Skip to main content

Full text of "The bancrofts: recollections of sixty years [by] Marie Bancroft [and] Squire Bancroft"

See other formats 


:LO 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

in  2007  with  funding  from 

IVIicrosoft  Corporation 


http://www.archive.org/details/bancroftsrecolleOObancuoft 


THE   BANCROFTS 


vvOo-H-^  V\o^.^     ^f^ve  CVUWo.,v^    L 

THE  BANCROFTS 


RECOLLECTIONS  OF 
SIXTY  YEARS 


^UjP2i.t^J^A^ 


SHADOWS  OF  THE  THINGS  THAT   HAVE  BEEN 


WITH     PORTRAITS    AND    ILLUSTRATIONS 


LONDON 
JOHN   MURRAY,   ALBEMARLE   STREET,   W. 

1909 


PRINTED  BY 

HAZJCLL,  WAT80N  AND  VINEY,  LO., 

LONDON  AND  ATLE8B0R7. 


LIBRARY 

743156 

UNIVERSITY  OF  TORONTO 


I  DEDICATE 

MY   SHARE   IN  THIS   BOOK 

TO   A   COMRADE   AND   FRIEND 

MY    WIFE 

BUT   FOR  WHOSE   NAME   AND   FAME 

THERE   WOULD   BE   SMALL   NEED   FOR  IT. 

S.  B. 


PREFACE 

Shortly  after  the  close  of  our  twenty  years  of 
management,  in  1885,  we  devoted  two  volumes  to 
an  account  of  our  careers  both  "  On  and  Off  the 
Stage."  That  work,  after  running  through  seven 
editions — a  success  as  gratifying  as  it  was  surprising 
to  two  authors  unused  to  the  pen — was  allowed 
to  go  out  of  print.  Since  then  we  have  both  been 
asked  so  often  whether  we  had  written,  or  why 
we  did  not  write,  our  reminiscences,  that  the  idea 
occurred  to  us  of  comprising  within  a  single  book 
the  whole  of  our  memories  of  sixty  years.  This 
is  our  apology  for  re-telling  in  a  different  way,  and 
with  that  greater  freedom  which  is  born  of  the 
lapse  of  time,  things  which  happened  in  the  first 
half  of  that  long  period. 

In  my  task  of  compiling  these  memoirs  I  have 
been  greatly  aided  by  the  words  of  my  wife,  which 
I  have  used  wherever  able  to  do  so,  and  by  the 
fact  that  every  page  has  had  the  benefit  of  her 
help  and  counsel.  For  the  egotism  displayed  in 
the  following  story  I  offer  no  excuse.  Egotism 
is  inseparable  from  autobiography. 

S.  B. 


vU 


CHAPTERS 


I.      GIRLHOOD 


II.  BOYHOOD 

III.  THE   OLD   PRINCE   OF   WALES's   THEATRE 

IV.  T.    W.    ROBERTSON   AND   HIS   COMEDIES 
V.  SOME   OLD   COMEDIES 


VI.       OTHER   PLAYS 


VII.  FOUR   FAILURES 

VIII.  SARDOU  AND   HIS   PLAYS  . 

IX.  THE   HAYMARKET   THEATRE 

X.  HOLIDAY   NOTES 

XI.  REAPPEARANCE 

XII.  HENRY   IRVING 

XIIL  "A   CHRISTMAS   CAROL"    . 

XIV.  DEPARTED    GUESTS    . 

INDEX       .... 


PAQS 
1 

25 
55 
80 
IM 
166 
191 
214 
241 
277 
303 


343 
367 
441 


IX 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

Marie  Bancroft         .......  Photogravure  Frontispiece 

From  a  drawing  by  Beatrice  Ward. 

FAOINQ  PAGE 

Girlhood;  Boyhood        . 24 

Facsimile   of   the   First  Letter   from  Marie  Wilton  to 

Squire  Bancroft 52 

Marie  Wilton 56 

Vale  ! •        •       •       .  78 

Marie  Bancroft  and  John  Hare  in  "Caste"  ....  96 

Caricature  of  Hare,  Bancroft,  and  Honey  in  "  Caste  "     .  102 

Linley  Sambourne'a  first  drawing  for  Punch. 

Charles  Brookfield's  Caricature  of  the  Two  Triplets      .  102 

T.  W.  Robertson .       .       .122 

The    Bancrofts    and    John    Hare   in    "The    School    for 

Scandal" 136 

Marie  Bancroft  as  Peg  Wofpington 146 

From  a  painting  by  H.  Allen. 

Squire  Bancroft  as  Triplet 158 

From  a  painting  by  H.  Allen. 

On  and  Off  the  Stage  :  Squire  Bancroft  (aged  32) ;  and 

AS  Dr.  Speedwell 170 

From  photographs  taken  on  the  same  day. 

Nan 180 

Arthur  Cecil  and  Marie  Bancroft  in  "The  Vicarage"      .  182 

A  Page  of  the  Original  MS.  of  "  Lords  and  Commons  "      .  188 

Marie  Bancroft 200 

^*ToucE£!"  Victorious  Bancroft  AND  VicTORiEN  Sardou       .  226 

V.  Sardou 226 

A  Last  Glimpse  at  the  Old  Theatre 242 

xi 


xii  Illustration^ 

FAOIKQ  PAOfi 

Inteeioe  op  the  Haymarket  as  Rebuilt 248 

PiNERo  AND  Bancroft  in  the  Engadine 288 

Caricature  BY  *' Sem  " 296 

Reappearance 306 

From  a  drawing  made  in  the  dressing-room. 

Arthur  Cecil  and  Marie  Bancroft  in  "  Money  "  .       .       .  316 

Marie  Bancroft 322 

Irving,  Toole,  and  Bancroft 330 

From  a  drawing  in  colour  by  Phil  May. 

Irving  and  Bancroft  in  "  The  Dead  Heart  "  .       .       .       .334 

From  a  drawing  by  Bernard  Partridge. 

The  Last  Phase  :  Henry  Irving  entering  the  Lyceum        .  342 

From  a  snapshot  lent  by  Arthur  W.  Pinero. 

Squire  Bancroft  {photogravure) 352 

From  the  portrait  by  Hugh  Riviere. 

Edwin  Booth 386 

John  Everett  Millais 410 

Carlo  Pellegrini 412 

A  Picture-Letter  from  Frank  Lock  wood 416 

Arthur  Sullivan 424 

Lord  Russell  of  Killowen  and  George  Bancroft.       .       .  426 

"Darby  and  Joan" 440 


THE    BANCROFTS 


PRELUDE 

"  Stooping  to  your  clemency^ 
We  beg  your  hearing  patiently." 

A  Duet  with  an  Occasional  Cho?^us  is  the  title  of  a 
story  written  by  our  friend  Sir  Arthur  Conan  Doyle : 
it  seems,  in  a  way,  to  describe  this  book.  In  a  duet 
one  voice  is  sometimes  silent,  then  again  the  two 
are  heard  together,  the  listener  caring  but  little  which 
of  the  two  voices  supports  the  other.  So  it  will 
be  with  this  book.  The  Chorus,  in  our  case,  being 
the  occasional  words  of  others,  we  shall  use  them 
courageously  to  strengthen  and  enforce  our  own  ; 
their  sweet  voices,  in  fact,  will  sing  our  praises. 
They  are,  to  us,  cherished  flowers  of  speech,  which 
for  so  long  a  time  were  strewn  upon  a  hard-worked 
path  from  many  gardens.  This  is  the  overture. 
The  curtain  rises  on  a  female  solo. 


CHAPTER   I 

GIRLHOOD 
''  Hear  the  truth  of  it." 

First  I  will  write  about  days  of  early  struggle,  long 
before  my  husband  and  I  came  to  be  known  as  "  The 
Bancrofts,"  and  will  tell  my  story  in  my  own  simple 
way. 

Many  years  ago,  when  I  began  to  earn  fame  as 

1 


2  GIRLHOOD 

a  young  actress,  I  was  told  of  two  stories,  then 
current,  as  to  my  birth  and  parentage :  one  that  I 
was  a  child  of  Thomas  Egerton,  Earl  of  Wilton  ;  the 
other  that  I  was  a  daughter  of  a  Mr.  Wilton,  who 
kept  an  oyster-shop  somewhere  in  St.  James's.  Both 
reports  were  as  untrue  as  many  others. 

My  father  was  Robert  Pleydell  Wilton.  My 
mother's  name  before  she  married  him  was  Georgiana 
Jane  Faulkner.  I  am  one  of  six  children  born  to 
them,  all  of  whom  were  girls.  It  came  to  pass  that 
I  had  ability  as  an  actress,  although  neither  of  my 
parents  was  brought  up  to  the  stage. 

My  father,  who  belonged  to  a  well-known  old 
Gloucestershire  family,  was  really  intended  for  the 
Church ;  but  developed  an  early  passion  for  the 
drama  and  eventually  left  his  home  to  become  an 
actor,  and  so  laid  the  foundation-stone  of  my  own 
stage-life.  At  that  time  theatres  were  looked  upon 
by  the  narrow-minded  with  little  less  than  horror :  to 
become  an  actor  meant  exile  from  home,  family,  and 
friends.  Indeed,  one  of  my  father's  relatives  once 
said,  "  Whenever  I  see  a  person  on  stilts,  I  dread  lest 
it  should  be  Robert,  who  would  say  to  me,  '  How  do 
you  do.  Aunt  Ann  ? '  " 

My  paternal  grandmother  was  a  Miss  Wise, 
daughter  of  the  Rev.  William  Wise,  who  was  a 
Fellow  of  St.  John's  College,  Oxford,  and  afterwards 
for  seventeen  years  Rector  of  St.  James's,  Liverpool ; 
and  sister  to  the  Rev.  William  Wise,  D.D.,  also  a 
Fellow  of  St.  John's,  and  for  twenty-one  years  Rector 
of  St.  Laurence,  Reading. 

My  maternal  grandmother  was  a  Miss  Watts 
Browne,  daughter  of  General  Browne.  She  married 
Mr.  Samuel  Faulkner,  who  was  the  proprietor  of  The 
Morning  Chronicle  (then  a  leading  London  news- 
paper) and  a  highly  gifted  man.  "  Gentleman 
Faulkner  "  he  was  called,  as  a  tribute  to  his  courtly 
manner  and  high  character. 

My  father,  who  was  much  older  than  my  mother, 
eloped  with  her  when  he  was  a  travelling  actor.     His 


A   VALUABLE    LESSON  3 

rashness  cost  them  dear ;  their  lot  for  many  years 
was  little  more  than  toil,  anxiety,  and  care.  Dazzled 
by  the  eternal  glitter  of  the  stage,  my  father  went 
his  way,  building  castles  in  the  air  and  living  in 
dreamland.  Having  been  brought  up  in  luxury  and 
refinement,  they  felt  their  changed  condition  keenly, 
and  often  in  later  life  have  recalled  to  me  stories  of 
my  childhood  and  events  in  our  early  days,  which 
have  carried  me  painfully  back  to  the  past. 

My  mother  died  in  1866,  in  her  forty-eighth  year ; 
my  father  survived  her  seven  years,  and  lived  to  be 
seventy-three. 

Having  shown,  when  very  young,  ability  beyond 
my  years,  I  was  brought  out  as  a  child-actress,  before 
I  was  able  to  speak  plainly.  It  was  thought  a  great 
achievement  then  to  stand  alone  on  a  stage  and 
recite.  I  can  remember  only  work  and  responsibility 
from  a  very  tender  age.  No  games,  no  romps,  no 
toys.  I  can  recollect  a  doll,  but  not  the  time  to  play 
with  it,  for  we  only  met  at  night,  when  it  shared  my 
pillow  ;  and  as  I  looked  into  its  face,  before  I  fell 
asleep  after  my  work,  I  wished  that  I  could  play  with 
it  sometimes. 

My  dear  mother  drilled  the  words  into  my  young 
head,  for,  although  she  never  herself  held  a  position 
of  importance  on  the  stage,  her  talent  for  teaching 
elocution  was  remarkable ;  and  to  this  I  owed  the 
power  of  making  every  word  heard,  even  in  a  whisper, 
in  any  building,  however  large. 

I  have  never  forgotten  a  lecture  which  my  mother 
gave  me  in  order  to  impress  upon  me  the  necessity  of 
making  myself  heard  by  the  entire  audience.  She 
said,  "  There  is  a  poor  man  who  is  the  last  to  get 
into  the  gallery,  and  has  therefore  only  a  corner  in 
the  back  row  of  all,  where  he  sees  and  hears  with 
difficulty ;  he  has  been  working  hard  and  has  saved 
his  sixpence  to  give  himself  a  treat.  How  dreadful, 
then,  it  would  be  to  find  that  he  cannot  hear  what  the 
actors  are  talking  about  I  how  he  must  envy  those 
more  fortunate  than  himself!  and  how  unhappy  he 


4  GIRLHOOD 

must  be  !  Think  of  him  when  you  are  acting  ;  direct 
your  voice  to  that  poor  man  who  is  sitting  at  the 
very  back  of  the  gallery  ;  if  he  hears,  all  the  rest 
will."  Some  of  the  counsel  of  those  years  gone  by 
I  repeated,  almost  word  for  word,  in  our  old  friend 
Sir  Francis  Burnand's  little  play,  A  Lesson,  during 
our  management  of  the  Hay  market  Theatre. 

Presently  we  found  ourselves  at  the  Theatre  Royal, 
Manchester,  where  1  appeared  in  the  pantomime  of 
Gulliver's  Travels  as  the  little  "  Emperor  of  Lilli- 
put" — a  very  tiny  monarch. 

I  can  just  remember  Macready  playing  his  farewell 
engagement  in  the  provinces,  before  retiring  from  the 
stage  for  which  he  had  done  so  much.  In  Macbeth 
I  acted  the  part  of  the  boy  Fleance,  and  also  ap- 
peared as  the  apparition  of  the  crowned  child  who 
rises  from  the  cauldron,  when  summoned  by  the 
witches,  to  warn  the  guilty  Thane.  At  the  end  of 
the  play  the  great  tragedian  sent  for  me,  and  I  was 
taken  by  my  mother  to  his  room.  I  was  terribly 
nervous,  fearing  I  was  summoned  to  be  scolded. 
My  mother  knocked  at  the  door,  and  her  frequent 
repetition  of  the  following  scene  impressed  it  on  my 
mind.  A  tragic  "  Come  in ! "  sent  my  little  heart 
into  my  boots.  There  was  the  great  actor,  seated,  and 
looking,  as  I  thought,  very  tired  and  cross  ;  the  room 
was  dimly  lighted.  We  hesitated,  not  knowing  quite 
what  to  do,  when  a  voice  said  in  measured  tones, 
"  Who  is  it  ?  "  I  felt  awe-stricken,  as  though  still  in 
the  presence  of  a  king.  The  dresser  said,  "  It's  the 
little  girl  you  sent  for,  sir."  Macready  answered, 
"  Oh  yes  ;  turn  up  the  light,"  much  in  the  same  tone 
in  which  he  had  said,  "Duncan  comes  here  to-night!" 
But  he  looked  at  me  kindly,  and  said  gently,  "  Come 
here,  child."  I  went  to  him ;  he  patted  me  on  the 
head  and  kissed  me,  then  said,  "  Well,  I  suppose 
you  hope  to  be  a  great  actress  some  day  ? "  I 
replied  quickly,  "Yes,  sir."  "And  what  do  you 
intend  to  play  ? "  "  Lady  Macbeth,  sir  "  ;  upon 
which  he  laughed  loudly,  and  said,  "  Oh,  is  that  all  ? 


/ 


THE  CHILD  AND  THE  VETERANS   5 

Well,  I  like  your  ambition.  You  are  a  strange  little 
thing,  and  have  such  curious  eyes  ;  but  you  must 
change  them  before  you  play  Lady  Macbeth,  or  you 
will  make  your  audience  laugh  instead  of  cry.  I  am 
sure  you  will  make  a  fine  actress  ;  I  can  see  genius 
through  those  little  windows,"  placing  his  hands  over 
my  eyes.     "  But  do  not  play  Lady  Macbeth  too  soon." 

It  was  at  Manchester  also  that  Miss  Glyn,  a 
prominent  tragic  actress  in  my  youthful  days,  came 
to  the  theatre  as  a  "  star,"  accompanied  by  Charles 
Kemble,  whose  pupil  she  was.  Although  the  great 
Charles  was  then  quite  old,  I  remember  well  the 
impression  he  made  upon  me  at  a  rehearsal  when  I 
crept  into  the  wings  and  saw  them  both  go  through 
the  sleep-walking  scene  in  Macbeth.  Not  a  word  or 
gesture  escaped  me.  I  was  much  impressed,  and  I 
determined  that  I  must  some  day  play  Lady  Macbeth. 
That  day  never  came,  but  I  have  taught  the  part,  as 
a  pleasure,  to  a  clever  young  actress. 

King  John  was  also  produced  for  Miss  Glyn,  and 
I  played  Prince  Arthur.  Charles  Kemble  was  in  a 
private  box  at  night,  watching  the  play.  In  the 
scene  where  the  little  prince  is  trying  to  escape  from 
his  prison,  and  falls  from  the  battlements,  I  suddenly 
heard  the  sound  of  some  one  talking  out  loud,  and 
then  a  laugh  somewhere  in  the  theatre.  I  dared  not 
move,  for  fear  of  causing  more  laughter,  and  there  I 
lay,  in  terrible  suspense,  until  carried  off  by  Hubert. 
I  was  then  told  that  Mr.  Kemble  had  suddenly 
become  very  excited,  had  stood  up  and  shouted  out 
something  quite  loudly.  No  one  could  tell  me  what 
he  had  said  ;  but  an  account  of  it  appeared  after- 
wards in  the  Manchester  newspapers,  one  of  which 
I  have  by  me  now,  headed,  "The  Veteran  and  the 
Child  " : 

"  Charles  Kemble  sat  anxiously  watching  the 
progress  of  the  play  of  King  John.  He  seldom  ap- 
plauded, and,  for  the  most  part,  seemed  saddened, 
perhaps  by  the  memories  of  those  halcyon  days 
when  his   great  brother  was   the  King  and   he   the 


6  GIRLHOOD 

gallant  Faulconbridge  ;  but  the  scene  between  Hubert 
and  Prince  Arthur  awoke  his  approving  smiles. 
More  than  once  he  clapped  his  hands,  and  when  the 
little  prince  fell  from  the  battlements,  and  the  young 
actress  exclaimed,  with  exquisite  pathos  : 

'  Oh  me,  my  uncle's  spirit's  in  these  stones ; 

Heaven  take  my  soul,  and  England  keep  my  bones  ! ' 

the  old  actor  was  so  carried  away  by  his  enthusiasm 
as  to  rise  in  the  box  where  he  was  sitting,  and 
exclaim,  '  That  child  will  be  a  great  actress.'  That 
child  was  Marie  Wilton." 

After  further  wanderings — like  poor  "  Jo  "  in 
Bleak  House,  we  seemed  to  be  always  "  moving  on  " 
— we  joined  the  company  of  the  Bristol  Theatre,  of 
which  Mr.  James  Henry  Chute  was  manager,  and 
where  his  son  now  reigns  so  ably  in  his  stead.  My 
first  appearance  there  was  in  the  opening  to  a  panto- 
mime as  "  No-Wun-No-Zoo,  the  Spirit  of  the  Silver 
Star."  The  sky  opened,  and  I  was  discovered  high  up 
in  the  clouds.  As  I  was  lowered  by  machinery,  which 
every  now  and  then  gave  an  uncomfortable  jerk,  I 
was  conscious  of  an  anxious  look  upon  my  face 
instead  of  a  happy  smile ;  indeed,  my  expression 
must  have  resembled  the  fixed  stare  one  used  to  see 
in  long-sitting  photographs. 

I  became  a  great  favourite,  and  was  happy  in 
Bristol,  where  there  was  an  excellent  company,  and 
the  theatre  was  admirably  conducted.  It  will  always 
be  remembered  by  me  as  my  stepping-stone  to 
London.  Mr.  Chute  was  a  severe  disciplinarian,  but 
a  tender-hearted  and  just  man.  His  wife,  who  was 
related  to  Macready,  was  a  most  kindly  lady,  and  I 
remember  her  goodness  to  me  with  gratitude.  The 
work  was  hard,  but  some  of  our  best  artists  have 
left  the  old  King  Street  Theatre  to  fill  leading 
positions  in  London.  Names  that  come  at  once  to 
my  mind  are  Kate  and  Ellen  Terry,  Madge  Robert- 
son (Mrs.  Kendal),  Henrietta  Hodson,  George 
Rignold,  and  Charles  Coghlan. 


CHARLES   DILLON  7 

It  was  during  my  stay  at  Bristol  that  Charles 
Dillon,  a  well-known  leading  actor  of  those  days, 
came  to  play  Belphegor,  in  which  he  was  renowned. 
I  was  chosen  to  act  the  boy  Henri,  Belphegor's  son. 
While  I  rehearsed  the  part,  I  was  so  fortunate  as  to 
move  the  manager  to  tears.  When  the  night  came, 
the  applause  was  tremendous  and  the  success  assured. 
Let  me  here  add  an  opinion  on  emotional  acting 
which  I  expressed  many  years  afterwards  in  a 
magazine   article : 

"  The  performance  of  a  moving  situation,  with- 
out the  true  ring  of  sensibility  in  the  actor,  must 
fail  to  affect  any  one.  A  break  in  the  voice  must 
be  brought  about  naturally,  and  by  a  true  appre- 
ciation of  the  sentiment,  or  what  does  it  become  ? 
I  can  only  compare  it  to  a  bell  with  a  wooden 
tongue — it  makes  a  sound,  but  there  it  ends.  I 
cannot  simulate  suffering  without  an  honest  sym- 
pathy with  it.  I  hold  that  without  great  nervous 
sensibility  no  one  can  act  pathos.  It  would  be  a 
casket  with  the  jewel  absent.  The  voice  in  emotion 
must  be  prompted  by  the  heart ;  and  if  that  is  '  out 
of  tune  and  harsh,'  why  then,  indeed,  the  voice  is 
'  like  sweet  bells  jangled.'  I  was  once  much  im- 
pressed by  a  small  child's  criticism.  He  watched  for 
a  long  time,  silently  and  attentively,  a  scene  of  great 
emotion  between  two  people.  When  asked  what  he 
thought  of  it,  he  answered,  '  I  like  that  one  best.' 
'  Why  ? '  '  She  speaks  like  telling  the  truth,  the 
other  speaks  like  telling  lies.'  What  criticism  can 
be  finer  ?  One  was  acting  straight  from  the  heart, 
the  other  from  not  even  next  door  but  one  to  it." 

Charles  Dillon's  Belphegor  was  a  truly  fine  per- 
formance, and  he  said  to  me,  "  Good  girl !  If  ever 
I  have  a  London  theatre,  I  shall  give  you  an 
engagement."  He  became  manager  of  the  Lyceum 
soon  afterwards,  and  kept  his  word,  sending  me  an 
offer  to  play  my  old  part.  So  frightened  was  I  at 
the  bare  thought  of  appearing  in  London,  that  I 
told  Mr.  Chute  if  he  would  only  give  me  ever  so 


8  GIRLHOOD 

little  more  salary,  I  would  remain  at  Bristol.  But 
he,  knowing  that  it  was  important  for  me  to  make 
a  successful  debut  in  London,  and  believing  also  that 
I  should  take  a  step  up  the  ladder  of  fame,  out  of 
kindness  refused. 

How  big  London  looked !  I  felt  as  if  the  houses 
were  going  to  fall  on  us  ;  and  in  the  vast  city,  with 
its  turmoil,  there  seemed  to  be  no  room  for  me.  A 
restless,  crowded,  get-one-before-the-other  city — I 
felt  it  an  impertinence  to  try  for  a  place  in  its 
rushing  stream  of  humanity.  My  salary  was  very 
modest,  but  things  were  cheaper  then  than  they  are 
now.  When  I  went  to  rehearsal,  everything  around 
me  looked  so  grand  that  I  felt  ashamed  of  my  poor 
country  clothes.  I  had  never  before  seen  so  many 
people  together  upon  a  stage,  and  felt  as  solitary  and 
chilled  as  a  fireless  room  in  winter.  At  rehearsal 
I  gradually  became  more  accustomed  to  the  large 
theatre.  The  stage-manager — an  able  actor  of  those 
days,  but  a  disagreeable  man — was  always  harsh  to 
me,  calling  me  to  account,  in  the  roughest  way,  for 
every  small  mistake.  As  a  set-ofF  to  his  unkindness, 
let  me  recall  a  happier  memory.  It  was  then  that 
I  first  became  acquainted  with  Mr.  J.  L.  Toole,  since 
which  time  our  long  and  affectionate  friendship 
continued  until  he  was  released  from  what  might  for 
ten  years  have  been  called  a  living  death.  Although 
he  had  acted  before  in  London,  he  still  had  his  fame 
to  make,  and  was  engaged  for  the  comic  part  in 
Belphegor.  During  the  rehearsals  he  would  often 
cheer  me  with  some  kindly  joke,  and  at  the  end  of 
the  principal  scene  would  whisper,  with  a  merry 
smile,  "  Twenty  pounds  a  week  insisted  upon,  I 
think,  after  your  first  appearance." 

It  was  entirely  through  an  accident — how  often 
they  determine  the  chief  events  in  life ! — that  I  first 
acted  in  London  in  burlesque.  One  morning  during 
a  rehearsal,  news  came  that  the  lady  who  was  cast 
for  Perdita,  the  little  "  Royal  Milkmaid  "  in  WilHam 
Brough's  extravaganza  of  A  Winter's  Tale,  had  been 


A  HARSH  STAGE-MANAGER  9 

taken  ill.  Mrs.  Dillon  came  hurriedly  to  me  with 
the  part,  saying,  "  My  dear  child,  we  are  in  a  dreadful 
fix.     I  know  the  notice  is  short,  but  you  must  do  it." 

I  had  to  learn  both  words  and  music  in  a  few 
days.  Knowing  something  of  music,  I  found  little 
difficulty  so  far  ;  but  my  voice  was  then  weak,  and 
I  was  terribly  nervous,  and  feared  that  a  failure  would 
destroy  any  favourable  effect  I  might  produce  in 
Belphegor.  My  troubles  were  not  lessened  when  I 
was  told  that  I  must  provide  my  own  dress.  I  went 
home  with  the  dreadful  news  to  my  mother,  who 
said  in  her  comforting  way,  "  I  can  manage  some- 
thing out  of  material  which  I  have  by  me.  Study 
your  part,  think  only  of  that,  and  I  will  make  your 
dress  myself." 

Next  morning  I  trotted  to  rehearsal  with  a  light 
heart,  feeling  even  strong  enough  to  brave  the  stage- 
manager  !  I  sang  the  music  correctly,  but  my  small 
voice  could  scarcely  be  heard  with  a  large  band.  My 
enemy  stopped  me.  "  Come,  come,  this  won't  do ! 
If  you  don't  sing  better  than  this,  you  must  be  taken 
out  of  the  part."  Upon  which  the  conductor,  who 
saw  my  troubled  face,  stopped  the  band,  and  said  to 
my  bete  noire,  "Are  you  the  musical  director  here, 
sir,  as  well  as  the  stage-manager  ?  Allow  me  to 
know  whether  Miss  Wilton  is  right  or  wrong.  Her 
voice  is  not  strong,  but  it  is  true  to  time  and  tune ; 
and  I  wish  I  could  say  the  same  for  every  one  con- 
cerned in  the  piece  "  (a  movement  of  approval  from 
the  orchestra).  "  Now,  Miss  Wilton,  you  are  too 
much  distressed  to  sing  again  this  morning,  so  we 
will  miss  your  duets,  and  try  them  again  to-morrow. 
When  your  part  of  the  music  comes,  the  band  shall 
be  more  piano,  and  then  you  will  be  heard  beautifully. 
We'll  astonish  them  yet."  The  tears  rolled  down 
my  cheeks,  and  my  heart  was  too  full  to  speak. 
My  kind  friend  !  how  I  looked  for  a  smile  from  him 
whenever  I  came  upon  the  stage ! 

At  last  the  opening  night  arrived.  When  Mr. 
Dillon  as  Belphegor,  Mrs.  Dillon  as  Madeline,  his 


10  GIRLHOOD 

wife,  with  a  little  girl  in  the  cart,  Mr.  Toole  at  the 
back  of  it,  beating  a  drum,  and  I  seated  like  a  boy 
on  the  horse,  came  on  to  the  stage,  there  was  a 
tremendous  reception — of  course  for  Mr.  Dillon,  the 
rest  of  us  being  more  or  less  unknown.  At  the  end 
of  the  act,  where  my  best  scene  occurred  with  Mr. 
Dillon,  the  applause  was  very  prolonged,  and  there 
was  a  great  call.  I  waited,  hoping  and  expecting  to 
be  taken  before  the  curtain  by  Mr.  Dillon ;  but  my 
friend  the  stage-manager  turned  round  to  me  sharply, 
saying,  "  Now  then.  Miss  Wilton,  go  to  your  room." 
I  walked  slowly  away  towards  the  dressing-rooms ; 
Mr.  Dillon  came  off*.  I  listened.  Another  loud 
call ;  he  went  on  again  alone.  I  reached  my  room, 
where  my  mother  was  anxiously  waiting  to  know 
how  I  had  succeeded  ;  and,  determined  not  to  let 
her  see  how  distressed  I  was,  I  laughed  and  said, 
"  All  right,  mother  ;  it  has  gone  beautifully."  Then 
the  call-boy  came  running  along  the  corridor,  shout- 
ing, "  Miss  Wilton  ! — Miss  Wilton  ! — make  haste  ! 
Mr.  Dillon  says  you  must  go  on  before  the  curtain." 
Away  I  went,  almost  on  wings,  in  case  I  should  be 
too  late,  and  heard  the  welcome  sound  from  the 
pubHc  :  "  Miss  Wilton  !— Miss  Wilton  !  "  I  went  on 
alone — my  little  figure  on  that  big  stage,  with  no  one 
by  my  side,  and  no  one's  hand  to  help  me.  When  I 
ran  back  to  the  dressing-room  and  threw  my  arms 
round  my  mother's  neck,  I  felt  I  had  made  a  success. 
As  Perdita,  a  faded  photograph  tells  me,  I  looked 
very  nice,  with  my  hair  hanging  loose  over  my 
shoulders,  a  pretty  wreath  of  blush  roses,  a  charming 
little  dress  of  white  cashmere,  and  a  bunch  of  roses 
at  my  waist.  My  warm  reception  was  confirmed 
when  I  reappeared  ;  at  the  end  I  was  again  called 
before  the  curtain,  and  had  flowers  enough  thrown 
to  me  to  fill  my  little  green  and  silver  milkpail. 
The  following  encouraging  words  from  The  Morning 
Post,  it  may  be  guessed,  were  highly  valued,  and  as 
welcome  as  many  elaborate  criticisms  of  my  latqr 
work  were  to  be  in  the  future  : 


THE    OLD  HAYMARKET  11 

"  Miss  M.  Wilton  is  a  young  {very  young)  lady 
quite  new  to  us,  but  her  natural  and  pathetic  acting 
as  the  boy  Henri  showed  her  to  possess  powers  of 
no  ordinary  character,  which  fully  entitled  her  to  the 
recalls  she  obtained.  She  appeared  also  as  Perdita, 
the  '  Royal  Milkmaid,'  and  made  still  further  inroads 
into  the  favour  of  the  audience ;  indeed,  anything 
more  dangerous  to  throw  in  the  way  of  a  juvenile 
prince  it  were  difficult  to  imagine.  She  is  a  charming 
debutante,  sings  prettily,  acts  archly,  dances  gracefully, 
and  is  withal  of  a  most  bewitching  presence." 

That  fine  actor  of  the  past,  Benjamin  Webster, 
who  was  then  lessee  of  the  old  Adelphi  Theatre, 
offered  me  an  engagement  in  the  following  season, 
which  1  readily  accepted  ;  but,  as  this  was  not  to 
commence  for  three  months,  it  allowed  me  to  go  for 
a  little  time  to  Mr.  Buckstone  at  the  Haymarket. 
There  I  met  with  every  consideration  and  encourage- 
ment from  the  distinguished  company,  which  in- 
cluded, I  remember,  Mr.  Buckstone,  Mr.  Chippendale, 
Mr.  Howe,  Mr.  William  Farren,  Mr.  Compton,  and 
Miss  Reynolds.  The  last  became  in  after-years 
the  wife  of  the  great  criminal  lawyer,  Sir  Henry 
Hawkins,  afterwards  Lord  Brampton. 

I  made  my  appearance  as  Cupid  in  an  extrava- 
ganza written  by  the  accomplished  and  delightful 
Frank  Talfourd.  I  made  a  decided  hit  in  my  part, 
and  was  very  happy.  My  share  in  the  music,  too, 
was  successful,  my  voice,  I  fancy,  growing  stronger 
as  my  heart  grew  lighter. 

Frank  Talfourd,  the  son  of  Judge  Talfourd,  the 
author  of  Ion,  was  a  man  of  delicate  constitution, 
and  was  constantly  upbraided  by  his  friends  for  not 
taking  more  care  of  himself  One  bleak,  cold, 
wintry  day  he  was  met  in  the  Strand  by  his  brother 
author,  Robert  Brough,  who  was  so  distressed  at 
seeing  Talfourd  not  wrapped  up  that  he  told  him 
in  strong  terms  how  wrong  it  was  to  himself,  and 
how  unkind  to  his  friends.  Brough  insisted  that  he 
must  wear  thick  woollen  undervests,  and,  to   make 


12  GIRLHOOD 

sure  of  his  doing  so,  took  him  into  a  neighbouring 
shop,  and  asked  for  some  to  be  shown  to  them. 
The  man  produced  samples,  some  of  which  were  of 
a  hght  grey  colour,  others  brown.  Talfourd  ordered 
some  light  ones,  whereupon  the  assistant  shook  his 
head.  "  I  should  prefer  the  brown,  sir,  if  I  were  you." 
"  Why  ?"  asked  Talfourd,  *'  are  they  better  made,  or 
of  finer  material  ?  "  *'  No,  sir,"  was  the  answer  ;  "  they 
are  all  equal  in  quality."  "Then  why  do  you  so 
strongly  recommend  the  brown  ones  ?  "  "  Well,  sir," 
said  the  man,  indicating  the  grey  vests,  "  those  will 
want  washing  sometimes  " ;  then,  pointing  earnestly 

to  the  brown  vests,  he  exclaimed,  "  but  these !  " 

Frank  Talfourd  loved  to  tell  this  story. 

I  regretfully  left  the  Haymarket,  where  I  had 
been  so  happy  ;  and  all  the  more  when  I  found  out 
that  I  had  little  to  do  at  the  Adelphi,  there  being 
many  established  favourites  of  the  public  in  the 
company.  Benjamin  Webster  (a  host  in  himself), 
the  celebrated  comedians  Edward  Wright  and  Paul 
Bedford,  Miss  Woolgar,  Madame  Celeste  (whom  1 
had  not  met  since  I  acted  the  child  in  Green 
Bushes  with  her  in  a  country  theatre),  and  Mary 
Keeley  (afterwards  the  wife  of  Albert  Smith,  the 
brilliant  entertainer,  and  who  inherited  a  share  of  her 
mother's  genius)  are  the  principal  names  I  recall.  I 
once  was  one  of  a  party  which  paid  a  visit  to  Mr. 
Wright  at  his  model  farm  near  Surbiton,  the  most 
complete  and  interesting  thing  of  the  kind  I  ever 
saw,  and  remember  how  he  imposed  on  my  over- 
credulous  nature  by  telling  me,  with  a  serious  face, 
that  all  his  guinea-pigs  had,  during  the  previous 
night,  eaten  off  their  own  tails. 

