without breakfast. By the time we got to Nottingham we were famished with hunger, and I got out to order the boys and girls (we were all boys and girls then, Mathews especi- ally !) some refreshment. As I returned, accom- panied by the waiters — the one bringing an urn full of coffee, the other a tray full of sandwiches, cups, saucers, etc. — off went the train, down dropped the coffee- urn, the ladies laucrhed and kissed their hands as they glided away, and I was left dancing a war-dance on the platform. A pleasant predicament truly ! The next train didn't go till mid-day. The com- pany were only booked to Derby. I knew, however, that Mathews would get over that difficulty. As for me, I seemed booked to stay in Nottingham for four mortal hours. As I strolled down the town, whom should I meet but Miss Patty Oliver and Miss Wadham, Mr. and 222 PLAYERS AND PLAYWRIGHTS. Mrs. Frank Matthews, Mr. Bob Roxby and Fred Robinson, who had been acting in Nottingham, with the other members of the Lyceum company. When I told them of the predicament in which I was placed, by way of chaff, they invited me to accompany them to town via Syston Junction and Rugby. After a moment's thought I accepted the invitation. The fact was, I knew the ground better than they did. The guard and the driver were kind enough to put on the steam. At Rugby I caught the down train from London for Birmingham. Upon arriving at New Street Station, I jumped into a hansom, and bowled clown to Snow Hill. The train was just in motion, but I took a harlequin's leap through the window, and to their intense astonish- ment alighted in the " bosom of my family." Our saloon-carriage was not locked; and when we got to Wolverhampton three or four objectionable young men of the swell genus wanted to intrude. Poor Billy Belford, however, was equal to the occasion. He whispered to Miss Amy Sedgwick. In a moment's time " La Belle Amy ,: cast aside her bonnet and shawl and unloosed her abundant tresses, whereupon Belford seized her by her golden locks and shouted, "That'll do, my lady, I've had enough of this ;" while she shrieked out, " I am not mad ! No, no ! By Heaven ! I am not mad !" The swells recoiled, exclaiming : " By Jove ! they are mad, though ; mad as hatters, the whole lot of 'em ; better give 'em a wide berth." They gave us a wide berth accordingly, and what CHARLES MATHEWS. 223 a jolly time we had for the remainder of our journey ! Upon another occasion, upon arriving at Chelten- ham, to my astonishment, I found Mathews was non est. We had lunched together in Birmingham with Knowles and a friend of Mathews' from the Foreign Office. After luncheon, they went out to see the sights of the town, and we had lost them. It was now time for commencement, and still no sign of Mathews. There was a splendid house, and the managerial mind was sorely exercised at the thought of " dismissal," which seemed imminent and inevitable. The play was " Used Up." Now, Sir Charles Coldstream was one of my parts. Except Webster and Sothern (who then called himself Dudley Stuart !) I was the only actor who had the temerity to challenge comparison with Mathews in his crack part. On this occasion, the idea of doing so was the last from my thoughts. So, with my heart in my boots, I went before the curtain, stated the facts, expressed my regret, and proposed to return the audience their money. Now, in the front row of the stalls sat a bold captain of militia, who had seen me play Sir Charles many a time and oft. To my astonishment and delight, this irrepressible son of Mars cut in with : " Stuff and nonsense ! Play the part yourself, my boy." The audience accepted the suggestion with enthu- siasm, and I retired to get myself up for the occasion. 224 PLAYERS AND PLAYWRIGHTS. Unfortunately, I dawdled over the preparations, and before I could get ready, Master Charley himself turned up, with his everlasting cigar (generally a bad one). Without the slightest ceremony he rang up the curtain and walked on just as he was, cool as a cucumber, and I was left lamenting the opportunity for distinction, and what was worse, the five-and-twenty pounds I should have saved by the performance. Upon another occasion we were at Newcastle-on- Tyne, out of the season, when it was impossible to obtain a band. We managed to get on without the " tootling " for the first four nights, but on Friday we had announced " The Game of Speculation " and " Patter versus Clatter," in which latter piece Mathews needed an accompaniment for his songs. The yeomanry were up for drill, and my secretary had arranged with the commanding officer of the regiment that their band should attend. It appeared, however, that, unfortunately, the gallant Colonel had had a difference with the bandmaster, who refused point-blank either to come himself or allow the band to come. We only knew of this an hour before the com- mencement of the performance ; but to prevent dis- appointment, we had some slips pulled off, and posted at the doors, stating there would be no band. Before the curtain went up, I happened to be stand- ing in the prompt entrance writing my letters, when Mathews came and asked me to give him a bill or two. I handed over some printers' invoices, where- upon he said : CHARLES MATHEWS. 225 " No, no, dear boy, not this sort of bill, but a bill at three or four months." I was completely fogged, for up to that moment I had never seen a bill of exchange. Mathews laughed heartily, and said : ; ' Happy youth 1 Golden age of innocence ! You'll know all about bills by- and-by." He was quite right. I did know all about them before I had done with him. Whether our friends in the pit and gallery saw the notice about the band I am unable to say, but certain it is, the moment the curtain arose, they kicked up a diabolical row. They would not suffer the perform- ance to proceed, and the performers were hissed off the stai'e. One of the actors who was not troubled with any superfluous modesty, as he made his exit, said : " Gentlemen, I'm neither the leader of the band nor yet the manager ; but here's the chief himself, who I am sure will be delighted to explain." Mathews gave me a little persuasive shove, and involuntarily I found myself before the footlights, while he remained chuckling behind. I soothed my friends in front and "gentled " them down as well as I could, and concluded by saying : "After all, ladies and gentlemen, I'm sure your principal inducement in coming hereto-night was not to hear a band of bucolic torturers of brazen instru- ments make night hideous with trumpet, trombone, and kettledrum, but to renew your acquaintance with the greatest comedian in the world, and," VOL. I. 15 226 PLAYERS AND PLAYWRIGHTS. stepping to the side, I caught Master Charley by the wrist, and landing him right in the middle of the stage, I concluded by saying as I retired, " here he is to answer for himself." This little interlude restored the audience to good temper, and I never remembered to have seen the play go better. In the excitement and worry of the first piece we foreot all about " Patter versus Clatter ;" and it was only at the moment of Mathews going on for the loquacious Captain that he remembered it. " Good God !" he exclaimed, " what am I to do for an accompaniment ?" " Never mind," said I ; " never mind, only go on and I'll whistle one." That night, however, his only accompaniment was the hands and hearts of the audience. This week was a bitter bad one, and would have involved me in considerable loss had it not been for a lucky accident. George Bennett, the tragedian of Drury Lane, Sadler's Wells, etc., happened to be in the town. Now, during the preceding season I had run down from Sheffield to act for his benefit. When he ascertained that, although Mathews was only engaged for five nights, I had taken the theatre for six, he proposed to play " Othello " on Saturday. " You do the Moor," said he, " I'll do Iago for you." Of course I jumped at the proposal. We did the play, and had an enormous house, which retrieved the week. Apropos of " Othello " — I remember at this very CHARLES MATHEWS. 227 time, Mathews told me that during his engagement with Macready, at Drury Lane, when he (Mathews) played Roderigo, he had "got himself up regard- less " — with a beautiful flaxen ringlet wiV. At the end of the fourth act, where Iago endeavours to assassinate " the poor brach of Venice," Phelps, by a miscalculation, let drive his sword into that portion of Roderigo's person which he was least able to defend. Although the wound was only skin-deep, it was quite deep enough, and at every stab the poor Venetian squirmed and wriggled in torture. " At last," said Charley, " the murderous villain directed his attention to Cassio and the other fellows. Now, thinks I, I'm safe ; all's over. To my horror, however, presently I heard him exclaim : '" Lend me a light ! Know we this face or no ? Alas, my friend, and my dear countryman, Roderigo ! No — yes — sure ! Oh, Heaven ! Roderigo !' " At this moment he placed his foot on my Hy- perion locks, and anointed my face with the scalding wax ! With a howl of agony I roared out, ' Stow that! I've had enough !' With that, I sat bolt upright, leaving, however, my love-locks beneath the beast's hoof, and revealing a head as bald as a billiard-ball ! There was nothing more heard during the remainder of that scene, I promise you, and that was my last appearance as Roderigo." Many of our flying engagements involved con- siderable loss, but whether the money was in the house or not, Knowles always exacted prompt pay- 15—2 228 PLAYERS AND PLAYWRIGHTS. merit. At length we arrived at a difference of opinion, which resulted in my letting him understand that as he held me so strictly to my engagement I should not fail to hold him to his, if the opportunity presented itself. It did present itself, much earlier than I anticipated, and this was how it happened. I had arranged with Mathews to tour the Eastern Counties. Happening to be visiting in Manchester when he was about to commence an engagement at Preston, I ran over to pass the day with him, and to arrange the programme for the ensuing tour. A very pleasant time we had of it. " Proud ' Preston is the prettiest town in Lancashire, and we explored every hole and corner of it. He told me that he had the night previous dined with some local magnate. His hostess was a fine, jolly Lancashire matron. She had seen him act in Manchester, and was full of the performance of " The Game of Speculation," in which his " business" of pulling the puppet-strings was a conspicuous feature. " Eh, Mester Mathews," said the Lancashire lady, " yon's a gradely play. I was main pleased t'other neet." " Very glad to hear it, madam. May I ask what struck you most ?" " Oh, it was all first-rate ; but the best part was where you were milking the cows /" We dined as usual at three o'clock ; immediately after dinner, exclaiming, " Excuse the weakness of my nature," he adjourned to the sofa for his accus- tomed siesta, and I returned to Manchester. CHARLES MATHEWS. 229 Next Monday I had to act in Stamford en route to Norwich, where Mathews had to join us the follow- ing week. The afternoon's post brought me a very insolent letter from Knowles. In those days I fear I was somewhat of Mercutio's mood, and I wrote a hasty reply, recommending Knowles to take himself and the engagement to the place " paved with good in- tentions." Fortunately for me, my solicitor came down from London that day to see me on important business. After dinner I showed him Knowles's letter and my reply. He smiled benignantly, tore up my letter, and put it in the fire. " Why, you young idiot," said the astute old gentleman, " don't you know that Mathews is now in Lancaster Castle ? Calculating upon your ignor- ance of this, and your hot temper, ' Mr. Mun be done ' has written that letter to provoke a rupture, and get out of the engagement. This is the letter you'll write : " ' Dear Knowles, — " ' Stick to your marble works, and leave me to conduct my theatres. When I require your advice I'll ask for it. Meanwhile, be good enough to inti- mate to Mathews that I shall expect him at rehearsal in Norwich twelve o'clock Monday next. " ' Yours faithfully.' " Needless to say, poor Mathews did not turn up at Norwich, and the result was a lawsuit, in which Knowles had to " part " pretty freely. This led to an estrangement; Mathews didn't act in my theatres 230 PLAYERS AND PLAYWRIGHTS. for a considerable period, and Knowles swore that I should never act in his as long as I lived. Time, however, is a great healer, and a few years after- wards we buried the hatchet. Mathews acted re- peatedly in my theatres, and I acted repeatedly in Manchester. A year or two after the Lancaster episode he w r ent upon his second American tour, from which he returned with a helpmate in the shape of a beautiful and accomplished little woman, who undertook the task of putting his affairs in order, and who did so. In a very short space of time, Mrs. Mathews extricated him from his difficulties, and he soon began to amass money. During their joint engagement at the Haymarket they acted in " The Overland Route," which, charmingly put on the stage, and admirably acted, went for the entire season, and was, in point of fact, so great an attrac- tion, that it ran for a considerable period after they had left the theatre. During this engagement, a comedy called " The Soft Sex " was unmercifully slated by the press, yet, nevertheless, was played sixty or seventy nights. I saw it after it had been acted about a month, and was very much pleased with it. Mathews told me, "It would be all right when Bucky had played his part another fortnight, as by that time he would begin to know something about it !" W. J. Florence, the celebrated American comedian, informed me that, to his thinking, in this comedy Mathews gave the best, and indeed the only faithful, CHARLES MATHEWS. 231 performance of an American ever given by an English actor. Next season the Mathewses went to the St. James's with Miss Herbert. Either before, or after this, they gave a dual entertainment in the Bijou Theatre at Her Majesty's. Although altogether the most delightful thing of the kind I ever witnessed, it was a dismal failure, and was speedily withdrawn. At, or about this time, Sothern played Lord Dundreary. So much has been said about this remarkable per- formance, that scarcely anything remains to be told ; but I do not think it is generally known that it owed some of its success, or at least its opportunity for achieving success, to Mathews's perspicacity. At first " Our American Cousin " was a disastrous failure, and was acted night after night to empty benches. Buckstone was disheartened, and had resolved upon its speedy withdrawal — when, fortu- nately, Mathews came to see it. When the play was over, he went round to have a jaw with Bucky, who avowed his intention to withdraw the piece immediately. Mathews urged him not to dream of doing so, but to hold on both to the play and the player, for both were bound to become great successes. Everyone knows how faithfully this pre- diction was realized ; but few people know that in offering that opinion Mathews was throwing himself out of an engagement, inasmuch as Sothern's success kept the Mathewses out of the Hay market for years. Upon a certain occasion, when I happened to be 232 PLAYERS AND PLAYWRIGHTS. fulfilling an engagement in Birmingham at the Theatre Royal, Mathews was at the Prince of Wales's. The following week I was going to Lincoln, and had advertised for a few useful young people to act with me at my theatre there. To my astonishment, I received a note to this effect : " My dear C, " I see that you advertise for a few useful young people ; can you utilize my wife and myself ? Of course, you know her utility and my beauty. The only difficulty to surmount is our youth, but perhaps we may get over that. Anyhow, if you see your way in the matter, come and look us up, and we'll get as old as we can in the interim. " Yours ever, "C. J. M." This engagement led to many others — not always pleasant ones — inasmuch as the airy young gentle- man now fought shy of rehearsals, and as I insisted upon them, we agreed to differ. These divergencies of opinion would, however, lead me into a long story, better told elsewhere. Mathews' attraction was never a fixed quantity ; sometimes he played to great houses — sometimes to most wretched ones. Manchester was always faith- ful to him, though I have heard the Lancashire lads hiss him right lustily when he attempted a part beyond his reach in " The Day of Reckoning." CHARLES MATHEWS. 233 This brings me to the subject of his acting. Elegant, accomplished, finished as he was in everything he touched, he was always, or nearly always, Charles Mathews. This appears strange and irreconcilable with the fact that in his personation pieces — " He Would be an Actor," " Patter versus Clatter," and " Sir Fret- ful Plagiary " — his changes were not only unique and perfect, but they were totally independent of tremolo accompaniments, or a darkened stage, or any other adventitious aids to illusion. These remarkable metamorphoses were effected in a single instant in the full blaze of foot- and float-licrht. So astounding were they, that when I recall them I regard with amused disdain the naive ignorance displayed in the '' gush " which has recently obtained in connection with the Jekyll and Hyde transformations. Of pathos Mathews had not the scintillation of an idea. The squeak he emitted at the end of the first act of " The Bachelor of Arts," when he ex- claimed, " My father — my poor father," was the most grotesquely puerile thing it is possible to conceive. His Charles Surface was a ghastly failure. I have seen many indifferent Charles Surfaces, but none so weak, so inefficient, and so totally destitute of a single trait of the character, as Charles Mathews. Nature meant him for Sir Benjamin Backbite, which he would have acted better than any man of our time. On the other hand, how admirably he played Puff, Flutter, and Young Wilding ! with what ease, what grace, and distinction he carried his chapeau 234 PLAYERS AND PLAYWRIGHTS. bras, took snuff, or fluttered his cambric ! His taste, too, in costume of this character was exquisite. His most signal fiasco was Stewart Routh in " Black Sheep" -this was "too awfully awful." His most signal successes were Charles Cold- stream in the first act, which was unapproachable ; Dazzle, which was himself; Citizen Sangfroid, which was superb ; Affable Hawk (it is no use, Mr. Fitz- gerald, your laying down the law about Balzac and Got !), Affable Hawk (bother Mercadet!) was Charles Mathews, and Charles Mathews was Affable Hawk ! I wish to see no other ; indeed, I never shall see another, for when he died the type was broken and buried with him. Of all the parts he played, there was one I never missed seeing, of which I never tired, the one which he played as admirably in French as he played it in English. I allude to Plumper in " Cool as a Cucum- ber." Take all the flattering adjectives I have applied to his other successful creations, pile them together, even then they would not do justice to that match- less impersonation which was altogether the most de- lightful comedy performance I have ever witnessed. In dilating upon his acting, I have suffered myself to digress from his persistently fluctuating fortunes. Although a genuine Dickey Sam, he had ceased to attract at the noble old Theatre Royal, Liver- pool, and had played down to atrocious business ; hence he changed the venue, and went to the Prince of Wales's, where he crowded the house nightly. CHARLES MATHEWS. 