Wright  and  Paul  Bedford  were  always  closely 
associated  in  pieces  written  especially  to  bring  them 
together,  the  latter  being  the  butt  of  the  former,  as 
in  later  years  he  was  of  Toole.  Only  quite  old 
playgoers  will  recall  Bedford's  enormous  body  sur- 
mounted by  a  face  very  like  a  kitchen  clock,  and 
his  perpetual   "  I    believe    you,   my   boy ! "      In   a 


PAUL    BEDFORD  13 

little  amateur  manuscript  magazine,  written  by 
mutual  friends  for  my  amusement,  and  which  I 
laugh  at  now  sometimes,  the  contributors  happily 
numbering  H.  J.  Byron,  are  some  remarks  he  wrote 
about  Paul  Bedford,  among  other  comic  "  Answers 
to  (imaginary)  Correspondents  "  : 

"  We  beg  to  state  that  we  never  give  any  informa- 
tion about  actors  ;  but  as  you  say  you  have  taken 
us  in  ever  since  we  came  out,  we  will,  for  once  in  a 
way,   gratify   your    curiosity   by    giving    a    concise 
history  of  Mr.   Paul   Bedford.     His   father  was   an 
undertaker  in  a  large  way,  and  his  mother  was,  of 
course,  a  pall-hearer.     In  early  life  he  mixed  much 
with  mutes,  and  later  on  he  mixed  a  good  deal  with 
liquids.     He  was  so  very  sheepish  when  young  that 
his  parents  thought  of  bringing  him  up  to  the  *  baa,' 
but  he  always  preferred  the  stage  to  the  pen.     He 
was  very  young  as  a  child,  but  as  he  advanced  in 
years  he  grew  older.     He  grew  so  exceedingly  fat, 
that  his  figure  has  been  frequently  known  to  fill  the 
house.     He  had  one  severe  illness,  when  he  got  up 
thin,  but   eventually  came   down  plump.      He   has 
lost  four  double  teeth,  and  is  marked  with  a  door-key 
in  the  small  of  his  back — not  that  at  first  sight  it  is 
very  easy  to  determine  where  the  small  is.     He  parts 
his  hair  from  ear  to  ear,  and  takes  his  annual  cold  in 
the  head  every  twelfth  of  October.     He  has  several 
children,  who  take   after  their  parent ;   but  as  the 
parent  generally  finishes  his  glass,  it  is  needless  to 
say  that  they  take   very  little   after  him.      He  is 
partial  to  dumb  animals,  and  keeps  two  hedgehogs 
and  a  highly  trained  tortoise  in  his  hind  pocket.     He 
is  of  a  mechanical  turn  of  mind,  and  once  invented  a 
machine  for  extracting  the  winkle  from  its  tortuous 
shell.     He  offered  it  for  four  thousand  pounds  to  the 
Government,   who,   however,    preferred    a   pin   and 
rejected  the  invention.     He  may  be  seen  between 
the  hours  of  seven  and  eleven  every  evening,  except 
Sundays,  when  he  goes  out  of  town  to  visit  an  aged 
grandson.     He  eats  heartily  when  in  spirits,  and  is 


14  GIRLHOOD 

seldom  empty  when  in  full  health.  He  takes  snuff, 
and  sneezes  twice  regularly  every  birthday.  He  will 
be  fourteen  next  April,  if  not  thrown  back  by  illness. 
Paulo  post  future.  Verb,  sap.  Jam  satis.  Whack 
row  de  row  ;  such  is  life.'' 

As  I  have  little  else  to  tell  of  these  early  days  at 
the  Adelphi  Theatre,  it  may  be  amusing  to  relate 
something  of  a  then  well-known  member  of  the 
company — Robert  (always  known  as  *'  Bob  ")  Romer. 
He  belonged  to  a  good  family  and  was  a  connection 
of  Lord  Justice  Romer.  Although  not  an  important 
actor,  he  was  such  an  oddity  that  everybody  had  an 
affection  for  him.  The  management  rarely  entrusted 
him  with  more  than  a  few  lines,  and  when  a  new 
play  was  about  to  be  produced,  some  friend  would 
delight  in  asking  him  what  his  part  would  be  in  it. 
His  reply  was  always  the  same :  "  A — what  have  I 
got  to  do  ?  Oh — a — nothing — a — at  all — in  the  first 
and  second  acts — and — a — next  to  nothing — in  the 
last."  He  spoke  in  quaint,  rapid  jerks,  and,  after  a 
slight  pause,  his  words  would  seem  to  try  to  get  one 
before  the  other.  I  remember  meeting  him  one 
morning  when  he  had  just  left  the  theatre  after 
rehearsing  in  a  new  piece.  As  1  saw  his  portly 
figure,  1  could  not  resist  asking  the  well-worn 
question,  "  What  have  you  got  to  do  in  the  new 
play,  Mr.  Romer  ?  "  **  A — a — what — have  I — got  to 
do?  Oh — a— the  old  story — a  few — idiotic  lines — 
and  exit.  In  the  last — piece  but  one — I — a — was — 
a  magistrate — nothing  to  do  but — wear  a  wig— and 
— a — take  it  off  again.  In  the  next — I  was — a — a — 
rustic — nothing  to  do — but — to  drink  the  health  of 
the  Squire — in  an  empty  jug — shout  out  *  Hurray  ' — 
laugh  '  Ha  !  ha  ! ' — and  go  off — with  a  noisy  crowd. 
A — in  this  piece — I  play — an  Alligator."  **  A  what, 
Mr.  Romer  ? "  "  An  Alligator — curious — line  of  busi- 
ness. I'm  discovered — a — at  the  beginning  in  a  tank. 
All  I  have  to  say  is  '  Tan— ter — ran — tan — tan  ! '  I 
don't  appear  again  till  the  last  scene,  when  I  say, 
'  Whack — fal-la  I '    It  won't — a — tax  the  brain  much  1 " 


THE   STRAND   THEATRE  15 

One  more  story  of  this  quaint  old  gentleman  will 
not,  I  hope,  bore  the  reader.  I  remember  an  amusing 
scene  occurring  one  morning  as  I  arrived  at  the  stage- 
door  to  attend  a  rehearsal,  when  I  heard  Mr.  Romer 
questioning  the  hall-porter  with  a  mysterious  and 
puzzled  expression  on  his  face.  1  must  first  explain 
that  on  the  previous  day  a  little  dinner  had  been 
given  to  him  by  a  few  friends  which  was  kept  up 
until  ten  o'clock,  for  Bob  had  not  to  appear  on  the 
stage  before  eleven,  just  to  act  one  of  his  celebrated 
"  next  to  nothing "  parts.  He  had  partaken  rather 
freely  of  the  wine,  and  was  somewhat  unsteady. 
When  he  awoke  on  the  following  morning,  he  had  a 
vague  recollection  of  the  dinner,  but,  for  the  life  of 
him,  could  not  remember  anything  that  happened 
afterwards.  As  I  arrived  at  the  stage-door,  a  con- 
versation to  this  effect  was  going  on  between  the  old 
actor  and  the  hall-porter  :  "  A — good  house — last 
night,  Richardson  ? "  "Yes,  sir,  very  good  house." 
"  A — nothing — went  wrong  at  all  ?  "  **  Nothing, 
sir."  "  A — how  did  the  farce  go  ?  "  "  Not  so  well 
as  usual,  I  was  told,  sir."  "  Not  so  well,  how's  that? " 
"1  did  hear,  sir,  that  it  were  'issed."  "Bless  my 
soul !  Was  Mr. — a — Webster  in  the  theatre  ?  " 
"  He  had  gone  'ome,  sir."  "  Is  he  here  this  morn- 
ing ?  "  "Yes,  sir,  just  arrived."  "A — did  he — ask 
for  me?"  "No,  sir."  "About  last  night, — a — was 
I  here  ?  " 

It  was  decided  to  pull  the  old  Adelphi  down,  and 
build  what  was  the  foundation  of  the  present  hand- 
some theatre  in  its  place.  This  set  me  free,  and  I 
signed  an  engagement  with  Miss  Swanborough  to 
act  under  her  management  at  the  Strand  Theatre. 
I  had  played  the  God  of  Love  again  in  an  extrava- 
ganza, Cupid  and  Psyche,  and  then  resigned  his 
quiver.  When  I  lost  the  name  of  Cupid,  the  epithet 
"Little"  for  a  long  while  took  its  place,  for  I  was 
in  turn  the  Little  Milkmaid,  the  Little  Fairy,  the 
Little  Treasure,  the  Little  Savage,  the  Little  Sentinel, 
the  Little  Devil,  and  the  Little  Don  Giovanni.     My 


16  GIRLHOOD 

acceptance  of  this  offer  was  an  important  step  in  my 
career,  as  from  its  commencement  until  I  became  a 
manager  I  was  chiefly  associated  with  the  Strand 
Theatre,  and  was  doomed  to  appear  in  a  long  line 
of  "burlesque  boys" — which,  in  the  words  of  the 
immortal  Mr.  Eccles,  "was  none  o'  my  choosing." 
My  circumstances,  however,  would  not  permit  me  to 
pick  and  choose,  and  I  was  thankful.  Miss  Swan- 
borough,  who  had  held  a  leading  comedy  position  at 
the  Haymarket  Theatre,  and  whose  friendship  1  still 
enjoy,  never  failed  to  make  the  members  of  her 
company  happy ;  to  her  reign  of  management  I 
always  look  back  with  bright  recollections. 

It  was  then  that  I  made  the  acquaintance,  which 
soon  ripened  into  friendship,  of  Henry  James  Byron, 
the  celebrated  author  of  the  brilliant  series  of  Strand 
burlesques.  He  was  quite  a  young  man  then,  with 
a  marked  inheritance  of  the  beauty  of  his  gifted 
kinsman — for  it  may  not  be  generally  known  that 
he  was  a  lineal  descendant  of  the  illustrious  poet's 
family,  as  reference  to  "  Burke  "  will  show.  He,  as 
one  may  imagine  his  great  relative  to  have  been,  was 
a  Bohemian  to  the  core.  Talking  one  day  at  dinner 
on  this  subject,  when  eating  heartily  of  turkey,  he 
said,  "I'm  quite  ashamed,  but  I  must  have  some 
more  of  that  bird."  Mrs.  Byron,  as  he  was  helped, 
remarked,  "  My  dear  Harry,  really  you'll  be  ill ! 
How  greedy  you  are ! "  He  laughed  and  replied, 
"  It's  all  in  honour  of  the  family  motto,  '  Greedy 
(crede)  Byron  I ' " 

My  first  part  at  the  Strand  Theatre  was  Pippo, 
in  his  burlesque  The  Maid  and  the  Magpie,  which 
proved  an  immense  success,  and  I  established  myself 
as  a  leading  favourite.  It  was  not  until  the  Life  of 
Charles  Dickens  was  published  that  I  knew  his 
opinion  of  this  performance.  Dickens  had  written 
years  before,  in  a  letter  to  John  Forster,  these 
words : 

"  I  went  to  the  Strand  Theatre,  having  taken  a 
stall  beforehand,  for  it  is  always  crammed.     I  really 


CHARLES   DICKENS  17 

wish  you  would  go  to  see  The  Maid  and  the  Magpie 
burlesque  there.  There  is  the  strangest  thing  in  it 
that  ever  I  have  seen  on  the  stage — the  boy  Pippo, 
by  Miss  Wilton.  While  it  is  astonishingly  impudent 
(must  be,  or  it  couldn't  be  done  at  all),  it  is  so 
stupendously  like  a  boy,  and  unlike  a  woman,  that 
it  is  perfectly  free  from  offence.  I  never  have  seen 
such  a  thing.  She  does  an  imitation  of  the  dancing 
of  the  Christy  Minstrels — wonderfully  clever — which, 
in  the  audacity  of  its  thorough-going,  is  surprising. 
A  thing  that  you  cannot  imagine  a  woman's  doing  at 
all ;  and  yet  the  manner,  the  appearance,  the  levity, 
impulse,  and  spirits  of  it  are  so  exactly  like  a  boy, 
that  you  cannot  think  of  anything  like  her  sex  in 
association  with  it.  I  never  have  seen  such  a  curious 
thing,  and  the  girl's  talent  is  unchallengeable.  I  call 
her  the  cleverest  girl  I  have  ever  seen  on  the  stage 
in  my  time,  and  the  most  singularly  original." 

Charles  Dickens's  being  impressed  with  my  like- 
ness to  a  boy  reminds  me  that  on  the  first  night  I 
acted  in  The  Middy  Ashore,  one  of  the  staff  came 
up  to  me  at  the  wings  and  said,  "  Beg  pardon,  young 
sir,  you  must  go  back  to  your  seat ;  no  strangers  are 
allowed  behind  the  scenes." 

The  company  included  a  fine  actor  of  the  old 
school,  James  Bland — "  Papa  Bland,"  as  he  was 
familiarly  called  in  the  theatre — who  had  been  so 
long  associated  with  Planche's  extravaganzas  in  the 
days  of  Madame  Vestris,  and  played  monarchs  in 
so  many  of  them  as  to  be  named  the  "  King  of 
Burlesque."  When  he  played  Fernando  Villabella 
he  was  old  and  ailing.  One  night,  on  arriving  at 
the  theatre,  he  was  observed  to  be  very  ill,  and  to 
stagger  on  getting  out  of  his  cab.  He  was  led  into 
the  porter's  hall,  and  within  half  an  hour  he  was 
dead.  His  sad  end  cast  a  gloom  over  us  all,  for  we 
were  fond  of  the  kindly  old  gentleman.  There  was 
no  one  prepared  to  take  his  place,  and  what  was 
done  that  evening  I  can't  remember ;  but  Mr.  Byron 
generously  came  to  the  rescue  and  played  the  part 


18  GIRLHOOD 

himself  the  next  night,  when  he  introduced  a  couplet 
in  the  scene  with  his  daughter,  played  by  Miss 
Oliver,  whose  name,  it  must  be  remembered,  was 
Martha,  although  by  her  intimate  friends  she  was 
always  called  Patty. 

The  burlesque  was  so  popular  that  it  seemed  as 
if  the  audience,  night  after  night,  had  never  moved 
from  their  seats,  so  many  faces  were  familiar.  It  will 
be  understood  by  this  that  many  frequenters  of  the 
theatre,  these  revenants,  as  they  call  them  in  Paris, 
knew  the  piece  practically  by  heart,  as  a  modern 
audience  at  the  Gaiety  or  Daly's  Theatre  knows  a 
"  musical  comedy "  now,  and,  whenever  a  new  sen- 
tence w^as  introduced,  detected  it  immediately.  The 
effect  can  be  imagined  when,  on  this  particular  night, 
Mr.  Byron  added  the  following  lines  in  the  scene 
with  Miss  Oliver,  where,  as  her  long-lost  father,  he 
is  trying  to  bring  himself  back  to  her  recollection : 

"Jujubes,  oranges,  and  cakes  I  too  did  give  her, 
Fate  de  fo'ie  gras,  which  means  Patty  O^liver.'''' 

Before  I  tell  you  what  else  I  have  to  say  about  the 
old  Strand  days,  let  me  recall  names  of  prominent 
actresses  who  have  played  with  success  in  burlesque, 
for  that  sometimes  abused  side  of  stage-life  has  its 
power  and  value  as  a  training.  Since  those  days, 
however,  although  burlesque  may  not  have  fallen  off, 
perhaps  some  of  the  dresses  have ;  many  of  which 
might  be  described  as  beginning  too  late  and  ending 
too  soon.  I  remember  at  once  the  names  of  Mrs. 
Keeley,  Miss  Herbert,  Miss  Woolgar,  Mrs.  Charles 
Mathews,  Kate  and  Ellen  Terry,  Madge  Robertson, 
Ada  Cavendish,  Fanny  Josephs,  Henrietta  Hodson, 
Ellen  Farren,  and  Mrs.  John  Wood,  while  among 
our  foreign  friends  I  can  at  least  mention  Helena 
Modjeska  and  Jane  Hading. 

So  far  as  I  can  tax  a  memory  as  imperfect  about 
dates  as  my  husband's  is  accurate,  it  was  after  I  had 
been  a  season  at  the  Strand  Theatre  that  I  had  the 
good  fortune  to  attract  the  notice  of  a  lady  who  was 


THE  COUNTESS  OF  HARRINGTON    19 

once,  as  Miss  Foote,  a  distinguished  actress,  but  whom 
I  knew  only  as  the  Dowager  Countess  of  Harrington. 
She  wrote  to  me  to  say  that  she  had  been  several 
times  to  see  me  act,  and  that  she  felt  obliged  to  tell 
me  of  the  impression  I  had  made  upon  her,  asking 
"to  be  allowed  to  call  on  me."  I  was,  of  course, 
delighted. 

My  father  had  known  her  slightly  when  she  was  at 
her  zenith,  and  would  often  speak  of  her  as  one  of  the 
loveliest  and  most  amiable  of  women.     To  me  she 
became  a  true  friend,  and  as  time  went  on  seemed 
more  and  more  endeared  to  me.    She  must  have  been 
very   beautiful   when   young,   being   still   extremely 
handsome  as  an  old  lady.     She  was  as  good,  too,  as 
she  was  handsome ;  and  I  can  never  forget  her  kind- 
ness to  me.     When  I  was  once  very  ill  with  an  attack 
of  bronchitis,  she  would,  day  after  day,  sit  by  my 
bedside  reading  to  me,  and  would  bring  with  her  all 
the  delicacies  she  could  think  of;  and  w^hen  I  had 
sufficiently  recovered,  she  sent  me  to  the  seaside  to 
recruit  my  health.     For  all  the  kindness  she  bestowed 
on  me  and  mine  my  gratitude  is  indelibly  written  on 
my  heart.     She  gave  me  a  pretty  portrait  of  herself, 
and  by  it  one  can  see  how  lovely  she  must  have  been. 
Among  her  other  gifts  was  a  beautiful  old-fashioned 
diamond  and  ruby  ring,  which  she  told  me  was  given 
to  her  by  the  Earl  (who  was  then  Lord  Petersham) 
when  he  was  engaged  to  be  married  to  her.      She 
always  called  me  by  my  second  name,  "Effie,"  and 
all  her  letters  to  me  were  so  addressed.      She  rarely 
failed  to  be  present  on  the  first  night  of  a  new  piece 
in  which  I  acted,  and  if  by  chance  prevented,  would 
send  old  Payne,  her  butler,  who  had  been  her  faithful 
servant  for  many  years,  and  he,  in  the  morning,  was 
expected  to  go  to  his  mistress  with  a  full  account  of 
my  performance.     I   recall  many  a   happy   visit   to 
Richmond  Terrace,  and  until  her  last  illness  I  had  no 
better  friend  than  Lady  Harrington. 

I  will  not  weary  the  reader  with  a  long  account 
of  all  the  burlesque  parts  I  played,  but  in  running 


20  GIRLHOOD 

through  the  list  will  pause  to  say  something  of  some- 
body else. 

The  next  "  boy  "  was  Sir  Walter  Raleigh  in  Kenil- 
worth,  in  which  Mrs.  Selby  was  our  "  Good  Queen 
Bess."  She  made  her  first  entrance  on  board  a 
"penny  steamer."  Being  a  very  tall,  large  woman, 
as  she  stood  on  the  paddle-box,  looking  bigger  than 
the  steamer,  she  caused  great  laughter ;  when  she 
prepared  to  land,  I  took  off  my  cloak  and  (repeating 
history,  or  legend)  placed  it  on  the  ground  for  the 
Queen  to  stand  upon. 

"  Because,  jour  Majesty,  should  I  e'er  wish  to  pawn  it 
ril  tell  my  uncle  Fve  had  a  sovereign  on  (awn)  it ! " 

The  leading  comedians  were  John  Clarke  and  the 
inimitable  James  Rogers — always  known  as  '*  Jimmy  " 
by  his  playmates.  They  were  great  friends  and 
favourites,  but  "  little  Clarke  "  suffered  torments  from 
the  pangs  of  jealousy  which  Rogers  took  a  fiendish 
delight  in  rousing.  I  could  tell  many  stories  about 
them  in  those  far-off  days,  but  now  they  would  have 
little  value.  Clarke's  heavy  voice  and  manner  were 
altogether  different  from  Jimmy's,  whose  voice  was 
light  and  thin.  Clarke  had  a  slow  and  ponderous  way 
of  speaking,  with  a  kind  of  gruff  drawl,  while  his  rival's 
delivery  was  rapid  and  comically  jerky.  They  differed, 
too,  in  features.  Clarke's  face  was  long,  with  a  large 
nose,  while  Rogers  had  a  small,  round  face,  with  a 
decided  nez  retrousse.  They  were  really  attached  to 
each  other,  and,  as  happens  with  barristers  after  a 
"  keen  encounter  of  their  tongues,"  often  walked  from 
the  theatre  arm  in  arm. 

The  next  burlesque  was  William  Tell,  in  which 
I  played  Albert.  There  were  also  parodies  of 
Esmeralda,  the  Colleen  Bawn,  and  Oiyheus  and 
Eurydice — with  those  admirable  actors,  George 
Honey  and  David  James  ;  also  of  the  old  melodrama. 
The  Miller  and  his  Men,  described  by  its  joint 
authors,  Talfourd  and  Byron,  as  a  burlesque  mealy- 
drama.     This   time  I  was  relegated  to  the   stables, 


RIVAL    COMEDIANS  21 

ai5  I  had  to  play  a  groom,  Karl,  or,  in  the  words 
of  the  authors,  "An  English  Tiger,  from  the  wild 
jungles  of  Belgravia."  GrindofF,  the  miller,  "and 
the  leader  of  a  very  brass  band  of  most  unpopular 
performers,  with  a  thorough  base  accompaniment 
of  at  least  fifty  vices,"  was  played  by  Charlotte 
Saunders,  who,  had  she  been  taller  and  gifted  with 
a  stronger  voice,  might  have  shone  as  a  leading  actress 
in  comedy  and  drama. 

The  rival  comedians,  Clarke  as  a  virtuous 
peasant,  Rogers  as  a  forlorn  old  woman,  of  course 
had  their  little  troubles  during  the  run,  especially 
on  the  last  night  of  it.  Rogers  slipped  off  the  stage 
towards  the  end,  and  as  Clarke  was  speaking  his 
final  lines,  just  before  the  general  chorus,  a  ripple 
of  laughter  ran  through  the  house.  Clarke  mistook 
this  for  a  tribute  to  himself,  and  was  beaming  with 
smiles,  when  suddenly  a  loud  thunder-clap,  and  then 
a  slow,  tremulous,  and  rumbling  noise  was  heard, 
followed  by  a  roar  of  laughter.  Clarke  turned 
round,  wondering  what  on  earth  was  the  matter, 
and  saw  Jimmy  dressed  as  the  ghost  of  Ravina, 
in  a  long  white  robe,  a  cap  with  an  enormous  frill, 
a  pale,  sad  face,  and  carrying  a  lighted  bedroom 
candle,  rising  through  the  clouds  to  the  "ghost 
melody"  from  The  Corsica?!  Brothers,  I  need  not 
say  that  not  another  word  of  the  play  or  a  note 
of  the  finale  was  heard.  When  the  curtain  fell, 
Jimmy  quietly  remarked  that  he  had  arranged 
with  the  conductor  of  the  orchestra  and  the  carpenters 
a  little  surprise  for  the  last  night,  feeling  sure  that 
it  would  greatly  amuse  the  audience,  and,  above  all, 
delight  Clarke ! 

In  Aladdin,  or  the  Wonderful  Scamp,  the 
personation  of  that  promising  young  gentleman — 
who  was  both  a  "  lively  youth  "  and  a  "  sad  boy  " — 
fell  to  me.  All  the  Strand  favourites  were  engaged 
in  it.  Night  after  night  there  sat  in  the  front  row 
of  the  pit  a  stout,  bald-headed  man,  who  appeared 
to  be  a  warm  admirer  of  "  Uttle  Clarke,"  to  whom  he 


22  GIRLHOOD 

was  a  great  comfort.  Whenever  Clarke  said  or  did 
anything,  the  stout  man  would  applaud  and  laugh 
louder  than  any  one  else,  and  call  out  vigorously 
"  Bravo,  Clarke  I  " 

This  happened  so  often  that  we  began  to  tease 
Clarke  about  it.  He  dearly  loved  praise  ;  but  when 
he  found  his  bald-headed  admirer  a  little  injudicious 
in  his  approval,  he  became  uneasy.  One  night  the 
owner  of  the  hairless  head  waited  at  the  stage-door 
to  see  Clarke  leave  the  theatre.  The  comedian 
recognised  his  friend  the  moment  he  raised  his  hat 
and  revealed  the  familiar  head  shining  under  a  gas- 
light. This  was  a  moment  not  to  be  lost.  "  I 
appreciate  more  than  I  can  say,"  said  Clarke,  "  your 
kind  attention,  and  it  is,  I  assure  you,  a  welcome 
sound  to  me  to  hear  your  friendly  voice.  But, 
unfortunately,  there  are  people  who  are  ever  ready 
to  ridicule  over-favouritism.  Do  you  think  you 
could  arrange  to  say  *  Bravo,  Clarke ! '  less  fre- 
quently and  not  in  so  marked  a  manner?  Let  it 
on  no  account  cease  altogether,  only  give  it  with 
more  judgment."  The  man  replied,  "  Certainly,  sir, 
of  course  I  will."  The  next  evening  the  bald  head 
was  again  the  centre-piece  of  beauty  in  the  pit. 
All  through  the  first  scene  the  well-known  voice  was 
silent;  one  could  see  an  anxious  look  gradually 
becoming  more  and  more  fixed  upon  Clarke's  face. 
At  last,  when  Rogers,  Clarke,  and  myself  sang  a  trio 
which  ended  the  scene,  the  familiar  voice  shouted 
repeatedly,  to  Clarke's  horror,  "  Bravo,  Rogers ! ' 
Clarke's  expression  caught  the  eye  of  Jimmy,  who 
laughed  until  the  tears  rolled  down  his  cheeks,  and 
it  was  with  difficulty  we  managed  to  get  through  the 
scene.  Throughout  the  evening  this  man,  at  un- 
expected moments,  would  cry  out,  "  Bravo,  Rogers  I  " 
giving,  of  course,  fresh  impetus  to  our  laughter. 

During  these  merry,  early  days  it  became  manifest 
that  James  Rogers  was  fast  failing  in  health.  He 
suffered  so  much  at  times  that  it  was  painful  to  see 
him  waiting  for  his  cue  to  go  on  the  stage  ;  but  the 


FUN  AND  SUFFERING  23 

welcome  which  always  greeted  him  would  be  such  a 
stimulant  that,  after  a  w^hile,  he  would  act  as  if 
nothing  were  amiss.  How  little  does  an  audience 
know  what  actors  fight  against  in  the  exercise  of 
duty — what  pain  they  suffer  bodily  and  mentally  in 
order  to  go  through  their  work  !  A  true  artist  will 
never  break  faith  with  the  public  while  able  to  stand 
or  speak.  There  is  something  in  the  atmosphere  of  a 
theatre  which  seems  to  give  one,  for  the  time,  almost 
superhuman  strength.  I  have  been  taken  from  a 
sick-bed  wrapped  in  blankets,  and  have  known  acute 
pain  to  disappear  ;  and  the  mere  fact  of  one's  thoughts 
running  through  another  channel  for  some  hours  has 
frequently  helped  a  speedy  recovery.  I  have  seen 
dear  Jimmy  Rogers  rally  in  a  way  that  made  us 
wonder;  he  would  be  so  quaintly  funny,  so  sadly 
comic,  that  we  could  not  resist  smiling,  forgetting  for 
the  moment  how  ill  he  was.  There  was  a  complete 
unconsciousness  of  his  own  power  to  make  one  laugh, 
which  was  more  droll  than  I  can  describe.  It  was 
irresistible  :  a  sad  face  with  a  curious  undercurrent  of 
humour — an  odd,  quiet  look  of  surprise  when  the 
audience  roared  at  him  ;  the  more  sadly  surprised 
he  appeared,  the  more  they  laughed.  He  was  the 
strangest  mixture  of  combined  ftin  and  suffering  I 
can  remember.  When  the  end  came,  his  last  words 
were,  "  The  farce  is  over — drop  the  curtain."  Poor 
Jimmy !  No  one  regretted  his  death  more  than  his 
old  friend  and  rival,  John  Clarke. 

During  my  Strand  days  I  also  had  the  advantage 
of  appearing  in  Planche's  charming  comedy,  Court 
Favour^  in  Unlimited  Confidence,  and  The  Little 
Treasure,  as  well  as  a  favourite  character.  Nan,  in 
Good  for  Nothing ;  nor  must  I  omit  a  brief  reference 
to  the  Shakespearian  Tercentenary.  When  that  great 
event  was  celebrated,  the  theatres  united  in  honouring 
the  poet's  memory,  either  complete  plays  or  selections 
from  them  being  acted  throughout  the  country. 

The  Strand  Theatre  contribution  was  scenes  from 
A  Midsummer  Nighfs  Dream,  and  the  balcony  scene 


24  GIRLHOOD 

from  Romeo  and  Juliet,  in  which  I  appeared  as  Juliet. 
The  latter  created  quite  a  sensation,  and  was  so  suc- 
cessful that  it  was  repeated  for  eight  nights.  I 
received  such  praise  and  so  many  complimentary 
letters  from  good  judges  that  it  will  be  understood 
how  more  than  ever  anxious  I  became  to  slip  out  of 
burlesque  as  quickly  as  possible.  Some  thought  me 
wise,  others  mad  ;  and,  while  they  were  deciding 
between  the  two,  I  determined  to  follow  my  own 
instincts  and  the  urgent  appeal  to  Mrs.  Dombey  "  to 
make  an  effort."  Some  time  afterwards  I  heard  with 
pride  that  among  those  warmest  in  their  praise  of  my 
acting  as  Juliet  was  Mr.  (now  Sir)  William  S.  Gilbert. 

In  the  summer  the  Strand  company  paid  a  brief 
visit  to  Liverpool,  where  I  first  met  my  husband, 
who  now  shall  relate  his  own  early  struggles,  before 
we  tell  the  story  of  our  management. 

In  these  days  of  large  salaries,  of  which  we  were 
the  pioneers,  it  will  be  interesting  if  I  end  this  chapter 
by  telling  that  my  first  salary  in  London  was  three 
pounds  a  week  ;  that  at  the  Strand  Theatre,  where, 
without  undue  vanity,  I  may  claim  to  have  been  the 
chief  attraction,  it  never  exceeded  nine  pounds ;  and 
that  the  highest  salary  paid  me  in  those  far-off  times 
was  fifteen  pounds,  when  I  played  The  Little 
Treasure  for  a  few  weeks  at  the  Adelphi  Theatre. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  that,  my  cat  ? 
What  do  you  think  of  that,  my  dog?" 


CHAPTER  II 

BOYHOOD 

"  I  ran  it  through,  even  from  my  boyish  days." 

An  onlooker  now  in  the  field  where  for  many  years 
I  was  a  diligent  toiler — both  a  sower  and  a  reaper — 
I  often  ponder  on  the  work  in  which  the  happiest 
part  of  my  life  was  spent,  and  will  try  to  utter  some 
random  thoughts.  I  will  tell  something  of  my  boy- 
hood and  my  early  experiences  as  a  country  actor, 
before  proceeding  to  matters  o'f  more  consequence, 
dating  from  the  time  Marie  Wilton  and  I  first  met, 
and  linked  our  lives  and  fortunes. 

I  owe  much  to  the  gift  of  memory,  which  is 
perhaps  remarkable  in  regard  to  dates  and  things 
theatrical ;  for  even  after  so  long  a  lapse  of  time  it 
would  be  but  little  trouble  to  me  to  answer,  arming 
my  questioner  with  a  file  of  The  Times,  what  part 
I  was  playing  in  any  month  of  any  year  between 
the  summers  of  1865  and  1885,  which  made  up 
jointly  our  twenty  years  of  management  of  a  theatre. 
In  what  I  write  I  will  follow  the  words  of  the 
brightest  mind  that  has  illumined  England,  whose 
wondrous  works  have  made  the  stage  eternal : 

"  Nothing  extenuate, 
Nor  set  down  aught  in  malice." 

If  I  disobey  this  injunction,  let  it  be  rather  in 
the  first  than  in  the  second  behest.  I  will  try  not 
to  give  way  to  egotism,  for  my  self-esteem  may  be 

25 


26  BOYHOOD 

fairly  expressed  in  the  words  of  Captain  Hawtree, 
in  Caste  (the  part,  perhaps,  which  first  made  me 
known  to  London  playgoers  of  those  days) :  "  T  don't 
pretend  to  be  a  particularly  good  sort  of  fellow,  nor 
a  particularly  bad  sort  of  fellow  ;  I  suppose  I  am 
about  the  average  standard  sort  of  thing." 

I  was  born  on  Friday,  May  14,  1841,  in  the  same 
year  as  the  King  and  other  distinguished  men  well 
known  to  His  Majesty,  some  of  whom  have  honoured 
me  with  their  friendship.  In  diplomacy  I  may  name 
Lord  Cromer,  Sir  Frank  LasceUes,  Sir  Edwin  Eger- 
ton,  and  Sir  Wilfrid  Laurier ;  in  the  Navy,  Admiral 
of  the  Fleet  Sir  John  Fisher  ;  in  the  Army,  Field- 
Marshal  Lord  Grenfell  and  Sir  Frederick  Maurice; 
in  the  Church,  the  Bishop  of  Ripon  (Dr.  Boyd- 
Carpenter)  and  Archdeacon  Wilberforce ;  in  the  law. 
Sir  Edward  Clarke ;  in  sport.  Lord  Dunraven,  Sir 
Frederick  Johnstone,  and  Mr.  Gordon  Bennett ;  in 
agriculture,  Lord  Blyth ;  in  literature,  Sir  Donald 
Mackenzie  Wallace  ;  in  painting,  Sir  George  Reid ; 
in  music,  Sir  Walter  Parratt ;  in  the  drama,  my  late 
friend  Coquelin  and  M.  Mounet-SuUy;  while  1  may 
add  the  names  of  President  Falli^res,  M.  Clemenceau, 
Lord  Meath,  Lord  Gosford,  Lord  Greville,  Lord 
Erskine,  Sir  Samuel  Hoare,  Sir  Cuthbert  Quilter,  Sir 
James  Pender,  Sir  George  Paget,  Sir  Reginald  Talbot, 
and  Sir  Courtenay  Ilbert  to  the  list.  Altogether, 
I  think  I  am  justified  in  describing  1841  as  a  good 
vintage  year.  The  weeks  of  my  age  I  can  count 
every  Wednesday  by  the  number  recorded  on  the 
cover  of  Punch,  which  publication  almost  immediately 
followed  me  into  the  world.  I  have  known  all  its 
editors :  Mark  Lemon,  Shirley  Brooks,  Tom  Taylor, 
Francis  Burnand,  and  Owen  Seaman. 

I  was  very  nearly  christened  Julian  (my  mother  s 
name  being  Julia) ;  the  wish  was  only  abandoned,  I 
afterwards  learnt,  in  the  church,  when  I  was  given 
the  odd  name  of  "  Squire,"  after  my  paternal  grand- 
father, whose  first  name  it  also  was.  He  was  a 
Yorkshireman,  and  had  been  tutor  to  the  then  heir 


EARLY  MEMORIES  27 

to  the  dukedom  of  Devonshire ;  he  was  a  profound 
Latin  scholar,  even  airing  his  learning  at  the  font, 
for  although  he  allowed  his  eldest  son  (who,  after 
serving  King  George  III.  as  a  midshipman  in  the 
Royal  Navy,  was  ordained  as  a  clergyman,  and,  many 
years  later,  officiated  at  my  marriage  at  the  little 
church  in  the  Avenue  Road  dedicated  to  St.  Stephen) 
to  escape  with  the  simple  name  of  John,  he  called 
my  father  Secundus  and  his  next  son  Tertius. 

I  was  surrounded  by  comfort  and  plenty  in  my 
childhood,  and  have  remembrances  now  of  my  father, 
on  his  horse,  and  wearing  a  blue  coat  with  gilt 
buttons,  and  can  recall  early  morning  visits  to  a 
greenhouse,  my  little  hand  held  lovingly  in  his,  and 
many  a  romp  round  a  big  mulberry  tree.  But  such 
pleasant  days — chastened  by  one  dreadful  recollection 
of  a  big  clock  in  the  hall,  past  which  I  always 
hurried,  in  the  fear  that  some  one  was  hidden  inside 
its  roomy  case — were  not  my  fate  for  long.  My 
father  was  stricken  with  a  painful  malady  which 
ended  in  his  death,  and  with  him  died  nearly  all 
his  income.  The  dreams  of  public  school  and  college, 
which  my  mother  shared,  were  never  to  be  realised  ; 
I  was  moderately  educated  at  private  schools  in 
England  and  France.  I  can  remember,  during  my 
holidays,  going  to  the  Exhibition  of  1851,  and  being 
sent  for  home  to  see  the  funeral  of  the  great  Duke 
of  Wellington,  part  of  the  wreck  of  my  father's 
property  being  a  small  house  in  Fleet  Street,  near 
Temple  Bar  which  on  that  solemn  day  was  draped 
in  black  and  bore  big  urns  of  burning  incense.  The 
house  I  speak  of  was  long  ago  pulled  down  and 
absorbed  in  the  palatial  premises  of  an  insurance 
office  ;  but  at  that  time  my  mother's  tenant  was  a 
tailor,  who  offered  her  seats  in  his  shop  window  to 
see  a  procession  which  stirred  the  English  people  in 
a  way  that  they  but  seldom  experience.  While 
abroad  I  recollect  the  birth  of  the  ill-starred  Prince 
Imperial ;  and,  returning  to  England  soon  afterwards, 
I  saw  the  general  illuminations  in  celebration  of  peace 


28  BOYHOOD 

after  the  Crimean  War.  This  I  mention  because, 
strange  to  say,  I  remember  well  being  blocked  for 
some  very  long  time  just  in  front  of  the  house  I 
occupied  twenty  years  afterwards  in  Cavendish 
Square. 

I  will  try  to  call  to  mind  what  I  have  seen  in 
early  days.  The  "  twopenny  "  and  "  general  "  post- 
men, with  their  royal-blue  or  scarlet  coats,  looking 
indeed  very  like  the  guards  of  the  stage-coaches,  I 
remember  quite  clearly  ;  as  I  do  the  policemen  in 
their  blue  tail-coats,  their  hats  with  shiny  tops,  their 
duck  trousers,  and  white  gloves.  The  foot-guards, 
clad  in  swallow-tails,  with  epaulettes  and  cross-belts, 
white  trousers,  and  giant  bear-skins,  I  picture  readily 
in  Hyde  Park,  where  then,  at  the  keepers'  lodges, 
boys  and  girls  invested  pennies  in  curds-and-whey  or 
hardbake.  The  Quakers  in  their  quaint  clothing  I 
also  recollect ;  and  I  remember,  too,  the  boys  who 
swarmed  the  chimneys  and  wore  brass  badges  on 
their  caps.  The  sweep's  street-cry,  the  dustman's 
bell,  the  old-clothes  man's  husky  call,  as  he  tramped 
along  under  the  burden  of  his  bag  and  pyramid  of 
hats,  the  song  of  the  "  buy-a-broom  "  girls,  all  formed 
part  of  the  music  of  my  childhood.  I  can  just  recall 
the  statue  of  the  Iron  Duke  at  Hyde  Park  Corner 
when  it  was  placed  there,  and  being  shown  the 
Thames  Tunnel  soon  after  its  completion.  And  I 
remember  going  to  Blackwall  by  the  Rope  Railway, 
the  Colonnade  in  Regent  Street,  the  pens  in  Old 
Smithfield  Market,  the  piling  and  strapping  of 
luggage  on  the  roofs  of  the  railway  carriages  when 
we  travelled  by  train,  and  the  Chartist  Riots  of  1848, 
while  the  talk  about  the  great  criminal  trials  of 
Rush  and  the  Mannings  taught  me  what  murder 
meant. 

Before  I  end  this  reference  to  early  memories,  let 
me  tell  how  first  I  knew  myself  to  be  short-sighted. 
One  day  at  home,  when  I  was  a  small  boy,  a  lady 
who  wore  spectacles  placed  them  on  a  table  near  my 
hand.    Of  course  I  clutched  them,  and  at  once  adorned 


STAGE-STRUCK  29 

my  nose.  I  almost  screamed,  and  I  really  cried  out 
loud  ;  for  the  lady,  like  me,  was  very  short-sighted, 
and  I,  for  the  first  time  in  my  life,  could  see  !  Instead 
of  clambering  up  on  chairs  and  other  furniture  to  find 
out  what  the  pictures  had  to  tell,  they  were  all  made 
clear  to  me,  as  if  by  magic.  Remarks  which  had  so 
often  puzzled  me  about  minute  and  distant  things 
became,  with  a  sort  of  instinct,  plain  to  my  under- 
standing. From  that  time  I  have  worn  an  eyeglass— 
and  have  never  seen  a  new  moon  except  through 
glass  ! 

I  had  to  be  taken  from  school  when  still  young, 
to  cast  about  for  a  way  to  earn  a  living.  I  had  been 
always  "  stage-struck  " — my  toys  were  little  theatres, 
in  which  The  Red  Rover  and  The  Miller  and  his 
Men  enjoyed  long  runs  ;  while,  later  on,  I  would  for 
years  read  a  tragedy  in  preference  to  a  novel,  until  I 
learnt  from  my  mother  a  great  love  for  the  works  of 
Dickens,  the  first  of  them  to  entrance  me  being 
Nicholas  Nickkby,  in  which  the  stage  episodes 
naturally  and  fiercely  fanned  the  dramatic  flame. 
All  my  pocket-money  was  spent  at  the  play,  but  the 
thought  of  my  ever  being  an  actor  was  looked  upon 
with  ridicule. 

The  earliest  glimmer  of  recollection  I  retain  of 
amusements  is  of  the  circus  at  Astley's,  and  of  panto- 
mimes both  there  and  at  the  old  Surrey  Theatre. 
I  recall,  but  only  with  a  child's  remembrance,  being 
taken  to  the  Lyceum  to  see  Madame  Vestris,  and 
living  in  the  fairyland  of  William  Beverley's  gorgeous 
scenery  in  Planche's  extravaganza  T'he  King  of  the 
Peacocks ;  also  to  the  Strand  Theatre  (then  called 
Punch's  Playhouse)  to  see  the  waning  elder  Farren 
before  he  left  the  stage.  The  play  was  The  Vicar 
of  Wakefield ;  Mrs.  Stirling  was  Olivia,  and  Leigh 
Murray  also  acted  in  it.  Macready  I  never  saw  ; 
but  I  do  not  forget  as  a  small  boy  reading,  with  a 
longing  to  be  present,  the  playbill  of  his  farewell 
performance.  I  was  taken  to  see  Jullien — a  wonder- 
ful-looking creature,  all  shirt-front  and  pomatum — 


30  BOYHOOD 

conduct  his  band  at  the  Surrey  Gardens.  At  the 
same  age  I  can  just  remember  seeing  old  Madame 
Tussaud  seated  at  the  inner  door  of  the  famous 
Waxwork  Exhibition,  then  in  Baker  Street,  and 
comparing  the  reahty  with  the  effigy,  which  1  beheve 
is  still  on  view  in  its  newer  home  in  the  Maryle- 
bone  Road.  Later,  I  was  often  at  Sadler's  Wells 
Theatre,  and  saw  many  of  the  simple  but  scholarly 
productions  by  Samuel  Phelps,  and  witnessed  most 
of  Charles  Kean's  splendid  revivals  at  the  Princess's. 
At  the  Adelphi  I  saw  Benjamin  Webster,  Leigh 
Murray,  Paul  Bedford,  Miss  Woolgar,  and  Madame 
Celeste. 

My  memory  grows  brighter  at  thoughts  of  the 
Olympic,  where  I  was  enthralled  by  an  actor  whom 
I  shall  never  forget— Frederick  Robson.  1  saw  him 
often,  and  vividly  recall  his  pathos  in  The  Porter's 
Knot,  his  avarice  as  the  old  miser,  Daddy  Hardacre, 
his  intensity  as  Desmarets  in  Plot  and  Passion,  and 
his  wonderful  acting  in  Payable  on  Demand,  To 
have  once  seen  him  in  the  last-named  play  is  never 
to  forget  him  as  the  distracted  financier,  whose 
fortunes  are  saved  by  the  news  of  Waterloo,  brought 
to  him  by  a  carrier  pigeon,  which  he  ran  round  the 
room  embracing  and  covering  with  kisses  in  a  way 
that  provoked  no  smiles  but  only  loud  applause. 
The  power  of  Robson  on  the  stage  was  contagious, 
like  a  fever,  and,  take  him  all  in  all,  I  think  he  was 
the  most  remarkable  actor  of  those  days,  and  perhaps 
one  of  the  most  remarkable  of  any  days. 

At  the  Lyceum  I  saw  Charles  Dillon,  an  actor  of 
powerful  sensibility,  in  Belphegor—2i  fine  performance. 
I  sat  that  evening  by  my  mother's  side,  and  in  the 
touching  scene  between  the  mountebank  and  his 
son,  we  little  thought  that  the  pretty  girl  who  made 
us  cry  by  her  pathetic  acting  as  the  boy  Henri,  the 
part  in  which  she  first  appeared  in  London,  would 
one  day  be  my  wife.  I  still  have  the  playbill  of  that 
performance.  At  the  same  theatre  1  recollect  seeing 
Helen   Faucit   (Lady   Martin)   act    Lady   Macbeth, 


NEW   YORK   IN   THE   FIFTIES        31 

and  Pauline  in  The  Lady  of  Lyons ;  and,  also,  Ira 
Aldridge,  the  black  tragedian,  play  Othello.  Those 
were  the  days  when  young  theatre-goers  had  little 
ambition  beyond  a  front  seat  in  the  pit ;  the  days 
when  one's  toes  were  trodden  on  between  the  acts 
by  horrible  women  who  sold  "apples,  oranges,  and 
ginger-beer  " ;  the  days  when  the  bill  of  the  play  was 
little  better  than  a  greasy  mass  of  printer's  ink  on 
paper  two  feet  long. 

Soon  afterwards  I  went  for  a  short  visit  to  New 
York,  partly  with  a  dream  of  seeking  a  fortune  there 
— a  dream  which  I  did  not  realise.  I  was  thirteen 
days  at  sea,  at  that  time  an  average  passage,  when 
the  Cunard  fleet  was  composed  of  paddle-steamers. 

My  brief  stay  was  during  "  the  fall,"  so  I  came  in 
for  the  Indian  summer,  a  far  more  beautiful  and  much 
longer  autumnal  visitation  than  the  French  Vete  de 
la  St.  Martin,  or  the  short  gleam  we  sometimes  get 
in  England  of  St.  Luke's  little  summer. 

My  stage  recollections  of  New  York  include  the 
production  of  a  play  destined  to  attain  celebrity  as 
Our  American  Coiisin,  in  which  I  saw  Sothern  act 
Lord  Dundreary  for  the  very  first  time  in  his  life. 
Jefferson,  world-famous  afterwards  as  Rip  Van 
Winkle,  was  the  Asa  Trenchard.  The  whole  per- 
formance was  a  very  different  one  from  that  presented 
later  at  the  Haymarket ;  but  it  was  Dundreary  who 
made  the  play — a  very  bad  one,  although  through 
Sothern  it  enjoyed  the  greatest  run  then  on  record. 
Sothern,  at  the  reading  of  the  piece,  refused  his  part, 
and  only  on  being  given  carte  blanche  to  "  write  it 
up"  and  do  with  it  what  he  pleased,  consented  to 
appear  in  it.  The  odd  stammer  and  eccentric  walk 
which  he  introduced  he  had  previously  tried  with 
success,  its  inspiration  being  really  due  to  some  antics 
of  a  troupe  of  nigger  minstrels.  The  most  dramatic 
remembrance  I  brought  away  with  me  was  that  of 
a  sermon  preached  by  Henry  Ward  Beecher  at 
Brooklyn. 

On  my  return  to  England  I  was  present  at  the 


32  BOYHOOD 

Princess's  Theatre  when  Charles  Kean  retired  from 
management.  Henry  VIII.  was  played,  with  Kean 
as  Wolsey  and  Mrs.  Kean  as  Queen  Catherine. 
There  was  also  a  farce,  written  by  Edmund  Yates, 
in  which  Ellen  Terry,  then  a  child,  appeared  as  a 
little  groom.  The  night  indeed  was  one  to  remember 
well.  Kean  delivered  a  farewell  managerial  address, 
in  which  he  said  how  he  had  been  blamed  for 
mounting  this  or  that  play  too  sumptuously,  while 
on  the  other  hand  he  was  recently  scolded  for  the 
simplicity  of  the  goblets  he  had  used  in  Macbeth's 
banqueting  hall,  adding  in  his  own  quaint  manner, 
"it  was  the  first  time  he  ever  heard  that  Macbeth 
had  an  eye  to  King  Duncan's  plate." 

I  will  here  mention  my  going  to  the  Strand 
Theatre,  where  I  again  saw  Marie  Wilton  as  the  hero 
of  one  of  H.  J.  Byron's  burlesques,  when  she  was  the 
idol  of  the  day — at  the  time  when  Alfred  Austin, 
now  Poet  Laureate,  in  some  humorous  verses,  wrote 
of  her : 

"  While  saucy  Wilton  winks  her  wicked  way, 
And  says  the  more,  the  less  she  has  to  say." 

I  did  not  see  the  then  "  Young  Queen  of  Burlesque  " 
again  until  we  met  upon  the  stage  when  I  was  an 
actor  at  Liverpool. 

Remembrances  at  the  Adelphi  Theatre  of  that 
fine  actor  Benjamin  Webster  still  linger  in  my  mind, 
as  also  of  standard  comedies  at  the  Hay  market, 
played  by  Charles  Mathews  and  Buckstone,  Compton 
and  Chippendale,  Howe  and  Farren,  Mrs.  Charles 
Mathews,  Mrs.  Wilkins,  and  Miss  Reynolds  (after- 
wards Lady  Brampton).  I  remember  my  rapture  at 
The  Colleen  Bawn  on  one  of  the  early  nights  of  its 
brilliant  career.  How  well  I  recall  the  acting  of 
Dion  Boucicault  and  his  wife  ("  sweet  Agnes,"  as 
she  then  was  called)  as  Myles-na-Coppaleen  and  Eily 
O'Connor,  of  Miss  Woolgar  as  Anne  Chute,  Mrs. 
Billington  as  Mrs.  Cregan,  and  Edmund  Falconer  as 
Danny  Mann.     The  three  ladies  named  still  survive. 


CHARLES   FECHTER  33 

Without  dwelling  longer  on  these  recollections,  I 
will  mention  an  important  night  when  I  was  among 
those  who  greeted  a  famous  actor,  the  charm  and 
originality  of  whose  natural  style  certainly  had  its 
influence  for  good,  I  mean  the  romantic,  but  not 
bombastic,  Charles  Fechter.  I  saw  him  play  Ruy  Bias 
for  the  first  time  in  English ;  this  was  followed  soon 
by  a  revival  of  The  Corsican  Brothers,  which  I  also 
saw  produced.  The  first  and  second  acts,  I  recollect, 
were  then  transposed,  as  they  had  been  previously 
played  by  Fechter  in  France  ;  the  scenes  in  Paris, 
where  Louis  meets  Chateau  Renaud  and  is  killed, 
preceding  those  at  Fabian's  home  in  Corsica,  where 
he  sees  a  vision  of  his  brother's  death. 

With  those  two  delightful  evenings  my  early, 
never-to-be-forgotten  visits  to  the  play — nights  that 
were  the  balm  for  many  sad  and  weary  days— came 
for  ever  to  an  end.  The  charm,  the  mystery,  which 
had  hung  for  years  around  the  playhouse,  and  chiefly 
made  my  dreams,  were  soon  to  be  dispelled.  "  The 
cloud-capp'd  towers,  the  gorgeous  palaces  "  were  now 
to  be  revealed  to  me  in  all  the  barrenness  of  painted 
canvas  ;  for,  although  in  a  few  days  I  was  again 
in  a  theatre,  I  this  time  entered  it  by  the  stage-door. 

Often  as  I  went  to  the  play,  dearly  as  I  loved  the 
theatre,  until  I  tried  to  become  an  actor  I  had  never 
known  one,  and  very  rarely  had  even  seen  one  off  the 
stage.  And  so  it  has  been  with  many  of  my  com- 
rades, Henry  Irving,  John  Hare,  Charles  Wyndham, 
W.  H.  Kendal,  Charles  Coghlan,  John  Clayton, 
Arthur  Cecil,  Johnston  Forbes-Robertson,  Wilham 
Terriss,  and  E.  S.  Willard,  as  also  with  some  of  a 
later  generation,  a  few  of  whose  names  pass  at  once 
through  my  mind,  Herbert  Beerbohm  Tree,  George 
Alexander,  Cyril  Maude,  Arthur  Bourchier,  Lewis 
Waller,  and  Charles  Hawtrey — all  of  whom,  I  believe 
were  as  unconnected  with  the  theatre  as  I  was.  The 
law  of  compensation  has  in  this  way  often  served  the 
stage :  many  men  whose  gifts  and  talents  have  wooed 
the  Cinderella  of  the  arts  might,  but  for  their  lack  of 

3 


34  BOYHOOD 

means,  have  embarked  in  other  caUings.  On  the 
other  hand,  Marie  Bancroft,  Madge  Kendal,  Ellen 
Terry,  Winifred  Emery,  Ellen  Farren,  and  Mrs.  John 
Wood  were  all,  so  to  speak,  brought  up  in  theatre- 
land. 

I  got  my  own  engagement  when  I  was  a  boy  of 
nineteen,  but  looking  older.  After  I  had  addressed  a 
shoal  of  letters  to  the  lessees  of  country  theatres,  to 
most  of  which  I  received  no  answer,  Mercer  Simpson, 
of  Birmingham,  found  something  in  my  appeal,  I 
suppose,  a  little  removed  from  the  ruck  of  such 
effusions,  for  he  sent  me  an  encouraging  reply,  and 
expressed  a  wish  to  see  me.  I  left  my  home — with  a 
heart  as  heavy  as  my  purse  was  light — at  daybreak 
on  New  Year's  Day,  1861,  travelling  by  early  train 
to  Birmingham.  It  was  cold  and  bleak  when  I 
walked  up  New  Street  to  the  Theatre  Royal,  and 
sent  in  my  name  to  the  manager.  I  remember  weU 
my  impressions  of  the  dimly  lighted  theatre  as  I 
stood  close  to  the  footlights  and  talked  my  stage- 
struck  project  over,  when,  after  kind  advice,  it  was 
arranged  that  I  might  regard  myself  as  a  member 
of  the   company,   with   a   salary   of    one  ^  guinea    a 

i^^      week.  ""^    "^ 

-  ^  '^T'few  nights  later  1  made  my  first  appearance 
in  a  drama  called  St.  Marys  Eve,  A  copy  of  the 
first  playbill  in  which  my  name  was  printed  1  still 
possess ;  and  I  have  a  list  of  all  the  parts  I  played 
while  in  the  provinces,  and  of  the  theatres  in 
which  I  acted  them.  The  plays  were  varied  two  or 
three  times  a  week  ;  a  special  "  blood-and-thunder  " 
repertoire,  comprising  such  works  as  The  Bottle,  The 
Lonely  Man  of  the  Ocean,  Sweeny  Todd,  the  Barber 
of  Fleet  Street,  and  Thirty  Years  of  a  Gambler's 
Life,  being  drawn  upon  for  Saturdays,  in  which  I 
appeared  as  the  perpetrator  or  victim  of  a  wide  range 
of  the  vilest  crimes.  The  prompter  was  a  delightful 
crippled  old  gentleman,  once  known  as  "  Bath 
Montague,"  whose  daughter  Compton  married.  I 
was  told  that  a  brilliant  career  had  been  ruined  by 


A   COUNTRY  ACTOR  35 

the  lamentable   accident    which    caused    his    lame- 
ness. 

The  first  "  star  "  in  the  theatrical  firmament  round 
whom  I  humbly  twinkled  was  Madame  Celeste.  I 
remember  she  was  then  spoken  of  as  "  quite  an  old 
woman,"  but  as  she  died  full  twenty  years  later, 
before  she  was  seventy,  I  thought  it  a  good  instance 
of  the  rubbish  so  often  circulated  with  regard  to  the 
ages  of  public  characters.  With  this  accomplished 
actress  and  charming  woman  I  played  in  the  old 
Adelphi  dramas — Green  Bushes  and  The  Flowers  of 
the  Forest.  I  next  met  Walter  Montgomery,  to  my 
thinking  an  unappreciated  actor,  and  one  perhaps  a 
little  before  his  time. 

I  went  for  a  summer  season  to  the  Cork  Theatre, 
during  the  Birmingham  vacation,  at  an  advanced 
salary.  When  I  arrived  I  found  myself  "  billed  " 
on  the  walls  with  the  Christian  name  "  Sydney,'' 
my  unusual  first  name,  or  my  way  of  writing  it, 
having  puzzled  the  theatre  printer,  with  the  result 
I  mention.  The  "  nickname  "  stuck  to  me  for  years, 
although  its  use  was  discontinued  in  1867.  On 
the  opening  night  the  play  was  Hamlet,  in  which 
I  figured  as  Marcellus,  Rosencrantz,  the  Second 
Player,  a  Priest,  and  Osric  ;  strange  to  say,  in  the 
very  same  year  that  Charles  Dickens  used  the  follow- 
ing words  in  Great  Expectations,  when  Pip  describes 
the  appearance  of  Mr.  Wopsle  as  Hamlet,  and  speaks 
of  a  "young  gentleman  in  the  company  as  incon- 
sistent, representing  himself,  as  it  were  in  one  breath, 
as  an  able  seaman,  a  strolling  actor,  a  gravedigger,  a 
clergyman,  and  a  person  of  the  utmost  importance  at 
a  court  fencing-match,  on  the  authority  of  whose 
practised  eye  and  nice  discrimination  the  finest  strokes 
were  judged." 

I  had  little  time  for  anything  but  work,  long  hours 
of  the  night  being  often  devoted  to  copying  out  my 
part  from  a  well-thumbed  book  which  had  to  be 
passed  on  to  another  member  of  the  little  company ; 
while  the  days  were  spent  in   study  and   rehearsal, 


36  BOYHOOD 

for  the  performance  was  changed,  or  partly  so,  nearly 
every  evening.  It  was  reward  enough,  however,  to 
know  that  the  varied  nature  of  the  parts  entrusted  to 
me,  and  the  incessant  practice,  did  me  great  good  ; 
for  I  felt  already  that  I  might  some  day  be  an  actor, 
and  so  went  back  to  Birmingham  full  of  hope  and 
high  spirits. 

It  was  at  this  time  that  I  first  met  Mr.  Kendal, 
who  was  then  a  fair,  handsome  young  fellow  of  about 
nineteen  or  twenty.  I  dare  say  he  will  remember,  as 
well  as  I  do,  a  certain  "tea-fight"  at  my  humble 
lodgings,  when  my  guests  far  exceeded  the  number 
of  my  chairs. 

I  then  first  acted  with  Charles  Kean,  of  whom  1 
will  say  more  later  on  ;  this  led  to  distinct  advance- 
ment and  an  increase  of  salary.  I  also  played  with 
that  idol  of  my  youth,  Samuel  Phelps.  When  he 
arrived  at  the  theatre  for  rehearsal  I  gazed  at  him,  I 
remember,  with  the  awe  which  might  be  inspired  in 
the  most  nervous  of  curates  by  the  presence  of  the 
Archbishop  of  Canterbury.  His  name  reminds  me 
of  an  anecdote  connected  with  his  brilliant  services  to 
the  stage.  It  happened  on  a  night  when  he  was 
playing  Virginius  that  the  "  super-master,"  who  acts 
as  the  leader  of  crowds,  had  met  with  an  accident, 
and  could  not  fulfil  his  duties  as  First  Citizen  in  the 
Forum  scene,  where  Appius  Claudius  claims  Virginia 
from  her  father.  So  the  little  part  which  leads  the 
chorus  of  voices  was  given  to  the  man  who  was 
second  in  command,  who,  as  the  time  drew  near, 
became  very  anxious  and  nervous.  The  words  in  the 
tragedy  where  Virginius  appeals  to  the  crowd  for 
support  against  the  demand  of  the  tyrant  Appius 
Claudius  are  as  follows : 

Virginius  :  Friends  and  citizens,  your  hands — 
your  hands 

Crowd  :  They  are  yours,  Virginius — they  are 
yours. 

Virginius  :  If  ye  have  wives,  if  ye  have 
children 


DION   BOUCICAULT  37 

Crowd  :  We  have — we  have. 
The  poor  nervous  man,  in  his  fright,  put  the  cart 
before  the  horse,  and  the  dialogue  ran  thus  : 

ViEGiNius  :  Your  hands — your  hands. 

Citizen  :  We  have,  Virginius — we  have ! 

ViRGiNius:  If  ye  have  wives,  if  ye  have 
children 

Citizen:  They  are  yours,  Virginius — they  are 
yours  I 

I  remember,  too,  being  called  upon  to  play  the 
Counsel  for  the  Defence  in  Dion  Boucicault's  drama, 
The  Trial  of  Effie  Deans.  The  part,  although 
appearing  only  in  the  trial  scene,  was  very  important, 
being  played  in  London  by  the  author  of  the  Colleen 
Bawn  himself,  who  came  down  for  the  final  rehearsal. 
The  Dion  Boucicault  I  am  alluding  to  is  not,  of 
course,  my  dear  friend  the  present  bearer  of  the  name, 
but  his  father.  When  I  was  half-way  through  the 
scene,  Boucicault,  whom  I  then  met  for  the  first 
time,  came  quietly  to  me  and  said,  "You  are  all 
wrong  about  this  part,  my  dear  fellow ;  let  me  re- 
hearse the  rest  of  the  scene  for  you.  I  can  see  your 
intelligence,  and  I  fancy  you  will  grasp  my  view  of  it 
directly."  I  thanked  him  for  his  kindness,  and  after 
rehearsal  went  away  to  model  my  performance  entirely 
upon  his,  for  I  saw  at  once  how  right  he  was,  and 
how  wrong  I  had  been.  The  result  was  a  considerable 
success  on  my  part,  the  credit  of  which  was  due  to 
one  half-hour  with  Boucicault. 

I  had  arranged  to  go  for  the  summer  weeks  to 
Devonport  and  Plymouth ;  and  having  a  few  spare 
days,  I  spent  them  in  London  to  see  the  Exhibition 
of  that  year,  1862,  and  so  renewed  my  acquaintance 
with  Dundreary,  a  performance  which  was  then 
rapidly  making  Sothern's  English  reputation.  How 
little  I  thought,  as  I  sat  then  in  the  Haymarket 
Theatre,  that  seventeen  years  later  I  should  become 
its  lessee  and  rebuild  it  internally  !  "  We  know  what 
we  are,  but  know  not  what  we  may  be."  I  was  also 
presented  to  the  great-little   Frederick   Robson,  to 


38  BOYHOOD 

whose  son,  a  recent  recruit  to  the  Birmingham  com- 
pany, I  had  been  able  to  show  some  trifling  kindness. 
The  health  of  that  remarkable  actor  was  already 
broken,  for  Robson  died  not  long  afterwards,  when 
only  little  over  forty  years  of  age.  No  words  of  mine 
could  do  justice  to  my  remembrance  of  this  strange 
little  genius,  who  is  said  to  have  resembled  Edmund 
Kean  in  his  bursts  of  passion,  while  in  his  comic 
moments  he  recalled  memories  of  the  greatest 
comedians  of  the  past. 

Young  Robson  and  I  journeyed  down  to  Devonshire 
together,  and  during  the  pleasant  weeks  we  passed 
there  I  acted  all  sorts  of  parts  in  every  kind  of  play. 
It  was  at  this  time  that  I  became  acquainted  with 
James  Doel,  who  was  full  of  anecdotes  about  Edmund 
Kean  (with  whom  he  had  acted),  and  who  lived  to  be 
the  oldest  actor  in  the  world.  1  last  saw  the  old  man 
shortly  before  his  death,  when  1  went  to  Plymouth  to 
give  a  reading  of  the  Christmas  Carol  for  the  hospital 
there.  At  Plymouth  I  also  met  an  amusing  creature 
who  might  have  sat  to  Dickens  for  his  portrait  of 
Mr.  Lenville.  His  festive  temperament  made  him  a 
httle  unreliable  in  the  text  of  the  dramas  which  were 
a  feature  on  Saturday  nights,  although  very  often,  I 
dare  say,  his  words  were  as  good  as  the  author  s. 
Sometimes,  however,  he  could  remember  none,  and 
then,  with  amazing  effrontery,  he  would  take  refuge 
in  a  stock  speech,  which  he  delivered  with  great 
solemnity  to  whoever  might  be  on  the  stage  with  him 
at  the  time,  no  matter  what  the  circumstances,  the 
period  or  the  costume  of  the  play.  Whether  prince 
or  peasant,  virtuous  or  vicious,  whether  clad  in 
sumptuous  raiment  or  shivering  in  rags,  it  was  all  the 
same  to  him,  and  at  the  end  of  his  harangue  he 
stalked  off  the  stage,  leaving  his  unhappy  comrades  to 
get  out  of  the  difficulty  as  best  they  could.  These 
were  the  never-changing  words :  "  Go  to ;  thou 
weariest  me.  Take  this  well-filled  purse,  furnish 
thyself  with  richer  habiliments,  and  join  me  at  my 
mansion  straight ! " 


LORD   DUNDREARY  89 

The  fame  of  Lord  Dundreary  was  then  at  its 
height,  owing  to  Sothern's  great  success.  From  my 
early  remembrance  of  this  "  creation  "  in  New  York, 
and  having  recently  renewed  my  appreciation  of  its 
humour,  I  was  able  to  imitate  Sothern  so  closely  in 
the  character  as  to  be  thought  quite  remarkable.  I 
was  showing  off  this  trick  one  night  in  Plymouth, 
when  my  manager,  who  was  present,  prevailed  on  me 
to  give  the  imitation  at  the  theatre.  I  had  the  satis- 
faction, at  least,  of  adding  greatly  to  the  receipts,  for, 
until  it  closed,  the  house  was  nightly  crammed, 
through  my  impertinence,  of  which  the  chief  local 
journal  remarked : 

"The  principal  attraction  of  the  week  has  been 
the  appearance  of  Lord  Dundreary,  who  made  his 
acquaintance  with  Plymouth  and  Devonport  audiences 
under  the  most  favourable  circumstances.  The 
lessee  could,  indeed,  hardly  have  done  better  if  he 
had  engaged  the  original  impersonator  of  his  lordship, 
Mr.  Sothern,  for  Mr.  Bancroft  has  contrived  to  re- 
produce the  character  in  facsimile,  and  his  Lord 
Dundreary  is  as  much  like  the  original  as  it  possibly 
could  be,  and  has  shown  not  only  a  wonderful  amount 
of  imitative  talent,  but  an  appreciation  of  character 
without  which  imitation  would  be  mere  mimicry,  and 
which  stamps  him  as  an  able  actor." 

Soon  afterwards  I  first  met  Madge  Robertson, 
then  a  young  girl,  in  her  early  teens,  but  already 
foreshadowing  the  splendid  career  and  position  she 
has  enjoyed  as  Mrs.  Kendal.  I  acted  in  many  plays 
with  her. 

How  happy  one  was  in  those  days  ! — or  how  happy 
we  now  think  we  were !  for  the  pleasures  of  life,  I 
take  it,  are  chiefly  retrospective  or  anticipative. 
Anyway,  I  remember  very  hard,  but  pleasant  work, 
leaping,  perhaps  on  alternate  nights,  from  John 
Mildmay  in  Still  Waters  run  Deep  to  Fernando 
Villabella  in  the  burlesque  of  The  Maid  and  the 
Magpie,  or  from  Murphy  Maguire  in  The  Se?iou^ 
Family  to  Beppo  in  Fra  Diavolo, 


40  BOYHOOD 

While  at  Devonport,  I  received  an  oiFer  from 
John  Harris,  of  the  Dubhn  Theatre  Royal,  to  join 
his  company  in  a  higher  position :  after  a  severe  and 
prolonged  struggle,  I  succeeded  in  obtaining  the  then 
large  salary  of  three  poGflds  a  week.     ^"^  " — 

The  Dublin  company  was  headed  by  dear  old 
Granby,  an  admirable  actor  and  stage-manager,  by 
whose  help  and  guidance  I  learnt  much,  especially 
in  performances  of  the  old  comedies.  Early  in  the 
season  we  were  made  happy  by  a  visit  from  one  of 
the  great  comedians  of  his  day,  Charles  Mathews, 
in  whose  brilliant  company  I  acted  for  a  month  in 
a  round  of  plays — an  experience,  added  to  unvarying 
help  and  kindness,  which  could  not  fail  to  have  in- 
fluence for  good  on  the  efforts  of  an  ambitious  young 
actor.  I  felt  deeply  sorry  when  the  curtain  finally 
fell  upon  his  stay.  The  mere  mention  of  Charles 
Mathews  fills  the  memory  with  a  store  of  anecdotes 
about  him.  One  little  one  I  remember,  which  was 
told  me  at  that  time  by  Granby,  who  had  been  a 
member  of  his  company  when  Mathews  managed 
Covent  Garden  Theatre  with  Madame  Vestris. 

At  the  height  of  his  troubles,  when  things  were 
going  very  badly,  the  expenses  of  the  vast  theatre 
being  ruinous,  Mathews  one  morning  saw  a  ballet- 
girl  in  a  dark  corner  of  the  stage  crying  bitterly, 
and  evidently  in  pain.  The  ever-gay  comedian  at 
once  jauntily  approached  her  (for  nothing  seemingly 
could  dash  his  spirits),  and  said  cheerily,  "What's 
the  matter,  my  dear  ? "  The  girl  sobbed  in  reply, 
"  Oh,  Mr.  Mathews,  I  am  in  such  pain  !  I  have  got 
such  a  dreadful  toothache  !  "  "  Toothache,"  said  he  ; 
"  poor  thing  I  I  am  so  sorry.  I'll  let  you  off  re- 
hearsal ;  go  and  have  the  tooth  out."  "  I  can't, 
Mr.  Mathews."  "  Can't  ?— why  not  ?  "  said  he.  "  I 
c-a-n't— a-f-f-o-r-d  it,"  blubbered  the  girl.  "Can't 
afford  it !  Nonsense  !  "  answered  Mathews.  *'  Run 
round  to  St.  Martin's  Lane,  where  you  will  get  rid 
of  it  for  a  shilling."  "  But  I  haven't  got  a  shilling, 
Mr.   Mathews."     **  Not  got  a  shilling  ?  "  he  replied 


CHARLES   KEAN  41 

at  once  ;  "  neither  have  1.     But  come  into  the  green- 
room, and  I  will  take  your  tooth  out  myself ! " 

We  then  went  from  gay  to  grave,  the  Charles 
Mathews  month  being  followed  by  four  weeks  with 
Charles  Kean. 

I  hope  my  vanity  will  be  pardoned  if  I  relate  an 
incident  I  remember  after  acting  with  him  in  Much 
Ado  about  Nothing.  On  the  following  evening  I 
was  seated  in  the  green-room,  when  Kean  entered 
dressed  as  Othello.  He  sat  down,  and,  after  staring 
at  me  some  time  in  a  way  which  rather  frightened 
me,  beckoned  me  to  go  near  him.  I  advanced, 
fearing  I  might  have,  innocently,  distressed  him  on 
the  stage.  To  my  surprise  he  said,  "Sir,  I  was  at 
the  wing  last  night  waiting  to  go  on,  and  heard  you 
give  Borachio's  difficult  speech  in  the  last  act.  I 
can  only  say  that,  if  I  were  still  the  lessee  of  a 
London  theatre,  it  would  be  your  own  fault  if  you 
were  not  a  member  of  my  company."  The  exact 
words  were  stamped  upon  my  memory.  I  stam- 
mered out  my  thanks  for  this  unexpected  compli- 
ment, which  w^as  paid  to  me  before  a  full  green- 
room ;  fortunately  I  was  "  called "  almost  directly 
for  the  stage,  and  so  was  able  to  beat  a  blushing 
retreat. 

Kean,  although  at  this  time  not  quite  fifty-two, 
had  the  appearance  and  manner  of  a  much  older  man, 
and  his  memory  was  growing  treacherous,  especially 
in  long  soliloquies.  But  in  spite  of  his  failing  health, 
there  were  moments  of  impetuous  passion  and  won- 
drously  effective  rapid  change  of  manner  in  his  acting 
always  to  be  remembered — notably  in  his  scene  with 
Tubal  when  he  acted  Shylock  (said  to  be  a  repro- 
duction of  his  father's  method),  in  the  third  act  of 
Othello,  the  close  of  Richard  III,,  and  throughout 
Louis  XI,  As  a  comedian  he  was  superb ;  witness 
his  acting  as  Benedick,  as  Mr.  Oakley  in  The  Jealous 
Wife,  and  as  Mephistopheles.  In  venturing  to  give 
this  opinion,  it  may  be  worth  while  to  recall  Garrick  s 
advice  to  Jack  Bannister :  "  You  may  humbug  the 


42  BOYHOOD 

Jtown  as  a  tragedjanybut  comedy  is  ^r-^serious- thing, 
jb  gonT  try  tnat  just  vet." 

Many  are  the  stories  of  Charles  Kean  ;  most  of 
them  doubtless  have  been  often  told,  but  perhaps 
one  or  two  have  escaped  record.  He  was  easily 
upset,  when  acting,  by  even  a  trifling  noise.  Years 
ago,  in  a  seaport  town  he  visited,  a  habit  prevailed 
among  the  occupants  of  the  gallery  of  cracking  nuts 
throughout  the  performance.  This  played  havoc 
with  Kean  when  he  acted  there.  On  the  following 
morning  he  called  those  who  travelled  with  him 
together,  and,  after  loudly  bewailing  his  sufferings 
and  anathematising  the  gallery  boys,  gave  instruc- 
tions to  his  followers  to  go  into  the  town  and  buy 
up  every  nut  within  its  walls,  either  in  the  shops  or 
on  the  quays.  This  was  done.  The  result  for  the 
two  following  evenings  was  perfect  success,  crowned 
by  the  chucldes  of  the  tragedian. 