235 Similar good fortune attended him at the Gaiety, where, prior to his departure for Australia, he played to enormous business. It was during this engagement that "John Bull" was presented, with the following remarkable cast : Job Thornbury, Phelps ; Tom Shufrleton, Mathews ; Dennis, Toole: Dan, B rough ; and Peregrine, Her- mann Vezin. This was the first time Vezin ever acted with Mathews, which reminds me of their first meeting. Some years ago, when he was playing " The Liar" at the Olympic, Vezin and I were in the front of the house together. Hermann was now coming to the front. Years before, in his youth, he had written repeatedly to Mathews about engagements, and had never received an answer. I persuaded him to come round with me to Mathews' dressing-room, where I introduced them to each other. " Ha ! Vezin !" exclaimed the airy one, " are you Vezin ? An actor, too ! My dear fellow, I never answered those letters because, the fact is, I thought you were a conjurer, and I did all my hanky-panky business myself!" * Of course it was impossible to remain serious after this characteristic explanation. From this time forth Vezin and Mathews were the best of friends. The farewell banquet, at which he himself pre- sided, and proposed his own health, will be fresh in everybody s mind. * Referring to his burlesque of Anderson the conjurer in "The Wizard of the Sou-South-East by the Nor-North-West." 236 PL A YERS A ND PLA Y WRIGHTS. One would have thought that his voyage round the world would have fatigued him, and induced him to settle down and prepare for his last journey ; but that active, indefatigable spirit could not rest, and I verily believe that the smell of the footlights was necessary to his existence. His last engagement with me led to a final mis- understanding, which I have never ceased to regret, but which was so unique and so amusing that I can- not withhold it. In the first instance, as I have said, I used to pay him a certainty. Some years after he preferred to take a clear third of the receipts. On these occasions he invariably acted in three pieces a night. Latterly he elected to return to a certainty, and, as it was his farewell engagement, I acceded to his request. As he had acted with us during the preceding season, and had nothing new in his repertory, 1 arranged the programme for the week, as usual, save that instead of announcing him for three pieces a night, I announced him for only two. When his engagement commenced in Leeds I was myself fulfilling an engagement in Glasgow. Just as I was about to go on the stage, I received a telegram in which he positively declined to act the pieces announced. I telegraphed my manager, Mr. John Chute, to make the best arrangements he could, and to write me full particulars. In doing so he expressed his views intelligibly and forcibly. The booking was bad, and so was Mathews' health. Mr. Chute, however, arrived at the conclusion, rightly or CHARLES MATHEWS. 237 wrongly, that if Mathews' remuneration had depended on the success of the speculation he would have made no objection to the programme. On receipt of this communication, I desired Chute to intimate to Mathews that as he had elected to alter the programme, if the receipts fell below expenses he would be paid pro rata. The receipts did fall considerably below the ex- penses, and Chute deducted a sum in proportion to the loss. Mathews, however, declined to acquiesce in this arrangement, and refused to take his cheque. After the lapse of a month the following character- istic correspondence commenced : 1. " My dear C, — I am cool, but you are arctic. A month, a whole month, and yet no ' little cheque.' Oh ! vere, and oh ! vere is my leetle vee cheque ? Oh ! vere, and oh ! vere can it be ?' Send it, Barkins, send it to your father. — C. J. M." 2. " My dear M., — C. tells me he offered you a cheque, which you refused. — J. C." 3. " My dear C, — Your valiant henchman cer- tainly did offer me a cheque, less ^20. ' Is thy servant a dog, that he should do this thing ?' Own up like a man, and oblige, C. J. M." 4. "Dear M., — I did not know that • Shylock ' was in your repertory. Since, however, you insist on your ' pound of flesh,' I enclose a cheque for the full amount. — J. C." At the period of this correspondence we were both acting in different parts of the country, and con- 238 PLAYERS AND PLAYWRIGHTS. tinually moving about, hence my last letter was crossed by the following : 5. "My dear C, — No larks — this is serious. Deduct £10 and send me the balance. — C. J. M." Time passed, and I neither received the ^"10 nor an acknowledgment of my cheque ; so, after a delay of a month or so more, I wrote as follows : 6. " Dear M., — A month ago, you promised to deduct ;£io from the Leeds week. My cheque for the entire amount, with your signature at the back, passed through Beckett's bank three weeks ago, but as yet you haven't ' owned up.' "Ah ! ' were I Brutus, and Brutus, Antony — there were an Antony,' who, sooner than ' take such rascal counters from his friend,' would beseech the Gods to ' be ready with all their thunderbolts to dash him into pieces !' — J. C." 7. " Dear Marc Antony, — I should have thought the conqueror of half the world (you haven't been to America and Australia, you know — more fool you ; there's a fortune waiting for you in both places !) would not have been so deficient in magna- nimity as to condescend to accept a miserable ' tenner ' from a poor struggling young country actor. Since, however, you exact the forfeit, here is your 'half-pound of flesh.'— Shylock, Brutus, Mathews." 8. " Dear Shylock,— Your ' half-pound of flesh ' to hand. I accept it with the greater pleasure, since CHARLES MATHEWS. 239 evidently it comes 'from the spot nearest your heart.' — Yours, Marc Antony." Of course, I was not to have the last word (catch anyone having the last word with C. J. M. !), and the correspondence wound up thus : " Dear Antony, — I haven't got any heart (never had any), and very little liver! Ha! ha! Had you there, my boy ! ' Let the galled jade wince, our withers' (not yours, but mine) 'are unwrung !' Thou last of all the Romans, ' Thine while this machine is to him.' — Marcus Brutus." P.S. — " When we shall meet again, these present woes shall serve for sweet discourses in the time to come." Alas ! we never did meet again ! As far as accomplishments were concerned, Charles James " was not one, but all mankind's epitome." It was his boast that, like the travelled monkey, he knew a little of everything, and a great deal of nothing. The fact was, however, he knew everything. I forget how many languages he was familiar with. He spoke fluently — wrote admirably — was as facile with his pencil as his pen — sang (as far as his wretched voice would allow him) capitally — danced like a figurante ; and, as I have before said, his stage-management (when he chose to take trouble with it) was superexcellent. 240 PLAYERS AND PLAYWRIGHTS. Forty years ago he had anticipated all, and more than all, that is done to-day, in regard to taste and elegance in the mounting of dramas of society. At that period, however, he was before his time, and our ancestors cared more for the quality of the joint than the manner in which it was cooked. I have the authority, however, of the late Charles Reade for asserting that no comedy in our time has ever been so superbly mounted as " London Assurance " was at Covent Garden, and certainly the cast remains unequalled. Only look at the names : William Farren, the elder, Sir Harcourt Courtley ; James Anderson, Charles; Mathews, Dazzle; Bartley, Max Hark- away ; Keely, Dolly Spanker ; Harley, Meddle ; and Brindal, Cool ; Mrs. Nisbet, Lady Gay ; Madame Vestris, Grace; and Mrs. Humby, Pert. As far as mere manners were concerned, except Mario, Mathews was the most perfect gentleman I have ever met. Whether his gentlemanliness was of the nobler kind, which rises straight from the heart, or the more polished but specious veneer accruing merely from good breeding and the dis- tinguished society amidst which his earlier years were passed, it is idle to inquire now. Certain it is, he was nearly always a pleasant scoffer and a genial cynic. It is equally certain that he was the pre- cursor of the modern fast young man, and the small funereally funny litterateur whose mdtier it is to ridicule and deride everything which is manly, and honest, and true. Though he was the Frankenstein CHARLES MATHEWS. 241 on the model of whose monster these amphigamous creatures have formed themselves, I have reason to think that latterly he was by no means proud of his disciples. It could scarcely be otherwise, for he was always a gentleman. " It is never too late to mend," and one of his most gracious acts of recantation took place a few years before his death, when he wrote my friend Herman Merivale a most graceful and appreciative letter touching that noble work, " The White Pilgrim." Towards the end of his career it was but too pain- fully apparent that Mathews' acting days were over, and that the end was imminent, and could not lone be postponed. He had, however, always maintained 'twas better to work out than to rust out, and his quick and elastic spirit would not be controlled. About three weeks or a month before his last appearance, he was fulfilling an engagement at the Gaiety Theatre, Glasgow. Despite the obvious ravages of time, the audiences had been numerous and sympathetic. On the last night there was a delay in the com- mencement of the" performance. Mr. Charles Bernard, the manager, went behind the scenes to ascertain the cause. On arriving at the 11 dressing-room he found Mathews lying back in an armchair speechless, and almost totally unconscious. Although the everlast- ing bad cigar was clutched convulsively at the side of his mouth, his pulse had almost ceased to beat. The terrified manager sent immediately for a vol. 1. 16 2 4 2 PLAYERS AND PLAYWRIGHTS. physician, who, upon his arrival, announced that it was not only absolutely impossible for the perform- ance to take place, but that Mathews' heart had actually ceased to beat ! Upon being urged by Bernard to make some desperate effort to restore the circulation, the doctor forced some neat brandy down his patient's throat, when, to the astonishment of everybody, the Ever- green opened his eyes and feebly gasped : " Hold hard, old man, or I shall be tight !" For all that he took another dose of the generous and life-giving fluid, with the result that in a few minutes he pulled himself together. " Get on the rags !" said he to his dresser. Extraordinary to relate, a quarter of an hour later he was on the stage for " That Awful Dad." An awful dad indeed to those who knew the real state of affairs. The uninitiated were a little befogged by the stumbling, and mumbling, and almost utter inaudibility of the chief performer. Presently, how- ever, he pulled himself together and became quite audible, and warmed to his work. When the ci devant jeune homme went frisking about the stage and, kicking up his heels behind him, exclaimed : " Well, well, boys will be boys, you know !" one of his auditors, who had just seen him emerge as 'twere from the valley of death, was not a little horrified by the incongruous contrast. According to the actor's adage, " Twelve o'clock must always come ;" and luckily it came without collapse. CHARLES MATHEWS. 243 " Doctor Theatre " is sometimes a wonderful physician, and Mathews was better at the end of the performance than at the commencement. He had to leave for England the following: nieht by the express, and Bernard called in the course of the evening to make his adieux. He had postponed his visit to a late hour, anticipating that Mathews would have remained in bed all day to rest and recuperate. Upon arriving at the hotel, to his astonishment, he found the airy youth, cigar in mouth, engaged in painting a view of Loch Lomond. He appeared to have taken a new lease of life, and was as lively and frolicsome as ever. He opened fire with : " A pretty fellow you are not to have put in an appearance till now." " I feared you might not be up," replied the other. " Not up — not up ! Why, I was up and out at eight o'clock this morning." "You don't say so !" " But I do, though ; I got up because I know you are an early bird. I thought you would have called at ten, and so I painted this little thing for you. As you didn't turn up I've put six more hours' work in it. It's too good for you now, you beggar, so I shall give it to your wife." Two hours later he was on his way to England. A fortnight later Death knocked at the door and 16 — 2 " stole thence the life of the building." 244 PLAYERS AND PLAYWRIGHTS. When the electric wire flashed the news through both hemispheres that Charles Mathews had died in harness in an obscure Lancashire town, it might be truly said of him, as Johnson said of Garrick : " His death eclipsed the gaiety of nations." To me the blow came with peculiar bitterness, reminding me of the loss of my earliest friend in the life of the theatre, and of the fact that on the very spot where he had passed away we had passed many pleasant hours in the spring-time of my life together. Poor Charley ! he used to say then, in his gay, flippant manner, " If there are no theatres in the hereafter, the hereafter must be a very dull affair." He knows all about it now. CHAPTER V. MADAME VESTRIS. This gifted and accomplished woman had been thirty years or more the idol of the public before I met her. During that long period men and women in Eng- land, in France, and in Italy had grown old, while she had ripened to a gorgeous maturity. Judging of the morning of her life by its meridian, in her youth she must have been supremely beautiful. I have heard old gray-beards stoutly maintain that when she first burst upon the dazzled and delighted town as Don Giovanni, and long afterwards, during her "Olympian Revels," she was a veritable Phoebus Apollo, and, indeed, the most perfectly symmetrical girl that ever donned the dress of a boy ; that she sang like an angel, and danced like a sylphid. However that might be. on the night I first saw her, as Lady Bell, she was the beau-ideal of a woman of fashion. As to her age, she might be any age tvvixt five-and-twenty and thirty. Although she was just the height and build of the 246 PLAYERS AND PLAYWRIGHTS. Medicean Venus, her high powdered head dress made her appear taller ; the rich brocaded sacque of exquisite cut, colour, and texture, and her grace of motion imparted a remarkable air of distinction, rendered piquant by a certain espicglerie which was all her own and was perfectly irresistible. To this day her scenes with Millamont recall to my mind Cibber's animated description of Mrs. Monfort in " Melantha " : " She pours upon him her whole Artillery of Airs, Eyes, and Motion ; down goes her dainty, diving body, to the Ground, as if she were sinking under the conscious Load of her own attractions ; then launches into a flood of fine Lan^uacre, and Com- pliment, still playing her Chest forward in Fifty Falls and Risings, like a swan upon waving water." She appeared like one of those dainty, beautiful flowers which charm the eye, but fail to please the other and more potent sense. Her acting, however, was replete with skill, with grace, with finesse, with culture, with all the artifices of the art, but it lacked sympathy, tenderness, and strength, yet how easy, how elegant, how charming it all was ! Nothing could be more delightful than her Countess of Rosedale in the " Queensbery Fete," or that other Countess, whose name I have forgotten, in " Grist to the Mill ;" while her Medea, in the " Golden Fleece," might have been a Greek goddess stepping forth from the stone, after the lapse of dead ages. Her Gertrude (" Loan of a Lover ") and Minnie MADAME VESTRIS. 247 ("Somebody Else") appeared a somewhat mature countess, going about in masquerade. Yet how charmingly she sang the incidental music ! She had rightly or wrongly the reputation of being haughty and overbearing to her humbler colleagues, but, except upon the one occasion referred to in the preceding sketch, I never found her so. Her career was a remarkable one, not so much in its vicissitudes of fortune as in its record of triumphs. One has to go to the byways sometimes to glean information, and I am indebted to the remarkable little book before referred to (" Memoirs of an Old Stager ") for the following interesting account of her early life, derived from Madame Mariotti, an attached and faithful servant of the Bartalozzi household for more than half a century : " Eliza Lucy Bartalozzi was the daughter, or, some say, the granddaughter, of the famous Italian engraver. " She was born in the parish of Marylebone in 1S00. " Evidently she was a precocious young monkey, for, at five years of age, she was esteemed a capital singer and dancer. " At that period it was customary at all the foreign schools in London to have a play performed by the pupils, in French or Italian, every Saturday, in presence of their parents and guardians. " On these occasions the sprightly little Lucy dis- tinguished herself highly, and acquired that perfect mastery of French and Italian destined to be of so much service to her in after-life. 248 PLAYERS AND PLAYWRIGHTS. " From childhood she had artistic proclivities, and at fourteen years of age she entered the school of His Majesty's Theatre, and danced in the ballet there for the season. She then went to the Academie of Paris for the winter, and on her return to town became a pupil of the famous ballet-master, Armand Vestris, who kept her hard at work for twelve months, and then brought her out with great eclat as Proserpine. " Her success, combined with her youth and beauty, attracted the attention of a certain illustrious per- sonage, who had the audacity to attempt to carry her off from under the piazza of the theatre. " Fortunately, Madame Bartalozzi and Madame Mariotti were at hand, and the one with her umbrella, the other with her pattens, ' went' for the royal rake's head. Eliza made good her flight through the stage-door, followed by her would-be abductor ; but, safe within the building, she plucked up courage, and slapped the royal face. " Although she made a bitter enemy of the elderly Adonis, when the story became known she became a heroine in public estimation. "At the end of this season, Vestris persuaded her to return to Paris to complete her education, and accordingly thither she went, accompanied by the faithful Mariotti. "About a fortnight after their arrival, they went out to make some purchases at a draper's on the Boulevard du Temple. " Like Swan and Edgar's emporium, this shop MADAME VESTRIS. 