But  oh,  the  third  night !  The  fruiterers,  per- 
plexed by  the  sudden  and  unaccountable  demand 
for  nuts,  had  sent  to  Covent  Garden  and  other 
sources  for  a  plentiful  supply  to  meet  its  hoped-for 
continuance  ;  the  demand  fell  off,  there  was  a  glut 
in  the  local  market,  the  nuts  so  deluged  the  town 
that  they  were  sold  more  abundantly  and  cheaper 
than  ever.  Crack  ! — crack  ! — crack  !  was  the  running 
fire  throughout  the  succeeding  performances,  and 
the  rest  of  Kean's  engagement  was  fulfilled  in 
torment. 

The  carpenters  of  country  theatres  always  dreaded 
Charles  Kean's  advent  among  them,  for,  in  his  earlier 
days  on  the  stage,  when  he  rehearsed,  he  would 
steadily  go  through  his  own  scenes  just  as  at  night. 
During  this  time  silence  was  strictly  ordered  to  be 
observed  all  over  the  theatre  ;  a  creaking  boot,  a 
cough,  a  sneeze,  the  knocking  of  a  hammer,  would 
distress  the  tragedian  beyond  measure.  It  was  on 
pain  of  dismissal  that  any  carpenter  or  other  servant 
caused  the  smallest  interruption  during  Mr.  Kean's 
scenes,      This    naturally    caused    much    iU-humoui: 


CHARLES   KEAN  43 

amongst  the  men,  and  when  it  became  known  by 
the  carpenters  that  "  Kean  was  coming,"  there  would 
be  various  expressions  of  discontent.  At  the  com- 
mencement of  one  particular  engagement  these  men 
formed  a  conspiracy  amongst  themselves.  The 
opening  play  was  Hamlet,  and  they  conceived  a  plot 
by  which  the  Royal  Dane  might  be  induced  to  "  cut 
short "  his  long  soliloquies.  One  particular  man  was 
to  place  himself  at  the  back  of  the  gallery,  being 
quite  hidden  from  sight,  and  just  as  Kean  began  his 
great  soliloquy  was  to  call  out  in  a  muffled  voice  to 
an  imaginary  fellow- workman.     This  was  the  result : 

Kean  (in  slow,  measured  tones) :  To  be  or  not 
to  be  (long  pause) — that  is  the  question. 

Voice  (far-off  in  front  of  house,  caUing)  :  Jo 
Attwood ! 

Kean  (stopping  and  looking  in  the  direction, 
then  commencing  again) :  To  be — or  not — to — be — 
that  is  the  question. 

Voice  :  Jo  Attwood  I 

Kean  (bewildered  and  annoyed) :  Will  some- 
body find  Mr.  Attwood?  (A  pause.)  To  be  or 
not  to  be — that  is  the  question. 

Voice  :  Jo  Attwood  I 

Kean:  Until  Mr.  Attwood  is  found  I  cannot 
go  on  I 

"  Mr.  Attwood "  could  not  be  found,  and  the 
voice  did  not  cease  interrupting  Kean,  who,  at  last, 
gave  up  his  attempt  to  rehearse  and  went  home ; 
upon  which  the  carpenters  rejoiced  in  a  sort  of 
triumphant  war-dance. 

Charles  Kean  shared  with  England's  greatest 
actor,  David  Garrick,  an  inordinate  love  of  praise, 
even  from  his  humblest  worshippers.  During  his 
management  of  the  Princess's  Theatre  one  of  the 
ballet-girls,  who  sometimes  was  given  a  few  lines  to 
speak,  and  who  knew  her  manager's  failing,  used  to 
haunt  the  wings  and  go  into  audible  raptures  over  his 
acting ;  and  when  Kean  was  playing  a  pathetic  part, 
tears  flowed  down  the  cheeks  of  the  cunning  girl, 


U  BOYHOOD 

who  eventually  attracted  personal  notice  from  the 
actor.  Soon  she  found  herself  promoted  to  a 
superior  position.  Her  advancement,  of  course,  was 
noted  by  her  companions,  and  to  her  greatest  friend 
among  them  she  told  her  secret,  advising  the  girl  to 
follow  her  example.  Nothing  loth,  number  two 
appeared  at  the  wings,  and  almost  howled  with  grief 
through  Kean's  chief  scenes,  when,  to  her  amaze- 
ment, he  strode  angrily  by  her,  then,  pointing  her 
out,  exclaimed,  "Who  is  that  idiot?"  She  did  not 
improve  her  position,  for,  since  the  advice  of  her 
knowing  friend,  the  bill  had  been  changed,  and  her 
manager  was  appearing  in  one  of  his  most  successful 
comic  parts. 

Kean  was  a  wonderful  instance  of  the  effect  of 
resolute  courage.  For  years  he  was  laughed  at  and 
ridiculed  by  a  large  section  of  the  press,  and  treated 
with  undignified  cruelty  by  the  withering  pen  of 
Douglas  Jerrold.  Through  indomitable  pluck  he 
outlived  it  all,  and  heard  himself  publicly  spoken  of, 
when  his  great  services  to  the  stage  were  acknow- 
ledged at  a  public  banquet — Mr.  Gladstone,  who  was 
at  Eton  with  him,  being  among  the  speakers — as 
having  "  made  the  theatre  into  a  gigantic  instrument 
of  education  for  the  instruction  of  the  young,  and 
edification,  as  well  as  instruction,  of  those  of  maturer 
years." 

The  last  time  I  saw  Charles  Kean  I  was  on  my 
way  to  pay  a  professional  visit  to  Sir  William 
Fergusson,  when,  close  to  Hanover  Square,  I  had  to 
stand  aside  while  the  figure  of  an  evidently  dying  man 
was  lifted  from  a  carriage  and  carried  into  an  adjoining 
house.  Among  the  idlers  and  the  passers-by  who 
stopped  to  stare  at  him,  I  alone  recognised  all  that 
was  left  of  the  once  famous  actor.  I  already  knew 
him  to  be  ill ;  but  this  glance  showed  him  to  be 
stricken  with  mortal  sickness.  He  looked,  indeed, 
very  like  his  own  powerful  realisation  of  death  in 
the  closing  scene  of  Louis  XI. 

Shortly  afterwards   he   was   laid  to   rest   in   the 


G.   V.    BROOKE  45 

little  churchyard  at  Catherington,  in  Hampshire, 
where  he  had  made  his  mother's  grave,  having  left 
instructions  that  he  should  be  placed  with  her  to 
whom,  in  her  lifetime,  he  had  been  so  devoted  a 
son. 

I  recall  the  feeling  of  pride  and  importance  when 
my  first  offer  to  join  a  London  company  reached  me — 
it  came  from  the  St.  James's  Theatre.  After  carefully 
thinking  it  over,  1  decided  on  having  the  advantage 
of  more  country  practice,  and  declined  the  flattering 
proposal.  Many  good  parts  continued  to  fall  to  my 
lot,  both  in  dramas  and  in  old  comedies.  On  a 
command  night,  given  by  the  then  Lord- Lieutenant, 
Lord  Carlisle,  we  played  A  Cure  for  the  Heart-ache 
and  To  Parents  and  Guardians.  As  Alfred  Wigan's 
celebrated  character  of  the  old  French  usher  was,  to 
my  amazement,  entrusted  to  my  youthful  care,  I 
could  not  complain  of  neglect  in  the  way  of  variety. 

G.  V.  Brooke,  to  my  delight,  also  visited  Dublin 
during  my  stay.  Though  he  was  but  a  wreck  of  his 
former  greatness,  I  was  proud  to  have  the  privilege 
of  supporting  him  in  a  range  of  second  parts  in  the 
plays  and  tragedies  he  acted.  I  wonder  what  a 
young  actor  nowadays  would  say  if  called  upon  to 
study  and  play,  within  a  fortnight,  the  following 
parts :  Cassio  in  Othello,  Gratiano  in  The  Merchant 
of  Venice,  Wellborn  in  A  New  Way  to  pay  Old 
Debts,  De  Mauprat  in  Richelieu,  Leonardo  Gonzago 
in  The  Wife,  and  Icilius  in  Virginius.  I  remember 
well  using  my  best  powers  of  cajolery  to  induce  old 
Freeman,  the  wardrobe-keeper,  to  let  me  wear 
certain  dandy  garments  which  rarely  saw  the  light. 
I  recollect  also  fondling  the  sword  Brooke  used,  which 
had  belonged  to  Edmund  Kean  ;  also  his  production 
of  Coriolanus,  and  his  telling  me  an  anecdote  of 
days  gone  by,  concerning  the  pronunciation  of  the 
word.  Two  theatre-goers  were  arguing  in  one  of 
the  old  coffee-houses  whether  the  hero  should  be 
called  Coriolanus  or  Co-n-olanus.  Each  failed  to 
convince  the   other,  when   some   one  in   the  room 


46  BOYHOOD 

informed  them  that  he  chanced  to  know  the  tragedy 
would  be  acted  at  Covent  Garden  one  evening 
during  the  following  week.  The  disputants  laid  a 
wager,  and  decided  to  settle  it  by  going  to  the 
theatre  the  night  before  its  production,  and  ac- 
cepting as  final  the  pronunciation  adopted  by  the 
actor  who  would,  as  was  the  custom  in  those  days, 
"give  out"  the  performance  for  the  following  evening. 
News  of  the  bet  somehow  reached  the  ears  of  John 
Kemble,  and  he  himself  came  before  the  curtain  and 
made  the  following  speech  :  "  Ladies  and  gentlemen, 
to-morrow  evening  will  be  acted  by  his  Majesty's 
servants,  Shakespeare's  tragedy,  Co-W-olanus,  in  which 
your  humble  servant  will  have  the  honour  to  perform 
the  part  of  Coriolanus." 

The  memory  of  being  then  brought  so  closely 
in  association  with  poor  Brooke,  who  was  a  courteous, 
charming  gentleman,  is  saddened  by  the  thought 
that  we  never  met  again.  Not  long  afterwards  came 
the  death  he  met  so  nobly.  Bound  for  a  farewell 
visit  to  Australia,  he  went  down  in  the  Bay  of 
Biscay  on  board  the  London. 

Gustavus  Vaughan  Brooke  might  justly  be  com- 
pared with  Salvini :  the  Irishman,  like  the  Italian, 
was  gifted  with  a  noble  voice  and  a  natural  dignity 
of  bearing.  His  death  in  Othello  always  seemed  to 
me  as  poetic  in  conception  as  it  was  pathetic  in 
execution.  Acting,  although  not  speaking,  the 
closing  words,  "  Killing  myself,  to  die  upon  a  kiss," 
he  staggered  towards  the  end  of  the  bed,  dying  as 
he  clutched  the  heavy  curtains  of  it,  which,  giving 
way,  fell  upon  his  prostrate  body  as  a  kind  of  pall, 
disclosing,  at  the  same  time,  the  dead  form  of 
Desdemona. 

It  was  in  Dublin  also  that  I  had  the  pleasure  of 
first  meeting  Sothern,  when  I  gave  him  the  bill  of 
his  earliest  appearance  as  Lord  Dundreary,  which  I 
had  treasured  since  its  performance  in  New  York, 
and  which  had  now  naturally  grown  to  be  of  some 
importance  to  him.     Sothern,  who,  I  suppose,  must 


A    COMMAND   NIGHT  47 

have  believed  his  true  vocation  to  be  that  of  a 
serious  actor,  revived  a  powerful  but  gloomy  drama 
called  Retjibution,  which  was  originally  acted  by 
Alfred  Wigan,  George  Vining,  and  the  beautiful 
Miss  Herbert,  in  the  prosperous  days  of  the  old 
Olympic  Theatre.  1,  by  this  time,  had  grown  to 
the  position  of  a  local  favourite,  and  achieved  con- 
siderable success  as  Oscar  de  Beaupre,  quite  as  good 
a  part  to  act  as  the  Count  Priuli,  which  was  taken 
by  Sothern.  The  performance  was  the  means  of 
Sothern's  interesting  himself  on  my  behalf,  and  being 
always  my  good  friend.  Presuming  that  1  wanted 
eventually  to  get  to  London,  he  thought  Dublin  was 
too  far  off,  across  the  "  streak  of  silver  sea,"  and 
advised  me  to  get  to  Liverpool,  as  the  best  stepping- 
stone  ;  adding  that  he  knew  a  vacancy  would  shortly 
occur  in  the  leading  theatre  there.  I  wrote  at  once 
to  the  manager,  who  communicated  with  Sothern  on 
the  matter,  and  then  telegraphed  an  acceptance  of 
my  proposal  to  join  him.  Before  leaving  I  took 
part  in  an  elaborate  production  of  The  Ticket-of- 
Leave  Man,  It  was  as  great  a  surprise  then  to  me 
as  it  may  be  to  elderly  readers  now  to  be  told  that 
my  part  was  that  of  Bob  Brierly,  the  Lancashire 
hero.  Strange  as  it  all  may  seem,  I  can  truly  say 
that  no  performance  added  so  much  to  my  Dublin 
reputation. 

Lord  Carlisle  selected  this  year  The  Heir  at  Law 
for  his  command  night,  and  as  Dick  Dowlas,  before 
an  audience  adorned  with  all  the  show  and  glitter 
of  uniforms  and  levee  dress,  I  saw  the  curtain  fall 
upon  my  career  in  the  handsome  old  theatre  since 
destroyed  by  fire.  To  the  two  long  seasons  of  hard 
work  I  passed  there  I  owe  a  large  share  of  my 
success  as  an  actor. 

When  I  first  went  to  Liverpool  I  severely  felt 
the  contrast  between  the  great  Dublin  theatre  and 
the  little  house  in  Clayton  Square,  which,  however, 
proved  a  fine  field  for  practice.  I  soon  found  myself 
at  home,  being  heartily  welcomed  by  Lionel  Brough, 


48  BOYHOOD 

who  himself  had  but  recently  gone  regularly  upon 
the  stage,  and  whose  friendship  I  have  ever  since 
enjoyed.  We  were  now  on  the  eve  of  the  Shake- 
spearian Tercentenary,  when  the  poet's  memory  was 
honoured  by  performances  of  his  plays  in  nearly 
every  English-speaking  theatre.  Alfred  Wigan  was 
specially  engaged  to  appear  as  Shylock  and  Hamlet. 
These  performances,  I  feel  bound  to  say,  added 
nothing  to  the  reputation  of  the  accomplished 
comedian,  which  is  best  proved,  perhaps,  by  their 
never  having  been  repeated.  My  own  share  in  the 
production  was  a  revival  of  Irish  memories  in  the 
characters  of  Gratiano  and  I^aertes. 

I  made  many  friends  at  I^iverpool,  and  passed  a 
happy  time  there.  Among  other  frolics,  which  one, 
perhaps  two,  surviving  companions  will  remember  as 
well  as  myself,  1  recall  frequent  midnight  drives,  after 
acting  in  Liverpool,  in  a  dog-cart  from  Birkenhead  to 
Chester,  a  distance,  if  I  remember  rightly,  of  hard  on 
twenty  miles.  How  we  risked  our  young  necks  1  and 
what  a  life  we  led  the  toll-keepers  and  the  slumber- 
ing villagers  !  Well  may  one  sigh  and  say  with 
Robertson,  "  O  youth,  youth  !  inestimable,  priceless 
treasure  1 " 

The  Pyne  and  Harrison  Company  being  engaged 
to  give  a  series  of  English  opera  in  Liverpool,  it  was 
arranged  that  the  theatre  company  should  go  over  to 
Dublin  for  a  month,  and  so  I  unexpectedly  renewed 
my  acquaintance  with  many  old  friends.  The  re- 
membrance of  my  services  was  shown  by  the  warmth 
of  the  reception  I  received  from  the  audience  directly 
I  stepped  upon  the  stage — a  reception  so  prolonged 
as  to  bring  the  actors  to  the  wings  to  see  who  could 
be  the  object  of  such  an  ovation.  I  look  back  with 
keen  pleasure  to  that  month,  when,  few  rehearsals 
only  being  necessary,  I  saw  for  the  first  time  the 
beauties  of  County  Wicklow.  Just  as  a  dweller  in 
Westminster,  living  almost  in  the  shadow  of  its 
towers,  rarely  enters  the  Abbey,  until,  perhaps,  some 
country   cousin   comes    to    town   to   be   shown   the 


MARIE   WILTON  49 

sights,  so  I,  during  nearly  two  years'  residence, 
saw  scarcely  anything,  while  in  a  month — being,  so 
to  speak,  a  visitor — I  went  everywhere.  At  the 
close  of  our  stay  The  Serious  Family  was  played, 
when  I  had  the  impertinence  to  act  Murphy 
Maguire,  with  an  attempt  at  a  brogue,  before  an 
Irish  audience. 

During  the  summer  the  celebrated  burlesque 
company  from  the  Strand  Theatre  delighted  Liver- 
pool by  acting  for  a  short  time  there ;  it  was  then 
that  Marie  Wilton  and  I  first  met.  It  was  here 
also  that  I  commenced  a  friendship  with  one  whose 
career  has  lent  lustre  to  the  stage,  and  who  can  claim 
me  as  his  oldest  professional  comrade,  John  Hare. 
He  was  then  a  young  fellow  of  twenty,  and  had  come 
to  Liverpool  accompanied  by  that  once  brilliant  actor 
Leigh  Murray,  whose  pupil  he  had  been,  to  make  his 
•  first  appearance  on  the  stage.  The  friendship  between 
Hare  and  myself  soon  became  close,  and  there  are 
few  remembrances  keener  in  my  mind  than  frequent 
visits  to  his  lodgings,  where  Leigh  Murray  stayed 
with  him  for  a  time.  Murray,  although  suffering 
severely  from  asthma  and  terribly  crippled  by  rheu- 
matism, was  one  of  the  most  delightful  companions 
I  have  known.  His  fund  of  anecdote  and  the  graphic 
relation  of  his  own  experiences  were  almost  lessons 
in  the  art  of  acting,  not  likely  to  be  forgotten  by  an 
enthusiast.  Some  three  or  four  of  us,  afterwards 
well  known  to  theatre-goers,  were  listening  to  his 
pleasant  talk  one  night,  when  he  said,  *'  And  what 
may  not  you  boys  yet  do  upon  the  stage!  You 
remind  me  of  my  own  early  days,  when  four  young 
fellows  in  Edinburgh  used  to  chat  over  their  future 
prospects,  as  you  have  been  doing  now.  They  were 
all  youngsters  then,  much  of  an  age  and  quite  un- 
known ;  their  names  being  Barry  Sullivan,  Lester 
Wallack,  Leigh  Murray,  and  Sims  Reeves." 

When  Murray  returned  to  London  he  and  I  kept 
up  a  correspondence.  From  a  bundle  of  his  interest- 
ing letters  I  select  the  following  answer  to  a  request 

4 


50  BOYHOOD 

that  he  would  add  his   signature  to  a  photograph 
which  I  forwarded  for  the  purpose : 

29,  New  Bridge  Street,  Blagkfriars. 
December  22,  1864. 

Dear  Bancroft, — 

I  have  been,  and  am  still,  very  ill  indeed, 
and  confined  to  my  bed  ;  but  I  hastily  scratch  a  few 
lines  to  thank  you  very  much  for  the  budget  of  news, 
which,  I  assure  you,  alleviated  the  horrors  of  a  par- 
ticularly bad  day.  I  cannot  now  attempt  to  reply 
beyond  briefly  reciprocating  the  good  wishes  usual 
at  this  "  festive  season."  I  hope  I  may  have  a 
"  happy  new  year,"  but  a  "  merry  Christmas  "  I 
cannot  expect,  for  I  fear  I  shall  pass  the  day,  as 
I  have  for  the  last  four  years,  in  bed  !  I  sincerely 
hope  you  will  enjoy  yourself,  as  all  good  fellows 
should. 

I  return  the  photograph  of  the  faded  comedian 
with  the  rheumatic  autograph  attached.  I  have 
passed  the  blotting-paper  over  the  signature  that  the 
caligraphy  may  be  as  faint  as  the  "  counterfeit  pre- 
sentment "  itself — too  prophetic  a  significance  of  the 
fame  and  memory  of  him  who  now  subscribes  himself, 

Very  faithfully  yours, 

Leigh  Murray. 

We  gave  a  strange  performance  next  of  a  produc- 
tion which  had  attracted  some  attention  in  London 
at  the  Princess's  Theatre — Shakespeare's  Comedy  of 
Errors,  with  the  Brothers  Webb  as  the  two  Dromios. 
I  played  Antipholus  of  Syracuse,  and  Hare  presented 
a  quaint  figure  as  Dr.  Pinch,  a  schoolmaster.  The 
Webbs  also  acted  in  a  play  made  famous  by  Charles 
Kean,  The  Courier  of  Lyons,  and  afterwards  by 
Irving  as  The  Lyons  Mail — Henry  Webb  appearing  as 
Dubosc,  the  villain,  and  Charles  Webb  as  Lesurques, 
who  is  innocently  accused  of  the  other's  crime,  instead 
of  the  two  characters  being  "  doubled  "  by  one  actor. 
To  my  mind,  the  change  introduced  by  the  Webbs 


SOTHERN  51 

robbed  the  drama  of  its  value.  I  made  some  success 
in  the  part  of  Courriol,  and  Hare  in  a  small  part 
gave  the  first  sign  of  his  power  in  the  art  of  making 
up  as  a  very  old  man. 

Then  came  what  was  always  pleasant  to  me, 
another  meeting  with  Sothern,  who  appeared  first  in 
David  Garrick,  William  Blakeley  (a  most  amusing 
actor,  afterwards  so  well  known  at  the  Criterion 
Theatre)  played,  I  recollect,  old  Ingot ;  Lionel 
Brough,  Squire  Chevy  ;  and  John  Hare,  the  stut- 
tering Mr.  Jones.  Sothern  also  acted  Sir  Charles 
Coldstream  in  Used  Up,  when  Lydia  Thompson 
was  the  Mary,  and  I  was  cast  for  Ironbrace,  the 
blacksmith.  I  also  supported  Sothern  in  a  new  farce 
called  My  Own  Victim,  a  stupid  affair,  although 
written  by  Maddison  Morton,  and  never  revived. 
I  faintly  remember  Sothern,  with  a  padded  wig 
which  gave  him  a  "  water-on-the-brain  "  appearance, 
offering  everybody  in  the  piece  shrimps  from  a  bag, 
and  Hare  darting  in  and  out  of  doors  as  a  comic 
waiter. 

Let  me  recall  Sothern's  merry  nature  in  those 
happy  days,  and  give  an  instance  of  his  well-known 
love  of  practical  joking — a  love  best  proved  by  the 
keen  enjoyment  he  derived,  even  when  but  a  mo- 
mentary success  could  crown  his  unstinted  expenditure 
of  either  time  or  money.  The  odd  things  he  would 
constantly  do  are  difficult  to  write  about,  but  I  will 
try  to  relate  an  instance  of  a  joke,  quite  harmless  in 
its  results,  of  a  kind  he  thoroughly  enjoyed.  After 
acting  in  Liverpool,  he  had  a  spare  week,  which  he 
passed  with  a  friend  (as  fond  of  fun  as  himself)  in 
North  Wales.  The  two  put  up  at  a  well-known  old 
inn  near  Bangor,  greatly  frequented  by  anglers,  where 
it  was  the  custom  for  the  oldest  resident  among  the 
guests  for  the  time  being  to  preside  at  the  little 
table  d'hote,  over  which  they  talked  out  their  day's 
sport,  and  where  it  was  the  rule  for  the  chairman 
always  to  say  grace.  Sothern  learnt,  not  long  before 
the  dinner-hour,  that  the  visitor  who  had  for  some 


52  BOYHOOD 

days  presided  had  received  a  telegram  which  com- 
pelled a  hurried  departure.  The  spirit  of  mischief 
prompted  Sothern  to  send  a  little  note  in  the  name 
of  the  landlord  to  the  other  guests,  some  dozen  or 
fifteen — of  course  privately  and  separately — couched 
in  these  words  :  "  Our  esteemed  president  will  not 
be  at  dinner  this  evening.  May  I  venture  to  request 
you  to  have  the  kindness  to  say  grace  in  his  absence  ? 
The  signal  for  the  same  will  be  two  sharp  knocks 
upon  the  sideboard."  The  signal,  at  the  proper 
moment,  was  of  course  given  by  Sothern,  who  was 
more  than  repaid  by  the  glee  with  which  he  saw  all 
the  guests  rise  to  a  man,  as  at  a  word  of  command, 
each  commencing  to  pronounce  his  favourite  form  of 
grace  ;  and  then,  with  all  sorts  of  blundering  apologies 
to  each  other,  resuming  their  seats. 

It  was  at  this  time  that  I  first  met  one  who  is 
now  an  old  friend  of  many  years'  standing — Charles 
Wyndham,  who  had  recently  served  as  an  army- 
surgeon  in  the  American  Civil  War,  before  going 
definitely  upon  the  stage. 

A  visit  to  Liverpool  followed  soon  afterwards 
which  was  destined  greatly  to  influence  my  future 
life,  and  renewed  my  acquaintance  with  Marie 
Wilton,  who  arrived  to  play  a  short  engagement 
prior  to  becoming  the  manager  of  a  London  theatre, 
rumours  to  this  effect  having  recently  been  theatrical 
gossip.  Miss  Wilton  appeared  in  some  of  the  famous 
Strand  Theatre  burlesques,  also  in  Planche's  comedy. 
Court  Favour,  in  which  she  and  1  acted  together 
for  the  first  time,  she  as  Lucy  Morton,  I  as  the  Duke 
of  Albemarle.  My  performance  of  this  and  of  other 
parts — which  Miss  Wilton  had  seen  as  a  spectator — 
led  to  the  offer  of  an  engagement,  which  I  accepted. 
Having  resisted  several  temptations  to  appear  in 
London,  including  a  proposal  to  join  Fechter  at  the 
Lyceum,  I  may  be  thought  unwise  in  settling  to  go 
to  an  obscure  theatre,  which  was  to  be  opened  in 
a  speculative  way  with  burlesque — at  least  until 
success  in  comedy  should  justify  its  abandonment — 


p^.^*.:^^^^^!. 


p.  52] 


FACSIMILE  OF  THE  FIRST  LETTER  FROM  MARIE  WILTON  TO  SQUIRE  BANCROFT 


LOVE   AT   FIRST   SIGHT  53 

as  the  attraction.  All  of  this,  I  own,  may  seem 
strange ;  but  the  most  prosaic  of  my  readers  will 
forgive  some  apparent  want  of  sense  if  I  acknowledge 
a  secret  that  I  then  did  not  dare  confess  even  to  my- 
self. I  was  already  a  victim  to  an  emotion  which 
will  be  sung  of  by  poets  for  ever,  but  which  may 
be  told  in  four  very  simple  English  words — love  at 
first  sight. 

The  last  stars  with  whom  I  acted  in  Liverpool 
were  the  Wigans,  who  appeared  in  Lord  Lytton's 
comedy  Money,  Captain  Dudley  Smooth  being  my 
farewell  part  as  a  country  actor.  Part  of  the  cast, 
I  think,  deserves  recording.  Alfred  Evelyn  was 
acted  for  the  first  time  by  Alfred  Wigan  ;  Sir  John 
Vesey  was  played  by  William  Blakeley ;  Dudley 
Smooth,  as  I  have  said,  by  myself;  Edward  Saker 
was  the  Graves  ;  Lionel  Brough,  Mr.  Stout ;  and 
the  irascible  old  member  of  the  club,  whose  time  is 
passed  in  calling  for  the  snufF-box,  was  given  to  John 
Hare,  Lady  Franklin  being  played  by  Mrs.  Alfred 
Wigan.  For  my  share  in  this  performance,  as  for 
other  early  efforts  in  Liverpool,  I  was  warmly  praised 
and  greatly  encouraged  in  the  Liverpool  Daily  Post 
by  Sir  Edward  Russell. 

I  owe  to  Liverpool  an  early  acquaintance  with 
Charles  Russell  (afterwards  Lord  Russell  of  Killowen 
and  Lord  Chief  Justice  of  England),  with  Lord 
Justice  Holker  ("Jack"  Holker  or  "Sleepy  Jack," 
in  those  days  on  the  Northern  Circuit),  with  Samuel 
Pope,  with  Leofric  Temple,  and  with  W.  R. 
McConnell  (late  Chairman  of  the  Middlesex  Quarter 
Sessions,  affectionately  known  as  "  Mac "),  all  of 
whom  have  gone  to  the  Silent  Land,  and  also  with 
one  whose  brilliant  wit  and  splendid  labours  have 
earned  the  admiration  and  the  gratitude  of  the 
English-speaking  world.  Sir  WiUiam  S.  Gilbert. 

During  this  apprenticeship  of  four  years  and  as 
many  months  I  attempted  three  hundred  and  forty- 
six  parts.  The  repetition  of  many  of  those  in 
standard  plays,  and  some   of  them  often,  not   only 


54  BOYHOOD 

in  different  theatres,  but  with  different  actors,  was 
alone  of  the  greatest  service  and  practice  which  no 
young  actor  can  any  more  obtain.  The  country 
theatres,  nowadays,  are  chiefly  occupied  by  a  succes- 
sion of  travelling  companies,  in  which  the  art  of 
acting  is  too  often  a  mere  parrot  copy  of  an  original 
performance.  The  brightest  exception  to  what  is 
almost  a  rule  is  the  company  so  long  conducted 
throughout  the  land  with  honour  and  credit  by 
F.  R.  Benson.  Its  value  is  well  known  and  proved 
by  the  able  recruits  it  has  constantly  given  to  the 
London  stage.  Names  which  spring  at  once  to  my 
mind  include  Henry  Ainley,  Oscar  Asche  and  Lily 
Brayton,  Lilian  Braithwaite,  Graham  Browne,  O.  B. 
Clarence,  Matheson  Lang,  William  Mollison,  Nancy 
Price,  Lyall  Swete,  and  Harcourt  Williams. 

My  pleasant  drudgery,  which  was,  in  fact,  a 
happy  gypsy  life,  took  place  during  a  time  which, 
as  I  afterwards  learned  from  an  oft-repeated  fable, 
was  widely  supposed  to  have  been  passed  by  me  as  a 
young  cavalry  officer  in  India  and  at  home. 

My  engagement  being  over,  on  the  following  day 
I  went  to  London  ;  to  be  succeeded  in  Liverpool, 
strange  as  it  may  now  seem — although  he  was  be- 
tween three  and  four  years  my  senior — by  Henry 
Irving. 


CHAPTER   III 

THE   OLD    PRINCE   OF   WALES's    THEATRE 
'^The  true  beginning  of  our  end." 

This  chapter  shall  open  with  the  words  of  Liady 
Bancroft,  as  no  one  else  can  record  the  facts  with 
knowledge  and  authority  equal  to  hers. 

Let  me  tell  how  it  came  about  that  I  was  ever 
the  manager  of  a  London  theatre.  Greatly  exercised 
in  my  mind  with  regard  to  the  future,  anxious  to 
better  my  prospects,  and  always  desiring  to  act  in 
comedy  rather  than  burlesque,  I  had  written  without 
success  to  the  leading  managers  for  an  engagement 
to  play  comedy  parts.  Mr.  Buckstone,  I  remember, 
replied  that  he  could  only  associate  me  with  "the 
merry  sauciness  of  the  wicked  little  boy  Cupid."  I 
was  in  despair  and  did  not  know  what  to  do,  when 
one  morning  I  called  upon  my  sister,  Mrs.  Francis 
Drake.  In  the  course  of  our  talk  her  husband  said, 
"  How  would  it  be  if  you  had  a  theatre  of  your 
own  ? "  A  dead  silence  ensued.  I  looked  at  my 
sister  and  she  looked  at  me.  My  heart  seemed  to 
stop  beating.  The  mere  thought  of  such  a  thing 
was  bewildering.  How  could  I  take  a  theatre  with- 
out money  ? — and  I  had  not  a  penny  in  the  world. 
My  brother-in-law  then  said,  "I  will  lend  you  a 
thousand  pounds  if  you  can  find  a  small  theatre  to 
let  for  a  time.  Should  you  succeed,  you  will  return 
the  money;  if  you  fail,  I  lose  it.  You  are  very 
lucky  for  others,  why  not  for  yourself?" 

55 


56      THE  OLD  PRINCE  OF  WALES'S 

Of  course  a  thousand  pounds  in  those  days  went 
very  much  further  than  such  a  sum  would  now,  and 
seemed  to  me  so  large  a  fortune  that  all  the  theatres 
in  London  might  be  taken  with  it.  Among  other 
friends,  I  told  my  news  to  Mr.  Byron,  and  proposed 
a  partnership,  if  a  theatre  could  be  found  ;  he  to  give 
me  his  exclusive  services  as  an  author.  He  agreed, 
but  as  he  was  not  in  a  position  to  provide  money, 
he  stipulated  to  be  indemnified  from  sharing  any 
losses  that  might  occur.  I  felt  that  his  collaboration 
would  greatly  strengthen  my  position,  his  popularity 
being  considerable,  and  he  was  willing  to  write 
comedies  as  well  as  burlesques.  Then  arose  the 
question — where  to  find  a  suitable  theatre  ;  and  we 
learnt  that  the  little  Queen's  Theatre,  as  it  was  then 
called,  in  Tottenham  Street,  might  be  treated  for. 

This  theatre  had  gone  through  strange  and  varied 
fortunes  and  had  been  known  by  many  names  since 
it  was  built  by  Signor  Pasquale,  the  father  of  the 
once  celebrated  singer,  as  "  The  King's  Concert 
Rooms."  Among  its  former  lessees  was  Mr.  Brunton, 
whose  daughter  became  Mrs.  Yates,  and  the  mother 
of  Edmund  Yates.  Here,  too,  the  beautiful  Mrs. 
Nisbett  once  held  the  reins,  while  Madame  Vestris 
and  Madame  Celeste  frequently  acted  there.  It  was 
also  the  English  home  of  French  plays,  and  there 
the  great  Frederic  Lemaitre  first  appeared  in  London. 
In  spite  of  such  attractions,  however,  it  knew  little 
of  prosperity,  and  many  years  before  had  passed  into 
obscurity. 

I  was  implored  by  friends  to  reflect  before  em- 
barking upon  such  an  enterprise.  "  The  neighbour- 
hood was  awful,"  "  the  distance  too  great  from  the 
fashionable  world,"  and  "nothing  would  ever  make 
it  a  high-class  theatre."  People  shrugged  their 
shoulders,  and  failure  was  foretold  in  every  feature 
of  their  faces.  So  I  stood  alone,  without  one  word 
of  encouragement.  Mr.  Byron  grew  less  sanguine, 
and — wisely,  I  think — entreated  me  to  appear  in 
burlesque,   at  least    at   the   start,    and   not   to   risk 


MAKIE    WILTON 


p.  56] 


A   BOLD   EXPERIMENT  57 

losing  that  following  of  the  public  which  had  been 
accustomed  to  see  me  in  that  class  of  play  ;  adding 
that  he  would  soon  complete  a  comedy  he  had  begun, 
to  give  me  the  opportunity  I  sought,  and  that,  if 
successful,  I  could  gradually  abandon  burlesque 
altogether. 

I  followed  this  advice,  and  an  arrangement  was 
entered  into  to  take  the  theatre  for  a  period  of  two 
years  at  a  weekly  rental  of  twenty  pounds.  Mr. 
Byron  and  myself  were  each  to  draw  a  salary  of  ten 
pounds,  and  1  was  to  receive  an  additional  ten  pounds 
a  week  towards  the  repayment  of  the  borrowed 
thousand  pounds.  After  these  deductions  we  were 
to  share  all  profits.  Mr.  Drake  introduced  me  to 
his  bankers,  the  London  and  Westminster  Bank  in 
St.  James's  Square,  on  January  21,  1865,  when  an 
account  was  opened  in  my  name  with  the  sum  he 
had  agreed  to  advance.  The  formal  receipt  for  the 
thousand  pounds  (which  was  returned  to  me  when, 
later  on,  the  money  was  repaid)  bears  the  same 
date. 

I  signed  a  document  indemnifying  Mr.  Byron 
from  pecuniary  risk  in  these  words  : 

"  In  consideration  of  one  thousand  pounds  ad- 
vanced by  me  for  expenses  attending  the  decorating, 
advertising,  payment  of  salaries,  etc.,  I  am  to  receive 
ten  pounds  a  week  for  two  years,  in  addition  to 
a  salary  which  will  be  equal  to  yours.  By  this 
arrangement  the  thousand  pounds  will  be  paid  back 
by  the  end  of  the  second  year  ;  this  sum  of  ten 
pounds  to  come  out  of  the  profits  of  the  theatre ; 
should  the  weekly  receipts  fall  below  the  expenses, 
the  ten  pounds  to  be  paid  out  of  the  previous  profits, 
so  long  as  there  are  any  to  be  drawn  upon.  At 
the  end  of  our  tenancy,  should  the  thousand  pounds 
be  lost,  or  any  portion  thereof,  I  am  not  to  have 
any  claim  on  you  for  said  sum,  as  the  venturing  of 
the  money  is  voluntary  on  my  part.  Your  salary 
is  to  be  the  same  as  mine  in  consideration  of  your 
joint  management  and  writing  of  pieces.     All  money 


58      THE  OLD   PRINCE  OF  WALES'S 

taken  at  the  theatre  is  to  be  banked  in  our  joint 
names,  and  to  be  our  joint  property." 

We  had  possession  of  the  theatre  for  a  month 
before  opening  it,  during  which  brief  time  it  had 
to  be  taken  very  much  to  pieces,  cleaned,  painted, 
reseated,  redecorated,  and  refurnished.  The  poor 
thousand  pounds  was  becoming  "small  by  degrees 
and  beautifully  less,"  and  by  the  time  the  theatre 
opened  I  had  about  one  hundred  and  fifty  pounds 
left. 

How  strange  this  simple  statement  of  simple  facts 
seems  in  these  days  of  wealthy  "  syndicates  "  and 
huge  "profit  rentals,"  when  seven,  ten  thousand  a 
year,  and  even  larger  sums  are  paid  for  well-placed 
theatres !  Stranger  still  to  know  that,  when  Mr. 
Byron  had  retired  and  the  "  Bancroft  management " 
had  begun,  we  were  offered  what  was  practically 
the  freehold  of  the  property  at  (I  think  it  is  so  called) 
a  peppercorn  rent,  for  ten  thousand  pounds.  We 
had  not  so  much  money  at  the  time,  and  my  husband 
decided  that  he  would  never  borrow. 

Agreeing  with  my  wish  that  the  theatre,  which 
in  its  long  career  had  borne  so  many  titles,  should 
once  more  be  re-christened  before  we  opened  it, 
Mr.  Byron  applied  for  permission  to  call  it  by  the 
name  which  I  had  chosen ;  and  in  due  course  he 
received  the  following  reply  from  Sir  Spencer 
Ponsonby-Fane,  whose  acquaintance  I  made  soon 
afterwards,  and  whose  friendship  my  husband  and 
1  have  for  many  years  enjoyed. 

Lord  Chamberlain's  Office,  St.  James's  Palace^ 
February  3,  1865. 

Sir, — 

I  am  desired  by  the  Lord  Chamberlain  to 
acknowledge  the  receipt  of  your  letter  of  the  26th 
ult.,  requesting  jointly  with  Miss  Marie  Wilton,  as 
lessee  of  the  Queen's  Theatre,  in  Tottenham  Street, 
that  the  name  of  that  building  may  in  future  be 
the  Prince  of  Wales's  Theatre,  and  I  am  to  inform 


A   VALUED   SOUVENIR  59 

you  in  reply,  that  his  lordship  accedes  with  pleasure 
to  your  request,  his  Royal  Highness  the  Prince  of 
Wales  having  signified  his  consent  to  the  proposed 
change. 

I  am,  sir,  your  obedient  servant, 

Spencer  Ponsonby. 

Henry  J.  Byron,  Esq. 

Some  readers  may  very  likely  imagine  that  the 
title  refers  to  the  handsome  theatre  which  now  is 
known  by  it  in  Coventry  Street,  but  which  was 
first  called  the  Prince's  Theatre.  Not  so :  the  little 
old  theatre,  destined  so  soon  to  grow  famous  under 
its  new  name,  stood  upon  ground  now  occupied 
by  the  beautiful  Scala  Theatre,  which  1  had  the 
pleasure,  by  the  wish  of  its  owner.  Dr.  Distin 
Maddick,  to  open  formally  with  a  golden  key.  On 
that  occasion  there  was  a  great  gathering  of  friends 
and  journalists,  to  whom  I  made  a  little  speech, 
wishing  good  luck  to  the  new  building.  Sir  William 
Gilbert  came  to  me  afterwards,  full  of  compliments, 
and  said  how  charmed  he  had  been  to  Usten  to  my 
voice  again,  how  every  word  fell  like  a  bell  upon  his 
ear ;  and  ended  by  assuring  me  that  if  I  continued 
to  work  hard  I  should  have  a  great  career  behind  me  I 

All  that  remains  of  the  former  building  is  the  old 
portico,  which  is  now  used  as  the  stage  entrance. 
I  owe  a  valued  souvenir  which  I  possess  to  the  kind- 
ness of  our  friend  Sir  Charles  Howard,  in  whose 
presence  I  had  said  how  much  I  should  like  to  have 
a  brick  from  my  old  home  before  it  was  pulled 
down.  Sir  Charles,  who  had  not  then  retired  from 
his  high  position  in  the  police,  laughingly  said  that 
he  would  get  a  constable  to  steal  one  for  me.  Soon 
afterwards  I  received  the  brick  enclosed  in  a  case 
made  from  a  plank  of  the  historic  stage,  and  inscribed, 
*'  A  Souvenir  of  the  old  Prince  of  Wales's  Theatre,  the 
brick  from  its  walls,  the  wood  from  its  stage.  To 
Sir  Squire  and  Lady  Bancroft,  from  Sir  Charles 
Howard,  1898." 


60      THE  OLD  PRINCE  OF  WALES'S 

I  was  naturally  very  proud  of  the  new  title 
granted  to  us,  and  with  the  enthusiasm  of  a  young 
manager  thought  the  newspaper  paragraphs  which 
had  mentioned  the  change  would  suffice  to  make 
it  generally  known.  Bitter  was  my  disappointment 
when  I  hailed  a  hansom  and  directed  the  cabman 
to  go  to  the  "  Prince  of  Wales's."  My  thoughts 
at  the  time  were  much  occupied,  and  I  hardly 
noticed  the  route  the  cabman  took,  when  suddenly 
he  pulled  up  in  Pall  Mall.  On  being  asked  in  an 
impatient  manner  why  he  did  so,  he  replied,  "  Didn't 
you  want  to  be  drove  to  the  Prince  of  Wales's  ? 
Well,  here  you  are  !  "  I  found  he  had  stopped  at 
the  gates  of  Marlborough  House  ! 

I  will  now  tell  a  companion  story  of  thirty  years 
later.  Long  after  we  had  left  the  little  theatre,  and 
when  it  was  empty,  desolate,  and  forlorn,  I  had 
occasion  to  make  some  purchases  at  Maple's  in 
Tottenham  Court  Road.  When  I  left  I  called  a 
hansom,  and  after  directing  the  driver,  added,  "  Would 
you,  please,  drive  through  Tottenham  Street  on  the 
way  ?  "  The  cabman  touched  his  hat  and,  with  quite 
a  pensive  smile,  said,  "  To  have  a  look  at  the  old 
house,  ma'am  ? "  I  returned  his  kind  smile ;  he 
whipped  up  his  horse,  but  when  we  reached  the  sad 
little  building,  passed  it  at  funeral  pace.  I  think 
that  cabman  deserved  a  good  fare. 

When  the  speculation  was  resolved  upon,  among 
the  first  of  my  friends  to  whom  I  wrote  was  Lady 
Harrington,  who  had  shown  such  interest  in  my 
welfare.  As  one,  at  least,  of  her  many  letters  to  me 
should  have  a  place  in  this  book,  1  select  her  reference 
to  my  important  undertaking,  and  may  repeat  that 
she  always  addressed  me  by  my  second  name. 

Richmond  Terrace,  Whitehall, 
February,  18,  1865. 

My  dear  Effie, 

I  was  told  of  a  little  paragraph  in  the  news- 
papers about  your  having  taken  a  theatre,  but  not 


COUNTESS   OF   HARRINGTON         61 

having  heard  of  it  from  you,  I  did  not  believe  the 
report.  I  need  scarcely  assure  you  of  my  good 
wishes  for  your  success,  and  1  am  delighted  to  hear 
that  you  are  to  have  the  kind  and  friendly  support 
of  your  sister's  husband  in  your  undertaking. 

I  remember  the  little  Queen's  Theatre  years 
and  years  ago,  when  1  resided  near  Russell  Square. 
It  is  a  great  card  having  secured  Mr.  Byron  ;  I  have 
just  read  his  clever  and  entertaining  novel  with  much 
enjoyment. 

Since  the  last  week  of  November  when  I  saw  you, 
I  have  not  been  to  a  theatre,  except  to  one  morning 
performance  of  the  Covent  Garden  pantomime  to 
take  my  dear  grandchildren,  as  after  my  attack  of 
bronchitis  I  am  obliged  to  be  very  careful  about 
going  out  in  the  evening.  I  shall  hope  soon  to  be 
able  to  take  a  peep  at  you,  dear  wee  manageress, 
when  you  are  on  the  throne  at  your  royal  domain  ; 
till  when  and  ever, 

I  am,  your  very  affectionate  friend, 

Maria  Harrington. 

A  little  comedy  called  AlVs  Faii^  in  Love  and 
War  was  submitted  to  us.  Mr.  Byron  and  I  agreed 
to  accept  it,  but  suggested  changing  the  title,  which 
we  thought  too  long,  Byron  remarking  that  "it 
would  take  two  play-bills  to  show  it  "  I  The  author 
re-christened  his  piece  A  Winning  Hazard ;  the 
strangeness  of  the  coincidence  did  not  at  the  time 
strike  any  of  us,  but  afterwards,  when  success  seemed 
assured,  we  laughingly  remarked  that  it  was,  to  say 
the  least,  a  curious  coincidence  that  the  curtain 
should  rise  on  my  venture  with  those  words. 

We  had  an  excellent  working  company  —  all 
content  with  modest  salaries — the  most  prominent 
being  my  future  husband,  who  almost  from  those 
early  days  gave  me  the  advantage  of  his  help  and 
counsel ;  my  old  friends  and  playmates,  John  Clarke 
and  Fanny  Josephs  ;  Mrs.  Saville,  an  aunt  of  Helen 
Faucit ;  Frederick  Dewar,  H.  W.  Montgomery,  and, 


62      THE  OLD  PRINCE  OF   WALES'S 

soon  afterwards,  a  new  recruit,  John  Hare,  whose 
talents  had  at  once  appealed  to  me  when  I  saw  him 
act  small  parts  in  Liverpool. 

A  strange  incident,  which  occurred  on  the  after- 
noon before  the  opening  night,  may  interest  the 
superstitious  and  amuse  the  sceptic.  My  mother, 
who  was  almost  prostrate  with  nervousness,  would 
not  go  to  the  theatre  on  the  first  night ;  so  my  sister, 
Mrs.  Drake,  proposed  to  take  her  for  a  country  drive 
to  distract  her  thoughts,  and  they  went  to  Willesden. 
My  sister  talked  about  all  sorts  of  things,  but  to  no 
purpose ;  my  mother's  thoughts  were  with  me  in 
Tottenham  Street.  "  Mary  has  always  been  for- 
tunate," she  said  (although  I  was  christened  Marie 
Effie,  she  loved  the  name  of  Mary,  and  always  called 
me  by  it),  "  but  her  luck  may  desert  her  in  this 
enterprise.  What  would  1  not  give  to  know  the  end 
of  this  undertaking  !  " 

She  raised  her  eyes,  and  there,  on  a  stone,  as  they 
turned  a  corner  in  the  road,  she  saw,  "  Mary's  Place, 
Fortune  Gate."  It  was  to  my  mother  like  an  answer, 
and  impressed  her  so  much  that  she  often  spoke  of  it. 
Curiosity  took  me  to  the  neighbourhood  later  on, 
where  I  saw  and  read  the  kindly  and  prophetic  words. 
The  sequel  to  this  coincidence  is  that,  when  the  story 
was  first  told  in  print,  the  little  houses  so  named 
were  about  to  be  demolished,  and  Mr.  Bennett,  their 
purchaser,  most  kindly  made  me  a  present  of  the 
stone,  which  since  has  had  its  resting-place  in  our 
present  home. 

The  hour  for  launching  the  little  ship  arrived  ;  of 
course  there  was  a  great  crowd  outside  the  theatre, 
and  the  inhabitants  of  Tottenham  Street  had  never 
seen  such  a  display  of  carriages  before.  The  house 
looked  very  pretty,  and,  although  everything  was 
done  inexpensively,  had  a  bright  and  bonnie  appear- 
ance, and  I  felt  proud  of  it.  The  curtains  and  carpets 
were  of  a  cheap  kind,  but  in  good  taste.  The  stalls 
were  light  blue,  with  lace  antimacassars  over  them ; 
this  was  the   first   time  such  things  had  ever  been 


THE  FIRST   PROGRAMME  63 

seen  in  a  theatre.  The  pampered  audiences  of  the 
present  day,  accustomed  to  the  modern  luxurious 
playhouses,  little  know  of  how  much  my  modest 
undertaking  was  the  pioneer,  and  would  hardly 
credit  that  a  carpet  in  the  stalls  was,  until  then, 
unknown. 

The  first  programme  I  offered  to  the  public  in  my 
new  capacity  was  dated  Saturday,  April  15,  1865, 
and  comprised  A  Winning  Hazard,  and  an  operatic 
burlesque  extravaganza,  entitled  La  Sonnambula ! 
"  being  a  passage  in  the  life  of  a  famous  '  Woman  in 
White  ' ;  a  passage  leading  to  a  tip-top  story,  told  in 
this  instance  by  Henry  J.  Byron." 

When  I  began  to  dress  I  was  almost  too  tired  to 
stand,  for  I  had  been  all  day  looking  after  everything 
and  everybody.  However,  as  the  moment  approached 
for  my  first  appearance  as  a  manager,  the  excitement 
roused  me ;  and  when  my  cue  came,  I  went  on  to 
my  own  little  stage  without  any  sign  of  fatigue.  It 
would  be  affectation  to  pretend  that  I  did  not  know 
that  1  was  a  great  favourite  with  the  public  ;  but  the 
warm  welcome  I  received  almost  overpowered  me. 

Mr.  Byron,  true  to  his  word,  soon  finished  his 
comedy.  War  to  the  Knife,  in  which  I  had  a  good 
part.  It  was  clever  and  had  a  distinct  success. 
During  the  evening  I  remember  his  asking  me  if  I 
would  suggest  to  Mr.  Montgomery,  who  was  a  very 
tall  man  with  a  very  long  neck,  not  to  wear  a  "  turn- 
down "  collar,  adding  in  his  quaint  way,  "  Any  neck 
after  eight  inches  becomes  monotonous." 

My  dressing-room  was  close  to  the  stage  door, 
and  I  could  hear  all  that  went  on  there.  The  hall- 
keeper  was  an  eccentric  character,  named  Kirby. 
The  carpenters  were  often  neglectful  in  wiping  their 
boots  as  they  passed  through  the  hall  to  the  stage,  and 
as  there  was  a  large  mat  placed  for  that  purpose, 
Kirby  was  instructed  to  insist  upon  their  doing  so. 
He  had  a  habit  of  singing  to  himself,  and  would 
often  intersperse  his  dialogue  with  the  words  of  some 
favourite  song.     One  night  I  overheard  the  following 


64        THE    OLD  PRINCE  OF  WALES'S 

scraps  of  conversation,  Kirby  speaking  always  in  a 
sleepy,  drawling  voice: 

1st  Carpenter  :  Cold  night,  Kirby,  ain't  it  ? 

Kirby :  Hawful  cold.  ("I'm  sitting  on  the 
stile,  Maree.")     Wipe  your  feet. 

2nd  Carpenter  :  'Ow  are  yer,  Kirby  ? 

Kirby  :  All  right,  George.  ("  Where  we  sat  side 
by  side.")     Wipe  your  feet,  George. 

3rd  Carpenter  :  'Ave  you  got  change  for  six- 
pence, Kirby? 

Kirby  :  No,  I  ain't.  ("  The  night  you  promised 
long  ago.")     Wipe  your  feet. 

4th  Carpenter  :  Wet  night,  Kirby ;  kind  o' 
weather  wot  will  bring  up  the  vegetables  and  every- 
think. 

Kirby  :  I  'ope  it  won't  bring  up  my  three  wives. 
("  You  said  you'd  be  my  bride.")  Wipe  your  feet, 
'Arry. 

So  commenced  my  management.  I  have  tried  to 
tell  why  I  became  a  manager,  and  how.  In  the 
following  year  the  thousand  pounds,  so  generously 
advanced  to  me,  were  returned,  and,  let  me  add,  not 
one  shilling  further  was  ever  borrowed  by  me  from, 
or  given  to  me  by,  any  one  now  living  or  dead  in 
connection  with  this  enterprise.  I  was  successful  in 
a  modest  way  from  the  start ;  gradually  but  surely 
my  lucky  star  led  me  on  to  fortune  ;  and  the  little 
house  in  Tottenham  Street,  after  all  its  vicissitudes, 
in  spite  of  its  situation,  became  for  fifteen  years  "  the 
most  fashionable  and  prosperous  theatre  in  London." 

During  that  time  it  was  twice  sumptuously  re- 
decorated and  refurnished,  and  my  pet  project  of 
abolishing  the  orchestra  from  sight  was  carried  out. 
Frederic  Leighton  (our  friend  years  before  he  was 
elected  President  of  the  Royal  Academy),  in  a  charm- 
ing note  to  me,  said,  "  I  think  your  theatre  quite  the 
dandiest  thing  I  ever  saw."  This  innovation  did  not 
last  long ;  its  prettiness  was  all  destroyed,  to  be 
prosaically  and  profitably  replaced  by  extra  stalls. 
Adjoining  property  was  bought,  which  added  com- 


ALTERATIONS  65 

fort  both  before  and  behind  the  curtain ;  a  new  Royal 
entrance  was  built,  as  well  as  a  direct  opening  to  the 
stalls  ;  the  old  green-room — ^associated  with  delight- 
ful recollections,  including  the  reading  of  the  Robert- 
son comedies — was  destroyed,  as  was  my  dressing- 
room,  and  with  it  vanished  the  melodies  of  the 
musical  stage-door-keeper. 

In  a  few  years  all  again  was  changed,  when  the 
general  tone  of  decoration  chosen  was  deep  amber 
satin  and  dark  red,  in  place  of  the  former  light  blue  ; 
the  tiers  of  box  fronts  were  decorated  with  allegorical 
paintings  typical  of  the  plays  we  had  by  then  pro- 
duced, and,  to  harmonise  with  a  splendidly  painted 
peacock  frieze  over  the  proscenium,  handsome  fans 
made  of  peacocks'  feathers  were  attached  to  each  of 
the  private  boxes  by  gilt  chains. 

There  is  an  old  superstition  that  these  beautiful 
plumes  bring  sickness  with  them.  On  the  night  this 
scheme  of  decoration  was  first  shown,  it  so  befell  that 
an  occupant  of  one  of  the  front  stalls  was  seized  with 
a  fit,  and  a  lady  in  a  private  box  had  to  be  taken 
home  through  sudden  illness.  Only  a  single  audience 
saw  the  fans,  for  I  was  always  superstitious ;  and  this 
strange  assertion,  as  it  were,  that  there  might  be 
truth  in  the  old  saying  ended  in  their  summary 
banishment,  their  brief  engagement  being  for  "one 
night  only! 

To  my  wife's  story  of  the  opening  of  the  Prince 
of  Wales's  Theatre,  and  how  its  several  transforma- 
tions came  about,  I  first  will  add  some  personal 
experiences,  and  then  tell  more  of  what  was  done 
there. 

On  the  day  of  my  first  rehearsal  I  walked  from 
one  end  of  Tottenham  Court  Road  to  the  other,  but 
could  neither  find  nor  hear  of  any  such  building  as 
the  Prince  of  Wales's  Theatre.  At  last  it  struck  me 
that  in  its  own  neighbourhood  the  little  playhouse 
would  still  be  better  known  by  its  old  name,  the 
"  Queen's,"  if  not  by  its  unsavoury  nickname,  "  The 


66      THE   OLD   PRINCE   OF   WALES'S 

Dusthole,"  destined  in  a  short  time  to  be  changed  to 
the  "  Gold-dust  Hole."  I  had  no  more  difficulty, 
and  reached  my  destination  then  quite  easily.  All 
was  in  confusion,  the  front  of  the  house  being  still  in 
the  hands  of  its  decorators  and  furnishers.  However, 
after  I  had  been  warmly  welcomed,  we  got  to  work. 

On  the  night  before  the  theatre  opened  I  was 
taken  by  John  Clarke  to  a  supper-party,  where  I  met 
for  the  first  time  Tom  Hood,  Artemus  Ward,  the 
brilliant  American  humorist,  Leicester  Buckingham 
and  Joseph  Knight,  the  dramatic  critics,  Arthur 
Sketchley,  the  entertainer,  Andrew  Halliday,  writer 
and  playwright,  William  Belford,  an  actor  then  well 
known — and  one  who  very  soon  was  to  influence  my 
career,  Thomas  William  Robertson.  Boon  com- 
panions, all :  giants  they  seemed  to  me,  for  I  was  then 
not  quite  twenty-four,  and  my  introduction  to  such 
men  opened,  as  it  were,  the  doors  to  a  companion- 
ship with  the  stars  that  then  illumined  that  delightful 
land,  Bohemia.  They  have  all  long  since,  many  of 
them  in  early  manhood,  gone  to  the  Shadowed 
Valley ;  but  memories  of  their  wit,  their  charm,  their 
humour,  live  with  me  still. 

I  had  my  first  London  chance  in  Byron's  comedy. 
The  character  was  a  scheming  man  about  town,  and 
to  it  I  certainly  was  indebted  for  the  opportunity  of 
gaining  favourable  notice  from  the  critics  and  the 
public,  with  the  hope  of  my  later  efforts  being 
watched. 

As  an  illustration  of  the  danger  of  prophecy,  I 
will  quote  the  words  of  an  able  writer,  written  years 
before,  when  the  beautiful  Mrs.  Nisbett — then  the 
Queen  of  Comedy — was  manager  of  the  little  house, 
and  d'Orsay,  Vincent  Cotton,  and  "  Dolly"  Fitzclarence 
were  among  the  audience  on  her  opening  night.  The 
future  emperor.  Napoleon,  was  also  a  visitor,  to  be 
replaced  in  our  day  by  his  luckless  son.  What  words 
could  seem  wiser  than  these  looked  on  paper  ? 

"  No  theatre  in  the  kingdom  has  undergone  so 
many  changes,  both  in  management  and  title,  in  a 


A  FALSE   PROPHET  67 

few  years,  as  the  Queen's.  T'he  effort  to  make  it 
attractive  under  female  management^  apparently 
sparing  no  exertion  or  expense,  cannot  succeed.  It 
has  been  called  as  follows :  King's  Concert  Rooms, 
Regency,  Tottenham  Street  Theatre,  West  London 
Theatre,  Fitzroy  Theatre,  and  Queen's  Theatre. 
*  Fools  and  their  money,'  they  say,  *are  soon 
parted ' ;  and  when  we  look  to  the  expenses  incurred, 
and  the  nature  of  the  entertainments,  we  cannot  dis- 
cover a  more  expeditious  method  of  relieving  them 
of  it.  This  theatre  can  never  be  a  fashionable  one. 
We  must  not  have  small-talk,  but  plenty  of  blue  fire 
and  mysterious  disappearances,  which  can  alone  draw 
anything  like  a  paying  audience." 

A  little  later,  I  remember,  the  former  lessee  of 
the  theatre,  who  received  the  rent,  paid  my  wife  a 
visit  during  the  rehearsal  of  a  difficult  scene,  and  said 
to  her,  "  Dear,  dear,  what  trouble  you  give  your- 
selves !  In  my  tin-pot  days  we  were  less  particular. 
When  in  doubt  as  to  how  to  end  an  act,  I  sent  two 
men  on  in  a  boat,  dressed  as  sailors,  with  a  couple 
of  flags.  They  waved  their  Union  Jacks,  I  ht  a  pan 
of  blue  fire  at  the  wings,  the  band  played  *  Rule, 
Britannia,'  and  down  came  the  curtain"! 

Looking  back  after  a  lapse  of  years,  it  is  strange 
to  reflect  on  the  brilliant  career  of  almost  unbroken 
success  which  the  little  theatre  enjoyed. 

In  the  year  of  our  marriage  the  partnership  with 
Byron  came  to  an  end.  Soon  after  its  commence- 
ment he  became  entangled  with  the  management  of 
two  theatres  in  Liverpool,  where  he  went  to  live. 
His  work  for  the  Prince  of  Wales's  suffered  greatly 
in  consequence,  and  it  must  be  added  that  he  had 
always  rebelled  against  my  wife's  decision  to  abandon 
burlesque.  Although  business  relations  ceased  so 
soon,  friendship  lasted  until  his  death. 

During  his  career  as  a  dramatic  author  Byron 
wrote  more  than  a  hundred  plays  and  burlesques, 
in  not  one  of  which  can  be  found  a  single  line  that 
the  purest-minded  person  might  not  have  listened  to. 


68      THE   OLD   PRINCE   OF   WALES'S 

In  his  very  early  days  he  had  also  been  an  actor. 
Later  in  his  life  he  went  upon  the  stage  again,  but 
only  to  play  characters  written  by  himself  for  himself. 

How  clever  he  was !  How  the  hours  seemed  to 
fly  in  his  company !  Perhaps  no  writer  ever  had  a 
greater  power  of  twisting  his  language  into  puns, 
while  his  intense  appreciation  of  another's  wit  was 
delightful  to  see.  It  would  be  easy  to  fill  pages 
with  his  impromptu  jokes. 

It  was  at  the  little  Prince  of  Wales's  Theatre  that 
he  first  suggested  his  Shakespearian  motto  for  the 
box-book  keeper,  "  So  much  for  Booking-em  ! " 

When  his  play  Dearer  than  Life  was  produced 
at  another  theatre,  in  which  both  Irving  and  Toole 
had  parts,  all  had  gone  well  until  the  end  of  the 
second  act,  after  which  there  was  a  long  delay.  The 
audience  grew  more  and  more  impatient,  the  band 
played  waltz  after  waltz,  still  the  curtain  was  not 
taken  up.  Byron  was  walking  uneasily  up  and  down 
the  corridor  at  the  back  of  the  dress  circle,  chafing 
over  the  mishap,  and  tugging,  as  he  always  did  when 
agitated,  at  one  side  of  his  moustache,  when  a  friendly 
critic  asked,  "  What,  in  the  name  of  goodness,  are 
they  doing  ? "  "I  don't  know,"  moaned  Byron.  At 
that  moment  the  sound  of  a  saw,  hard  at  work  behind 
the  scenes,  was  heard  above  the  uproar — saw-saw- 
saw  I  "I  think  they  must  be  cutting  out  the  last 
act,"  he  said. 

After  a  terrible  experience  on  arriving  late  at 
lodgings  in  a  country  town,  he  complained  to  the 
landlady  in  the  morning  that  he  had  been  attacked 
by  fleas.  The  woman  retorted  indignantly,  "Fleas, 
sir  I  No,  sir,  I  am  sure  there  is  not  a  single  flea  in 
my  house  I "  Byron  replied,  "I'm  sure  of  it  too ; 
they  are  all  married  and  have  large  families." 

At  the  time  of  his  disastrous  management  of  the 
theatres  in  Liverpool,  an  intimate  friend,  who  met 
him  in  the  street,  was  much  struck  with  his  altered 
appearance,  and  asked  sympathetically,  "  What's  the 
matter,    old    fellow — liver  ? "      "  Yes,"    said    Byron 


BYRON'S   PUNS  69 

languidly,  "Liver — pool."  The  friend  could  not  help 
laughing,  but  went  on,  "  Really  now,  do  take  some 
advice  ;  you've  grown  so  thin.  Have  you  tried  cod- 
liver  oil  ? "  Byron  said,  "  No,  but  I've  tried  the 
Theatre  Royal."  I  remember  once  remarking  to  him 
in  the  hall  of  the  Garrick  Club  that  we  very  seldom 
saw  him  there.  "  Quite  true,"  he  replied ;  "  my 
visits  are  so  rare  as  to  be  extremely  expensive.  Five 
guineas  a  wash  !  " 

Two  of  his  jokes,  which  must  have  been  among 
the  last  he  ever  uttered,  have  no  doubt  found  their 
way  into  print.  One  day  he  received  a  letter  from 
his  coachman,  who  was  at  his  master's  London  house, 
about  a  sick  horse.  Byron  told  a  friend  of  the  cir- 
cumstance in  this  way:  "They  won't  let  me  alone, 
even  down  here.  This  morning  my  fool  of  a  coach- 
man writes  to  tell  me  that  a  horse  is  ill,  and  wants  to 
know  if  he  may  give  him  a  ball.  I've  answered,  '  Oh, 
yes,  if  you  like,  give  him  a  ball ;  but  don't  ask  too 
many  people  !  " 

Still  later,  at  the  time,  it  must  be  remembered, 
that  Hare  and  Kendal  were  joint  managers  of  the 
St.  James's  Theatre,  he  said,  "  People  are  very  kind 
to  me.  I  had  no  idea  so  many  friends  remembered 
me.  I  thought  myself  much  more  forgotten.  Lovely 
flowers  and  delicious  fruits  are  brought  so  often  ;  and 
game,  and  other  things.  Last  week  a  dear  old  friend 
sent  me  a  hare.  I  never  saw  such  an  animal ;  surely 
the  biggest  hare  that  ever  ran.  I  thought  Kendal 
must  be  inside  it !  " 

Of  all  the  changes  which  were  inaugurated  by 
my  wife  and  myself  at  the  little  Prince  of  Wales's 
Theatre,  I,  personally,  was  proudest  of,  perhaps,  the 
simplest  of  them.  I  had  endured  much  mortification 
in  my  early  days  upon  the  stage  from  the  old  method 
which  then  prevailed  of  paying  the  actors  engaged  in 
the  theatre.  Every  one  then  had  to  assemble  on 
Saturday  mornings  outside  the  treasury  at  a  certain 
hour — carpenters,  ballet  girls,  cleaners,  players, 
dressers,  musicians,  mixed  up  together.     I  found,  to 


70      THE   OLD   PRINCE   OF    WALES'S 

my  profound  surprise,  that  things  were  just  the  same 
in  London,  and  claim  the  privilege  of  having  been 
the  first  to  alter  the  obnoxious  custom.  It  was,  in 
fact,  the  initial  reform  made  by  me  when  I  came  into 
authority,  to  order  that  all  members  of  our  company 
should  henceforth  be  waited  upon  by  the  treasurer 
instead  of  their  having  to  wait  upon  him.  I  record 
the  fact  because  actors  of  the  present  day  can  have 
no  idea  who  made  the  change,  or  of  the  former 
habit. 

Allusion  to  this  obsolete  custom  reminds  me  of 
a  story  of  my  boyhood's  days.  A  well-known,  and 
afterwards  prosperous,  north-country  manager  was 
having  a  hard  time  of  it  to  make  both  ends  meet. 
His  wife,  a  woman  of  ability  and  resource,  acted  as 
treasurer.  One  day  in  dismay  she  and  her  husband 
discovered  that  they  could  not  pay  some  of  the 
salaries  until  night,  by  which  time  they  would  have 
the  advantage  of  the  Saturday  evening's  receipts. 
Such  a  blow  to  their  credit  had  never  happened 
before.  On  the  eventful  morning,  shortly  before 
the  customary  hour  for  payment,  the  little  motley 
crowd  slowly  assembled  round  the  treasury  door,  and 
the  remarks  they  interchanged  could  be  heard  by  the 
anxious  woman  on  the  other  side  of  it.  The  clock 
ticked  on  remorselessly  until  five  minutes,  two 
minutes,  before  the  fatal  hour.  Suddenly  a  brilliant 
and  Napoleonic  idea  flashed  across  the  lady's  mind, 
and  saved  the  situation.  She  mounted  upon  a  chair, 
opened  the  clock,  put  the  hands  to  seven  minutes 
past  one,  and  then,  flinging  open  the  door  with  a 
tragic  air,  pointed  angrily  to  the  time,  and  said, 
*'  Ladies  and  gentlemen,  I  have  waited  for  you  nearly 
ten  minutes  ;  you  will  now  wait  for  me  until  this 
evening."  So  saying,  she  locked  the  treasury  door, 
and,  with  her  nose  in  the  air,  sailed  triumphantly 
through  the  dumbfounded,  penniless  assembly,  which 
includfed  no  less  a  person,  then  in  the  days  of  his 
early  struggle,  than  Henry  Irving. 

A  brief  history  of  the  commencement  of  morning 


HOW  MATINEES  BEGAN  71 

performances   may   have   some   interest   to-day.     In 
the  early  days  of  our  management  they  were  things 
unknown,  except  for  pantomimes  and  occasional  big 
charity  entertainments.     We  first  tried  one  of  School^ 
in  the  height  of  its  great  success,  with  only  a  mode- 
rate and  not  sufficiently  encouraging  result.     Five  or 
six  years  passed  before  we  repeated  the  experiment, 
and  then  with  the  sole  object  of  gratifying  an  earnest 
wish  expressed  by  Sothern   to   see  my  wife  act  in 
Sweethearts.     To  complete  a  short  programme,  Ellen 
Terry,  who  was   then   a   member  of  our   company, 
appeared  with  me  in  a  charming  one-act  play,  called 
A  Happy  Pai?^  which  we  studied  for  this  solitary 
occasion.     The  theatre  was  crowded.     In  the  follow- 
ing year  we   acted  Peril  a  considerable   number  of 
times  on  afternoons  ;   but  it  was  not  until  we  pro- 
duced Diplomacy,  in  1878,  that  what  are  now  called 
viatinees — afternoon    representations   of    the   regular 
evening    performance — were   really   established.     At 
the   beginning   they   were   much    more   costly   than 
now,  frequent  and  separate  advertisements  and  an- 
nouncements being  necessary  to  make  them  known. 
Moreover,  it  was  our  custom,  and  one  we  maintained 
throughout  our  management,  to  pay  full  salaries  to 
every  one  concerned  in  these  afternoon  performances 
— a  rule  which  applied   not   only  to   actors   but  to 
business  managers,  booking-clerks,  hall-keeper,  fire- 
men, in  fact  to  all  to  whom  the  performance  prac- 
tically involved  the  equivalent  of  an  evening's  labour. 
These  afternoon   performances  have   long   since  be- 
come a  large  source  of  income  to  the  managers ;  but 
I  am  told  that  in  most  of  the  theatres  other  systems 
of  payment  now  prevail.     It  seems  to  me  hard  that 
the  actor   should   not   be   given   his  full  share,  and 
harder  still  upon  the  ballet-girls  and  poorer  members 
of  a  company,  who  can  ill  afford  the  least  deduction 
from  their  pay,  and  who  are  not   in  a  position  to 
protest. 

In  what  were  called  "  the  palmy  days "  of  the 
drama — days,  in  my  remembrance,  of  much  slovenli- 


72      THE   OLD   PRINCE   OF   WALES'S 

ness  and  dingy  solemnity,  as  well  as  of  most  useful 
and  hard  work — salaries  were  lamentably  small,  and 
the  rewards  to  which  even  eminent  actors  could 
aspire  in  former  times  were  pitiful  indeed.  I  know 
no  more  plaintive  story  than  the  desperate  struggles 
made  by  so  great  a  man  as  Macready  to  secure  for 
his  retirement  an  income  of  a  thousand  a  year  to 
support  and  educate  a  large  family,  even  that  fortune 
involving  banishment  from  London  for  the  remainder 
of  his  life.  We  may  claim  without  arrogance  to 
have  been  the  first  to  effect  a  reform  which  should 
secure  a  proper  reward  for  the  laborious  life  and 
special  gifts  demanded  of  the  actor,  and  make  the 
stage  a  worthy  career  for  refined  and  talented  people. 
The  pay  was  small  enough,  and  on  the  old  lines, 
when  we  began ;  in  a  few  years  things  were  very 
different.  As  an  instance,  John  Hare's  first  salary, 
when  he  was  but  an  unknown  youth,  was  only  two 
pounds  weekly,  nor  did  he  ever  reach  with  us  the 
high  figures  subsequently  paid,  as  it  never  exceeded 
twenty  pounds — a  large  sum  then.  The  advance 
came  soon  by  leaps  and  bounds :  four  years  after- 
wards we  gave  George  Honey  sixty  pounds  a  week 
to  take  the  part  in  Caste  which  he  had  previously 
acted  for  eighteen,  while  Mrs.  Stirling,  when  she 
played  the  Marquise  in  our  final  revival  of  that 
comedy,  received  eight  times  the  salary  we  had  paid 
to  the  original  representative  of  the  character.  To 
Charles  Coghlan,  who  only  received  nine  pounds  a 
w^eek  with  us  when  he  replaced  Montague,  we  paid, 
on  later  occasions,  fifty,  and  then  sixty  pounds  ;  and 
without  multiplying  examples,  I  may  say  that  such 
rates  were  maintained  proportionately  throughout 
the  company. 