249 opened into two streets. Leaving the confiding Mariotti in the front shop, Mademoiselle Bartalozzi passed out by the back one, and returned in an hour's time — Madame Vestris. " The union was as brief and unhappy as it had been hasty and ill-advised. " But one little week had elapsed at their quiet retreat at St. Denis, when a lady paid them a visit, accompanied by two living proofs of the perfidy of the false but fascinating ballet-master ! " The result was an immediate separation. Vestris Med to Milan, and his newly-made wife, who was left destitute in a strange country, fortunately never saw the scoundrel a^ain. " On her return to England, Madame Vestris, with great difficulty, succeeded in obtaining an opening at Drury Lane with Elliston. "At that period Moncrieff's burlesque of 'Don Giovanni in London ' had a oreat voQoie at the Olympic." (Here I pause to interpolate the remark that, years after I first met Madame Vestris, I saw her unfortunate precursor in the part of the amorous Don, a poor broken-down old woman, acting in a show at Dundee!) "Well, 'Don Giovanni' was altered and written up for Vestris, and enabled her to take the town by storm — possibly as much, or even more, by her marvellously symmetrical figure as by her artistic ability. " At the end of the season at Drury Lane she went to the Haymarket, and for the next three or four 2 5 o PLAYERS AND PLAYWRIGHTS. years she continued to play at the former theatre in the winter, and at the latter in the summer. " Then she revisited Paris, where, for three con- secutive summers, she played and sung at the Ambigu and the Opera Comique. " During her last engagement, Madame Mara, the prima donna of the Italian Opera, was taken ill, and in the emergency the young English vocalist took her place with the greatest success. " Indeed, so complete was her triumph, that, at the end of the season, she was invited to accompany the Italian troupe on tour to Milan, Florence, Turin, Palermo, and Naples, in all which places she created a furore. " On her return to Paris she made the following remarkable arrangement : she played at the Italian Opera on Sunday, Tuesday, and Thursday in each week ; at the Ambigu on Monday and Wednes- day, and at the Opera Comique on Friday and Saturday ! " The news of these extraordinary triumphs pro- duced such an impression in England that the patent houses actually fought for her, and she was enabled to exact her own terms from the managements which, in the first instance, actually refused her an opening at the most modest salary. " No such engagement has ever been made on the English stage before or since, except in the case of Master Betty. " She made joint agreements with Drury Lane and Covent Garden, by which she covenanted to play MADAME VESTRIS. 251 three nights a week in each theatre- -the first three nights at the Lane, and the next at the Garden. From both theatres she drew weekly ^100, or, to be precise, her weekly salary amounted to ^200." Of course these enormous terms could not last for ever, and — " In the winter of 1830 the managements of both the bie houses were seized with a sudden fit of retrenchment. " The corps dramatique at each house was a strong, and, it must be admitted, an expensive one. " Such tried and talented performers as Fawcett, Farren, Jones, Dowton, Braham, Wrench, Mrs. Glover, Madame Vestris, Miss E. Tree, Miss Love, etc., were costly in proportion to their attractiveness, and their employers at Drury Lane and Covent Garden jointly resolved that the expenses must be cut down, if possible. Unfortunately for the carry- ing out of this purpose, they failed to secure the co-operation of the actors, and one of the first and most emphatic in resistance to it was Madame Vestris. " She at once threw up her engagement, and on the very same day drove down in her carriage to a little old-fashioned shop in the Strand, next door to what is now the A del phi Theatre, and sought an interview with the honest tradesman who then occu- pied it. "In addition to the business in the Strand, Mr. Scott happened to be proprietor of the Olympic Theatre, which then stood empty. 252 PLAYERS AND PLAYWRIGHTS. " Madame soon let him know the object of her visit, and without more ado they came to terms. She went across the street to Coutts', her bankers, returned to Scott with money to pay as much of the rent in advance as he required, and there and then she became lessee of the Olympic. " Driving round to Fairbrothers', in Bow Street (the great play-bill printers of those days), she ordered her ' announce bills,' and the following day the walls of the Metropolis were studded with in- timations that the Olympic Theatre would shortly open under the management of Madame Vestris. " The next and most important step was to secure as many as possible of the malcontents from the patent houses. In this she was fairly successful. " The first to give in his cheerful adhesion was the glorious John Liston. Miss Foote, afterwards Dowager Countess of Harrington, also accepted an engagement, and so did Madame's old friend, Mrs. Glover, with her two daughters, Mary and Mrs. Bland, together with the latter's husband, John Bland, a very good stage Yorkshireman, and the father of a long line of Blands. " Amongst the others who at once joined her standard were the late Charles Horn, the composer and vocalist, and the original English Caspar; William and James Vining, John Brougham, ' Paddy ' Gough, and Frank Raymond as stage-manager. " As for the minor people, the only difficulty was in makinor a selection. " The morning following the appearance of the MADAME VESTRIS. 253 ' announce ' bills the stage-door was surrounded by a motley group, composed of almost every grade in the profession, from the 'decayed Hamlet' down- wards, all applying for situations. There were heavy fathers, and ditto villains, utility men, chamber- maids, chorus singers, ballet-girls, etc., not forgetting the materials for organizing an army of ' sandwich men,' or board-bearers. The names of the most likely of the lot were taken down by Ireland, the copyist of the theatre, and a selection made from the list by Madame herself. Meanwhile, artists and tradesmen were busy at work, both inside and out- side the building, getting it into order for opening." Compared with the wooden barrack built by old Astley, and called by courtesy the Olympic, the Dust Hole was a drawing-room ; but under the sway of this potent magician in petticoats, in an incon- ceivably short space of time the Olympic was entirely metamorphosed. "Plancheand Charles Dance prepared a burlesque- extravaganza, called 'Olympic Revels,' which was to have been preceded on the opening night by 4 A Rowland for an Oliver,' had not the Covent Garden management interdicted its performance. " In this emergency the charming little drama of ' Mary Queen of Scots ' was substituted, in conjunc- tion with ' Dominique the Deserter ' for Liston, and 1 Gervis Skinner' for Mrs. Glover. 4 ' On the Saturday prior to the opening, the liberal lessee presented to every member of the company a week's salary. 254 PLAYERS AND PLAYWRIGHTS. " Long before the time of commencement on the night of January 3rd, 1831, the theatre was crowded from floor to ceiling. " Madame spoke an opening address, the National Anthem was sung by the entire company, then came ' Mary Queen of Scots.' " The manner in which this piece as put on the stage under Madame's direction was an earnest (well fulfilled) of the consummate taste and completeness which characterized everything produced under her management at any time. " With a full recollection of all that has been clone since by Macready, Madame herself, and Mr. Charles Kean, I believe that no more elaborately perfect ' set ' was ever seen on a stage than that of Queen Mary's room in Lochleven Castle in this piece. Every single thing in it was in perfect keep- ing with the period. The tables, chairs, couches, etc., were all of genuine carved oak, and everything bore the arms or emblazonment of the Stuart. The window curtains, table and chair covers, drinkine goblets, candlesticks, knives and forks, nay, even to the very carpet on the floor, were thus marked. The result was a picture which would have borne the scrutiny of an archaeologist or an antiquary, though intended merely as a background to the work of the dramatist, and the acting of Miss Foote. The latter, I need scarcely say, gave a strikingly fine representation of the heart-broken Queen, and the piece altogether was a triumphant success. " Equally so was ' Dominique the Deserter,' in MADAME VESTRIS. 255 which Liston hit them hard. Mrs. Glover came in for an ovation in ' Gervis Skinner,' but when Madame made her first appearance — through a trap on the stage — as Pandora, her youth, her beauty, her superbly symmetrical proportions, displayed to the utmost advantage by her classic costume, and possibly by the novelty of her position, procured her a reception so enthusiastic and so overwhelming that she fairly broke down under it, and had to wipe away her tears before she could utter a single word. As soon, however, as she recovered herself, ' Olympic Revels ' went like wildfire, not only till the fall of the curtain, but to the end of the season, which, by-the- bye, lasted only thirteen weeks. " In addition to the pieces already named, the petite comedies, ' I'll Be Your Second,' ' My Uncle's Will,' and the drama of 'Clarissa Harlowe" were produced during the first season. " During the recess the house was gutted and entirely remodelled, the stage greatly enlarged and improved, while in the auditorium, the gallery was converted into upper boxes, and everywhere else things were made so elegant and comfortable that even luxurious West-enders migh,t have fancied themselves at home in their own drawing- rooms. " The stage itself was formed upon a principle then quite novel, being elaborately yet simply built of component parts, each of which was four feet in depth from the footlights, and divided into six sections, up which were sent all the properties for 256 PLAYERS AND PLAYWRIGHTS each scene, thus avoiding any awkward changes in sieht of the audience. " The novelty, too, of a curtain parting from and closing in the centre, instead of the old green baize, took the audience by surprise." (Observe ! oh gentle reader, that these ingenious little contrivances, having been lost sight of for the past half-century, have recently been paraded as entirely new inventions !) " The great feature of the next season was the pro- duction of 'The Court Beauties' — the beauties in question being the rather well-known ladies at the Court of Charles II., Nell Gwynne, the Duchess of Portsmouth, Castlemaine, Lucy Waters, and La Belle Stuart. " The distinct order was that no expense was to be spared in the production of this piece ; nor was it. " The scene-painter, machinist, costumier, and property-men of the theatre were despatched to Hampton Court to take notes of everything neces- sary from the original paintings deposited in the picture-gallery there. We had hardly commenced work when one of the attendants stopped us, saying that no one could be allowed to copy anything there without special permission of the Lord Chamberlain, so we had to return to London with our purpose unfulfilled. This hitch in the business, however, was soon removed. That same evening, Lord Adolphus Fitzclarence was behind the scenes, to whom Madame related the circumstances and ex- pressed her disappointment at the result. He replied MADAME VESTRIS. 257 that he thought it would not take long to make that little matter all right, and immediately hastened to his brougham, which was in waiting at the private door in Craven Buildings. 4 Dolly ' drove straight down to St. James's Palace, saw the King, his father, and then came back with an order bearing the signature of the sovereign, ordering the at- tendants at Hampton Court to allow us to copy what we pleased, and enjoining them, moreover, to afford us all the assistance in their power. Armed with the royal mandate, we returned to Hampton next day, and on presenting our credentials were received with the extreme of obsequiousness, and, having finished our business, were pressed to stay to dine with the head official at four o'clock, after the Palace was closed to the public. With the material thus obtained we set to work, and in a wonderfully short time the piece was ready for production. " I should despair of attempting adequately to describe the result of Madame's determination that it should, if possible, eclipse anything of the kind that had ever been done. The first scene was the Mall in St. James's Park, beautifully reproduced from a print of the period of the play. " The effect of this scene was much heightened by our making use of a passage, fully one hundred feet in length, which led from the back of the stage to Craven Buildings, and by which the Mall was represented going away into perspective, with wonderful appearance of reality. "On wires hun£ between the trees were sus- VOL. I. 1 7 258 PLAYERS AND PLAYWRIGHTS. pended numerous cages with various kinds of sing- ing birds, whose St. Giles's owners managed to make them sing to perfection. On the rising of the curtain this scene used to call forth the most enthusiastic applause, and the demonstration certainly did not diminish when Mr. Hooper, looking the Merry Monarch to the life, came on, followed by his at- tendants, all in gorgeous and scrupulously correct costumes of the reign of Charles II. " True to the life, the King was accompanied moreover by a number of King Charles's spaniels. There were twelve in all of these little brutes, and one couple of them alone — named respectively ' Nell Gwynne' and ' Old Noll ' — cost no less a sum than seventy pounds sterling ! " This precious pair had a man specially employed to look after them, and were as well off, it strikes me, as those of whom the burlesque bard said : "' The pretty poodles were as white as whey, The fairies washed and combed 'em every day.' " Further, in the animal department were a mag- nificent pair of buckhounds, specially procured from the royal kennel at Windsor — led on by Madame herself in the character of the King's favourite page, the original ' Master of the Buckhounds.' Everything, in short, that taste and art could suggest and accomplish was done to make the scene as life- like as possible, and the result was certainly a great success. " The second scene showed the fruits of our MADAME VESTRIS. 259 labours at Hampton Court. It was a correct model of the room in the Palace there called the ' King Charles' Beauty Room,' the back of it representing the wall with the eight life-size pictures by Lely, each in its massive frame. The sides were hung with beautiful tapestry, which, though now used for the purposes of stage illusion merely, was the bond- fide article, the real handiwork of ladies at King Charles II.'s Court. For many years it had adorned the walls of Carlton House, and had been now pur- chased by Madame for a pretty roundish sum, to contribute to the vraisemblance of this piece. Nay, more, the curtain which I have mentioned as con- cealing the pictures while the King and Sir Godfrey were at supper, was the identical stuff, green with gold embroidery, which had for years covered the original portraits at Hampton Court. " Having been replaced at the Palace by a new one, the discarded article came into the possession of a valet of the Lord Chamberlain, who sold it to us. " The ceiling of the scene was a painted repre- sentation of the twelve signs of the Zodiac, and from the centre there hung a massive old crystal chandelier with no less than fifty wax tapers burning in it. " For the miscellanous furniture and properties we had searched the chief curiosity-shops in London until the smallest item required was procured in keeping with the rest. " Such, as briefly as I could well give it, is a 17 — 2 2 6o PLAYERS AND PLAYWRIGHTS. sample of the means which Madame Vestris took to deserve that success which, as a rule, she managed to command !" Here I take my leave of "An Old Stager," whose interesting little work I have laid under con- tribution for the purpose of rendering a tardy homage to the memory of an eminently gifted and highly accomplished woman. I have heard Mathews state that the first time he ever saw the lady destined to be his wife, he had lost the use of his limbs, and was carried in and out of the theatre in the arms of his valet. In December, 1835, Mathews made his ddbut at the Olympic ; and in July, 1838, he was married to Eliza Vestris. Immediately afterwards they em- barked for America. Prior to their departure, Madame took a farewell benefit at Covent Garden, playing Masaniello (!) in Auber's opera, and her famous " breeches " part of Victorine in " The Invincibles." This performance realized ,£1,000. The story of the American engagement, and the cruel outrages to which she was subjected by a certain section of the American public, is a matter of history. Upon their return from America, the Mathews' entered upon the management of Covent Garden. Subsequently, they joined Macready at Drury Lane ; and it was after that, that I first saw them both at the Haymarket. MADAME VESTRIS. 