The  salary  list  grew  to  be  not  only  remarkable, 
but  out  of  all  relation  to  the  receipts  in  so  small  a 
theatre  ;  and,  besides  the  increased  pay,  the  elaborate 
and  careful  dressing  of  our  plays — which  astonished 
playgoers  and  was  looked  upon  as  a  revelation  in 
what  was  a  period  of  stage  heedlessness — together 


THE   TEN-SHILLING   STALL  73 

with  the  improvement  of  the  details  of  scenery  and 
accessories  on  the  stage,  entailed  heavy  expenditure. 
I  have  often  reflected  how  little  the  public  realises 
what  a  great  employer  of  labour  the  manager  of  a 
theatre  really  is.  Although  a  writer  in  a  leading 
magazine  said,  "The  Vestris-Mathews  system  had 
erred  on  the  side  of  unnecessary  extravagance ;  the 
Bancrofts  did  not  seek  to  gild  refined  gold,"  it  was 
not  long  before  we  found  it  inevitable  that  the  prices 
of  admission  should  be  raised  throughout  the  theatre. 
Modest  advances  were  made  at  first.  The  charge 
for  admission  to  the  stalls  was  first  raised  from  six 
to  seven  shillings  ;  but  it  was  on  the  occasion  of  the 
costly  production  of  The  School  for  Scandal,  in  1874, 
that  the  boldest  step  throughout  our  management 
was  taken  in  my  resolve  to  raise  the  price  of  the 
stalls  to  ten  shillings,  and  the  charges  to  other  parts 
accordingly.  Some  action  of  the  kind  was  rendered 
imperative  in  so  small  a  theatre  as  the  Prince  of 
Wales's,  though,  as  The  School  for  Scandal  had  only 
recently  been  acted  for  a  long  time  at  another  theatre, 
and  with  some  admirable  actors  in  the  cast,  the 
moment  chosen  certainly  was  dangerous  for  so  radical 
an  innovation. 

When  our  decision  was  conveyed  by  my  business 
manager  to  Bond  Street,  one  of  the  principal  librarians 
remarked,  "Of  course  Mr.  Bancroft  means  for  the 
first  night  only  ?  "  When  informed  that  the  altera- 
tion was  intended  "  for  the  future,"  the  answer  was, 
"  Oh,  let  Mr.  Bancroft  have  his  way  ;  he  will  change 
his  mind  in  a  week  !  "  Such,  however,  was  not  the 
case.  The  bold  example  was  soon  followed  by  the 
Gaiety  Theatre,  then  by  the  I^yceum,  and  afterwards 
by  nearly  every  manager  in  London.  As  the  question 
of  "ten-shilling  stalls"  has  since  been  so  often  dis- 
cussed, it  may  be  as  well  to  leave  on  record  how  the 
custom  originated  and  who  was  its  wicked  inventor. 

It  was  also  one  of  our  innovations  to  allow  a 
single  play  to  form  the  entire  programme — a  thing 
unknown  before. 


74      THE   OLD   PRINCE   OF   WALES'S 

It  has  been  pleasant  to  read  again,  after  a  lapse 
of  many  years,  a  mass  of  friendly,  flattering  tributes 
to  our  efforts  to  restore  the  somewhat  damaged 
credit  of  English  acting  by  forming  a  company  with 
a  style,  a  tradition,  and  an  ensemble  of  its  own. 
While,  manifestly,  it  would  not  be  fair  to  trouble 
the  reader  with  these  tributes  at  length,  we  cannot 
forego  the  gratification  of  recalling  one  or  two  of 
them.  We  will  select  the  words  of  the  author  of 
T'hespian  Cartes — a  series  of  popular  dramatic  articles 
much  read  in  their  day — and  of  a  distinguished 
French  man  of  letters,  writing  in  the  Revue  des 
Deux  Mondes. 

These  critics  pointed  out  that   at   the  Prince  of 
Wales's  "  the  afflatus  of  these  admirable  Bancrofts  " 
pervaded  the  whole.     Whatever  test  was  applied,  no 
true  principle  would   be  found  wanting.      The  first 
was  clearly  respect  for  the  audience,  who  were  not 
considered  a  mass  of  beings  from  whom  money  is 
taken,  and  who  then,  after  being  the  prey  of  the 
box-keepers  and  bill-sellers,  were  to  be  packed  and 
squeezed  into  seats.     It  was  recorded  that  we  had 
abolished   all   such   petty   exactions ;    and   that   our 
audiences  were  rather  visitors  whose  good-will  it  was 
sought  to  conciliate,  with  the  result  that  the  house 
was  thronged  with  intellectual  and  cultured  adherents, 
many  of  whom  were  by  no  means  theatre-goers  as  a 
general  rule.      On  the  stage  there  was  an  ensemble 
moulded  and  perfected  by  assiduous  rehearsals.     The 
factors  of  the  company  changed  from  time  to  time, 
but   the  principle  regulating   the  whole  seemed  im- 
mutable.     The   secret   of  this   was   declared   to   be 
good  management,  by  which  the  spirit  was  trans- 
mitted by  a  sort  of  hereditary  descent  from  actor 
to  actor,  so  that,  though  the  men  and  women  went, 
the  family  remained  intact,  the  esprit  de  coiys  was 
not  lost.     The  real  principle  which  made  each  com- 
pany as  admirable  as  the  last  was  the  principle  of 
a   sagacious   government — the   control   of  a   master 
mind,     We  were  rightly  stated  to  have  set  our  faces 


SELF-ABNEGATION  75 

from  the  first  against  the  obnoxious  "  star  system  "  ; 
no  trace  ever  being  visible  of  the  vile  tradition,  once 
prevalent  among  actors,  of  defrauding  a  comrade  of 
a  chance.  "  Self-abnegation  has,  throughout  their 
management,  been  a  strong  point  v^ith  the  Bancrofts. 
How  frequently  they  strengthen  their  admirable 
productions  by  appearing  themselves  in  small  parts — 
an  example,  happily  for  the  future  of  the  stage,  laid 
to  heart  in  his  apprenticeship  by  their  accomplished 
comrade.  Hare,  since  he  left  them  and  himself 
became   a   manager." 

"  Again  and  again,"  said  these  kindly  critics,  "  it 
has  been  curious  to  observe  at  the  Prince  of  Wales's 
how  performers  who  elsewhere  had  made  but  little 
mark  had  acquired  good  habits  in  that  wholesome 
atmosphere  of  dramatic  art.  No  theatre  had  more 
often  sustained  the  inevitable  losses  which  must 
follow  the  secession  of  actors  ;  yet,  when  the  changes 
which  necessarily  came  about  deprived  the  manage- 
ment one  by  one  of  their  services,  the  loss,  which 
threatened  to  be  severe,  was  so  ably  met  as  to  be 
scarcely  perceptible.  ...  To  those  who  have  at 
heart  the  welfare  of  the  stage,  it  is  one  of  the  most 
cheering  signs  of  the  times  that  the  system  which  has 
been  steadily  pursued  at  this  theatre  by  its  accom- 
plished rulers  has  rendered  it,  in  spite  of  many  dis- 
advantages, the  most  uniformly  prosperous  of  all  our 
places  of  amusement." 

It  was  gratifying  to  find  our  old  friend  J.  Comyns 
Carr,  whose  gifts  of  wit  and  brilliant  talk  have 
enlivened  many  a  meeting,  expressing  his  opinion 
that  since  Society  was  produced  towards  the  close  of 
the  year  1865,  and  the  visit  of  the  members  of  the 
Theatre  Franc^ais  in  1871,  the  advancement  in  the  art 
of  acting  in  England  had  been  in  every  way  remark- 
able. The  pitiable  comparisons  that  used  to  be 
instituted  between  our  own  players  and  those  of  the 
Continent  were  now  confessedly  out  of  date,  thanks 
to  the  tradition  of  thoughtful  and  careful  management 
which   was   first   established  by  ourselves,  and   had 


76      THE   OLD   PRINCE   OF   WALES'S 

served  as  a  standard  to  which  the  conductors  of  other 
houses  had  since  been  obhged  to  conform. 

To  continue  this  egoism,  we  will  finally  indulge  in 
the  pleasure  of  recording  how  a  critical  pen  declared 
that  only  those  who  could  remember  what  took  place 
before  our  reign,  not  in  the  acting  of  any  individual 
actor,  but  in  the  generality  of  the  playhouses,  could 
realise  the  immense  strides  made  by  our  management 
in  all  that  relates  to  dramatic  representation.  "  The 
alteration  for  the  better  in  all  that  appertains  to  the 
theatre  is  due  to  Mr.  Bancroft,  with  the  support  and 
aid  of  his  brilliant  wife,  more  than  any  existing 
manager."  The  times  were  ripe  for  a  man  who, 
though  an  apostle  of  progress,  would  be  no  mere 
enthusiast,  but  a  leader  by  reason  of  sympathy  with 
higher  things — a  leader  with  a  perception  keen  and 
searching,  with  an  intelligence  broad  and  unprejudiced, 
with  a  brain  constructive  and  original,  with  a  desire 
to  do  and  a  heart  to  dare.  Our  management  of  the 
Prince  of  Wales's  Theatre,  it  was  said,  brought  a  new 
era  to  the  English  drama.  It  was  manifest  that  the 
one  class  who  had  not  travelled  with  the  times  was 
the  actor.  His  vocation,  singular  to  say,  while 
eminently  intellectual,  had  invited,  with  but  few 
exceptions,  men  to  uphold  it  often  deficient  in  tone, 
bearing,  and  the  advantages  of  early  association.  If 
such  men  as  Charles  Kean,  Alfred  Wigan,  Charles 
Mathews,  or  Leigh  Murray  were  significant  for  their 
gifts,  both  as  gentlemen  and  histrions,  they  visibly 
contrasted  with  others  of  their  order  unhappily  lack- 
ing the  marks  of  breeding  and  education.  "  At  the 
Prince  of  Wales's  was  seen  a  unity,  the  secret  of 
strength ;  and  how  Bancroft  enlisted  under  his  banner 
a  following  of  young  actors  into  whom  he  infused  a 
harmony  of  surpassing  excellence  is  a  fact  never  to 
be  forgotten." 

No  one  who,  in  whatever  calling,  has  served  the 
public  with  the  best  of  his  strength,  could  read  such 
tributes  to  his  labours  without  just  pride  ;  and  I 
refrain   from   the   false   humility  of  ignoring  them. 


ELLEN  TERRY'S   TRIBUTE  77 

preferring  rather  even  to  add  some  generous  words 
penned  by  a  comrade  whose  charm  has  left  so  pro- 
found a  mark  upon  playgoers  that  she  is  cherished 
and  remembered  by  them,  and  always  will  be,  with 
gratitude  and  love — Ellen  Terry. 

"  The  brilliant  story  of  the  Bancroft  management 
of  the  old  Prince  of  Wales's  Theatre  used  to  be  more 
familiar  twenty  years  back  than  it  is  now.  I  think 
that  few  of  the  present  generation  of  playgoers  who 
point  out  on  the  first  nights  of  important  productions 
a  remarkably  striking  figure  of  a  man  with  erect 
carriage,  white  hair,  and  flashing,  dark  eyes — a  man 
whose  eyeglass,  manners,  and  clothes  all  suggest 
Thackeray  and  Major  Pendennis,  in  spite  of  his 
success  in  keeping  abreast  of  everything  modern — 
few  playgoers,  I  say,  who  point  this  man  out  as  Sir 
Squire  Bancroft,  could  give  any  account  of  what 
he  and  his  wife  did  for  the  English  theatre.  Nor  do 
the  public  who  see  an  elegant  little  lady  starting  for 
a  drive  from  a  certain  house  in  Berkeley  Square 
realise  that  this  is  Marie  Wilton,  afterwards  Mrs. 
Bancroft,  now  Lady  Bancroft,  the  comedian  who 
created  the  heroines  of  Tom  Robertson.  ...  I  have 
never,  even  in  Paris,  seen  anything  more  admirable 
than  the  ensemble  of  the  Bancroft  productions.  Every 
part  in  the  domestic  comedies,  the  presentation  of 
which  they  had  made  their  policy,  was  played  with 
such  point  and  finish  that  the  more  rough,  uneven, 
and  emotional  acting  of  the  present  day  has  not 
produced  anything  so  good  in  the  same  line.  The 
Prince  of  Wales's  Theatre  was  the  most  fashionable 
in  London,  and  there  seemed  no  reason  why  the 
triumph  of  Robertson  should  not  go  on  for  ever." 

The  list  of  comedians  who  appeared  at  the  old 
Prince  of  Wales's  Theatre — many  of  whom  we  were 
the  means  of  bringing  before  the  notice  of  the  London 
public — contained  distinguished  names.  Let  the 
brief  candle  of  stage-fame  burn  once  again  in  their 
honour.  It  was  there  that  John  Hare  became 
famous ;  it  was  there  that  Ellen  Terry's  Portia  first 


78      THE   OLD   PRINCE   OF  WALES'S 

charmed  the  world  of  art ;  it  was  there  the  Kendals, 
by  splendid  acting  in  Peril  and  Diplomacy,  largely 
added  to  their  fame  ;  Forbes-Robertson,  H.  B.  Con- 
way, Kyrle  Bellew,  Charles  Siigden,  F.  Archer, 
Charles  Collette,  and  Albert  Chevalier  all  played 
there  as  young  men,  while  Carlotta  Addison,  Hen- 
rietta Hodson,  Marion  Terry,  Fanny  Brough,  Linda 
Dietz,  Kate  Phillips,  and  Mrs.  John  Wood  had  all 
been  members  of  our  company. 

Among  the  comedians  who  have  received  their 
final  call,  leaving  rich  memories  behind  them,  and 
who  once  played  there  with  us  may  be  named : 
Charles  Coghlan,  George  Honey,  H.  J.  Montague, 
Arthur  Cecil,  John  Clayton,  John  Clarke,  Henry 
Kemble,  William  Terriss,  WiUiam  Blakeley,  J.  AV. 
Ray,  Lin  Rayne,  Arthur  Wood,  and  Frederick 
Younge  ;  Lydia  Foote,  Amy  Roselle,  I^ydia  Thomp- 
son, Fanny  Josephs,  Louisa  Moore,  Sophie  Larkin, 
Roma  Le  Thiere,  Marie  Litton,  Sophie  Young, 
Lucy  Buckstone,  Mrs.  Leigh  Murray,  Mrs.  Gaston 
Murray,  and  Mrs.  Hermann  Vezin. 

Surely  a  choice  record  recalling  many  handsome 
legacies  to  the  traditions  of  our  stage  1 

"  It  so  fell  out  that  certain  players 
We  o'erwrought  on  the  way  ;  of  these  we  told  him  : 
And  there  did  seem  in  him  a  kind  of  joy, 
To  hear  of  it. ' 

It  is,  perhaps,  a  fitting  moment  to  record  here 
that  of  the  large  financial  result  achieved  in  the 
old  Prince  of  Wales's  Theatre  a  little  less  than  one- 
half  was  made  from  the  Robertson  comedies,  the 
remainder  by  other  plays. 

Our  reason  for  abandoning  our  first  managerial 
home,  endeared  to  us  as  it  was  by  the  brightest 
events  of  our  career,  and  in  which  the  happiest  part 
of  our  lives  certainly  was  passed,  will  be  told  in 
a  chapter  devoted  to  its  successor,  the  Haymarket 
Theatre. 

My  wife  suffered  deeply  at  bidding  "  Good-bye  " 


VALE  ! 


p.  78] 


VALE!  79 

to  a  house  so  endeared  to  us  both  by  pleasant 
memories,  so  rich  in  artistic  recollections,  the  out- 
come, be  it  remembered,  of  her  own  initial,  splendid 
courage.  Even  the  silent  walls,  she  said,  seemed 
to  frown  their  reproach  to  us  for  leaving  them.  Often 
in  the  twilight  of  after-years,  when  it  was  closed  and 
deserted,  have  we  pensively  gazed  upon  the  dilapi- 
dated, crumbling,  once  brilliant  little  theatre,  and 
wondered  if  the  past  was  but  a  dream.  Could  it  be 
true  that  Dickens  and  Lytton  had  so  often  sat  there 
to  listen  to  us,  with  hundreds  and  hundreds  of  the 
greatest  in  the  land  ?  Could  it  be  that  actors,  and 
painters,  and  authors,  since  known  to  all  the  world, 
had  fought  for  places  in  the  pit?  Could  it  be  that 
we  once  had  difficulty  to  find  a  seat  there  for  Glad- 
stone, and  had  listened  to  an  ovation  given  within  its 
walls  to  Beaconsfield  ?  Could  it  have  been  under 
that  mournful-looking  porch  that  the  constant  stream 
of  youth  and  age,  of  beauty,  wit,  and  wealth,  had 
flowed  for  so  many  years  ?  And  was  the  satirical, 
dirty  placard,  "  To  be  Sold,"  the  only  reminder  of  all 
that  had  been  ?     Vale  ! 


CHAPTER   IV 

T.    W.    ROBERTSON    AND    HIS    COMEDIES 

*'  The  very  age  and  body  of  the  time." 

My  soprano   comrade  shall   sing  the  first  notes   of 
this  chapter. 

It  was  a  lucky  event  in  my  career  which  led  to 
what  was  afterwards  called  "  the  dawn  struck  with 
life  and  hope  and  promise  by  the  Bancrofts,"  when 
in  the  very  early  days  of  management  I  was  asked 
to  read  a  comedy  called  Society,  written  by  T.  W. 
Robertson,  whose  since-famous  name  was  then 
almost  unknown.  Robertson  was  at  that  time  in 
very  low  water;  as  he  expressed  it  to  my  husband 
soon  afterwards,  "  I  often  dined  on  my  pipe." 

"  Society  " 

Society  had  been  offered  in  turn  to  all  the  London 
managers  who  played  comedies,  but  not  one  of  them, 
including  Buckstone,  Sothern,  and  Wigan,  would 
have  anything  to  do  with  it;  the  consensus  of 
opinion,  written  and  spoken,  being  that  it  must  fail 
wherever  it  was  produced.  The  fear  of  it  was  chiefly 
due  to  a  scene  called  "  The  Owl's  Roost,"  which,  it 
was  thought,  would  be  condemned  by  the  critics  and 
offend  the  journalistic  world,  since  it  contained 
realistic  sketches  of  men  who  were  well  known  to 
the  author,  and  were  indeed  his  boon  companions 
in  "  Bohemia."     Danger  seemed  to  me  better  than 

80 


JOHN   OXENFORD  81 

dulness :  the  play  was  so  original  and  so  striking, 
that  I  promptly  decided  to  risk  its  production.  So 
began  my  acquaintance  with  T.  W.  Robertson. 
Time  has  not  lessened  my  remembrance  of  the  charm 
with  which  he  read  his  comedy.  He  was  of  a  highly 
nervous  temperament,  and  he  had  a  great  habit  of 
biting  his  moustache  and  caressing  his  beard — indeed, 
his  hands  were  rarely  still.  He  was  at  that  time 
thirty-six,  above  medium  height  and  rather  stoutly 
built,  with  a  pale  skin  and  reddish  beard,  and  small, 
piercing,  red-brown  eyes  which  were  ever  restless* 
As  the  rehearsals  advanced,  I  grew  to  like  the  play 
more  and  more,  although  my  own  part  was  a  poor 
one,  being  in  fact  a  simple  ingenue.  My  views  of 
natural  acting  so  entirely  agreed  with  Robertson's 
that  everything  went  smoothly  and  merrily.  Al- 
though many  people,  to  the  last,  dreaded  the  effect 
of  the  "  Owl's  Roost "  scene,  my  faith  in  his  comedy 
remained  unshaken,  and  was  happily  justified,  for 
its  success  became  the  talk  of  the  town.  Acquaint- 
ance with  the  author  soon  ripened  into  the  friendship 
which  had  so  marked  an  influence  on  my  future 
theatrical  life. 

Society  was  produced  in  November  1865.  In 
reviewing  the  play,  John  Oxenford,  the  doyen  of 
the  dramatic  critics,  and  himself  a  well-known  figure 
in  "  Bohemia,"  wrote  of  it  in  The  Times  that  the 
scenes  in  which  the  "  Owls  "  figured  were  indeed  the 
best,  not  only  because  they  were  extremely  droll, 
but  because  they  constituted  a  picture  of  the  rank 
and  file  of  literature  and  art,  with  all  their  attributes 
of  fun,  generosity,  and  esprit  de  corps  painted  in  a 
kindly  spirit.  He  went  on  to  refer  to  a  report  which 
had  reached  him — which  he  declared,  if  true,  to  be 
only  the  more  absurd  on  that  account — that  some 
thin-skinned  gentlemen  had  objected  to  these  scenes 
as  derogatory  to  the  literary  profession.  Never,  in 
his  opinion,  was  "  snobbery  "  more  misplaced.  The 
piece  was  vehemently  applauded  from  beginning  to 
end.     Success  could  not  be  more  unequivocal. 

6 


82     ROBERTSON   AND   HIS   COMEDIES 

A  distinguished  French  critic,  M.  Augustin  Filon, 
after  describing  the  famous  episode  in  which  the  only 
five  shiUings  in  the  "  Owl's  Roost  "  passes  from  hand 
to  hand  throughout  the  entire  assembly  till  it  finds 
rest  in  the  pocket  of  the  member  who  originally 
asked  for  the  loan,  remarked  that  the  incident  was 
taken  from  actual  life.  Thus  reproduced  upon  the 
stage,  it  seemed  indescribably  comic,  and  proved 
the  turning-point  in  the  fortune  of  the  play. 

The  management  was  young  and  struggling,  and 
the  scenery  was  simple  enough,  with  the  exception 
of  a  very  realistic  interior  of  a  West-End  square 
in  moonlight,  beautifully  painted  by  Charles  Stan- 
field  James  ;  but  already  the  correct  dressing  of  our 
plays  had  impressed  theatre-goers  and  critics,  and 
I  clearly  recall  the  impression  made  by  the  carefully 
chosen  frocks  I  wore  as  Maud  Hetherington,  as  this 
came  upon  an  age  of  much  indifference  to  reality. 
A  very  little  while  before,  I  had  seen  a  leading  lady 
at  the  Haymarket  Theatre  end  one  act  in  a  dinner- 
dress,  and  pay  a  morning  call  in  the  next  act  wearing 
the  same  garments ! 

The  comedy  was  admirably  acted.  John  Clarke 
was  lifelike  as  the  little  cad  John  Chodd,  Junior  ; 
Frederick  Dewar  (afterwards  so  famous  as  Captain 
Crosstree  in  Burnand's  burlesque  of  Black-eyed  Susan) 
excellent  as  Tom  Stylus ;  Mr.  Bancroft  and  I  made 
considerable  success  as  the  hero  and  heroine ;  and 
it  was  then  I  gave  our  old  friend  John  Hare  the 
opportunity,  as  Lord  Ptarmigant,  of  laying  the 
foundation  of  his  brilliant  reputation.  He  and  our 
two  selves  formed  a  trio  which,  alas  !  as  I  write, 
represents  the  entire  original  cast. 

On  its  production  Society  w^as  played  for  150 
nights — in  those  days  an  extraordinary  and,  as  it 
seemed  to  us,  never-ending  run.  It  was  a  bright 
and  happy  time  for  Robertson.  He  and  I  never 
once  during  our  acquaintance  knew  what  it  was  to 
have  an  angry  word  :  a  delightful  reflection !  We 
were  of  mutual  value  to  each  other  ;  he  knew  it,  and 


NATURAL   ACTING  83 

certainly  our  good  stars  were  in  the  ascendant  when 
Tom  and  I  were  "first  acquaint." 

Looking  back,  as  my  wife  and  I  often  do,  through 
the  long  vista  of  more  than  forty  years,  it  is  still 
easy  to  understand  the  great  success  of  this  comedy. 
In  those  now  far-off  days  there  had  been  little 
attempt  to  follow  Nature,  either  in  the  plays  or  in 
the  manner  of  producing  them.  With  every  justice 
was  it  argued  that  it  had  become  a  subject  of 
reasonable  complaint  with  reflective  playgoers,  that 
the  pieces  they  were  invited  to  see  rarely  afforded 
a  glimpse  of  the  world  in  which  they  lived  ;  "  the 
characters  were,  for  the  most  part,  pale  reflections  of 
once  substantial  shapes  belonging  to  a  former  state 
of  theatrical  existence,  whilst  the  surroundings  were 
often  as  much  in  harmony  with  the  days  of  Queen 
Anne  as  with  those  of  Queen  Victoria."  I  do  but 
echo  unbiassed  opinions  in  adding  that  many  other 
so-called  pictures  of  life  presented  on  the  stage  were 
as  false  as  they  were  conventional.  The  characters 
lived  in  an  unreal  world,  and  the  code  of  ethics  on 
the  stage  was  the  result  of  warped  traditions.  The 
inevitable  reaction  at  length  made  itself  apparent ;  ~1 
the  author  of  Society,  it  was  truly  said,  rendered  a  j 
public  service  by  proving  that  the  refined  and  educated 
classes  were  as  ready  as  ever  to  crowd  the  playhouses,  ! 
provided  only  that  the  entertainment  given  there 
was  suited  to  their  sympathies  and  tastes. 

The  Robertson  comedies  appeared  upon  the 
scene  just  when  they  were  needed  to  revive  and 
renew  intelligent  interest  in  the  drama.  Nature  was 
Robertson's  goddess,  and  he  looked  upon  the  bright 
young  management  as  the  high-priest  of  the  natural 
school  of  acting.  The  return  to  Nature  was  the 
great  need  of  the  stage,  and  happily  he  came  to 
help  supply  it  at  the  right  moment. 

In  this  connection  I  may  quote  from  a  brilliant 
pen  on  a  novel  scene  in  Society,  which  was  acted 
by   my   wife   and   myself      "Then   came   an   idyll, 


84     ROBERTSON   AND   HIS   COMEDIES 

evolving  amidst  the  trees  of  a  London  square.  What  1 
love — youthful,  tender,  tremulous  love — in  the  very- 
heart  of  this  city  of  mud,  fog,  and  smoke  !  Love,  so 
near  that  you  might  touch  his  wings  !  That  was  the 
kind  of  impression  it  evoked." 

Society,  although  eclipsed  in  success  by  the  later 
Robertson  comedies,  which  were  written  especially 
for  us,  was  always  well  received  and  welcomed  when 
we  revived  it.  The  first  occasion  was  for  a  hundred 
nights,  which  began  in  the  autumn  of  1868,  when 
I  resigned  the  part  of  the  hero,  Sidney  Daryl,  to  the 
gay  and  handsome  Harry  Montague,  and  played  Tom 
Stylus,  the  jovial  Bohemian  journalist  and  editor  of 
The  Earthquake,  a  character  in  which  I  always 
revelled.  No  part  that  I  have  played  ever  gave  me 
greater  pleasure  to  act.  1  recall  the  pride  evoked  in 
me  by  the  dictum  of  a  distinguished  writer,  that  "  the 
art  and  subtle  delicacy  displayed  were  worthy  of 
the  elder  Coquelin,"  which  was  saying  much. 

1  fear  my  knowledge  of  music  is  as  feeble  as  my 
love  for  it  is  strong — and  "  I  had  a  song  to  sing,  O  1 " 
To  keep  myself  in  tune,  1  introduced  an  old  piano 
into  the  clubroom  and  enlisted  Meredith  Ball,  our 
conductor,  as  a  member  of  the  club  so  that  he  might 
play  the  accompaniment,  the  chorus  being  taken  up 
with  solemn  and  grotesque  humour  by  the  "  Owls." 

This  revival  was  connected  with  an  episode  that 
occurred  shortly  before  we  began  to  rehearse  for  it. 
On  returning  from  the  theatre  to  the  first  home  we 
occupied  after  our  marriage,  I  had  been  constantly 
told  by  a  maid-servant  that  "  a  young  gentleman  had 
called,"  and  that  he  seemed  very  persistent  about 
seeing  me.  One  day  the  girl  informed  me  that  "  the 
young  gentleman"  had  in  a  most  determined  way 
pushed  past  her,  bounded  up  the  steps,  and  walked 
into  our  little  drawing-room,  where  he  then  was.  I 
joined  our  visitor  rather  angrily,  but  was  at  once 
disarmed  by  the  frank  manner  of  a  handsome  young 
fellow  of  about  twenty,  who  within  five  minutes 
pointed  to  a  window  of  a  room  in  the  opposite  villa 


WILLIAM   TERRISS  85 

and  said,  "  That's  the  room  I  was  born  in  ;  my  aunt, 
Mrs.  Grote,  then  lived  there,  and  my  mother  was 
staying  with  her."  Of  course  the  "  young  gentleman  " 
was  stage-struck ;  he  was  formerly  in  the  Navy,  but 
had  acted  a  few  times  in  a  country  theatre  and 
"  wanted  to  go  upon  the  stage,"  adding  that  "  he 
was  resolved  not  to  leave  the  house  until  1  had  given 
him  an  engagement."  His  courage  and  cool  perse- 
verance amused  and  amazed  me ;  the  very  force  of 
his  determined  manner  conquered  me,  and  the  upshot 
of  our  interview  was  that  I  did  engage  him.  His 
name  was  William  Terriss,  and  Lord  Cloudwrays, 
in  Society,  was  the  small  part  in  which  one  who  grew 
to  be  among  London's  greatest  stage  favourites  made 
his  first  appearance  in  a  London  theatre. 

After  acting  with  us  for  two  seasons,  he  suddenly 
asked  to  be  released,  saying  that  he  had  made  an 
early  marriage  and  wished  to  seek  fortune  in  the 
Falkland  Islands  ;  he  returned,  however,  in  a  year  or 
so,  to  England  and  the  stage,  accompanied  by  a 
beautiful  baby  named  EUaline,  who  has  inherited  her 
father's  bright  nature  and  gifts.  Later  on  Terriss 
distinguished  himself  in  many  characters  ;  in  none 
more  than  as  Thornhill  in  the  original  production  by 
Hare  of  Olivia  at  the  Court  Theatre,  and,  to  my 
mind,  as  "Bluff  King  Hal"  in  Irving's  sumptuous 
revival  of  Henry  VIII.  at  the  Lyceum.  It  was 
there  his  undaunted  courage  showed  itself  while 
rehearsing  the  duel  in  The  Cordcan  Brothers  with  his 
already  eminent  manager,  to  whom  he  boldly  said, 
"  Don't  you  think,  governor,  a  few  rays  from  the 
moon  might  fall  on  me  ?  Nature,  at  least,  is  im- 
partial ! "  The  heroes  in  a  series  of  melodramas  at 
the  Adelphi  Theatre  afterwards  gained  much  from 
his  convincing,  breezy  dash :  it  was  while  he  was 
acting  in  one  of  them  that  a  malignant  madman 
stabbed  him  at  the  stage-door  and  robbed  theatre- 
land  of  the  sunshine  he  spread  around  him. 

I  remember  Lionel  Monckton  telling  me  a  weird 
story,  his  mind  being  full  of  the  horrible  tragedy,  of 


86    ROBERTSON   AND   HIS   COMEDIES 

how  he  was  startled  on  returning  home  late  that 
night  by  the  discovery  that  an  old  grandfather  clock, 
which  was  a  present  to  him  from  Terriss,  had  not 
been  wound  and  had  stopped  exactly  at  the  hour  of 
the  murder.  Poor  Terriss  !  The  last  time  I  saw  him 
was  shortly  after  I  received  my  knighthood,  when 
he  sprang  to  his  feet  and,  in  the  presence  of  many 
friends,  gave  vent  to  a  torrent  of  words  of  congratu- 
lation and  appreciation — which  seemed  to  bubble 
from  his  lips — so  unexpected,  so  strangely  generous 
and  unstudied,  as  to  move  me  very  much.  I  little 
thought  we  should  never  meet  again. 

In  the  autumn  of  1874  Society  was  again  re\dved, 
when  it  ran  for  five  months,  and  could  have  been 
played  longer  still,  had  we  not  found  it  necessary  to 

I'  cut  short  its  career.  The  last  appearance  of  this 
true  friend  was  at  the  Haymarket  Theatre  in  1881, 
when  we  produced  it  for  fifty  final  performances 
before  giving  up  the  rights  in  his  comedies  to  the 
author's  children.  The  delicate  comedy  stood  the 
lapse  of  time  and  transplanting  to  the  larger  stage 
remarkably  well,  although  then  sixteen  years  old — 
no  mean  age  for  any  play. 

One  of  these  final  performances  brought  a  flatter- 
ing letter  from  the  accomplished  German  actor 
Ludwig  Barnay,  then  appearing  at  Drury  Lane  with 
brilliant  success  as  Marc  Antony  with  the  Meiningen 
company.     He  wrote  : 

"  Allow  me  to  tell  you  how  much  I  was  charmed 
with  yesterday's  representation  of  Society.  I  confess 
I  wondered  at  and  admired  likewise  the  perfection  of 
the  particular  artistic  performances,  as  well  as  the 
entire  production  and  the  excellent  ensemble.  Receive 
my  hearty  thanks  for  giving  me  the  opportunity  of 
seeing  this  representation,  which  will  form  a  striking 
point  in  my  London  recollections." 

"  Ours  " 

Ours  was  the  second  play  by  Robertson  which  we 
acted,  and  the  first  he  wrote  expressly  for  us.     It  was 


A  FINE   SCENE  87 

produced  in  the  autumn  of  1866,  and  achieved  a 
success  which  went  far  to  strengthen  the  ultimate 
fortunes  of  the  theatre  and  the  fame  of  its  author. 
The  almost  hysterical  effect  of  the  second  act,  upon 
audience  and  players  aUke,  remains  firmly  in  our 
recollection  and  is  talked  over  by  us  still.  The 
imagination  was  so  powerfully  wrought  upon  when 
the  troops  are  leaving  for  the  Crimea,  that  as  they 
heard  the  bugle  calls,  the  words  of  command,  the 
tramp  of  the  departing  soldiers  marching  to  their 
bands  playing  "  The  girl  I  left  behind  me  "  and  "  The 
British  Grenadiers,"  so  could  they  see,  as  plainly, 
the  chargers  prancing,  the  bayonets  gleaming,  the 
troops  forming,  the  colours  flying;  they  could  even 
see,  as  it  were,  the  form  of  Queen  Victoria  taking 
her  farewell  of  her  soldiers  from  the  balcony  of 
Buckingham  Palace  as  the  curtain  fell  to  the  strains 
of  the  National  Anthem. 

It  is  interesting  to  recall  the  great  surprise  caused 
in  those  days  by  such  simple  realistic  effects,  until 
then  unknown,  as  the  dropping  of  the  autumn  leaves 
throughout  the  wood  scene  of  the  first  act,  and  the 
driving  snow  each  time  the  door  was  opened  in  the  hut. 
It  may  also  be  worth  while  to  note  that  this  play, 
like  Masks  and  Faces,  was  suggested  to  the  author 
by  a  picture,  Robertson  having  evolved  the  plot  from 
thoughts  inspired  when  Millais  first  exhibited  the 
"  Black  Brunswicker." 

Except  as  regards  John  Hare  and  ourselves,  the 
names  of  those  who  first  acted  in  Ours  would  convey 
nothing  to  modern  playgoers.  Their  tiny  flame  of 
fame  long  since  flickered  and  burnt  low.  When  the 
charming  comedy  was  produced  the  author's  name 
was  no  longer  obscure  ;  but  the  success  of  its  first 
revival  in  1870,  when  it  ran  for  nine  months,  far 
eclipsed  that  of  the  original  production — the  play  was 
riper,  and  Robertson's  reputation  had  grown  enor- 
mously meanwhile  through  our  successful  production 
of  his  later  plays.  If  the  six  comedies  he  wrote  for 
the  Prince  of  Wales's  Theatre  were  arranged  in  the 


88     ROBERTSON   AND   HIS   COMEDIES 

order  of  success  achieved  by  them  throughout  their 
career,  Ours  would  rank  second  ;  more  by  accident 
than  design  it  became  our  sheet-anchor  in  times  of 
storm  and  stress.  Even  greater  pains  than  attended 
its  production  were  bestowed  upon  the  revival,  and 
the  play  was  dressed,  with  regard  to  the  exactitude  of 
uniforms,  in  a  more  complete  way.  Admiral  Sir 
Edward  Inglefield,  an  old  friend  and  our  neighbour 
at  the  time,  gave  us  a  valuable  bit  of  realism  in  a 
Russian  drum,  captured  by  himself  in  the  Crimea, 
which  figured  in  all  our  subsequent  performances  of 
the  play.  It  was  said  of  this  revival  that  Ours 
strongly  developed  the  powers  which  had  been  ex- 
hibited in  Society,  with  the  addition  of  a  subtle  but 
poignant  pathos,  which,  though  not  a  distinctive 
characteristic  of  Robertson,  had  since  proved  one  of 
his  greatest  merits. 

On  the  day  following  this  revival  the  author 
wrote  this  letter: 

6,  Eton  Road,  N.W. 

November  27,  1870. 

My  dear  Marie, — 

Ours  was  acted  so  excellently  last  night,  that, 
as  I  may  not  see  you  for  the  next  few  days,  I  write  to 
express  the  great  gratification  it  gave  me  to  see  that 
the  ''  light  troupe  "  had  distinguished  themselves  more 
than  ever. 

You  know  that  I  am  not  given  to  flattery,  and 
that  my  standard  of  taste  for  comedy  is  somewhat 
high.  I  was  really  charmed,  and  I  was  very  ill  the 
whole  night.  The  remark  of  every  one  I  heard  was, 
"  What  wonderfully  good  acting  !  "  and  I  was  pleased 
to  find  Boucicault  descanting  on  it  to  a  chosen  few. 
He  said  that  not  only  was  the  general  acting  of  the 
piece  equally  admirable,  but  that  he  had  never — in- 
cluding Paris — seen  such  refinement  and  effect  com- 
bined, as  in  the  performance  of  the  second  act.  He 
said,  too,  that  the  actors  who  had  played  in  the  piece 
before  acted  better  than  ever.  I  mention  this  because 
the  same  thing  struck  me.     Bancroft  was  most  excel- 


VALUED   LETTERS  89 

lent,  and  I  have  never  seen  him  succeed  in  sinking  his 
own  identity  so  much  as  in  the  last  act.  I  felt 
grateful  to  the  folks  on  the  stage-side  of  the  foot- 
lights, and  I  am  not  given  to  that  sort  of  gratitude. 

If  the  revival  should  draw,  could  not  the  first  and 
third  acts  be  relieved  of  some  ten  minutes'  talk  ? 
Cut  wherever  you  like.  I  shan't  wince,  for  I  don't 
care  about  either  the  first  or  the  last  acts.  If  they 
had  been  less  perfectly  acted  they  would  have  missed 
fire,  and  deservedly. 

Yours  very  sincerely, 

T.  W.  Robertson. 

No  letter  in  our  collection  is  more  valued  by  us  ; 
for,  as  will  be  told  later  on,  the  writer  never  saw  a 
play  in  the  little  theatre  again.  It  was  followed  by 
corroboration  jfrom  another  critical  pen,  that  of  Dion 
Boucicault,  the  brilliant  father  of  an  accomplished 
son,  the  present  owner  of  the  name.  The  latter  has 
been  our  friend  from  his  childhood,  in  the  days  when, 
as  a  plucky  little  boy  only  just  able  to  swim,  he  took 
"  headers  "  with  me  into  the  deep  sea  off  the  stern  of 
a  fishing-smack  at  Scarborough. 

326,  Regent  Street, 

November  27,  1870. 

My  dear  Bancroft, — 

Accept  my  warmest  congratulations  on  the 
very  great  improvement  in  the  present  performance 
of  Ours  over  the  original  cast,  especially  in  the  part 
of  Chalcot. 

The  tone  of  the  whole  is  elevated,  and  I  entertain 
no  doubt  the  play  will  hyave  a  second  run. 

Mrs.  Bancroft  was  herself  throughout  admirable. 
Give  her  my  love.     She  looked  good  enough  to  eat, 
every  bit.     Her  dresses  were  exquisite.     Why  do  they 
call  the  "  roly-poly  "  farce  ?     It  is  eminently  natural. 
Yours  very  sincerely, 

Dion   Boucicault. 

The  approval  bestowed  upon  the  new  Hugh 
Chalcot  by  Robertson  and  Boucicault  was  borne  out 


90    ROBERTSON   AND   HIS   COMEDIES 

by  the  critics.  A  well-known  writer  stated  that  I 
had  never  been  seen  to  greater  advantage.  Hugh 
Chalcot  was  a  thoroughly  English  character,  and  it 
was  played  as  though  it  was  my  own  character, 
instead  of  a  creation  by  Robertson.  No  part  in  the 
piece,  he  went  on,  pleased  the  audience  better,  and 
the  merit  was  the  greater  inasmuch  as  the  character 
was  decidedly  foreign  to  anything  I  had  hitherto 
attempted. 

The  effective  part  of  Sergeant  Jones  was  admir- 
ably played  in  this  revival  by  Charles  CoUette,  whose 
quiet  humour  about  "  the  twins  "  was  as  good  as  his 
manly  pathos  when  told  that  the  infants  would  be 
cared  for  during  his  absence  at  the  war.  No  doubt 
CoUette's  early  career  as  a  subaltern  in  the  3rd 
Dragoon  Guards  was  of  use  to  him. 

It  being  manifest  that  the  play  would  enjoy  a  long 
career,  we  ventured  to  offer  Robertson  an  increase 
on  the  modest  fees  we  had  paid  him  during  the 
original  run.  His  reply  to  a  letter  wishing  him  to 
agree  to  this  proposal  prompts  me  to  note  that  he  was 
the  first  of  my  friends  to  call  me  "  B.," — an  abbrevia- 
tion in  which  I  have  ever  since  rejoiced. 

Wednesday  Morning,  December  7,  1870. 

Dear  B., — 

Don't  be  offended  that  I  return  your  cheque. 
I  recognise  your  kindness  and  intention  to  the  full ; 
but  having  thought  the  matter  over,  I  cannot 
reconcile  it  to  my  sense  of  justice  and  probity  to  take 
more  than  I  bargained  for.  An  arrangement  is  an 
arrangement,  and  cannot  be  played  fast  and  loose 
with.  If  a  man — say  an  author — goes  in  for  a 
certain  sum,  he  must  be  content  with  it,  and  "  seek 
no  new " ;  if  he  goes  in  for  a  share,  he  must  take 
good  and  bad  luck  too.  So  please  let  Ou7^s  be  paid 
for  at  the  sum  originally  agreed  upon.  With  kind 
love  to  Marie,  and  many  thanks, 

I  am,  yours  always, 

T.  W.  Robertson. 


A  LETTER  FROM   RUSKIN  91 

It  may  interest  our  readers  to  be  told  that  the 
highest  fees  paid  by  us  to  Robertson  were  at  the  rate 
of  five  pounds  for  each  performance  of  his  comedies. 
In  earUer  days  for  his  many  works,  chiefly  adapta- 
tions from  French  plays  and  novels,  such  as  Still 
Waters  Run  Deep  and  The  Ticket-of- Leave  Man, 
Tom  Taylor  was  content  with  a  single  payment  of  fifty 
pounds  an  act — a  powerful  contrast  to  the  percentage 
demanded  by  modern  dramatists. 

A  propos  of  the  fortunate  career  which  followed 
the  revival  of  Ours,  a  letter  from  one  so  eminent  as 
Mr.  Ruskin  naturally  gave  us  much  pleasure : 

Denmark  Hill^ 

March  16,  1871. 

My  dear  Mr.  Bancroft, — 

I  cannot  refuse  myself  the  indulgence  of 
thanking  you  for  the  great  pleasure  we  had  at  the 
play  on  Wednesday  last.  As  regards  myself,  it  is  a 
duty  no  less  than  an  indulgence  to  do  so,  for  I  get 
more  help  in  my  own  work  from  a  good  play  than 
from  any  other  kind  of  thoughtful  rest. 

It  would  not  indeed  have  been  of  much  use  to  see 
this  one  while  Mrs.  Bancroft  could  not  take  part  in 
it ;  but  much  as  I  enjoy  her  acting  and  yours,  I  wish 
the  piece,  with  its  general  popular  interest,  did  not 
depend  so  entirely  upon  you  two,  and,  when  you  two 
are  resting,  on  the  twins.  I  was  disappointed  with 
Mr.  Hare's  part ;  not  with  his  doing  of  it,  but  with 
his  having  so  little  to  do.  However,  that  was  partly 
my  own  mistake,  for  I  had  a  fixed  impression  on  my 
mind  that  he  was  to  wear  a  lovely  costume  of  blue 
and  silver,  with  ostrich  feathers,  and,  when  he  was 
refused,  to  order  all  the  company  to  be  knouted,  and 
send  the  heroine  to  Siberia. 

In  spite  of  his  failure  in  not  coming  up  to  my 
expectations,  will  you  please  give  him  my  kind 
regards,  and  believe  me, 

Yours  very  gratefully, 

J.    RUSKIN. 


V 


92     ROBERTSON  AND   HIS   COMEDIES 

We  revived  Ours  again  with  great  success  in  1876, 
the  most  notable  change  in  the  cast  being  that  Ellen 
Terry  played  the  heroine  ;  and  when  we  decided  that 
our  last  performances  in  the  old  Prince  of  Wales's 
Theatre  ought  to  be  of  a  play  by  Robertson,  it  was 
Ours  that  we  selected  for  our  farewell  to  that 
prosperous  first  home.  When  we  revived  it  yet  once 
again  at  the  Haymarket  in  1882,  the  performances 
evoked  an  extraordinary  amount  of  public  curiosity. 
Of  the  cast  on  this  occasion  it  is  interesting  stage 
history  to  mention  that  Pinero  was  the  Colonel 
Shendryn ;  Arthur  Cecil,  Prince  Petrovsky ;  and 
Mrs.  Langtry,  Blanche  Haye.  One  evening  a  few 
years  earlier,  chatting,  happily,  with  Millais  at  a 
dinner  party,  I  lingered  in  his  delightful  company, 
not  knowing  that  more  people  were  coming  later,  and 
when  we  went  upstairs,  a  lady  was  standing  in  the 
middle  of  the  drawing-room,  very  plainly  dressed  in 
black — one  of  a  small  group.  We  both  exclaimed  at 
once,  "  Who  is  that  lovely  woman  ? "  I  asked  a 
generally  well-informed  man,  who  said,  "  I  am  told 
she  is  a  Mrs.  Langworthy,  or  Lang-something ;  and 
that  her  father  is  the  Dean  of  Jersey."  Later  in  the 
year,  at  Lord  Houghton's  and  several  other  houses, 
we  met  again.  Mrs.  Langtry  was  then  famous,  with 
all  London  running  at  her  heels.  The  dinner  party 
I  have  spoken  of  chanced  to  be  the  debut  of  the  lady 
whose  name  soon  afterwards  was  known  by  every  one. 
We  have  a  charming  drawing  of  her  given  to  us  by 
poor  Frank  Miles,  with  a  pendant,  also  by  him,  of 
Mrs.  Cornwallis  West  in  the  zenith  of  her  beauty. 

Of  this  revival  of  Ours,  The  Times  remarked — 
betraying,  perhaps,  that  age  was  beginning  to  tell  on 
the  comedy — that  the  whole  performance  was  an 
admirable  argument  in  favour  of  those  who  believed 
that  the  real  life  of  the  theatre  is  in  the  actor  and  not 
in  the  dramatist.  So  long  as  my  wife  and  myself 
sustained  our  present  characters,  there  was  no  fear 
that  Ours  would  lose  its  popularity.  "  These  per- 
formers will  always  impart  prestige  to  any  piece  by 


ROBERTSON'S   MASTERPIECE         93 

Robertson."  Altogether,  we  acted  Ours  seven  hun- 
dred times,  and  more  than  once,  before  or  after  a  new 
production,  we  found  the  old  play  a  trusty,  faithful 
friend.  It  was  the  last  of  the  Robertson  comedies 
revived  under  our  management,  when  we  played  it 
for  a  short  time  during  our  farewell  season. 

"  Caste  " 

Although  Ours  contains  the  finest  act — the 
second — Caste  is  the  author's  masterpiece.  It  was 
the  third  of  the  comedies  he  wrote  for  us.  More 
than  forty  years  have  passed  away  since  it  was 
produced,  and  few  modern  plays  have  survived  that 
length  of  time,  to  be  still  acted  with  success.  Our 
remembrance  remains  keen  of  the  author's  reading  of 
his  work  to  the  little  band  of  players  who  had  the 
privilege  to  act  it  first  and  to  create  its  seven 
splendidly  contrasted  characters.  George  Honey 
played  the  boldly  painted,  bibulous  Eccles.  This 
admirable  comedian  began  his  career  as  call-boy  at 
the  Haymarket  Theatre,  and  told  us  that  he  well 
remembered  the  snuffing  of  candles  round  the  dress 
circle  between  the  acts.  Perhaps  no  young  actor — 
and  our  old  friend  Sir  John  Hare  was  a  very  young 
man  in  those  days — was  ever  given  a  finer  oppor- 
tunity to  establish  a  reputation  so  early  in  his  career 
than  in  the  three  strongly  contrasted  Robertson 
characters  he  first  acted :  the  sleepy  old  peer  in 
Society,  the  diplomatic  Russian  Prince  in  Ours,  and 
the  out-spoken  gasfitter,  Sam  Gerridge,  in  Caste,  It 
is  one  of  the  bright  remembrances  of  the  youthful 
management. 

Of  poor  Fred  Younge,  who  was  afterwards  killed 
in  a  railway  accident,  we  used  to  say  that  he  really 
grew  to  believe  himself  to  be  George  d'Alroy,  so 
earnestly  did  he  seem  to  live  in  the  part  and  breathe 
its  joys  and  sorrows.  Lydia  Foote's  charming  and 
sympathetic  acting  as  Esther  Eccles  may  still  be 
remembered  by  old  playgoers.     Miss  Larkin,  a  very 


94     ROBERTSON   AND   HIS   COMEDIES 

capable  actress  whom  we  introduced  to  the  London 
stage,  was  the  first  Marquise.  The  characters  of 
Polly  Eccles  and  Captain  Hawtree  call  for  individual 
remark,  having  been  so  long  and  so  closely  associated 
with  ourselves. 

My  wife  says :  Caste  was  especially  endeared  to 
me  by  the  dedication,  "  from  her  grateful  Friend  and 
Fellow  Labourer,  the  Author."  I  loved  the  part  of 
Polly  for  the  innate  fine  qualities  of  her  nature ;  her 
devotion  to  her  dissolute,  worthless  father  ;  her  filial 
desire  to  screen  him  ;  her  love  for  her  sister  ;  her  real 
goodness  with  a  rough  exterior  ;  the  under- current  of 
mischief  and  keen  appreciation  of  humour.  I  enjoyed 
the  boundless  love  of  fun,  the  brisk  gaiety  of  Polly's 
happy  nature,  and  I  felt,  acutely,  the  pathos  of  her 
serious  scenes. 

The  character  is  very  dramatic  in  parts,  and 
requires  all  the  nervous  acting  I  could  bring  to  bear 
upon  it.  The  last  act  of  Caste  is  the  longest  in 
which  I  ever  appeared,  and  the  longest  in  modern 
drama,  but,  as  a  leading  critic  wrote,  "  not  a  minute 
too  long."  It  played  an  hour  and  twenty  minutes, 
and  Polly  is  seldom  off  the  stage  throughout  it. 
Almost  every  word  she  has  to  say  is  a  pearl,  so  to 
speak ;  the  sudden  transitions  from  broad  comic 
humour  to  deep  feeHng  pleased  me,  and  my  heart 
was  in  my  work.  Polly  Eccles,  as  a  work  of  art,  no 
doubt  stood  first  in  the  list  of  my  Robertson  parts ; 
a  wide  range  of  feeling  must  be  at  command  to 
reproduce  fully  the  intentions  of  the  author.  I  was 
very  proud  to  read  in  The  Times :  "To  have  seen 
Mrs.  Bancroft  in  this  character  is  to  have  witnessed  a 
piece  of  acting  unsurpassed.  She  attains  the  extreme 
point  reached  in  domestic  comedy." 

At  the  memorable  reading  of  Caste,  Robertson, 
after  describing  the  home  of  the  Eccles  family,  said, 
"  Enter  George  d'Alroy  and  Captain  Hawtree,  one 
fair,   the   other  dark."      At   the   close,   the   part   of 


FIRST   "BANCROFT   PART*'  95 

Hawtree,  to  my  delight,  was  handed  to  me.  During 
the  early  rehearsals  of  the  comedy,  I  was  dining  on  a 
Sunday  evening  with  Sothern.  I  was  the  baby  of 
the  party,  and  remember  well  the  pleasure  of  being 
presented  to  John  Oxenford,  who  was  then  dramatic 
critic  to  The  Times  in  the  days  of  the  dominion  of 
Delane.  There  was,  however,  a  real  baby  in  the 
drawing-room,  who  was  cuddling  the  head  of  a  great 
tiger-skin  before  the  fire:  he  is  now  well  known  to 
the  stage  as  "  Sam  "  Sothern — a  name,  by  the  way, 
for  which  his  godfathers  and  godmother  were  not 
responsible.  At  dinner  I  found  myself  seated  next 
to  a  soldier  whose  appearance  faintly  lent  itself  to  a 
make-up  for  Hawtree.  With  some  diplomacy  I 
afterwards  went  to  Younge  and  suggested,  if  it 
would  suit  his  views,  that  he  should  be  the  fair  man. 
He  asked  how  on  earth  he  could  do  such  a  thing. 
Being  the  sentimental  hero,  he  of  course  was  intended 
to  be  dark  ;  while  I  was  equally  compelled  to  be  fair, 
and  wear  long  flaxen  whiskers  in  what  he  called  the 
dandy  or  fop,  a  conventional  stage  outrage  of  those 
days,  for  whose  death  I  think  I  must  hold  myself  . 
responsible.  I  eventually  succeeded  in  touching  a  I 
very  pardonable  vanity — the  only  drawback  to  his  ^ 
ever-to-be-remembered  performance  being  that  he 
had  already  partly  lost  his  premiere  jeunesse — by 
suggesting  that  a  chestnut-coloured  wig  would  give 
him  youth.  At  any  rate,  I  got  my  way;  but  I 
believe,  at  the  time,  I  was  by  more  than  one  actor 
thought  to  be  mad  for  venturing  to  clothe  what  was 
supposed  to  be,  more  or  less,  a  comic  part,  in  the 
quietest  of  fashionable  clothes,  and  to  appear  as  a 
pale-faced  man  with  short,  straight  black  hair.  The 
innovation  proved  to  be  as  successful  as  it  was  daring. 
The  outline  of  the  plot  of  Caste  was  first  used  in 
a  contribution  by  Robertson  to  a  Christmas  volume 
edited  by  Tom  Hood,  and  had  I  at  the  time  read  the 
story,  I  should  certainly  have  begged  Robertson  to 
retain  the  incident  of  the  loss  of  an  arm  by  the 
character    corresponding  to    Hawtree,  as  I  think  I 


96     ROBERTSON   AND    HIS   COMEDIES 

could  have  turned  it  to  good  account  in  the  last  act, 
which  takes  place  after  his  return  from  active  service. 
This  was  the  first  of  what  grew  to  be  known  as 
"  Bancroft  parts,"  a  compliment  which,  like  many 
others,  proved  by  no  means  an  unmixed  blessing  ;  a 
strong  effort  on  my  part  was  needed  later  on  to  avoid 
the  doom  of  playing  no  others. 

Brief  extracts  from  long  eulogies  will  suffice  to 
record  the  effect  of  the  production.  With  the  aid  of 
only  two  simple  scenes,  a  boudoir  in  Mayfair  and  a 
humble  lodging  in  Lambeth,  Robertson  was  declared 
to  have  succeeded  in  concentrating  an  accumulation 
of  incident  and  satire  more  interesting  and  more 
poignant  than  might  be  found  in^ajh  the  sensational 
dramas  of  the  last  half-century.  /^The  play  had  that 
hearty  human  interest  that  springs  from  the  vigorous 
portraiture  of  character  and  the  truthful  representa- 
tion of  life  and  manners  as  they  really  are.  The 
characters  looked  and  talked  so  like  beings  of  every- 
day life  that  they  were  mistaken  for  such,  and  the 
audience  had  a  curiosity  to  know  how  they  were 
getting  on  after  the  fall  of  the  curtain.  .  .  .  The 
comedy  was  said  to  be  acted  with  that  completeness 
which  was  essentially  the  chief  characteristic  of  our 
theatre,  while  it  was  placed  on  the  stage  with  a  most 
studious  attention  to  all  those  details  of  decoration 
which  rendered  perfect  the  illusion  of  the  scene.  At 
the  end  of  each  act  the  curtain  was  raised  in  response 
to  the  genuine  acclamations  of  the  house,  when  the 
tableau  was  ingeniously  changed  to  mark  the  natural 
progress  of  the  story.  This  novelty,  indeed,  proved 
very  successful,  and  has  been  imitated  often  since. 

A  little  incident  which  occurred  soon  afterwards 
at  any  rate  testifies  to  the  natural  effect  of  my 
make-up  as  Hawtree.  We  played  the  first  act  of 
Caste  at  Covent  Garden  for  the  benefit  of  William 
Harrison,  the  celebrated  tenor  and  former  rival  of 
Sims  Reeves,  in  the  theatre  where  he,  Louisa  Pyne, 
and  Charles  Santley  had  done  so  much  for  English 
opera.     We  wrongly  guessed  the  time  at  which  our 


p.  96] 


MARIE    BANCROFT    AND    JOHN    llAKK    IN    "  CASTE  ' 
"Oh,  the  ghost  I— the  ghost !  " 


COPYRIGHT  d7 

item  in  the  long  programme  would  be  given,  and  an 
eccentric-looking  trio,  formed  by  John  Hare,  dressed 
as  Sam  Gerridge  the  gasfitter,  Arthur  Sketchley, 
then  well  known  as  an  entertainer,  in  evening  dress 
(ready  for  "  Mrs.  Brown  at  the  Play "  between  the 
acts),  and  Captain  Hawtree,  walked  over  to  an  hotel  in 
Bow  Street  in  the  dusk  of  an  intensely  hot  evening, 
and  asked  for  brandies-and-sodas,  to  the  amazement 
of  some  occupants  of  the  coffee-room,  who  could 
not  understand  the  gasfitter 's  familiarity  with  his 
companions. 

In  those  days  there  was  no  copyright  law  with 
America,  and  Robertson  was  cruelly  robbed  of  the 
large  fees  he  should  have  received.  Shorthand 
experts  were  placed,  for  several  successive  nights,  in 
different  parts  of  the  theatre  to  take  down  the  text 
of  Caste.  This  was  so  secretly  and  cleverly  done  as 
to  enable  the  play  to  be  acted  throughout  the  United 
States  without  one  cent  of  payment — the  work,  it  is 
to  be  the  more  regretted,  of  an  actor.  He  is  since 
dead,  so  I  will  not  write  his  name. 

In  some  respects  our  experiences  with  Caste  were 
the  same  as  with  Ours,  Its  success  on  its  original 
production  in  1867  was  very  great ;  but  the  triumph 
in  1871  of  the  first  of  its  several  revivals  was  far 
greater,  due  largely,  no  doubt,  to  the  increased  fame 
acquired  in  the  meantime  by  the  play,  its  author,  and 
its  interpreters.  The  only  material  change  in  the  dis- 
tribution of  characters  was  that  Charles  Coghlan 
played  d'Alroy.  Night  after  night  the  little  house 
in  Tottenham  Street  was  transformed  into  the  "  little 
house  in  Stangate  "  (the  home  of  the  Eccles  family), 
and  on  both  occasions  we  only  withdrew  Caste  to 
make  room  for  another  play,  that  we  might  continue 
a  principle  already  formed  of  making  a  repertoire, 
Y**  Not  a  vacant  seat  in  the  stalls,  boxes  full,  dress 
circle  full,  every  place  occupied ;  and  not  only  this, 
but  the  same  air  of  refinement,  that  unmistakable 
stamp  of  audience  with  which  it  is  pleasant  to  asso- 
ciate,  and   which   makes   a   visit   to   the   Prince   of 


98     ROBERTSON   AND   HIS   COMEDIES 

Wales's  one  of  the  pleasantest  treats  which  can  fall 
to  the  lot  of  the  playgoer."  Polly  was  again  the 
object  of  extraordinary  praise ;  while  of  Hawtree  a 
leading  critic  wrote  that  it  was — and  is — the  perfec- 
tion of  acting,  and  in  the  highest  sense  a  most  artistic 
assumption.  Another  friendly  pen  wrote  long  years 
afterwards :  "  Could  nine  hundred  and  ninety-nine 
actors  out  of  a  thousand  suppress  or  avoid  the 
farcical,  or  make  the  part  the  magnetising  human 
study  Bancroft  made  of  it  ? " 

It    was    sometimes    said    that     the    Robertson 
r  comedies  could  only  be  effective  in  a  small  theatre. 

To  refute  this  let  me  state  that  in  the  summer  of 
1873  we  played  Caste  for  a  few  weeks  at  the 
enormous  Standard  Theatre  in  Shoreditch.  It  was  a 
risky  experiment  to  act  this  delicate  comedy  in  a 
theatre  larger  even  than  Drury  Lane  and  before  an 
East-end  audience,  and  we  ourselves  were  a  little  in 
doubt  as  to  the  result ;  but  any  fears  we  entertained 
were  soon  dispelled,  for  densely  packed  houses  nightly 
received  the  play  with  enthusiasm,  appreciating  fully 
i  its  most  tender  scenes,  and  listening  with  rapt  atten- 

\  tion.     The  case  was  well  put  in  a  long  article  on  this 

\^  engagement  in  which  it  was  said  that,  apart  from  the 
perfection  of  the  play  and  players,  that  East-end 
theatre  was  a  sight  worth  going  far  to  see  when  the 
play  was  Caste  and  the  players  the  Prince  of  Wales's 
company.  From  basement  to  ceiling  within  its  vast 
area  gathered  night  after  night  interested,  intelligent, 
enthusiastic  audiences,  who  received  the  play  with 
storms  of  impulsive  applause.  It  made  the  writer 
wonder  whether,  "  wise  as  we  were,"  we  did  not  err 
in  one  respect — that  of  playing  ordinarily  in  too 
small  a  theatre  for  the  attractions  we  offered  and  the 
amazing  popularity  we  commanded. 

The  play  was  again  revived  with  all  its  old  success 
in  1879,  when  John  Clayton  played  George  d'Alroy ; 
Arthur  Cecil,  Gerridge ;  and  the  ill-starred  Amy 
Roselle,  Esther.  George  Honey  was  re-engaged  for 
his  original  part,  Eccles  ;  and  I  may  mention  that,  so 


A  TRAGIC   EPISODE  99 

rapid,  through  our  initiative,  had  been  the  advance  in 
theatrical  salaries,  that  he  then  drew  sixty  pounds  a 
week,  with  a  guarantee  for  not  less  than  six  months, 
as  against  eighteen  pounds  when  he  first  played  the 
part,  but  little  more  than  ten  years  earlier. 

It  was  during  this  revival  that  poor  Honey  was 
stricken  with  a  fatal  illness.  For  some  time  he  had 
not  been  well,  and  spoke  of  rheumatism  in  his  arm 
and  side  ;  we  learnt  afterwards  that  for  some  days 
he  had  changed  part  of  his  business  on  the  stage,  and 
acted,  as  it  were,  left-handed ;  but,  in  all  his  long 
connection  with  us,  Honey  had  never  once  felt  ill 
enough  to  fail  in  his  work,  nor  was  he  of  a  com- 
plaining nature.  When  I  left  the  stage  after  the 
scene  in  which  Polly  teaches  Captain  Hawtree  the 
proper  use  of  a  tea-kettle,  I  was  in  the  nightly  habit 
of  finding  Honey  in  the  green-room.  On  this  par- 
ticular evening  he  was  not  there.  As  I  was  about 
to  put  on  my  uniform  for  the  next  act,  the  call-boy 
rushed  to  my  door,  saying,  "  Come  down,  sir,  please — 
Mr.  Honey's  in  a  fit."  I  reached  the  wings  just  as 
the  cue  was  given  for  the  entrance  of  poor  Honey, 
who  by  this  time  had  been  lifted  from  the  ground 
and  placed  in  a  chair.  The  situation  reached  in  the 
play  was  the  end  of  the  first  act,  where  George 
d'Alroy  defies  the  world,  resolving  to  marry  the 
humble  Esther  Eccles  ;  Sam  Gerridge  and  Polly,  in 
contrast,  have  been  quarrelling,  and  she  has  locked 
the  door  against  him,  retaining  the  key.  The  romance 
of  George  and  Esther,  at  its  supreme  moment,  is 
rudely  interrupted  by  the  shaking  of  the  door  from 
the  outside,  and  the  voice  of  the  now  drunken 
Eccles,  noisily  asking  to  be  let  in,  awakes  the  lovers 
from  the  land  of  dreams.  Esther  and  George  ex- 
change looks — looks  deeply  full  of  meaning — that 
carry  on  the  tale  ;  the  girl  silently  crosses  the  room, 
gets  the  key  from  her  sister,  unlocks  the  door,  when 
the  wretched  father  reels  into  the  room.  This  is 
what  happened.  There  was  no  time  for  thought; 
at  the  moment  I  only  grasped  the  fact  that  Honey 


100  ROBERTSON   AND   HIS   COMEDIES 

suddenly  was  helpless.  I  gave  the  knocks,  shook 
the  door,  crying  out  to  Polly,  in  the  voice  of  Eccles, 
for  him  to  be  let  in.  The  business  of  the  scene  was 
gone  through  without  those  upon  the  stage  knowing 
that  anything  was  wrong.  As  the  key  was  turned 
in  the  lock  I  gathered  Honey  in  my  arms,  and  held 
his  body  in  the  open  doorway,  upon  which  tableau 
the  curtain  fell.  It  took  but  a  moment  then  to 
make  the  painful  discovery  that  the  audience  had 
roared  with  laughter  at  the  powerless  form  of  a 
stricken  man.  The  late  Henry  Kemble  finished  the 
part  on  that  sad  evening,  and  continued  to  play  it  till 
the  close  of  the  revival.  Poor  Honey  lingered  for  a 
year,  but  never  really  recovered. 

Before  our  rights  in  the  Robertson  comedies  ex- 
pired we  finally  revived  Caste  at  the  Haymarket  in 
1883.  We  were  fortunate  enough  to  persuade  that 
great  actress,  Mrs.  Stirling,  to  appear  as  the 
Marquise.  She  played  the  part  as  it  had  never 
been  acted ;  the  tones  of  her  grand  voice  still  linger 
in  the  memory  as  she  said  to  her  son,  "  I  may  never 
see  you  again  :  I  am  old  ;  you  are  going  into  battle." 
We  also  were  able  to  replace  George  Honey's 
splendid  performance  of  Eccles  by  the  different  but 
able  treatment  of  David  James.  We  thought  it 
impossible  ever  to  reahse  another  Eccles,  so  keen 
was  our  remembrance  of  each  intonation  in  every 
speech  as  originally  rendered  ;  but  in  some  scenes 
we  preferred  James's  humour.  We  can  imagine  no 
funnier  treatment  of  many  lines,  and  still  laugh 
heartily  at  the  remembrance  of  his  bibulous  assur- 
ance to  the  Marquise  that  he  was  "  always  at  home 
on  Thursdays  from  three  to  six."  I  fear  this  must 
be  owned  to  be  a  "  gag,"  for  which  the  new  Eccles 
was  very  much  obliged  to  his  daughter  Polly,  and 
which  the  author,  had  he  lived,  would,  as  in  other 
cases,  certainly  have  added  to  his  book. 

And  since  those  days,  the  original  Sam  Gerridge 
of  our  company  has  added  another  striking  portrait 
of  Eccles  to  his  gallery  of  artistic  creations. 


LINLEY   SAMBOURNE'S   SOUVENIR     101 

A  pleasant  souvenir  of  the  old  play  came  from 
Linley  Sambourne,  a  gift  of  the  earliest  drawings 
he  submitted  to  Punch  when  quite  a  youngster: 
an  amusing  sketch  of  Papa  Eccles,  who  had  evi- 
dently "  met  a  friend  round  the  corner,"  supported 
by  Captain  Hawtree  and  Sam  Gerridge.  In  the 
artist's  own  words :  "  It  was  done  early  in  the  year 
1867,  when  I  was  just  beginning  to  draw,  and 
twenty-two  years  of  age.  I  went  to  the  pit  to 
delight  in  Caste,  and  drew  the  sketch  from  memory. 
The  late  Mark  Lemon  selected  it  from  others  for 
me  to  put  on  wood  for  Punch,  and  it  appeared  in 
the  number  for  July  20,  1867." 

By  a  happy  chance,  Hare  was  not  acting  in  his 
own  theatre  at  this  time,  and  the  idea  occurred  to 
us  that  it  would  be  delightful  to  all  three  if,  on  the 
last  performance  of  Caste  under  our  management,  he 
would  appear  in  his  original  character  of  the  gasman. 
His  answer  to  a  letter  suggesting  this  happy  thought 
will  best  speak  his  feelings  on  the  subject : 

The  Red  House,  Hornton  Street,  Campden  HLill, 
March  6,  1883. 

My  dear  Mrs.  Bancroft, — 

Believe  me,  I  reciprocate  all  the  kind 
feeling  expressed  in  your  letter.  It  will  be  to  me 
a  source  of  the  greatest  pleasure  to  be  once  more 
"  Sam  "  to  your  "  Polly  "  on  the  occasion  of  your 
last  appearance  in  Caste,  associated  as  that  play  is, 
in  my  mind,  with  such  a  host  of  pleasant  and  kindly 
memories.  Those  old  times  were  indeed  happy  ones, 
and  the  recollection  of  them  is  not  easily  to  be 
effaced.  Believe  me,  dear  Mrs.  Bancroft,  always 
yours, 

John  Hare. 

He,  and  all  concerned,  had  a  tremendous  re- 
ception ;  indeed,  it  would  sound  like  exaggeration  to 
describe  the  affectionate  enthusiasm  which  followed 
the  performance,  or  the  scene  that  occurred  at  the 


102   ROBERTSON   AND   HIS   COMEDIES 

close  of  it.  The  audience,  it  was  said,  seemed  as 
though  they  could  not  endure  finally  to  break  the 
association  with  the  past.  Polly  Eccles  had  been 
throughout  the  evening  the  recipient  of  magnificent 
presents  of  flowers,  one  gigantic  bouquet  bearing  her 
name  in  roses.  At  the  end  of  the  play  these  beauti- 
ful offerings  were  all  banked  up  in  every  direction 
on  the  humble  furniture  of  "the  little  house  in 
Stangate,"  while  time  after  time  Polly  Eccles  bowed 
her  adieux  to  the  excited  audience — standing  now 
with  her  old  comrade,  the  first  Sam  Gerridge,  who 
then  played  the  part  for  the  last  time,  now  with 
Mrs.  Stirling,  and  finally  again  and  again  with  her 
hand  in  Captain  Hawtree's. 

I  quote  one  sentence  only  from  the  next  day's 
wealth  of  praise :  "  To  have  seen  Mrs.  Bancroft  as 
Polly  Eccles  is  to  charge  the  memory  with  one  of 
the  most  gracious  souvenirs  it  is  likely  to  carry." 
And  so  good-bye  to  Caste, 

"  Play  " 

Robertson's  next  comedy.  Play,  which  was  pro- 
duced early  in  1868,  may  be  dismissed  briefly.  It 
was  the  least  successful  of  the  six,  and  ran  little 
more  than  a  hundred  nights.  We  never  revived 
Play.  It  was  a  tender  plant,  and  owed  much  to 
the  care  with  which  it  was  nursed.  It  was,  however, 
adorned  by  one  of  Robertson's  exquisite  love-scenes, 
"  acted  to  perfection,"  it  was  said,  by  Mrs.  Bancroft 
and  Montague,  to  the  accompaniment  of  sweet  music 

Elayed  by  the  sighing  wind  upon  the  old  iEolian 
arp  which  hung  upon  the  ruined  walls  of  the  Alte 
Schloss.  Other  parts  were  taken  by  Lydia  Foote, 
Mrs.  Leigh  Murray,  myself,  John  Hare,  and  William 
Blakeley — afterwards  for  many  years  a  prominent 
favourite  at  the  Criterion  Theatre — whom  we  intro- 
duced to  the  London  stage,  and  who,  as  Mr.  Bodmin 
Todder,  acted  with  great  humour.  Hawes  Craven 
painted  some  really  beautiful  scenery,  and  Robertson, 


CARLO   PELLEGRINI  103 

who  was  fresh  from  Baden-Baden,  suppHed  a  great 
deal  of  local  colour,  the  scene  of  the  play  being  laid 
in  Germany,  in  the  days  when  public  gambling  was 
allowed  there. 