261 Our subsequent acquaintance has already been referred to. In 1847 they went to the Lyceum, where for some six or seven years the matchless elegance of their society pieces, and the brilliancy and splendour of the Planche burlesques, gave the younger genera- tion of that day some glimpse of the golden glories of the prime of this distinguished actress. Apropos of her prime. At the period of their marriage, the quidnuncs maintained that Mathews was about to find in one and the same person a fond wife and an affectionate mother ; that, in point of fact, he had married a modern Ninon de l'Enclos. This was simple nonsense. He himself told me that he did not make his first appearance as a professional actor till he was thirty- six years of age. His wife made her first appearance at fourteen ; and although, in point of fact, only about three years older than he was, she had been a quarter of a century before the public before he put foot on the stage. Other ridiculous rumours were afloat about her — notably, the "enamelling" myth. The truth was, she was a brunette ; and in order to make her arms and shoulders appear fair, she was accustomed (as women still are in society and on the stage) to sponge herself liberally — too liberally, as I found upon one occasion to the cost of my dress- coat — with blanc de perle. To the very last her figure was in splendid pre- 262 PLAYERS AND PLAYWRIGHTS. servation, although it gradually became more mature. With her increasing years, she adapted herself to a line of parts especially adapted to increasing maturity. After her retirement, she suffered for a consider- able period from one of those internal and mysterious maladies to which her sex are such martyrs, and to which she at length succumbed after untold agonies. For some years previous to her death, her age was dogmatically asserted to be something between seventy and a hundred, whereas she was actually not sixty when she died ! I venture to hope that this imperfect sketch may do something towards removing from the minds of the present generation of playgoers an erroneous impression as to the culture and condition of decora- tive, art amongst our predecessors on the stage, especially of that particular branch of art which Madame Vestris brought to the very highest form of development then possible, more than half a century ago. CHAPTER VI. THE WIGANS. Strolling down Parliament Street some twelve months ago, my attention was attracted to a crowd standing round a picture-shop in the window of which was placed the " counterfeit presentment " of a lovely woman — 'A daughter of the gods, Divinely tall, and most divinely fair.' My divinity, however, was not clad in the garb of her own sex, but in that of mine. Her costume was of a strange hybrid order, a kind of half Greek, half Zouave jewelled jacket and vest of green and white and gold, with ample Bragobras of bright crimson, from which the majestic and symmetrical limbs gleamed forth bare and beautiful. As I stood and looked upon the picture, although I had never seen the original but once in my life, and then in my earliest boyhood, the impression on my mind was so vivid, and the likeness was so striking, that the sight enabled me in a moment to leap back over a gulf of years. 264 PLAYERS AND PLAYWRIGHTS. I was a boy again, sitting in the pit of the Lyceum, gazing upon the most dazzling revelation of youth and beauty these eyes have ever beheld. I saw forty beautiful women led by one even yet more beautiful, marching to and fro in graceful motion to harmonious sounds. Were it not for the abominable Royal Marriage Act, this superb creature might be even now the mother of a race of princes — were it not for that iniquitous institution which aids and abets alien princelings in abandoning and repudiating wife and children, and connives at their entering into biga- mous alliances ; which purchases and pensions morganatic paupers as bridegrooms for children of royal houses, and plants the bar sinister across the escutcheons of honest men and honourable women. This, however, is not a philippic against a bar- barous and immoral institution, but a reminiscence of the Wigans. The only night on which I ever saw the fair original of that picture was the night on which I first saw Alfred Wigan. The play was either " The Three Wives of Madrid," or "The Merry Wives of Madrid." The interlude was Stocqueler's " Polka Mania," and the afterpiece Albert Smith's burlesque of " The Forty Thieves." Of the first piece I remember nothing save the name, and of that I am by no means sure. "Polka Mania" I remember, not only because Wigan played one Alfred Dorrington and danced THE WIGANS. 265 the polka, which was then all the rage — but because many a time and oft afterwards, in my light comedy days, I was doomed to Dorrington, and tried to do the polka, though, to be frank, it more frequently did for me. In the burlesque the beautiful Miss Farebrother was the Captain of the gallant Forty ; Keeley was Hassarac, and made his entrance on a Jerusalem pony ; Mr. Richard Younge — a famous tragedian in his time — was Orcabrand ; Mrs. Keeley (whom I met the other day at the private view of the Academy, looking as sprightly now as she did then !) was Morgiana ; Frank Matthews, I think, was Ali Baba, and Miss Woolgar was the wife of Cassim Baba. Wigan did the O'Mustapha, and I remember being very much struck with his versatility. In " Polka Mania" he was a fine, handsome, strapping young medical student ; in the burlesque he was a grimy, dirty old cobbler. He was supposed to be an Irish- man, but I presume his brogue had not arrived from the Emerald Isle, although I believe Bob Keeley reported that it was expected daily. I don't suppose it ever came, for to the last it was of a very dubious quality. From this night I saw no more, and, indeed heard no more of Wigan till we met in Bristol some two or three years after, when he came down to fulfil an engagement there. It was not "a blaze of triumph," for he succeeded in "ventilating" the house most effectually. He acted in a very pappy manner in two or three 266 PLAYERS AND PLAYWRIGHTS. invertebrate pieces, the very names of which I have forgotten. The only part in which he really distinguished himself on this occasion was Achille Talma Dufard, in " My Daughter's Debut," and even in this part he distinguished himself in an unfortunate manner. The raison cfctix of this bright little sketch is made obvious by the title. From the rise to the fall of the curtain the old actor is intriguing to get his daughter an appearance and, of course, a call before the curtain. On the first night, at the end of the play, in re- sponse to the call for the debutante, Wigan was so indiscreet as to come before the curtain alone. Down came the " bird," and M. Dufard had to beat a hasty retreat ; nor were the audience easily mollified — not even when he returned leading his daughter (Miss Fanny Marsh, the beautiful and ac- complished daughter of the late Henry Marston) before the curtain. At this period Wigan and I fraternized a good deal, and he confided to me some of his past adven- tures, and some of his aspirations for the future. He told me he had been connected in some official capacity with the Dramatic Authors' Society, that he had written two or three pieces ; he told me also of his well-known freak in " The Wandering Minstrel" business — and "thereby hangs a tale.*' A few years before, a well-known and eccentric M.P. had made a bet that he would take his guitar, disguise himself as a Spanish troubadour, and, while THE WIGANS. 267 scrupulously maintaining his incognito, gather a large sum of money. This gentleman won his wager easily. Encouraged by his example, a number of audacious young bloods followed suit — in fact, the country was inundated with wandering minstrels, of whom Wigan was one of the foremost. Some time before I met him, I encountered in Edinburgh and Liverpool a little vocalist named C , who boasted that he was one of the original minstrels, and that he had had "fine high times of it " while cruising round the country. Some of the boys " pooh-pooh'd " the story of his peaceful triumphs, whereupon he made a bet of a dinner with Walter S , the tragedian, and Harry L , the " heavy man," that on one of the off- nights he would go over with them to Birkenhead and gather five pounds in the course of the evening. At nightfall, six o'clock, they went over by the ferry boat, and ordered dinner at the principal hotel for nine o'clock. C then donned his singing garb (a kind of Robin Hood dress), and turned out with his guitar, followed by the other fellows, who mounted guard over him, so as to prevent collusion. Whenever and wherever he struck up, with a slight foreign accent, " Our Ellen is the fairest flower," or "Annie Laurie," or "The Light Guitar," down came sixpences and shillings galore. Once, indeed, in a retired square, a buxom domestic of the cookie order shied some coppers at his feet, whereupon he remarked with asperity : 268 PLAYERS AND PLAYWRIGHTS. " Ze terms of my vager not allow me to touch coppare ; leave im for ze beggar-man. Coppare is not for an hidalgo de l'Espagne." This dignified address brought down a shower of silver ; it also brought his probation to an end. In less than two hours he had netted something like six pounds, and so the young rascals went back, and " ate of the fat and drank of the sweet " at the expense of the fair maids of Birkenhead, for, of course, although the other fellows had lost the wager, C would not hear of their "owning up." To the best of my recollection, Wigan told me that he had made his first appearance on the stage as D'Arville in " The Spitalfields Weaver," under Braham's management, at the St. James's, where he acted as Mr. Sidney ; that he afterwards went to the Mathews at Covent Garden ; then to the Keeleys, at the period when I first saw him at the Lyceum. During our pleasant rambles on Clifton Downs he confided to me that he was a disappointed tragedian, and that the ambition of his life was to enact Hamlet and Shylock — an ambition des- tined to remain unsatisfied till towards the end of his career, when, I believe, he attempted both parts in Scarborough and Liverpool with doubtful success. Soon after we parted in Bristol, he joined the Keans and the Keeleys at the Princess's, where he attempted a number of parts for which he was singularly disqualified, especially in the Shakespearian drama. THE WIGANS. 269 The truth is, he was utterly unrhythmical, and had no single spark of the divine afflatus. As far as his resources carried him, he was an admirable and accomplished actor — but his resources never carried him with advantage out of the coat and trousers of the nineteenth century. I prefer not to dwell on his failures, but rather to commemorate his successes, which, as soon as he found a suitable opening, were considerable. I have before mentioned his admirable rendition of Dufard — but this part by no means stood alone in his studies of French character. His companion pictures in " A Lucky Friday," " A Model of a Wife," but more particularly in Tourbillon in " Parents and Guardians," were distinct and original creations, defined with infinite variety and precision, and intoned with a perfectly pure Parisian accent. Undoubtedly, however, his greatest triumph in the higher range of art was in the part of " Chateau Renaud," in "The Corsican Brothers;" one of the most unique, perfect, and powerful performances the stage has ever witnessed. I never heard him tell Montgiron in the last scene to prepare his mother for the news of his death without a strange sense of painful but sympathetic emotion. Then the fight with Kean was a superb exhibition of sword play which I have never seen equalled, except upon one occasion by Charles Dillon and another person, who shall here be nameless. Kean told me that Wigan was always a fractious and rebellious subject, and he was glad when he left 270 PLAYERS AXD PLAYWRIGHTS. the theatre. When he did so, and found himself manager of the Olympic, he alighted on his feet, and then commenced a succession of triumphs, which continued through the whole of this short, but memorably successful, management. Much has been said, and with justice, about the great advantages accruing to a theatre from being placed in a central situation, and no one but an idiot could call in question the great advantages which would surround a theatre placed, say, at the top of Northumberland Avenue, or on the site of Waterloo House. One would imagine that the mere casual custom of passers-by in such a thoroughfare ought to com- mand a certain nightly receipt sufficient to cover at least half the current expenditure, and yet if we examine the financial result of various houses in this neighbourhood we shall soon find ourselves mistaken. Within the past fifteen or sixteen years I have seen two A merico- Australian stars — a lady and her husband — play at the Adelphi (in the month of January, too) to a house of ^5. Within the past fifteen or sixteen months I have seen a distinguished American actor, and an excellent actor to boot, received with enthusiasm on his open- ing night at the Lyceum, yet five nights after he played down to a house of £7. Ten years ago Salvini played with me at the Queen's to £i§, with our expenses at ^300 a night. Within the past two years I have seen an ultra- fashionable theatre, within a hundred yards of THE WIG AN S. 271 Charing Cross, play to an entire receipt of nine shil- lings ! So that, after all, situation is not everything. It is a matter of history that Garrick drew all London to Goodman's Fields, and we all remember the phenomenal success of " Genevieve de Brabant " at the Philharmonic. Above all we recollect how for years we struggled in and out of apertures and slid- ing panels, and up or down passages through which two persons could not pass each other, at a certain fashionable theatre in a most unfashionable locality, until at last the Board of Works awoke to the fact that men and women were not rats to be caught in a death-trap. Similarly, despite the sordid neighbourhood, the crapulous surroundings, "the ancient and fish-like smell ' which impermeated every corner of the building thirty-five years ago — the energy, the elegance, and good taste of the Wigan management attracted all fashionable London to Wych Street, as, indeed, we have already seen Madame Vestris had done more than a quarter of a century before. Pieces of society have never been better acted or better mounted before or since than " Plot and Passion," " Still Waters Run Deep," and " Retribu- tion." Apart from Mr. Wigan's own administrative ability, he had a very clever helpmate in his wife, a very pushing, sagacious, active, indefatigable woman, born on the stage and connected with a great histrionic house. As I once ventured to tell her, she was the Lady Macbeth who put the daggers 272 PLAYERS AND PLAYWRIGHTS. into Alfred's hands and said, " Do it, nor leave the task to me." He thought he was acting of his own volition, when in point of fact he was carrying out her wishes. She made him and others, too, believe that he was Olympian : "Jove in his chair, Of the sky Lord Mayor. When he nods, men and gods Stand in awe." In the theatres, these good people were august and unapproachable, and woe worth the wight who came " 'twixt the wind and their nobility." They were strict disciplinarians and scrupulously upheld the honour and dignity of their profession, that is, from their point of view, which meant especially their own honour and dignity ; and yet by a strange irony of fate Alfred Wigan was the only distinguished actor of our time who ever was publicly outraged in consequence of his profession. Upon sending one or more of his children to school at Brighton (I think it was), they were grossly insulted because their father was an actor. Of course, he immediately removed them, and ad- ministered a wholesome public flagellation to the offenders. Besides being past-masters in the arts of stage management, the Wigans were adepts in those diplomatic artifices by which public opinion is directed and manipulated, and they more especially distin- guished themselves in the mysteries of what I shall take leave to call backstairs influences upon the fashionable world. THE WIGANS. 273 To return to " Still Waters-Run Deep." There has never been a scene on the English or French stage, in my time, at least, better acted than the office scene in this piece, between Alfred Wigan and George Vining. This sketch would be incomplete without the fact being chronicled that Mrs. Stirling, Miss Swan- borough, the beautiful Miss Herbert, the magnifi- cently buxom Miss Wyndham, and Sam Emery (one of the best all-round actors of our time), were members of the Wigan company. It was under their auspices, too, that poor, lost, little Robson, whose heart was too big for his puny body, reached the zenith of his erenius. He had, it is true, made his mark under the Farren management, but it was the sagacity of the Wigans in placing him in Desmaret, " The Yellow Dwarf," Daddy Hardacre. etc., which enabled him to " top his bent."' The metropolitan public is the most liberal and sympathetic in the world, hence it is scarcely to be wondered at that when, after four years' incessant labour, Wigan left the Olympic, in consequence, it was alleged, of continued ill-health, all manner of men combined to do honour to him. He was, however, of too active a habit of mind to be content to remain idle long; hence two or three years afterwards he returned to the stage, and acted an engagement, with indifferent success, at the Adelphi,at the termination of which he recommenced management at the St. James's Theatre. One of his earliest productions was an adaptation of " La vol. 1. 18 274 PLAYERS AND PLAYWRIGHTS. Dame de St. Tropez," which was, if I remember rightly, the first, or nearly the first, stage work of two briefless young barristers, whom one seems to have heard of occasionally since under the names of Montague Williams and Frank Burnand. I saw this performance the first night, but it was only another illustration of that " vaulting ambition which o'erleaps itself." Wigan's performance of the hero (one of Lemaitre's great parts) was but a tame affair. I had seen Charles Dillon play the part before, and I saw Barry Sullivan play it after, and it is the baldest, most commonplace truth to say that either of these distinguished actors could (as Charles Reade was wont to say) have chawed Alfred up, and spat him out again, and then have played the part better. To the end of his career he was always making these mistakes. His utter unsuitability for the hero of the Reade Macquet drama, " The Double Marriage," was one of the causes of the fiasco which rendered the opening night of the Queen's Theatre memorable, and he was the immediate cause of the failure of that powerful drama, " Time and the Hour," while his melancholy failure as the youthful hero of Tom Robertson's " Dreams," in which John Clayton walked over his head, yielded another proof that nature never meant him for a tragedian. As an actor of character parts, Frenchmen, and above all, of men of the time, in society dramas, he was unrivalled, and will probably remain so. THE WIGAN S. 275 As a stage-manager, he and his wife (for in this respect, the two were one) are justly entitled to a place in the front rank. The first time I met him after we parted at Bristol, was, as I have before said, at the farewell banquet to Macready, at the Hall of Commerce in Threadneedle Street. Apropos of dinners, previous to my opening in town Wigan did me the honour to propose my health, in connection with the drama, at the Theatri- cal Fund Dinner ; and finally — strange to say, the last time we ever met — we sat next to each other at Lord Mayor Cotton's banquet at the Mansion House, where the duty devolved on me of returning thanks for the assembled managers. He told me at the time that he was suffering from aneurism of the heart, which might at any moment prove fatal ; and I w r ell remember how alarmed Mrs. Wigan became at his unwonted excitement in con- sequence of an unfortunate remark made in Mr. George Sala's speech. I had no idea, however, that the danger was so imminent, and that when we said "Good-bye" that night it was "Good-bye" forever. Since these lines w T ere written Horace Wiean has been taken from us. Doubtless the success of his more accomplished brother allured Horace to follow a calling in which he was destined never to achieve eminence, despite the repeated opportunities which accident Hung in his way. Always sensible, intelligent, and well grounded in 18—2 276 PLAYERS AND PLAYWRIGHTS. the grammar of his art, he was never an actor — he was always Horace Wigan. He was a capital stage- manager, however, and when he confined his atten- tion to that department was invaluable. For some time he managed the Olympic and the Holborn, but he always led me to understand he was merely engaged at a salary, with a share in profits which, somehow or other, never turned up. I fear there was not much love lost between the brothers. E.g. During the prolonged run at the Holborn of an admirable and apparently prosperous piece, which certainly built up the reputation of one of our most popular actors, I happened to mention that Alfred had informed me a few days previous that the net profit of his Olympian management had realized .£14,000. "Humph! Did it?" growled Horace; "I dare say ! The devil's children have the devil's luck, and I ought to have a slice of it, being one of the family — but I haven't ! I haven't ! Look here, my son," and he plucked down a ledger. " Now, don't lose your eyesight, or go off your nut, or swell up and bust ! What do you think of that for a week's busi- ness in a London theatre with exes at ^300 ?" and he pointed to the entire receipts of the preceding week — a sum total of £"14! " Is that good enough for you, or don't you think you'd better stick to your York circuit ? I wish to God I was there, or anywhere out of this ! And that reminds me we'd better go over the road and get a biscuit and a glass of sherry and bitters." THE WIGANS. 277 Poor Horace — dear butter-hearted old cynic !— was a man every inch of him — a man incapable of a base or dishonourable action. He was a graceful and fecund, if not an original, writer. Some of his adaptations from the French would take the wind out of the sails of many of our so- called farcical comedies, but, like many of his com- peers, he was a little before his time. Some sow that others may reap— he was one of the sowers. The critical faculty was strongly developed in him, and had he written about the stage, instead of acting upon it, some eminent authors, and actors and critics, too, would have " caught snakes." He illustrated in fine form the fact that mere intellectual capacity does not make an actor. Men with not a tithe of his brains have succeeded in obtaining large salaries, and in acquiring distin- guished positions, while he for years laboriously earned only a modest stipend, which was rendered still smaller by repeatedly protracted periods of inaction. In every relation of his life he was an honour to the profession he had, unfortunately for himself, adopted. Had he devoted to the Bar or the pulpit the gifts which were not adapted to the stage, he might have been a judge or a bishop. On Wednesday, August 12th, 1885, we left him lying at Hampstead beside his wife. A few trusted friends were there to do honour to his memory. 2;S PLAYERS. AND PLAYWRIGHTS. Probably the most conspicuous person present was his old schoolfellow, Mr. Serjeant Ballantyne, who told me that he had met Horace limping about Margate a month before, little dreaming that the end was so near, the end which came to him as it must come to us all by-and-by. CHAPTER VII. BEX J A MIX WEBSTER. Mr. Webster was one of the most generally accom- plished men that ever put foot upon a stage. He was a singularly versatile actor, a facile and experi- enced playwright, a splendid dancer, and he " played the fiddle like an angel." My earliest, almost childish, recollection of him takes me back to the Hay market ever so many years ago, where I saw him dance the polka (divinely as I thought) with Madame Celeste in a little piece called " The Trumpeter's Daughter." Although then at the meridian of life, he looked a handsome young fellow of five-and-twenty. Despite the efforts of Julia Bennett, Mrs. Glover, Mrs. Nesbitt, " Bucky," Holl, Strickland, and William Farren, how desperately dull and stupid the first piece, the famous prize comedy, " Quid pro Ouo," appeared to my unsophisticated mind! " Day of Dupes," indeed ! Webster must have been duped on the day he was induced to " part " with ^500 for this lump of lead. 28o PLAYERS AND PLAYWRIGHTS. Dramatic authors had fallen upon bad times when this prize evoked such keen competition. Only thirty years previously Mrs. Inchbald was wont to receive eight hundred or a thousand pounds for merely adapting a play from the German, of which language that accomplished lady didn't under- stand a sentence. A literal translation of Kotzebue's "Child of Nature" was placed in her hands for adaptation, for which she was paid eight or nine hundred pounds, and it was by no means an unusual thing for George Colman to receive £1,000 for a piece; indeed, I think he got ,£2,000 down in a lump for "John Bull." A few years after my visit to the Haymarket, I met Mr. Webster in the Edinburgh Theatre, where he was starring with Madame Celeste in " The Green Bushes," "Lioness of the North," "The Woman- Hater," and " The Pretty Girls of Stillberg." He gave himself no airs, and was bon camarade with everybody, from the highest to the lowest, with the result that he won all hearts by his amiability and accessibility. I was playing utility or anything I could get, but he was as affable to me as to the leading lady or leading gentleman, or even the manager himself. Upon his first appearance in Edinburgh, neither he nor Celeste made the impression they had calcu- lated upon in " The Green Bushes." The fact was, the piece had been previously played by the resident company, and first impressions go a very long way. The Miami was a Miss L. Melville, a young BEX J AMI X WEBSTER. 281 lady whom I remember to have seen once as Margaret Aylmer, in " Love's Sacrifice," on the occasion of John Webster's benefit at the Olympic. I didn't know much about acting then, but I knew that she was a very beautiful, superbly-proportioned woman, and, of course, I thought her awfully clever. The impression she left upon the Edinbronians was so vivid that they didn't care for Celeste after her, and they wouldn't stand Webster at any price after Murray in " Muster Grinnidge." Celeste, however, distinguished herself highly in " The Lioness of the North," though Webster was run very hard in the light comedy part by the astute manager, who (a favourite dodge of his when great people came from town to star) played a character comedy part, and knocked everybody who came in his way out of time. In certain parts — Old Goldthumb ("Time Works Wonders "), Colonel Damas, Jacques (" Honey- moon "), Simpson (" Simpson and Co."), Trap, (" Diamond-cut-Diamond "), Major Galbraith, Osric, William ("As You Like It"), Modus, Jacob Twig, above all, in Caleb Plummer, Murray was unap- proached, and, indeed, unapproachable. He also tried his hand at Falstaff, but " fat Jack " was beyond his reach — the performance, though intelligent and meritorious, was weak-kneed and feeble. Webster made a great mark in " The Woman- Hater." At this distance of time I can recall two distinct, yet similar, pleasures of memory : Mac- ready's smile in " Richelieu," and Webster's in " The 282 PLAYERS AXD PLAYWRIGHTS. Woman- Hater." Of the two, I know not which was the more beautiful. It was, however, in " The Pretty Girls of Still- berg" that Webster made his great hit. We were supposed to be a lot of French lads — students in some military school or college ; we wanted a holiday for some especial occasion — I forget what ; our conge could only be obtained by personal permis- sion from the Emperor, and it was impossible to get at him, although he was in the neighbourhood. At the moment when we were at our wits' end Ernest (Webster) exclaimed, " I have it, boys!" (he looked a boy himself). Then he walked up the stage — his back to us and the audience — he did something to his coat (he wore a green one), his wig, and hat ; the action didn't take two seconds, but when he turned round and faced us, he was metamorphozed into The Little Corporal himself! Not the little, meagre, mangy wretch, all boots and breeches, described so vividly by Madame l'Abrantes ; but Napoleon le Grand — at his best and brightest, as he appeared at Erfurt, w T ith a mob of Kings at his heels. The effect of this change was magical and electric. The house rose at it. The much-talked-of transformation in Jekyll and Hyde is not to be named in the same century with this transfiguration. One evening during this engagement I spoke to Webster of this extraordinary, I might say this almost deified, resemblance to the "Man of Destiny." " It was a rum start," said he ; "a perfect acci- BEX JAM IX WEBSTER. 2S3 dent. I never dreamt of it. I was in Paris, with- out a sou or a shirt (my linen was limited to a dickey and a collar!), when I got an engagement as a super at one of the theatres on the Boulevard. They were acting a military drama about the life and death of Buonaparte, and the piece wound up with a glorified tableau of Napoleon and the King of Rome ascending to heaven. As luck would have it, some of the soldier-supers of the Old Guard got it into their heads that I was something like Le Petit Caporal, so I was singled out for the apotheosis. A deuced lucky thing for me ! for the piece ran all the season, and I got a very good screw.'' The next time I met Mr. Webster was at Worcester, where he came down to act Wright's part in " The Mysterious Stranger/' for Madame Celeste's benefit. On this occasion I played the leading part. He invited me to supper after the play. That night he told me of his former extraordinary experiences — how at fort}-, or five-and- forty* heart- sick, broken down with continual disappointment, he had arrived at the conclusion that he could never do anything as an actor, hence he went into a little bookselling business at Paddington, for the sale of magazines, penny dreadfuls, etc., thus supplementing his small salary at Drury Lane. His resources were so limited that he had to walk to and from Pater- noster Row, carrying his bag of books. One memorable evening when he came home at five o'clock, weary and footsore, he found a notice 284 PLAYERS AND PLAYWRIGHTS. from the st?ge manager, stating that Harley had been taken suddenly ill, and that he (Webster) must prepare to play Pompey in " Measure for Measure " there and then. He had never seen the play in his life, didn't know a line of the part, but desperation nerved him to audacity. He did it, "winged" it, as we say, without a rehearsal ; next morning he was famous. The Rubicon was passed, and from that moment he advanced steadily to the front. Many years after, at a period when most people are thinking of retiring, Webster began to make his mark as a great actor of character parts — com- mencing with the creation of Triplet — certainly one of the most delightful performances the stage has witnessed. Father Radcliffe followed, in that admir- able but unsuccessful play, " Two Loves and a Life;" Carlos, "Thirst for Gold;" Richard Pride, the most awful, many-sided diagnosis of the infinite variety of the phenomena of drunkenness ever wit- nessed ; Belphegor, " The Poor Strollers ;" " The Willow Copse ;" Tartuffe, etc. In all these parts, that wretched Somersetshire dialect which clung to him to the last, and a certain hesitation of speech, scarcely interfered with the brilliancy of his execution. Even when he soared to a higher standard as Robert Landry, in my poor friend Watts Phillips' drama, " The Dead Heart," despite these serious drawbacks, Webster's acting of the Bastile scene and the duel with the Abbe de Latour was equal to the very best efforts BEX J AM IX WEBSTER. 2S5 of the French and English stage of our time. Apropos of " The Dead Heart," I was so struck with this noble play that the first night I saw it I arranged for the right to act it in the provinces, and ever after found it one of the most attractive plays in my repertoire. The works already enumerated — " The Green Bushes," " The Flowers of the Forest," and a score of others — attest Webster's fecundity and skill as a stage manager. In matters of detail, it must be admitted, he occasionally failed to keep pace with the age ; it is, however, remarkable that the airy gentlemen who were always ready to poke fun at the " Adelphi guests " twenty years ago, should have recently dropped the " Gaiety guests " so gently. Certainly in the matter of Bags, Bluchers, and Berlins, the Gaiety guests in " Fedora " bore away the palm from their Adelphian precursors. But, of course, " they manage these things so much better in France." We had not then arrived at the petit crev^ amateur actors, and people were not paid at the present rate (more's the pity); but in his time Benjamin Webster paid more money to actors and authors, and behaved more liberally to them, than any of his compeers. He was too human to be without his weaknesses. He was a little weak on the subject of his acting (we all are) ; he had also the weakness of gods and great men. Surely 'tis an amiable weakness to admire the sex to whom we owe our very existence, and all that makes life precious. 286 PLAYERS AND PLAYWRIGHTS. He was singularly superstitious, too ; " would never buy tripe on a Friday," would never start an enterprise, correct a proof, produce a piece, pay or accept a bill, or sign a cheque on this most unlucky day. Many a time have I sat with him in his room at the Adelphi, waiting for the clock to strike twelve on Friday night, before he would sign a cheque for Saturday morning's treasury. For years, when oscillating 'twixt town and country, there was a secluded spot in the Albion (known only to the initiated) where, in the " wee small hours ayont the twal," I was always sure to find him. His age was an unknown quantity. Paul Bedford, who had known him all his life, assured me, a short time previous to his own death, that Ben was then over threescore and ten. Lono: after that the young rascal took to himself a charm- ing young wife, who in due course made him a happy father. Once or twice I ventured to hazard a question about his age ; he used to reply in a whisper: "Hush! speak low, or He may hear you — the venerable party with the scythe and the hour-glass. If we let him alone, perhaps he'll pass by without knocking at the door." On one occasion, "the venerable party" did knock at the door earlier than expected, but Master Ben's time had not come. The circumstances, which I had from his own lips, were sufficiently remarkable. BEX} AMI X WEBSTER, 2S7 During one of my periodical visits to town, I encountered him in the central avenue of Covent Garden Market. Upon inquiring how he was, he replied : " As well as a fella can be who has been all but dead, and who has narrowly escaped being buried alive !" "Well, anyhow, you are alive now," said I ; "so come and dine with me at the Tavistock, and tell me all about it." After dinner, when primed with a bottle of burgundy, he opened fire. " I've been very ill indeed," said he ; " no mistake about that — couldn't eat ; couldn't sleep ; couldn't drink. I couldn't euess what was the matter. Even C. was puzzled, until at length he put it down to decay of nature. I flatter myself I've astonished that haunch of mutton to-night, yet scarce a month ago I appeared bound for kingdom come. I got from bad to worse, until at last I collapsed, took to my bed, fell into a stupor of sleep, which changed to a trance, which lasted over a week, during which, although I was speechless and motion- less, I was perfectly conscious. Dear old C. came to see me two or three times a day. " Every time he spoke, I tried to answer him ; but I could neither speak nor move. " At last, one night, having felt my pulse, and ex- amined me more carefully than usual, I heard him gasp, ' Poor old Ben !' " Then he said to my housekeeper: 288 PLAYERS AND PLAYWRIGHTS. " • It's all over ! You'd better lay him out.' " I listened in speechless horror, for already I saw myself in my coffin and buried alive ; but I was somewhat reassured when the old girl sturdily replied : " ' But he isn't dead ! I know he wouldn't have died without saying good-bye to me after all these years. Go — go your ways, doctor, and leave him to me.' " When C. left the room, she set to work, and laid me out after her own fashion, and this was how- she did it : "She got a bottle of old Irish whisky, half of which she rubbed into my chest ; the other half she poured down my throat. The effect was marvellous. "The generous, life-giving spirit flowed through my veins like fire, restored the action of my heart, which began to beat feebly, then furiously, until I thought it was going to burst. I was half suffocated, until at last I sat bolt upright, and found relief in a severe bout of cou^hinof. "'I knew you were not dead!' said the old lass. '"Dead, indeed! I should think not! But where's the doctor ?' " ' In the drawing-room.' " ' I'll doctor him !' I gasped. " Then, in spite of her opposition, I struggled out of bed, wrapped myself up in a sheet, and tottered downstairs. "C. and C, my secretary, were drawn cosily round BENJAMIN WEBSTER. 289 the fire, doubtless drinking peace to my memory in copious libations of my best John Jamieson. "It was about 'the witching time of night,' and when I appeared in my winding-sheet, the poor beggars let out a yell of terror as they sprang to their feet, upsetting the poteen. " For a moment they were in doubt as to whether I was myself or my ghost, but I soon convinced them of my identity by mixing myself a steaming- hot tumbler of punch, and putting it away. " Although my recovery was entirely out of accord with C.'s calculations, he was glad to find that, for once in a way, he had made a mistake in his prognosis." Alas ! for poor E. C. ! His own end was destined to be infinitely more tragic. This unfortunate gentleman, for many years senior physician of Charing Cross Hospital, was a man of most distinguished ability. I have heard experts maintain that, had merit met with its deserts, he would surely have attained the highest dignities and emoluments of his profession ; but he had one fatal infirmity, which left him stranded by the tide of time, while others, without a tithe of his ability, walked easily over his head. Like many other eminent members of his noble profession, his generosity was boundless, and his services were always gratuitously and gracefully given to anyone connected with the theatre. The last time I ever met him was in John Street, Adelphi, towards the end of '85. vol. 1. 19 290 PLAYERS AND PLAYWRIGHTS. I took him round with me to Garrick's house, on the terrace, to see Edward Leman Blanchard, who was very ill. C. had never heeded the adage, " Physician, heal thyself!" and though he prescribed for Blanchard's malady, he could not cure his own. Many years before Blanchard had written a story in which he formulated the idea of a notorious criminal who, while flying from justice, in order to escape detection, steals the body of a dead man, which he dresses in his clothes, and, in the darkness of night, leaves on Hampstead Heath, with a phial of poison beside it. The police believe the criminal has poisoned himself, while in fact he escapes to America. Strange to say, years after this story was written, the infamous Sadleir had recourse to the very same expedient on the very same spot. Stranger still, C. happened to be passing by when the body was discovered, and was called upon to make a medical examination. How far in the last dread extremity this chain of circumstance may have affected his mind will never be known now ; but certain it is, the very day after I left him at Adelphi Terrace, he was found dead, with a phial of hydrocyanic acid beside him, on the very seat on Hampstead Heath where years before he had found the corpse of Sadleir. Peace to his memory ! The worst that can be said of him is, that he was every man's friend, but his own enemy. BEN J A MIX WEBSTER. 291 Long years after Webster's extraordinary escape from death he retired, and passed a pleasant life of learned leisure with his books (he was an omnivorous reader), his young wife and child, at " The Retreat," opposite Kennington Church. He was proud of his profession, and always had its welfare at heart ; this did not, however, prevent him from making egregious mistakes, the greatest of which was the unfortunate Dramatic College. No man was more distinguished for kindness and generosity, and no man was more beloved amongst his comrades. A notable illustration was given in that remarkable benefit of his at Drury Lane, when all the most dis- tinguished members of the profession assembled to do honour to the occasion. I myself travelled four hundred miles merely to assist as a spectator. Two or three noteworthy and ludicrous incidents occurred during this performance. First — Nearly all the pit was stalled off, and there was a row from the discontented pittites, which at one moment threatened to endanger the success of the play. Second — In the screen scene Miss Helen Faucit left the stage through some mysterious opening at the back. Fortunately Charles Mathews found it out before the scene was overthrown, and " gagged " for two or three minutes, until Lady Teazle returned to her post. Third — When the play was over, poor Andrew Halliday stalked gravely before the curtain, and said, 19 — 2 292 PLAYERS AND PLAYWRIGHTS. in the most sententious and funereal tones, " Ladies and gentlemen — er — er — I have the honour — er — er — to inform you that the sum total accruing from this performance — er — er — errors excepted, amounts to two thousand pounds." Halliday had scarcely got off one side of the stage when Charles Mathews fluttered on on the other, and said, in his most airy manner, " Ladies and gentlemen — er — er — I have the honour — er — er — to inform you that the sum total of the ages of the performers in this play — er — er — errors excepted, amounts to two thousand — er- — er — years !" Last, after the play, Mrs. Keeley had to deliver an address, written by John Oxenford. When the curtain drew up, the stage was crowded with every lady and gentleman of mark in the profession, Webster led Mrs. Keeley forward. Now, the great point of her speech was that, at the end of it, she had to turn round and embrace the bdndficiaire. When Webster stepped back, he was surrounded by a mob of ladies ; it was a moment of effusion — who began it I don't know, but, alas ! the wind was taken out of poor Mrs. Keeley's sails, and her great point utterly destroyed, for lo ! and behold, Master Ben was kissing and being kissed coram popido, by all the ladies right and left of him. Strange to say, there appeared nothing incongruous or improper in the business. I am sure many ladies who were amongst the audience would have been glad to have given the dear old boy a parting salute, and the younger men only envied the gay young BENJAMIN WEBSTER. 293 dog. Upon this osculatory tableau the curtain fell. Upon how many of the actors on that occasion has the last dread curtain fallen since that memorable morning ! First upon the list, in honour and in place, followed grim Sam Phelps, the Sir Peter; next the ever-youthful Charles Mathews, who was the scrape- grace Charles ; brusque Sam Emery (Sir Oliver) ; poor jovial "Bucky" (Sir Benjamin); dry, sententious Compton (Crabtree) ; and rare old Ben himself, the Snake of the occasion. Some of Charles Surface's guests have followed their Amphitryon to the Elysian fields — notably poor Harcourt, who was a conspicuous figure, brave in scarlet and gold, and who was killed by falling through a trap at the Hay- market soon after, and the veteran John Parry (who accompanied Santley's song). Prominent amongst the crowd in the final tableau stood forth " Honest Jack Ryder" and Andrew Halliday, while last, not least, in the stage-box sat dear John Oxenford, most erudite of critics, most genial of gentlemen. Alas ! all gone ! — all moved over to the great majority. Their turn yesterday — ours to-morrow. CHAPTER VIII. WILLIAM WOOLGAR. An old gentleman of eighty-four years of age was found dead in his chair at Chelsea some two years ago, who probably will be principally remem- bered from the fact that he was the father of the accomplished " Bella " Woolgar, so long and so honourably associated with the annals of the Adelphi Theatre. He has, however, other claims to be remembered. He saw Edmund Kean's first appearance in London, when the obscure country actor burst upon the dazzled and delighted town as Shylock ; he saw his last when the fiery and erratic genius broke down in Othello, and said to his son, " Help me off, Charles ; I'm dying !" He saw Lucius Junius Booth arise like a star and vanish like a meteor. He saw John Kemble's last appearance as Coriolanus. He saw William Charles Macready open as Orestes, and he saw him close as Macbeth. In the interval he had acted with the great tragedian in London and Paris. He had acted with Phelps in a sail-loft at Torquay, and in the State Theatre at Windsor Castle. WILLIAM WOOLGAR. 295 He had been the leading tragic actor, and a popular favourite in nearly every theatre of note in the country ; he survived to distinguish himself as Danny Mann in many theatres in town and country; and now he has played his last part. With his demise disappears one of the last links which connect us with the Titans. * ■/■ * % % -55- My earliest and most childish recollection of the theatre dates back to Mr. Woolgar and his charming daughter. To my unformed mind, this little man, with the face and fair hair of a country boy, was a demi-god, and people who were old enough to form an opinion, and who, indeed, knew something about it, have assured me that he was an excellent actor of the Kean school, whose style and manner he affected. Years afterwards I met him in my noviciate, and saw him act Master Walter, Virginius, Brutus, Adam, and Tom Coke (" Old Heads and Young Hearts") as I thought admirably. Those who were so unfortunate as to see Mrs. Mellon in Mr. Burnand's latest triumph, "Just in Time," would have some difficulty in realizing what a charming Helen, Virginia, Rosalind, and Lady Alice Hawthorn she made in those days. # -.i * -;:- * * A little book of mine having attracted Mr. Woolgar's attention, he wrote me, on the strength of our old acquaintance, to request me to overhaul some 296 PLAYERS AND PLAYWRIGHTS. reminiscences of his, and put them shipshape for publication. I found them full of interest, but strung together so crudely as to make greater demands upon my time than I could devote to them ; but he would not be denied, and returned to the charge so persistently, that I was compelled at last to promise to carry out his wishes. One night he came up to the club to have two or three hours' jaw about the matter. I had not seen him since the day we met at Drury Lane on the occasion of Chatterton's benefit. His health was well enough, but his spirits were below par, and he was deeply distressed at the con- tinued indisposition of Mrs. Mellon. It was no ordinary tie which bound this old man to his daughter, and his grief was piteous to behold. Subsequently I received several letters urging me to carry out the project he had so much at heart. At or about this time some over-zealous friend set afloat a report about Mr. Woolgar's circumstances, which found its way into the papers, and occasioned him great trouble and distress, inasmuch as he was under the impression that, apart from the rumour having no foundation, it was calculated to place his family in a false position. I went down to Chelsea to ascertain the facts. The old gentleman had gone out to take his morning constitutional, and I found him in the vicinity of the WILLIAM WOOLGAR. 297 pier. He appeared very much shattered, and I gave him my arm to lean on. As we walked homeward, he told me that this deplorable rumour had caused him to lose three nights' sleep — a serious matter at his age. To make things better, he was suffering from gout in the left foot, which had only attacked him a few days before, and, by the way, it was the first attack he had ever had in his life. When we got home, he showed me his little treasures — a water-colour sketch of Mrs. Mellon as St. George, two splendid busts of poor Alfred, and a most valuable portrait of himself, painted upwards of thirty years ago, by Waller, a Yorkshire genius. This picture, as a work of art, should be worth a considerable sum. In his little bedroom was a rare collection of valuable theatrical prints, an etching of Kean (which I had never seen before), a large mezzotint of Miss O'Neil as Juliet, two outline coloured sketches of Charles Kemble as Pierre and Cassio, one of Mac- ready as Virginius, etc. It was only necessary to mention Kean for Mr. Woolgar to " turn on the tap." " They were none of them ' in it ' with the little man," he said. " No one could touch him in Othello, Richard, Shylock, or Sir Giles; but," he continued, " ' Mac ' knocked him into a cocked hat in Virginius !" Asking him what he thought of Miss O'Neil : "My God! sir," he exclaimed, "she was youth, beauty, and grace personified. She had little power, but her pathos, and then her voice! it had just the 298 PLAYERS AND PLAYWRIGHTS. taste of the potato in it that poor Gus Brooke had — that is, when he had a voice." " And how about Charles Kemble ?" I inquired ; " was he the genius that they tell us he was ?" " Certainly not, sir ! Charles Kemble never was a genius, but he was a scholar and a gentleman ; he pleased the eye, gratified the intelligence, but never touched the heart, never made your back open and shut as this little blackguard" (pointing to Kean) " did." Thus we chatted away for an hour or more about old actors and old times. VF ^F ?F 7& 7& 7fc His last letter, dated June 16, 1886, and written in a very clear, legible hand, runs to this effect : " Dear Coleman, " I hope you have not ' cooled ' on the reminiscences ; they have long been ready. " Mrs. Mellon still continues in her prostrate con- dition, which forbids all hope of ever resuming her professional labours. " I see you are about to publish a life of Phelps. I have had much to say about him, for I cannot think any living being can know so much of his early career as myself, having acted with him in a sail-loft in Torquay half a century ago, and before his engagement at the Haymarket. " I am very weakly, and I am certain my bill is due ! WILLIAM WOOLGAR. 299 ' Hoping your energies will continue with the activity of your mind, " Yours, dear Coleman, "W. WOOLGAR." Wishing to dispel his despondency, I took him down a leader from the Daily News apropos of the approaching birthday of Leopold Von Ranke, the German historian. It was in vain that I pointed out that this illustrious man, Von Moltke, and the Emperor were much older than he was. "It's no use talking, my boy," replied the veteran, " I can't last much longer ; I have only two wishes now : to see my book published, and to die before my daughter — the best, the sweetest, the most angelic of women." I left him, however, in a more cheerful mood, promising to come down again to pass the evening with him during the following week. The night before I was due in Chelsea his " bill was due," his debt was paid, and when I called I found that " Home he'd gone and ta'en his wages.'' CHAPTER IX. RYDER : AN AUTOBIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. " I was born in the Isle of Thanet, and my father was a river pilot. I was not only an only son, but an only child, and I suppose I was about as well spoiled as only children usually are. " The old folk wanted to place me in a merchant's office, and having obtained an introduction to Mr. John Leaf, the head of the great firm of Leafs, on Old Change, father, mother, and I came up to town, and presented our credentials. The old gentle- man was very gracious, and showed us over the premises. While we took stock of the building, he took stock of me. When we had finished our rounds, he let out with, ' H'm ! I like the cut of the youngster's jib, and I'll find a berth for him !' " ' You are very good, sir,' said my father ; ' when is he to begin ?' " ' When is he to begin ?' replied Mr. Leaf. 1 When ? Why now, sir, now, this very minute !' " My poor mother, who had never been parted RYDER. 301 from her boy in her life, looked very blank at the idea of this sudden separation. My father was, however, equal to the occasion, and said : ' Certainly — certainly ; much obliged, sir ;' — and I was left, there and then, to be initiated into the mysteries of tare and tret, and the rest of it. " That was a bad night for our small family. Mother has often told me that she and father never slept a wink — to be sure, they put up at a coffee- house in Bishopsgate Street, and when they got to bed they'd rather a lively time of it with the Norfolk Howards. Perhaps that might have had something to do with their sleeplessness. For my part, I lay howling all night, and only fell asleep when it was time to get up in the morning. " I forget the nature of the arrangement made between my father and Mr. Leaf. I only know that I got no money, save what father sent me — that we never had any holidays — that we worked from morn- ing till night, beginning at eight, and never knocking off till Mr. Leaf himself knocked off. When he walked out of the counting-house at seven o'clock? which he did pretty punctually, our labours were done for the day. From seven until eleven we were our own masters. Most of the lads dropped into the neighbouring ' pubs,' to smoke pipes, drink beer, play billiards, bagatelle, or skittles ; but I had a soul above that, and whenever the state of the exchequer permitted, I dropped into the pit of Drury Lane or Covent Garden at half-price. The full price was three and sixpence — half-price, two bob. This sort 302 PLAYERS AND PLAYWRIGHTS. of thing made a hole in my slender resources, but mother was very good to me, and when once I passed the magic portals I was in Elysium. It is true my bliss was short-lived — for if any one of us failed to report himself at eleven o'clock, he was liable to ' get the sack ' the next day. "What sneak turned traitor I don't know, but it is certain that one morning I was ordered into the 'sweating-room,' as we called Mr. Leaf's private office. As soon as I got in, I saw from the ' angry spot on Caesar's brow ' that something was wrong. The governor didn't suffer me to remain in doubt for a moment, for he opened fire with : "'So, sir, what's this I hear? You go to the theatre. I don't believe in theatres — they lead to disgrace, destruction, and d n ! Why don't you answer, sirrah — do you go to the theatre, or do you not ?' " I stammered out, ' I certainly have been to the theatre, sir.' "'Have been — have been, eh? — and you've the effrontery to own it ? I am told, sir, you've even been two or three nights a week !' " ' It's quite true, sir ! — I have been two or three nights a week.' " ' And you admit it ! Do you think I will permit the young people in my employment to walk headlong into the bottomless pit of perdition ? No, sir, no I — I've my duty to perform. Now, make up your mind to give up the theatre, or give up me. That'll do, sir ; you may go.' RYDER. 303 " After this memorable interview, I concluded not to give up the theatre, but to give up Mr. Leaf as soon as I could get the chance. At last the chance came. Old Kenneth, the agent of Bow Street, got me an engagement in the country — so, with my heart in my mouth, I went to Mr. Leaf's room, and knocked at the door. When I entered the august presence I ' funked ' it a little, and stood till I think my heart dropped into my boots, and deuce a word could I get out, good, bad, or indifferent. At last the governor said : 'Well — well, what's the matter ? Have you got the colic or St. Vitus's dance ? Speak out — what is it ?' " ' It is this, sir,' I said ; ' I've concluded to give up you instead of the theatre— and I wish to leave your employment as soon as you can spare me/ The old gentleman turned purple, and I thought he was going to have an apoplectic fit ; then he gasped and spluttered — at last he managed to get out : " ' Well, I never ! D n your impudence ! Here, I say, Ben,' he roared out to the porter, ' get this young jackanapes' things down, and chuck him and them out of the place at once ! Away you go — not another word ; get out ! Go to the devil !' I was not even suffered to go upstairs, and in less than five minutes both myself and my things were literally ' chucked out ' on the pavement of Old Change, in sight of all Israel. I had to pack them up as well as I could ; then I sat down on my trunk till I could hail a passing hackney-coach to take me to the nearest coffee-house. That was how the 304 PL A YERS A ND PL A Y WRIGHTS. autocratic firm of Leaf and Co. dealt with their dependents half a century ago. " After this, I went into the country to learn my business, and a precious hard time I had of it, I can tell you. My first engagement was in the famous company of your old circuit, John, then under the management of Downe, who, though he was always ' down ' on me, was, I must say, a first-rate ' old man.' I was engaged for walking gentlemen and ' utility ' at a guinea a week, commencing at Hull in January, 1838. Having seen all the great people in town, I thought I knew all about it, and I flattered myself that I was going to astonish the wretched country actors ; but, by Jove ! they astonished me ! In the first place, there was the magnificent theatre in H umber Street, with its two tiers of boxes, a grand entrance, and a lobby round which you might drive a carriage and pair, two galleries, a pit like Her Majesty's, two green-rooms, lots of dressing- rooms, and a company of forty or fifty first-rate people — in fact, a deuced sight better company than you can find in any West-End theatre just now. " On the night of my arrival, the play was ' Macbeth.' Creswick was Macbeth ; James Chute, Macduff; Compton, the First Witch ; Downe, Duncan ; and Mrs. Morton Brookes, Lady Macbeth. The rest of the cast was equally strong. The piece was capitally mounted, and the music admirable. When I saw this specimen of country acting, I felt that there was not much chance of my setting the Humber on fire. RYDER. 305 "Next night, I 'opened' as Frederick in 'The Wonder,' and I immediately got the sack, which I suppose served me right for having the cheek to think that such a green gosling as myself could pass muster amongst such a crowd. "Downewas (except William Farren and Murray) about the best old man on the stage, but ' the three C.'s ' (Creswick, Compton, and Chute) were the 'great guns' of the concern. The first, full of life and go and enthusiasm, was our leading man ; the second was our low comedian ; the third (a most versatile and accomplished actor, and a very hand- some man to boot) was our light comedian. " Personally, they were all very kind, but Creswick pronounced my cockney accent intolerable. Compton declared my ■ Thanet lingo,' as he called it, utterly unintelligible. Chute frankly, but pleasantly, declared that I was a duffer, while all agreed upon one point, viz., that I should never make an actor as long as I lived ! Having arrived at this satisfactory conclu- sion, they advised me, especially as I had now taken to myself a wife, to get back to Old Change as soon as I could, and play the repentant prodigal to old Leaf ; but I replied stoutly, ' I'd see old Leaf first!' " By-and-by the three C.'s began to 'cotton' to me, but old Downe remained implacable. It was getting towards the end of the season when I joined at Hull, so I went with the company to York, where my engagement terminated, and I was left on my beam-ends. At last, when I was about to give it VOL. I. 20 3 o6 PLAYERS AND PLAYWRIGHTS. up as a bad job, I saw land, in the shape of an en- gagement with the Roxby Beverleys, a family of actors, managers, and scene-painters, about the best they make 'em ; you don't find many such knocking about nowadays, I can tell you. " There was the old gentleman (and a very dis- tinguished old swell he was), who had been an officer in the army or navy, and who had originally introduced the French plays to London, during his management of ' The Dusthole' (since known as 'The Prince of Wales's'), in Tottenham Court Road. Subsequently he had the Theatre Royal, Manchester ; but ultimately he settled down in the North, where he took Stephen Kemble's circuit, comprising Shields (North and South), Stockton, Durham, Sunderland, and Scarborough. As for the family, for some occult reason, some were Roxbys, and some were Beverleys. "Sam, a splendid comedian, who succeeded his father in the circuit, was a Roxby, so was Bob, who afterwards became stage-manager at the Lyceum and Drury Lane. Harry ('the Beauty,' so called because he was the ugliest man on earth, yet a great lady-killer, notwithstanding, and the drollest comedian I ever saw in my life, not even excepting Liston !)■ was a Beverley. So was William, the celebrated scene-painter and inventor of transformation scenes, and prince of good fellows. "Well, when I got to Scarborough I found my lines had dropped in pleasant places. We were all boys together, and a fine high old time we had of it.. RYDER. 307 I wonder whether the great painter ever recalls his fishino- and boating excursions with the lonsr Kentish lad half a century ago, or the fish we used to catch, and to cook and eat as soon as we caught 'em ! " I began at the bottom of the ladder — played everything — high, low, Jack, and game. At first the work was something awful ; but after a while I began to find my way about, got the use of my limbs, and learnt to speak out like a man. " I was not such an ass as to think myself a great actor. ' The three C.'s ' and the boys, Sam, Harry, Bob, and Bill, soon knocked that nonsense out of me ; besides, I had my nut screwed on straight, and knew what I was about. " Pleasant as these times were (and I think they were about the pleasantest I've known, before or since), after two or three years of it I was compelled to arrive at the conclusion that five-and-twenty bob a week wasn't good enough. Then I cast about to see how I could better myself. At last, Mrs. Nisbett came down to star at Sunderland. Oh ! what a glorious creature she was ! as like that libel upon her in ' Pendennis ' as I am to Johnny Toole. My impression is that she had snubbed Thackeray, or perhaps sat upon his nose, which was certainly not a ' thing of beauty.' He was a good hater, and never forgave her. As for me, I would have made myself a door-mat for her if I had had the chance. Anyhow, I was oblicrincr and attentive, and made a friend of the spoiled beauty. Then came Sheridan Knowles, poet, author, and actor, and I laid myself out for 20 — 2 30S PLAYERS AND PLAYWRIGHTS. him. He took a fancy to me, and swore that I was a fine fellow, and a first-rate actor. " One day, while walking to Bishop Wearmouth, he told me I was the best Ferrado Gonzaga and Sir Thomas Clifford he had ever seen. He was an Irishman, you know, and had the national desire to make himself agreeable. If it were not quite true, so much the worse for the truth. I dare say I did Ferrado pretty fairly ; but as to Sir Thomas — ah ! I had seen Charles Kemble, and I knew that in that part I wasn't fit to brush his boots. All the same, I improved the occasion, so when the poet began to ' gush,' I said : " 'Ah, Mr. Knowles, it is very kind of you to say these things to me. If you'd only say them to some- one else, now.' " ' By jabers ! my boy, I'd say them, and twice as much, before the blessed host of Apostles.' "'The Apostles are all very well in their way, sir, but they won't give me an engagement — though the managers might.' '"Might, sir! By G— they shall! I'll make ' i' em ! " ' I'm sure they would, sir, if you'd write a letter about me, and only say on paper half the kind things you say now.' "'A letther ! I'll write you a dozen, my boy, when I get to Newcastle.' " ' I don't want a dozen, sir; one would be enough, if you'd only come into this public, and write it now.' RYDER. 309 " ' With all the pleasure in life, my boy !' " So in we went, and over a glass of very sour beer he then and there wrote me a gushing letter, declaring that I was the most promising young actor on the stage. " That night I despatched his letter to Mr. Murray, of Edinburgh, with an application for an engage- ment. " By return of post Murray engaged me ; and so I got my first start, not by my ability, but by my 1 tact.' " The Edinburgh Theatre at that time occupied a very high position ; and the company was first-rate. We've nothing like it here now in this village — at least, not in any theatre I can mention. "At the end of my engagement, which extended over two years, Mr. Murray (who was distantly re- lated to the Kembles, through his sister marrying Mrs. Siddons' son Henry) was so well satisfied with my industry and attention, that I induced him to give me an introduction to George Bartley, then stage-manager for Charles Kemble at Covent Garden. As soon as I got to town, I waited on Mr. Bartley at the theatre. He received me with very great courtesy, and introduced me to his chief. The old crentlcman was seated at his desk when I went & in — I can see him now. He looked me through and through, from head to foot, and then com- menced : "'Well, young man, Mr. Murray gives a very flattering account of you. lie tells me you played 3 to PLAYERS AND PLAYWRIGHTS. my own part of Durimel in my play " The Point of Honour " splendidly, and on his recommendation I am prepared to give you an opening. Yes, sir, you shall play Romeo to my daughter's Juliet.' " The offer took my breath away, and literally deprived me of the power of speech. But the idea of my playing Romeo was too absurd. Evidently taking my silence for consent, Mr. Kemble pro- ceeded : ' Let Bartley have your address, and we'll make all the requisite arrangements.' " By this time I had recovered myself, and said : " ' Mr. Kemble, any man may well be proud to play Romeo to Miss Kemble, and I am grateful for the offer — but, unfortunately, I can't play Romeo.' " ' Can't play Romeo ! Can't play Romeo ! Why not, sir ?' " ' Because, in the first place, I am too tall, sir.' " ' Too tall, sir— too tall ! Look at me !' And the great Romeo that was, rose and rose, till I thought he would rise to the ceiling. I did look at him, and a magnificent and majestic figure he was ! " 'Well, sir,' resumed Mr. Kemble, 'we have dis- posed of the height ; what is the next difficulty ?' " ' The greatest, sir, is treading in your steps, and being swamped by comparison with the greatest Romeo in the world. Besides, you have a beautiful silvery voice ; now, mine is a heavy one ! I am more grateful, sir, than I can say, but I'm sure my Romeo would be a failure. If, however, you can offer me any part for which I am qualified, I will do my best with it.' RYDER. 311 " The old gentleman resumed his seat, ruminated for a moment, and then said to Bartley, ' Bring me the MS. of the new play, George. This young man is hard to please ; perhaps we may fit him in " Love's Sacrifice." ' " Five minutes after, the MS. was placed in my hands, and the two gentlemen withdrew for rehearsal, leaving me to read the play. I was delighted with it. It was written by Mr. Lovel, author of ' The Wife's Secret/ and husband of the accomplished Miss Lacy, an actress of some note, and the adapter of ' The Son of the Wilderness.' There was one character especially adapted for me. When Mr. Kemble returned two or three hours later, and inquired if I had found a part that would suit me, I replied that I thought I might really dis- tinguish myself as Paul Lafont, the villainous rival of Aylmer (Vandenhoff). I was met, however, by the rejoinder that unfortunately Mr. John Cooper had already been cast the part. You remember, of course, that there is a milksop named Eugene de Lorme in this play, who makes love in a small way to the heroine ? After a little fencing, Mr. Kemble told me this was the part he wanted me to play, but I replied, ' No thank you, sir ; if I have de- clined to play Romeo, I don't see my way to playing Romeo and milk-and-water, with Romeo very much washed out.' « " This was too much for the gravity of the old gentleman, and he laughed heartily, as he said, ' Ah, I see you know too much ! Good-morning, sir.' 3 i2 PLAYERS AND PLAYWRIGHTS. And so ended my first and last interview with the last of the Kembles. " As I left the theatre, whom should I stumble against but Charles Pitt, the tragedian, who had been in Edinburgh with me all the season. He wanted a berth, so I introduced him to Bartley, and he (Pitt) was there and then engaged for Eugene de Lorme, which he played through the run of the piece. " Being out of an engagement for some months, I made up my mind to write to Macready. He was at that time surrounded by, perhaps, the most magnificent combination of actors and actresses the stage had even seen — so when I talked of writing, my friends scouted the idea ; nevertheless, I wrote, referring to Mrs. Nisbett, and in a few days, to my inexpressible delight, I received a reply from Mr. Serle, Macready's manager, desiring me to call at Drury Lane the following morning at ten o'clock. " I was there to the moment. On my arrival, Mr. Serle told me that the only means by which an unknown actor could procure an engagement was by the perilous ordeal of rehearsing a part before Mr. Macready. * Would I do that ?' ' Would I ? I should rather think so ; anything to get a chance of an opening at Old Drury.' I was taken round at once, and introduced to Mr. Macready. He was rather grimly gracious, and opened the conversation by remarking : " ' By-the-bye, Mr. Ryder, I think I saw your RYDER. j'j portrait as Pierre in Kenneth's window, a day or two a<7o. " "' Yes, sir,' I said. Now this was another illustra- tion of my ' tact.' One of our fellows in Edinburgh had a brother who was an artist — he took my like- ness in Pierre ; and as I thought it no use to have a light and hide it under a bushel, I took the picture to old Kenneth, and got him to put it in his window in Bow Street. If the picture hadn't been put there, Mr. Macready wouldn't have seen it ; if he hadn't seen it, he wouldn't have given me a hearing, and the chances are I should never have got to Drury Lane. "Anyhow, ' Mac' continued : ' Will you rehearse Pierre ?' " ' Certainly, sir, with pleasure,' I replied. " ' Very well, then. Wilmot,' he said (addressing the prompter, an eccentric old man with a wooden leg), ' you have the prompt-book. Ellis ' (this was Wilmot's assistant), ' take Mr. Ryder round to the saloon — we'll join you there.' " As Mr. George Ellis led me round, he graciously vouchsafed to inform me, in the pleasantest manner possible, that during the present season exactly a dozen people had rehearsed to Mr. Macready — and every one of them had failed. This was reassuring, but I replied with the modesty of youth, ' There's luck in odd numbers ! If you're going to read Jafher, don't mumble ; speak up, and let me hear you. Give me the speech which precedes my cue in full, so that I may have an opportunity of making an entrance.' 3 i 4 rLAYERS AND PLAYWRIGHTS. "When we got to the saloon, the great man was there before us, with his satellites, Serle and Wilmot, wooden leg and all. ' Now then,' cried ' the eminent,' 1 Mr. Ryder, let's have a taste of your quality.' " Nerving myself for the task, and cocking my hat over my eye, I swaggered on, and to the best of my ability did justice to the ' dashing, gay, bold- faced villain/ " At the end of my first scene, Macready came springing down the room, exclaiming ' Capital ! Capital! But I'd rather see you go through the remainder of the part on the stage, if you don't mind !' " ' Not in the least, sir,' said I, gaining courage — so round I went to the stage with Ellis, while Mac- ready, Serle, and Wilmot went into the boxes. Then we had a pair of flats shoved on in the first orooves, and the ' tormentors ' set at the sides, so as to shut out interruptions. "It was now eleven o'clock — the hour fixed for the commencement of the rehearsal. By a remark- able coincidence, this very play, ' Venice Preserved,' was to be acted that very night, with Helen Faucit for Belvidera, Anderson for Jaffier, and Phelps for Pierre. Phelps, by-the-bye, was somewhat taken aback when he arrived, to find ' a young man from the country ' spouting his part. " My rehearsal, I am happy to say, was sufficiently satisfactory to induce Mr. Macready to give me an engagement, and when I quitted the theatre I had my articles of agreement for the ensuing season in my pocket, and a ' free admission for two ' during RYDER. 315 every night for the remainder of the current season. " I had a hard battle to hold out till the opening, but at last the time came — Saturday, October 1st, 1842, a memorable night for me. We opened with ' As You Like It.' Such a cast ! Only think of the names ! There never was anvthincr like it before or since, or ever will be — it is impossible. " There was ' Mac ' himself, for the melancholy Jacques. The three brothers, Orlando, Oliver, and Jacques de Bois, were Jim Anderson, then the most magnificent juvenile actor that ever walked upon the stage ; Elliot Graham, a giant, and a deuced good actor — in fact, a principal tragedian ; and Harry Lynne, another tragedian. Phelps was the Adam — everyone knows what he was. George Bennett, another first-rate tragedian, was Duke Frederick. Le Beau was Hudson, the Irish comedian from Dublin — a fine big, handsome fellow, and one of the best light comedians I ever saw. Amongst the tragedians we had only one little chap, Elton, who played the first Lord ; but if ' mind is the standard of the man,' he was as big as any of us, for he was a wonderfully good actor. Poor fellow ! You re- member — he was lost in the wreck of the Pegasus. Keeley was the Touchstone, and Compton the William. I forget who played Sylvius, but Billy Bennett was Corin, and Howell was Charles the Wrestler. Rosalind was the beautiful Nisbett (to whose friendly offices, I shrewdly suspect, I was in- debted for a hearing) ; Ccelia, Mrs. Stirling, then as 3 i6 PLAYERS AND PLAYWRIGHTS. fine a woman as ever stepped in shoe-leather ; Phoebe, Miss Philips; and Audrey, Mrs. Keeley, who was as full of mischief as an egg is full of meat ; but, by Jove! she could act any mortal thing. I believe she'd have tackled Lady Macbeth, or even Richard III., in an emergency. Then the music — — there were Miss Romer for Cupid, in ' The Masque ;' and Harry Phillips (' The Light of Other Days' and 'When Time hath Bereft Thee' Phillips) for the second Lord ; there was little Allen, a charm- ing tenor, for Amiens ; there was Stretton (the original Devilshoof in the ' Bohemian Girl '), and there were Sims Reeves and Priscilla Horton, for the concerted pieces. As for the scenery, it was Clarkson Stansfields. Except Beverley, there is not a scene- painter living fit to hold a candle to Stansfield. I was the Banished Duke. I should imagine that I was the only duffer amongst the whole lot — but, thank God ! ' Mac ' didn't think so, for at the end of my first scene he took me by the hand and said, ' Mr. Ryder, you shall never play a worse part than this while you are in this theatre, and as often as it is possible I shall take care that you play a better one.' And he kept his word. " When I went to Treasury on Saturday, the Treasurer handed me a sum considerably in excess of the modest salary for which I was engaged. "'Sir,' said I, 'you've made a mistake— this is not my salary. I wish to God it was !' " ' No, sir,' he replied ; ' I have made no mistake. I am merely carrying out Mr. Macready's orders.' RYDER. 317 " Thus commenced my connection with that ojeat actor forty-two years ago, and I remained with him till he retired from management. When he went to America I was his right-hand man, and took a good deal of the rou^h work off his hands. You know I was with him in Edinburgh when the Forrest row began — for it was then I first met you, my lad ; you were only a stripling then — and I was with him in New York when it ended in bloodshed ; I may almost say I was with him to the last. No, not quite ; but that was my fault, not his. " You remember my telling you how I parted with old Leaf ? Well, when I was with Charles Kean at the Princess's, playing Macbeth and ' Marco Spada' (a long three-act romantic drama) night after night, with credit to myself and to the satisfaction of the public, for three weeks consecutively, at the princely remuneration of five pounds a week (nowa- days fellows get ten and twenty pounds a week for playing walking gentlemen, and turn up their noses at that !), my salary didn't run to cabs, so I had to travel by the 'bus. My managers now (good luck, say I, to the Gattis !) stand me a brougham. In those days I should as soon have thought of getting into a bishopric as a brougham ! Well, every morn- ino" reeularlv I used to meet old Mr. Leaf in the Streatham 'bus on my way to town. He had retired from business, and was currently believed to be worth a million of money, but he still stuck to the 'bus. It had been good enough for him for many a year, and it was good enough to last the remainder of his 318 PLAYERS AND PLAYWRIGHTS. time. The old gentleman was so little altered, that I had no difficulty in recognising him ; but I had grown from a lean gawky stripling into a great leathery man, and he didn't know me from Adam. One morning I made up my mind to renew our acquaintance, so I reminded him who I was. He had no recollection whatever of me ; but at last, when I told him about my trunk being ■ chucked out ' on the flags at Old Change, he recalled the cir- cumstances, but without the slightest compunction ; on the contrary, he thought it a capital joke, and as I was now coming to the front, even condescended to patronizingly congratulate me on my promotion. " Now just see how things change ! It was in 1838 when I made my ignominious exit for the sin of going to the theatre. In this present year of grace, 1884 — that is to say, nearly half a century later — the amateur corps of Leaf and Co. is one of the most famous in the City of London, and the son of the head of the firm is principal actor and stage manager ! " Yes, I think people are not quite so pig-headed as they were half a century ago. But there, I think you've had enough of this yarn. " My mother — bless her heart ! — is alive and hearty, and when I passed last Christmas with her at Margate, where she has lived ever since she was born, the dear old soul had never had a day's illness in her life. " For my part, no ' d d good-natured friend ' shall ever have a chance of saying of Jack Ryder, RYDER. 319 ' Superfluous lags the veteran on the stage,' so I shall take my farewell at Drury Lane on my seventieth birthday— on the fifth of April next. ' Gussy ' is a brick ! — he has given me the use of the theatre. It was at Old Drury my star rose; there it shall set. All the boys and girls have promised to help, and I know that the dear old British public will come to give me a hand, and a God-speed at parting. After that I shall lie up in dock, except when I occasionally pilot some young craft off the stocks ; but I hope to live many a year to come, to act my young encounters o'er again, here and elsewhere, with my old comrades." ****** The above sketch, as far as my memory will serve, is a faithful transcript of a narrative related to me by Mr. Ryder one night at the Club in February, 1884. Subsequently, we frequently discussed a project for preparing his memoirs for publication, but some- thing always occurred to prevent our setting to work. It was not until the evening of Friday, February 13th, 1SS5, that I read the foregoing fragment to him in his dressing-room at the Adelphi Theatre. He was delighted, and paced the little room to and fro in quite a pleasant and unwonted excite- ment. The reader who has seen (and who has not?) "In the Ranks " will doubtless recollect that after the first act he had a long wait of a couple of hours, 3 2o PLAYERS AND PLAYWRIGHTS. until the end of the play. He told me, with great elee, that he had induced the author to kill him off, and have done with him altogether, in the first act of the new play (" The Last Chance ") which was then in preparation. " That's the time," said he, " to slip into my experiences. I shall be primed and jolly — up to concert pitch, and I can spin my yarns as easily as the spider spins her web." On this particular evening I again urged him to make a start at once. He, however, only laughed, and said, " There's plenty of time. Wait, anyhow, until the new piece comes out. I've got nearly all the dates prepared." Then he began to talk. His tongue was like a windmill, and once set going, one never knew when or where it would stop. At present, he was full of his farewell benefit, and he began to explain that it had been postponed at the instigation of the Messrs. Gatti, who had guaranteed him an engage- ment of twelve months for "In the Ranks," and had now induced him to accept a part in the new piece, after the run of which, however, he was firmly resolved to retire. He was in high spirits, and from the benefit he glanced off to Macready, Helen Faucit, Phelps, Sheridan Knowles, America, the Forrest Riots, Tom Hamblin, and to other more racy reminiscences. Altogether, it was a genial, jovial evening, one to be remembered. At the end of the performance he drove me home. RYDER. 321 When we parted, we arranged to meet on the following Tuesday to commence operations. The very next night, at the very same hour, when he arrived at his house in Barrington Road, Brixton, he opened the door of the brougham to let himself out ; but finding the lapel of his coat had caught in the door on the off-side, he called upon the driver to jump down and extricate him. Unfortunately at the very moment Ryder was stepping out on the one side, the driver slammed the door on the other, the horse took fright and bolted, and the poor old fellow was thrown out, head foremost, on the curb-stone, before his own thresh- old. When they took him in, he was bathed in blood, and senseless ! From the very first, a serious, if not fatal, result was anticipated, and it was essential to confine him to his bed. To the astonishment, however, of every- body, after two or three weeks he was enabled to come downstairs for a few hours daily, and it was hoped he was beginning to rally. On Saturday, February 29th, as I drove down to Norwood with some friends, we called to inquire after his health, and to leave him some flowers. As we approached his house, we were shocked to see that the window-blinds were down. I thought it was ail over, but resolved to know the worst. Making inquiry of the housekeeper, I ascertained that his mother's funeral was at that very moment actually taking place at Margate. He was up, and wished to see me. I found him vol. 1. 21 322 PLAYERS AND PLAYWRIGHTS. with his never-failing cigar in his mouth, and a bottle of champagne on the table. By a strange coincidence, he was reading the paper, which will be found in the second volume, about poor Gus Brooke. " Of course, Martha's told you ?" he said. " I am trying to forget it in reading about Gus ; very nice, but not exactly mirth-inspiring. Poor Gus ! It's no use — I can't forget it; I wish I could. Poor old Grannie! After all, I'm glad she's gone before me, for I don't know what would have become of her if I had been taken first. Bessy's gone down to Margate, and the funeral will be all right, that's one comfort. Poor Grannie ! She was ninety-five — never had a day's illness till this bout came, and carried her off. It's d d hard lines I can't be there to see her put to rest beside the old man ; but look here," he continued, pointing to his feet and ankles, which were swollen to an abnormal size, "these ain't exactly the things for 'the lean and hungry Cassius' to 2:0 floating about with. I used to need 'im- provers.' Ecod! these want removing, not improving!" " Good G — ! Dropsy ?" I exclaimed. " Right you are, my boy. Have a drop — not of this, but of that," pointing to the champagne. Then we pledged each other in a bumper. He wanted me to stay for the afternoon, but I had two ladies waiting, the horses were breathed and getting chilled, besides which, we had a drive of eight or ten miles before us. So I had reluctantly to say, " Good-bye. Keep a good heart, old man. I shall come and look you up again soon." RYDER. 323 "You're sure to find me here," he said, with a grim smile. Then he continued : " ' And now, For ever, and for ever — farewell, Brutus ! If we do meet again, we'll smile indeed ; If not, 'tis true, this parting was well made.' " And so we shook hands, and parted — never to meet again. Ten days afterwards an operation W3S performed, which appeared to yield relief, hence he became hope- ful and elate, and harked back to his farewell benefit, on which he had set his heart. Mr. Mowbray under- took the arrangement of the preliminaries. Mr. Augustus Harris, with his accustomed generosity, promised the gratuitous use of Drury Lane Theatre. Mr. Irving, with equal generosity, telegraphed from America that he, Miss Terry, and the Lyceum Company would make their first appearance after their return from the States on the occasion. Mr. Wilson Barrett, all the London managers, and the entire profession, volunteered their assistance. The Prince of Wales and other distinguished gentlemen took an active and personal interest in the matter, and there can be no doubt it would have been a remarkable and historical event. Without even so much as the issue of an advertisement, cheques came flowing in from all parts of the country. All was progressing favourably, and it was con- fidently anticipated that poor Ryder had taken a new 2 1 — 2 324 PLAYERS AND PLAYWRIGHTS. lease of life for at least another year, when, un- fortunately, his malady took a yet more serious turn, and he became haunted with the presentiment that he should die on the 26th of March. That after- noon, when he got up, he became depressed and melancholy, and kept muttering to himself, " The twenty-sixth ! Grannie died on the twenty-sixth — I shall die on the twentv-sixth !" He went to bed early (he was then much better), and at eleven o'clock, when his daughter left him, he had surmounted these gloomy forebodings. As he bade her "Good-night," he said, "Mind you come early to-morrow, Bessy." During his illness, his housekeeper, a faithful and attached friend, whom he had brought from his mother's home over thirty years ago, attended upon him day and night. For some time past he had been unable to move without her assistance, but on the morning of the twenty-seventh, at about two o'clock, with a sudden spasmodic accession of strength, he sprang out of bed. When she had assisted him back he said, " Give me a little brandy- and-water." Having swallowed it, he said, " Thanks ; now get some for yourself. That's right, I feel better than I have done for a long time ; we shall have a good night." It was now about a quarter to three. As she lay down on the sofa opposite, she inquired : " You're sure you are quite right and comfortable ?" " Quite sure," he replied. " Good-night ; God bless you, old lass !" . RYDER. 325 For a time she lay listening-, until his regular breathing assured her that he slept. Then, wearied and outworn by continually watching, at last she, too, dozed off into a fitful slumber. An hour afterwards she was aw r akened by a piercing, unearthly cry — it was the death-rattle ! He was sitting bolt upright, but by the time she had reached his bedside it was all over. With that one sharp struggle he had passed away, and the poor faithful soul was alone with death. ****** 3En ^ttemovhun. JOHN RYDER. Born, Isle of Thanet, April 51H, 1S14, Died, London, March 27TH, 1885. "Alas, poor Jack!" Instead of preparing Mr. Ryder's memoirs, it has fallen to my lot to write his epitaph. Probably no two men were ever more antagonistic in tone and temperament than he and I ; " Yet I persuade myself to speak the truth Shall nothing wrong him." From the commencement of our acquaintance in my earliest youth, on the memorable night of the Forrest row in Edinburgh, to the end, we were on terms of friendly intimacy ; and, although his theory of art was not mine (which is, indeed, somewhat icono- clastic !), I had so high an opinion of the value of his services that, when I opened the Queen's Theatre, 326 PLAYERS AND PLAYWRIGHTS. next to Mr. Phelps, he was the first man I engaged. Hence it may not be altogether out of place that the task has devolved on me of briefly indicating his relationship to dramatic art in our time. With the departure of John Ryder the present generation loses one of the few remaining links which connects us with the race of giants, amongst whom, in his early manhood, he lived and moved. In that epos he filled the role of a strange heterogeneous personality — compounded partly of Ajax the Greater, and partly of Thersites. He had the martial swagger of the former, and the keen and venomous humour of the latter. His long and lean figure was sur- mounted by the head of an antique Roman, and the beak of an eagle. His eyes, too, were vulturine. Sometimes they were contracted and filmy, some- times dilated and ablaze with infernal fire. He had a weird and uncanny habit of clutching and point- ing the fingers of his right hand downward, for all the world as if they were the talons of a vulture. At such times I was disposed to think that if the doctrine of evolution be true, some progenitor of his in dim and distant ages must surely have been a bird of prey. There was no music in his voice, no poetry in his soul, and his demeanour on the stage was stridulent and assertive. His appreciation of the text, though never destitute of intelligence, was bald and common- place, and sometimes perilously akin to vulgarity ; while his executive capacity was absolutely restricted RYDER. 3^7 to the representation of the vigour of his art without its variety or refinement, its passion minus its poetry and pathos. His colouring was indeed invariably vivid and correct, but it was always laid on with a pound brush. Despite these drawbacks he possessed one in- estimable merit ; in a frivolous age he was never afraid or ashamed of beinof in earnest ; hence during; a decade of degeneracy he became a veritable " Triton amongst the minnows," and towered head and shoulders above the mannikins by whom he was surrounded. To the fact that he always "made himself heard," and taught others that the first aim both of the actor and the orator should be to " speak out," and to another equally potent fact, that generations of men and women had grown old with him, and had heard, through his mouth, great deeds and noble sentiments enunciated in stentorian tones, much of his popularity may doubtless have been attributed — a popularity which continued to increase as he grew older, and his peculiarities became more exaggerated and objectionable. His best part, in the higher range of the drama, was undoubtedly I ago, a coarse and strongly accen- tuated but highly intelligent performance. Hubert in " King John," Macduff and Master Walter came next ; but his very best parts — the parts entirely suited to his idiosyncrasies — were Salamenes, Gabor, Kent, Casca, Enobarbus, and Dentatus. Beyond and above all these, he excelled in that of a viperous, • 328 PLAYERS AND PLAYWRIGHTS. cursing, mouthing, wicked old cavalier in poor Watts Phillips' play, " Amos Clark." As a teacher of what is grandiloquently called elocution, he had a large following, and taught and drilled (as far as teaching and drilling can do) a few of his pupils into some knowledge of the rudimental principles of the actor's art. Probably the most notable examples of these were the late Miss Neilson, the present Miss Wallis, and Miss Calhoun. His stage management was not distinguished by subtlety or refinement, but he was well grounded in the grammar of the stage, and was one of the most useful men that ever entered a theatre. His voice and manner always smacked of the sailor, and I think much of his boisterousness and his affluence of adjectives must have come from his seafaring forbears ! He had always the courage of his convictions, and he was prepared at any moment to " row " on any subject, or upon any pretext, with anybody or everybody — in fact, I rather think he rejoiced in a "row" — and he was accustomed to emphasize his opinions with a copious and florid vocabulary. On one occasion when he was with me at the Oueen's he had been "letting - out" a little of his superfluous energy at some refractory " supers." I laughed and said, "Spoken like an honest drover — so they sell bullocks !" " Right you are, my son," he replied, " but bullocks and blockheads are of the same kidney, and if you RYDER. 529 want to get em over the ground you must let 'em have it hot !" In politics he was a rabid Tory, and he was utterly intolerant of anyone who ventured to differ with him on Constitutional questions ; indeed, he advocated the " removal" of every Radical in existence, with the aid of the nearest rope attached to the nearest lamp-post. Although thoroughly Agnostic, he upheld the union of Church and State as a beneficial and bene- ficent arrangement for the good of the lower orders. ' : His soul was not touched to finer issues," but he was essentially and abundantly virile. He hated a snob, he detested a sneak, he loathed a liar, and no earthly consideration could ever induce him to "call a rogue a gentleman, to please the rascal's ear for music." END OF VOL. I. BILLING AND SON , 11 INTERS, GUILDFOKD. UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY Los Angeles This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. Mpt7t988 I 1 Form L9-Series 4939 I3WV 3 1158 00732 4360 (jm- m UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY inn mi ii AA 000 412 154 7