On  the  night  of  the  fourth  performance  the 
Prince  and  Princess  of  Wales  (now  King  and  Queen) 
were  at  the  theatre,  which  we  note  from  the  fact  of 
its  being  the  first  time  his  Royal  Highness  came 
behind  the  scenes  and  honoured  the  green-room  with 
a  visit.  It  was  also  the  first  time  we  had  either  of 
us  ever  met  and  been  in  conversation  with  the  Prince, 
whose  well-known  love  of  exactitude  in  such  matters 
enabled  us  to  correct  a  slight  error  in  some  German 
uniforms  worn  in  the  play.  We  also  record,  as  in- 
teresting, that  his  Royal  Highness  was  accompanied 
by  Frederic  Leighton,  subsequently  President  of  the 
Royal  Academy,  and  Carlo  Pellegrini,  whose  amazing 
caricatures,  with  the  now  historic  signature  "  Ape," 
were  then  first  attracting  attention.  A  propos  of  one 
of  them,  I  remember  asking  Edmund  Yates  what 
a  mutual  friend  would  say  about  Pellegrini's  cari- 
cature of  him,  which  certainly  was  a  little  trying. 
"  Say,  my  dear  B.  ?  He  will  tell  everybody  he 
thinks  it  delightful ;  but  when  he  gets  home  he  will 
lock  the  door  and  rub  his  head  in  the  hearth-rug !  " 
Pellegrini  drew  some  special  and  rather  elaborate 
caricatures  of  Irving  as  Benedick  and  of  myself  as 
Captain  Hawtree.  No  "  sittings  "  were  ever  given 
for  his  work,  his  notes  for  them  being  taken  generally 
when  the  subject  did  not  know  it,  and  the  sketches 
made  from  memory.  Later  on  he  painted  a  portrait 
in  oils  of  me,  and,  in  a  characteristic  note,  said:  "  I  have 
sent  your  facsimile  to  the  Grosvenor  Gallery  :  I  hope 
you  will  be  well  hanged — I  mean  the  portrait." 
Poor  "  Pelican  "  I — a  most  amusing  creature,  and  a 
fund  of  merriment  to  his  multitude  of  friends. 

Our  only  further  acquaintance  with  Phy  was 
once  seeing  it  acted — and  very  well  acted,  too — 
by  those  clever  amateurs,  the  "  Windsor  Strollers " 
— our  chief  remembrance  being  the  really  admirably 


104   ROBERTSON   AND   HIS   COMEDIES 

performances  of  the  two  comic  characters  by  Arthur 
Gooch  and  Mrs.  Wrottesley. 

"  School  " 

Of  School,  our  next  Robertson  comedy,  there  is 
a  very  different  story  to  tell.  It  was  the  most 
successful  play  he  ever  wrote..  Both  in  its  initial 
run  and  in  the  total  number  of  performances  given 
during  our  revivals  it  eclipsed  its  rivals,  Ours  and 
Caste,  Altogether  we  played  School  eight  hundred 
times,  while  the  total  performances  of  Ours  reached 
seven  hundred  and  of  Caste  six  hundred  and  fifty. 
To  say  this  is  not  to  say  that  School  was  Robert- 
son's best  play.  Caste  is  beyond  comparison  more 
dramatic,  and  School  contains  no  scene  to  equal  the 
second  act  of  Ours,  But  the  public,  as  ever,  were 
masters  of  the  situation,  and  on  its  first  production 
the  play  ran  from  January  1869  to  April  1870.  It 
benefited,  no  doubt,  by  the  growing  prestige  of  both 
theatre  and  author,  and  the  success  of  his  earlier 
plays,  as  not  infrequently  happens  in  the  case  of 
novels  and  pictures,  or  other  distinguished  works  in 
the  beautiful  world  of  Art. 

Robertson  acknowledged  indebtedness  for  the 
outline  of  his  plot  to  a  German  play  by  Roderick 
Benedix,  called  Aschenbrodel  (Cinderella).  This, 
doubtless,  accounts  for  the  anomaly  of  finding  a 
resident  usher  in  a  girls'  school,  as  well  as  for  the 
parody  on  the  pumpkin  and  the  glass  slipper  in  the 
last  act,  though  one  well-informed  critic  suggested 
that  Robertson's  youthful  experiences  in  the  days 
of  privation,  when  he  attempted  to  take  an  usher's 
place  in  Hamburg,  may  have  furnished  a  few  hints. 
Another  piece  of  indebtedness  gives  a  curious  in- 
stance of  how  innocently  a  writer  may  plagiarise. 
Robertson  one  morning,  when  the  rehearsals  were 
well  advanced,  added  a  few  lines  to  a  speech  of 
Jack  Poyntz  in  the  third  act,  and  said,  "  At  a  theatre 
last  night  I  was  introduced  to  a  lady,  who  told  me 


UNCONSCIOUS   PLAGIARISM         105 

that,  although  I  had  forgotten  her,  she  well  remem- 
bered me,  reminding  me  where  we  had  met  before, 
and  adding  that  I  then  made  use  of  these  words : 
'  When  Nature  makes  a  pretty  woman,  she  puts  all 
the  goods  into  the  shop-window.'  Whether  I  ever 
did  say  them  or  not  I  haven't  the  least  idea,  but 
they  seem  to  me  quite  good  enough  for  Jack  Poyntz," 
and  he  wrote  them  into  the  part.  Some  years  after, 
when  reading  Goldsmith's  comedy  The  Good- 
natured  Man,  to  see  if  we  thought  it  worth  re- 
vival, this  sentence  from  the  mouth  of  Miss  Richland 
was  revealed  :  "  Our  sex  are  like  poor  tradesmen, 
that  put  all  their  best  goods  to  be  seen  at  the 
windows." 

We  ourselves  were  responsible,  through  certain 
suggestions  offered  to  the  author,  for  the  addition 
of  one  of  its  most  effective  scenes,  sparkling  with 
satire  and  badinage,  between  Jack  Poyntz  and 
Naomi — so  admirable  in  contrast  to  the  "  milk-jug," 
sentimental  love-scene  which  it  immediately  fol- 
lowed, and  of  which  the  doyen  of  the  critics,  John 
Oxenford,  wrote  that  the  dialogue  between  the  young 
lord  and  Bella,  while  they  conversed  in  the  moonlight 
contemplating  their  own  strongly  cast  shadows,  and 
fancifully  commenting  upon  them,  was  replete  with 
the  prettiest  conceits,  in  which  it  was  hard  to  say 
whether  wit  or  sentiment  had  the  mastery.  The 
acting  of  Montague  and  Carlotta  Addison  in  this 
scene  is  a  delightful  memory.  The  comedy  was 
originally  divided  into  three  acts,  and  it  was  with 
difficulty  we  persuaded  the  author  to  change  them 
into  the  then  novel  number  of  four.  We  were 
never  in  doubt  as  to  the  issue.  A  few  days  before 
the  production,  in  a  letter  to  an  old  friend,  I  wrote 
these  words  :  "  We  are  on  the  eve  of  the  greatest 
success  we  have  yet  enjoyed."  And  so  it  proved. 
The  critics  were  unanimous  in  a  wealth  of  praise  for 
theatre,  author,  and  actors.  The  Times  review  of 
the  play  began  with  these  flattering  words  :  "  The 
fact  is  not  to  be  denied  that  the  production  of  a  new 


's. 


106   ROBERTSON   AND   HIS   COMEDIES 

comedy  by  Mr.  T.  W.  Robertson  at  the  theatre 
which,  once  obscure,  has  become  the  most  fashion- 
able in  London,  is  now  to  be  regarded  as  one  of  the 
most  important  events  of  the  dramatic  year."  The 
success,  in  the  opinion  of  the  same  critic,  achieved 
by  School  echpsed  all  previous  triumphs  of  the  author, 
and  was  greatly  to  be  attributed  to  the  manner  in 
which  it  was  played,  to  "that  polished  perfection 
of  realisation  that  pervades  the  management  of  the 
Prince  of  Wales's  Theatre  down  to  its  minutest 
details." 

Edmund  Yates,  in  a  signed  article,  called  School 
the  most  fascinating  of  all  the  Robertson  plays,  the 
sunniest,  pleasantest,  brightest  of  idylls,  plotless 
indeed,  but  how  interesting  and  amusing,  its  dialogue 
crisp  with  metaphor  and  crackling  with  antithesis. 
And  it  was,  he  declared,  acted  to  perfection — a 
strong  term,  but  a  fit  one.  "  I  do  not  think  it  would 
have  been  possible  to  have  had  any  of  the  characters 
better  played." 

The  two  hundred  and  fiftieth  performance  of 
School  deserves  a  brief  record.  It  was  honoured  by 
a  second  visit  from  the  King  and  Queen,  then 
Prince  and  Princess  of  Wales.  The  evening  was 
terribly  foggy,  and  during  the  performance  it  became 
so  exceptionally  dense  and  thick  that  at  the  close 
the  streets  were  dangerous  to  traverse.  At  eleven 
o'clock  the  Royal  carriages,  after  great  difficulty — the 
coachmen  having  lost  their  way  in  Clifford  Street — 
arrived  safely,  surrounded  by  a  large  body  of  police, 
bearing  torches,  who  so  escorted  the  Prince  and 
Princess  of  Wales  to  Marlborough  House. 

The  following  letter  from  the  brilliant  comedian 
who  for  so  many  years  adorned  the  English  stage 
will  tell  its  own  tale : 

Edinburgh, 

November  27,  1869. 

My  dear  Mrs.  Bancroft, — 

You  will  never  guess  what  I  am  going  to 
Hsk  you,  and  still  less  why  X  ask  it.. 


CHARLES   MATHEWS  107 

Will  you  and  the  principal  members  of  your 
company  play  me  a  scene  from  a  short  act  at  Covent 
Garden  on  Tuesday  morning,  January  4  ?  "  Good 
gracious  !  "  you  exclaim,  **  what  on  earth  for  ? " 
Because  it  is  my  farewell  previous  to  leaving  for 
Australia  !  If  after  this  you  can  resist,  if  you  do 
not  with  tears  in  your  eyes  falter  out,  "  I  consent," 
you  are  made  of  sterner  stuff  than  I  give  you  credit 
for.  Give  my  kind  regards  to  Bancroft  and  ask  him 
to  join  in  the  good  work.  Say  what  you  will  play, 
and  rely  on  it  that  the  *'  approbation  of  our  kind 
friends  before  us  "  will  be  certain. 

A  line  to  Pelham  Crescent  will  reach  me  ;  and 
in  the  meantime  I  will  meditate  on  the  most  gracious 
form  in  which  I  can  express  my  thanks. 

Faithfully  yours, 

C.  J.  Mathews. 

The  performance,  which  was  in  many  ways 
memorable,  took  place  before  a  splendid  audience  ; 
all  the  leading  actors  of  the  day  appeared  in  various 
selections.  The  principal  members  of  our  own 
company  played  the  "Examination"  scene  from 
School,  in  which  Naomi  Tighe  could  not  resist 
improvising  an  extra  question  to  be  put  to  her  as 
to  "  What  she  considered  would  be  the  most 
valuable  possession  of  Australia  ? "  The  answer, 
"  Charles  Mathews,  of  course,"  appealed  at  once  to 
the  hilarity  of  the  audience. 

Afterwards  a  banquet  was  given  to  the  great 
comedian,  at  which  he  presided  himself  and  proposed 
his  own  health  in  a  most  amusing  speech. 

"  The  important  task  assigned  to  me  has  now  to 
be  fulfilled,  and  I  rise  to  propose  what  is  called  the 
toast  of  the  evening  with  a  mixture  of  pleasure  and 
trepidation.  I  was  going  to  say  that  I  was  placed 
in  not  only  a  novel  but  an  unprecedented  position, 
by  being  asked  to  occupy  the  chair  to-day.  But  it 
is  not  so.  There  is  nothing  new  in  saying  that  there 
is  nothing  new ;  and  I  find  in  The  Times  newspaper 


108   ROBERTSON   AND   HIS   COMEDIES 

of  October  3,  1798,  an  advertisement  of  a  dinner 
given  to  Mr.  Fox  on  the  anniversary  of  his  first 
election  for  Westminster.  '  The  Hon.  Charles  James 
Fox  in  the  chair.'  Here  is  a  great  precedent ;  and 
what  was  done  in  1798  by  Charles  James  Fox  is  only 
imitated  in  1870  by  Charles  James  Mathews.  I 
venture  to  assert,  and  I  think  I  may  do  so  without 
vanity,  that  a  fitter  man  than  myself  to  propose  the 
health  of  our  guest  could  not  be  found ;  for  I 
emphatically  affirm  that  there  is  no  man  so  well 
acquainted  with  the  merits  and  demerits  of  that 
gifted  individual  as  I  am.  I  have  been  on  the  most 
intimate  terms  with  him  from  his  earliest  youth.  I 
have  shared  in  all  his  joys  and  griefs,  and  am  proud 
to  have  this  opportunity  of  publicly  declaring  that 
there  is  not  a  man  on  earth  for  whom  I  entertain  so 
sincere  a  regard  and  affection." 

When  we  revived  School  in  1873,  only  a  little 
more  than  three  years  after  its  withdrawal,  it  was 
played  for  seven  months  ;  the  principal  change  in 
the  cast  was  that  Charles  Coghlan  replaced  Harry 
Montague  as  Lord  Beaufoy.  Montague's  bright  career 
was  cut  short  by  almost  sudden  death  in  America, 
where  his  personal  charm  had  made  him  as  great 
a  favourite  as  he  had  been  here.  When  in  his 
happy  company,  he  had  the  gift  of  giving  you 
the  idea  that  he  had  thought  of  nothing  but  you 
since  your  last  parting,  and  when  he  said  "  Good- 
bye "  that  you  would  live  in  his  memory  until  you 
met  again. 

A  leading  critic  wrote  of  the  revival  that  such 
an  author  as  Robertson  might  have  gone  to  his 
grave  unhonoured  and  unknown  had  it  not  been 
for  those  who  so  truly  appreciated  his  particular 
sentiment ;  adding  that  it  was  little  less  than 
marvellous  how  the  spirit  and  meaning  of  such 
a  play  as  School  was  sustained  after  five  hundred 
representations. 

The  following  letter  was  from  that  clever  old 
lady  Mrs.  Procter,  the  widow  of  "  Barry  Cornwall." 


i 


MRS.   PROCTER  109 

She  was  well  known  and  much  beloved  in  those 
days. 

32,  Weymouth  Street,  Portland  Place, 
January  2,  1874. 

My  dear  Mrs.  Bancroft, — 

It  was  very  like  you  sending  me  that  pretty 
little  New  Year's  note. 

I  thought  I  should  like  to  give  myself  a  treat 
in  1874,  and  so  went  to  see  you.  "Time  has  not 
touched  your  infinite  variety  " ;  I  laughed  and  cried 
as  I  have  done  before. 

Your  note  will  be  placed  in  my  book  of  letters. 
I  think  you  shall  be  put  between  Dr.  Parr  and  Lord 
Brougham — no,  Naomi  Tighe  shall  be  next  Lord 
Byron  and  Shelley ;  Jack  won't  mind.  My  regards 
to  Mr.  Bancroft. 

Yours, 

Anne  B.  Procter. 

The  next  revival  of  School,  in  1880,  was  an 
anxious  step.  We  had  then  left  the  old  Prince  of 
Wales's  Theatre  for  the  Haymarket.  Soon  after- 
wards we  decided  to  learn  at  once  whether  the 
Robertsonian  mine  was  likely  to  extend  to  our  new 
home,  or  whether  the  vein  was,  so  far  as  we  were 
concerned,  worked  out.  Our  own  faith  in  it  was 
strong,  although  but  little  shared  by  friends  to  whom 
we  announced  our  intention.  One  of  them  was 
Edmund  Yates,  who  said,  "  You  don't  really  believe, 
my  dear  B.,  that  those  little  tender  plays  can  be 
safely  transplanted  to  your  beautiful  but  much  larger 
theatre.  Your  judgment  will  surely  prove  at  fault 
this  time,  greatly  as  I  respect  it  in  things  theatrical." 
Yates  had  to  wait  three  months  for  his  answer,  which 
was  given  in  vulgar  figures,  that  the  profit  on  the 
performance  of  School  from  the  first  Saturday  in 
May  until  the  first  Friday  in  August  exceeded  ten 
thousand  pounds.  I  will  only  add  that  the  head  of 
the  firm  of  chartered  accountants  who  audited  such 


no  ROBERTSON   AND   HIS   COMEDIES 

affairs  is  still  in  business.  From  that  time  we  looked 
upon  the  financial  result  of  our  subsequent  manage- 
ment of  the  Haymarket  Theatre  as  far  on  the  road 
to — in  racing  slang — a  dead  certainty.  It  may  be 
added  here  that  when  Ours  was  revived  in  1882  it 
achieved  an  equivalent  result,  while  the  farewell  of 
Caste  in  1883  ran  it  very  hard. 

School  was  then  acted  for  seven  months.  From 
overwhelming  praise  we  select  the  statements  that 
the  comedy  bore  the  transfer  safely  because  it  was 
so  carefully  done ;  that  the  Meissonier-like  touches 
that  had  been  so  conspicuous  on  the  small  canvas 
were  probably  not  the  same  as  they  had  been  years 
ago  at  the  Prince  of  Wales's,  but  that  Robertson's 
comedies  proved  themselves  capable  of  being  adapted 
to  new  conditions  and  of  disclosing  fresh  charms  to 
take  the  place  of  any  which  they  might  necessarily 
have  lost  in  their  change  of  locality  ;  that  the  first 
scene  of  the  wood  might  have  come  from  one  of  the 
great  French  landscape  painters.  A  French  critic, 
writing  in  Le  Voltaire,  added  that,  so  good  was  the 
scenery,  he  could  have  sworn  he  saw  a  cow  in  the 
distance  cropping  the  grass,  and  he  longed  to  get  on 
the  stage  and  roll  on  the  sward.  Another  wrote : 
**  In  the  art  of  amusement  Mrs.  Bancroft  has  literally 
no  rival.  Time  and  circumstance  bend  before  her 
sway,  and  genius  establishes  itself."  One  of  the 
touches  which  most  amused  the  audience  was  the 
result  of  an  incident  which  occurred  during  an  early 
rehearsal  of  School,  in  the  scene  where  Lord  Beaufoy, 
having  found  Bella's  shoe,  asks  the  girls  if  they  have 
lost  an5rthing.  My  wife  was  so  engrossed  in  the 
character  of  Nummy  that  instinctively  and  in  alarm 
she  put  her  hand  to  her  chignon.  This  purely  im- 
pulsive action  so  amused  Tom  Robertson  that  he 
begged  her  to  do  it  always.  Bursts  of  laughter  and 
applause  greeted  it  every  night,  and  the  "  business  " 
was  written  by  Robertson  in  his  book. 

Our  two  lost  friends  the  brothers  Coquelin,  atne 
and  cadet,  saw  School  during  this  revival. 


THE   BROTHERS   COQUELIN         111 

A  letter  from  aine  will  be  found  in  a  later 
chapter. 

Cadet  published  his  flattering  impressions  in  La 
Vie  Humoristique : 

"Les  decors  sont  executes  de  main  de  maitre. 
C'est  le  triomphe  de  I'exactitude.  Les  com^diens 
sont  excellents.  M.  Bancroft  joue  dans  la  pi^ce  un 
role  de  grand  gommeux  anglais  a  monocle,  et  rien 
n'egale  son  elegance  et  sa  stupidite.  Madame  Ban- 
croft joue  la  pensionnaire  gaie  ;  cette  petite  femme 
est  un  melange  d'Alphonsine  et  de  Chaumont — gaie, 
pimpante,  mordante  et  dune  adresse  !  .  .  .  C'est 
la  great  attraction  du  Theatre  de  Haymarket. 

"  Apr^s,  je  reviens  rapidement  en  cab  (*  Hansom  ') 
a  mon  hotel,  et  je  me  demande  en  chemin  pourquoi 
les  cabs  vont  si  vite  ?  C'est  tout  simple :  les  cabs 
vont  tr^s  vite  parce  que  les  cochers  les  poussent 
derriere." 

T  leave  my  desk  to  verify  the  inscription  on  a 
merry  photograph  he  gave  us,  which  hangs  on  our 
staircase  in  good  companionship.  "  A  Madame 
Bancroft  et  a  Bancroft.  Leur  ami  Coquelin  cadet. 
18—." 

Just  like  him !  Poor  cadet  I  It  is  distressing 
indeed  to  know^  how  sadly  he  must  have  suiFered 
before  the  painful  evening  when,  in  the  middle  of 
the  play,  he  rushed  through  the  stage  door,  dressed 
for  his  part  of  an  abbe,  to  be  seen  no  more  at  his 
beloved  Comddie  Francaise.  It  is  painfril  to  think 
of  his  bright  spirit  quenched  by  melancholia.  One 
can  only  trust  that  in  his  retirement  he  was  com- 
forted not  only  by  the  devotion  of  his  great  brother, 
who  was  hastened  by  grief  and  anxiety  to  his  own 
lamented  end,  but  also  by  such  sweet  thoughts  as 
were  disclosed  by  another  so  afflicted  in  the  following 
pathetic  document  or  "  will  "  : 

"  My  right  to  live,  being  but  a  life  estate,  is  not  at 
my  disposal,  but,  these  things  excepted,  all  else  in 
the  world  I  now  proceed  to  devise  and  bequeath. 
I   give  to   fathers   and   mothers   in    trust   for  their 


112  ROBERTSON  AND   HIS   COMEDIES 

children  all  good  little  words  of  praise  and  encourage- 
ment, all  quaint,  pet  names  and  endearments,  and 
I  charge  the  said  parents  to  use  them  generously  as 
the  needs  of  the  children  require.  I  leave  the 
children  for  the  term  of  their  childhood  the  flowers, 
fields,  blossoms,  and  woods,  with  the  right  to  play 
among  them  freely,  warning  them  at  the  same  time 
against  thistles  and  thorns.  I  devise  to  the  children 
the  banks,  the  brooks,  and  the  golden  sands  beneath 
waters  thereof,  and  the  white  clouds  that  float  high 
over  the  giant  trees,  and  I  leave  to  the  children  long, 
long  days  to  be  merry  in,  and  the  night  and  the 
moon  and  the  train  of  the  Milky  Way  to  wonder  at. 

"  1  devise  to  the  boys  jointly  all  the  idle  fields,  all 
the  pleasant  waters  where  one  may  swim,  all  the 
streams  where  one  may  fish  or  where,  when  grim 
winter  comes,  one  may  skate,  to  have  and  to  hold 
the  same  for  the  period  of  their  boyhood.  The 
meadows,  with  the  clover  blossoms,  and  butterflies 
thereof,  the  woods  and  their  appurtenances,  squirrels, 
birds,  echoes,  and  strange  noises,  all  the  distant  plac»es 
which  may  be  visited,  together  v^dth  the  adventures 
there  found.  I  give  to  the  said  boys  each  his  own 
place  by  the  fireside  at  night,  with  all  the  pictures 
that  may  be  seen  in  the  burning  wood,  to  enjoy 
without  let  or  hindrance  and  without  any  encum- 
brance or  care. 

"To  lovers  I  devise  their  imaginary  world  with 
whatever  they  may  need — as  stars,  sky,  red  roses  by 
the  wall,  the  bloom  of  the  hawthorn,  the  sweet 
strains  of  music,  and  aught  else  they  may  desire.  To 
young  men  all  boisterous  and  inspiring  sports  and 
rivalry,  and  I  give  them  disdain  of  weakness  and 
undaunted  confidence  in  their  own  strength.  I  give 
them  power  to  make  lasting  friendships,  possessing 
companions,  and  to  them  exclusively  I  give  all 
merry  songs  and  brave  choruses. 

"And  to  those  who  are  no  longer  children  or 
youths  or  lovers  1  leave  memory,  and  bequeath  them 
the  volumes  of  the  poems  of  Shakespeare,  and  other 


THREE   THOUSAND   NIGHTS         113 

poets,  if  there  be  others,  to  live  over  their  old  days 
again  without  tithe. 

"  To  the  loved  ones  with  snowy  crowns  I  bequeath 
happiness,  old  age,  the  love  and  gratitude  of  their 
children  until  they  fall  asleep." 

When  we  finally  and  briefly  said  farewell  to 
School  three  years  afterwards,  the  performances  might 
have  been  prolonged  indefinitely ;  but  we  dreaded 
the  continuance  of  the  trying  monotony,  for  when  of 
late  years  the  long-familiar  parts  were  resumed,  all 
count  of  the  intervals  seemed  to  be  lost,  and  we 
almost  grew  to  believe  that  we  had  never  played 
any  others. 

Let  us  here  recall  that  we  ourselves  acted  alto- 
gether about  three  thousand  nights  in  the  Robertson 
comedies — equal  in  time  to  some  years  of  life.  We 
might  indeed  have  gone  on  reviving  these  plays  until 
madness  or  old  age  arrested  us :  the  familiar  Chanson 
de  Fortunio,  as  played  in  Ours,  one  almost  dreamt 
had  been  a  cradle  lullaby,  and  was  yet  to  be  a 
requiem. 

The  glorious  original  run  of  School,  which  lasted 
for  fifteen  months,  was  saddened  by  the  knowledge, 
which  gradually  became  manifest,  that  Robertson, 
who  had  been  ailing  for  some  little  time,  was  gravely 
ill ;  and  we  learnt  to  our  sorrow  that  he  was  suffering 
from  serious  heart  trouble. 


"  M.R" 

The  last  of  the  comedies  he  wrote  for  us  was 
M.P,  Before  it  was  finished,  he  rapidly  grew  worse 
and  was  unable  to  leave  his  house  and  attend  re- 
hearsals ;  and  it  fell  to  my  lot  to  read  the  play  to  the 
company,  who  received  it  with  enthusiasm.  From 
the  first,  however,  we  were  conscious  ourselves  of 
some  weakness  in  the  work.  In  spite  of  its  delicate 
charm,  its  many  beauties,  it  bore  marks  of  the  sad 
fact  that  it  was  the  effort  of  a  fading  man.  The 
concluding  scenes  were  actually  dictated  by  the  author 

8 


114   ROBERTSON   AND    HIS   COMEDIES 

from  his  sick-bed,  and  we  were  distressed  by  a 
growing  fear  lest  the  play  should  not  act  so  well  as 
it  had  read.  We  felt  strongly  that  an  adverse  verdict 
might  be  fatal  to  the  slender  thread  by  which 
Robertson  held  his  life  ;  and  if  ever  a  play  was 
snatched  from  failure,  this  one  was  by  the  extra- 
ordinary care  with  which  it  was  rehearsed  and  the 
affectionate  work  devoted  to  it  by  all  concerned. 
We  rehearsed  it  persistently  and  patiently  for  six 
weeks,  a  thing  then  quite  unknown,  and  a  longer 
time  than  we  had  yet  given  to  any  play.  Towards 
the  end  we  used  to  meet  at  his  house  and  show  poor 
Robertson,  act  by  act,  the  result  of  our  labours. 
Almost  up  to  the  moment  of  its  announcement,  the 
comedy  remained  unchristened,  when  a  conversation 
between  us,  as  we  were  driving  to  one  of  its  re- 
hearsals, led  to  an  inspiration  on  the  part  of  "  M.  B." 
(Marie  Bancroft),  who  suggested  that  it  should  be 
called  M,P.  This  bright  idea  was  immediately  tele- 
graphed to  cheer  the  author,  who  answered,  "  Send 
the  happy  letters  to  the  printer,  and  tell  Marie  I  owe 
her  five  hundred  pounds  for  them." 

Happily  our  efforts  were  rewarded,  and  the  play 
achieved  a  brilliant  success,  again  partly  due  to  the 
vogue  enjoyed  alike  by  author,  theatre,  and  company. 
We  dispatched  messengers  in  hot  haste  to  the  sick 
author  after  each  act,  with  the  good  news  of  its 
splendid  reception.  This  success,  we  have  no  doubt, 
prolonged  Robertson's  life  at  least  by  months,  and 
rekindled  for  a  while  the  flicker  of  hope  that  was  left 
to  him.  An  able,  kindly  pen  compared  this  incident 
to  the  close  of  Mozart's  career,  who,  when  he  could 
be  no  longer  present  at  the  Vienna  Opera  House  to 
hear  his  last  great  work.  Die  Zauberflote,  noted  the 
movement  of  the  hands  of  his  watch,  and  said,  "  Now 
they  are  singing  such-and-such  a  song ;  now  this  or 
that  scene  is  going  on."  "  Earnestly  do  we  wish," 
said  the  writer,  "  that  the  fate  of  the  two  men  may 
not  be  similar  " — a  wish,  alas  !  that  was  not  to  be 
fulfilled. 


"M.P.  115 

The  demand  for  seats  during  the  first  hundred 
performances  was  extraordinary  ;  but  it  was  impossible 
to  push  back  the  stalls  any  further,  as  they  had 
already  encroached  on  the  pit  as  much  as  could  be 
allowed. 

An  exhaustive  article  written  by  the  accomplished 
Tom  Taylor — who,  during  an  illness  of  John  Oxen- 
ford's,  was  replacing  him  on  The  Times — said  that 
Robertson  had  added  another  leaf  to  the  garland  he 
had  so  honestly  and  honourably  won  at  our  theatre. 
"  None  of  his  *  first  nights,'  we  should  say,  can  have 
been  more  genuinely  and  pleasantly  successful  than 
that  of  his  new  comedy,  M.PT  The  writer  went  on 
to  say  that  in  the  way  of  light  comedy  there  was 
nothing  in  London  approaching  the  pieces  and  the 
troupe  of  the  Prince  of  Wales's  taken  together ; 
authors,  actors,  and  the  theatre  seemed  perfectly 
fitted  for  each  other.  Paris  itself  furnished  no  exact 
pendant  to  this  theatre.  These  comedies  were,  indeed, 
he  continued,  so  unlike  other  men's  work,  that  they 
amounted  to  a  creation.  Light  as  they  were,  there 
was  in  them  an  undercurrent  of  close  observation 
and  half-mocking  seriousness  which  lifted  them  above 
triviality.  "  Mr.  Robertson  is  perfectly  seconded  by 
his  actors.  The  love-scenes  are  sweeter  and  more 
poetical  than  any  the  author  has  given  us." 

The  play  was  also  compared  to  the  preparation  of 
an  elegant  supper  by  a  skilful  French  cook,  where, 
with  a  little  "  stock,"  a  bunch  of  garden  herbs,  a 
spoonful  of  salad  oil,  and  a  soupfon  of  spice,  the 
guest  may  rise  from  table  and  exclaim  that  he  has 
supped  like  a  prince. 

A  Parisian  journalist  who  was  in  London  taking 
notes  qualified  his  otherwise  unfavourable  verdict 
when  he  went  to  the  Prince  of  Wales's  Theatre  and 
witnessed  the  performance  of  M,P,  Candidly  avow- 
ing that  he  was  under  the  impression  that  modern 
English  plays  were  exclusively  adapted  from  the 
French,  and  that  really  good  actors  were  not  to  be 
found  in  England,  he  was  obliged  to  admit  that  the 


116   ROBERTSON   AND   HIS   COMEDIES 

comedy  he  saw  was  not  only  of  native  growth,  but 
was  filled  with  sparkling,  pointed,  and  witty  phrases, 
and  was  performed  by  clever  actors  and  actresses. 
He  ended  his  narrative  of  personal  experience  with 
the  remark,  which  is  the  highest  compliment  that  a 
Frenchman  of  the  world  can  utter,  "  J'ai  passe  une 
soiree  charmante." 

Through  the  summer  and  autumn  of  that  year 
(1870)  Robertson  continued  to  grow  worse.  His 
sufferings  were  very  great — indeed,  as  he  once  said 
to  us,  the  pain  was  so  acute  that,  when  it  had  for 
the  moment  passed,  it  seemed  to  leave  an  echo  in 
his  bones.  We  were  all  the  more  horrified,  therefore, 
one  morning  in  November — when  a  cold  white  fog 
had  penetrated  into  the  theatre — to  hear  the  hall- 
keeper  announce  to  us,  with  a  frightened  look  upon 
his  face,  that  Mr.  Robertson  was  at  the  stage  door. 
We  were  terror-stricken,  knowing  him  to  be  in  an 
unfit  state  to  leave  his  house,  even  in  fine  weather. 
In  a  piteous  plight  he  came  for  the  last  time  among 
us  ;  many  of  the  company  then  spoke  their  farewell 
word  to  him.  He  stayed  for  half  an  hour  in  dreadful 
suffering,  tortured  by  a  cough  which  told  what  he 
endured.  In  an  agony  of  pain,  caused  by  a  violent 
paroxysm,  he  stooped  down  and  knocked  with  a 
hollow  sound  upon  the  stage,  saying,  in  a  voice  made 
terribly  painful  by  its  tone  of  sad  reproach,  to 
imaginary  phantoms,  '*  Oh,  don't  be  in  such  a  hurry  1" 
When  he  recovered,  we  with  difficulty  persuaded 
him  not  to  stay,  for  he  persisted  in  the  thought 
that  the  mere  sight  of  the  familiar  stage  and  of 
the  theatre  which  he  loved  and  always  called  his 
"  home  "  would  alone  do  him  good.  The  little  band 
that  formed  our  company  then  grouped  together,  and 
the  talk  was  only  of  the  sad  visit  which  John  Hare, 
Carlotta  Addison,  and  our  two  selves  are  alone  left 
to  remember. 

Robertson  was   quite   unfit   to  work,  and   could 
make  no  more  than  scanty  notes  for  a  play  we  had 


DEATH   OF   ROBERTSON  117 

talked  about,  the  story  of  which  bore  some  resem- 
blance to  The  Vicar  of  Wakefield — his  love  for  Oliver 
Goldsmith  was  always  strong  within  him — and  which 
was  to  have  been  christened  Faith.  There  are  also 
notes  in  existence,  which  belong  to  Pinero,  for  another 
projected  work  called  Passions, 

The  winter  was  one  of  unusual  severity,  and 
Robertson  was  advised  to  go  to  Torquay  for  a  few 
weeks,  where  the  weather  was  equally  wretched. 
The  journey  seemed  only  to  hasten  his  end.  When 
he  returned  to  London  he  was  rarely  able  to  see 
even  his  closest  friends.  Shortly  before  the  end  we 
were  fortunate  enough  to  call  at  a  good  moment ;  he 
begged  to  see  us,  and  we  found  him  propped  up  in 
a  big  chair,  breathing  with  difficulty.  He  talked  for 
some  little  time  of  the  new  play  he  had  conceived  for 
us,  adding  that  only  earlier  in  the  day  he  had  jotted 
down  more  notes  about  it.  All  this  we  knew  could 
not  be,  and  when  we  went  away  we  both  felt  we 
should  never  touch  his  hand  again.  Two  nights 
later,  when  the  play  was  over,  Dion  Boucicault 
gently  broke  the  news  to  us  that,  quietly  and  sud- 
denly, the  end  had  come,  as  Tona^sat  in  his  chair. 
"  Born  January  9,  1829.  Died  February  3,  1871." 
He  was  only  just  forty-two.  On  the  next  day  we 
saw,  lying  in  the  room  where  he  died,  its  limbs 
dangling  and  disjointed,  an  old  doll,  with  the  saw- 
dust trickling  from  its  tattered  body — the  doll  with 
which  he  used  to  amuse  his  little  daughter  up  to 
the  very  end. 

On  the  night  of  the  funeral  we  closed  the  theatre  ; 
we  knew  no  better  way  to  show  publicly  our  estimate 
of  the  loss  we  had  sustained.  Upon  this  act  the 
comment  of  The  Times  was  that,  though  it  could 
not  recall  to  mind  any  precedent  in  this  capital  for 
so  singular  a  compliment  to  a  dramatic  author,  per- 
haps there  never  was  an  instance  of  a  dramatist  being 
so  intimately  associated  with  the  fortunes  of  a  par- 
ticular theatre,  as  Robertson  was  with  the  stage  and 
company  under  our  control. 


118   ROBERTSON    AND   HIS   COMEDIES 

Tom  Robertson  was  fond  of  comparing  our  con- 
duct with  that  of  other  managers  towards  him  in  his 
early  days,  and  would  often  linger  after  the  rehearsals 
were  over,  to  give  us  painful  accounts  of  his  many 
disappointments  in  life.  He  would  talk  with  bitter- 
ness, but  he  none  the  less  appreciated  the  change  in 
his  fortunes.  After  referring  to  the  times  when  he 
had  one  meal  a  day  and  three  parts  a  night  to  play, 
he  would  add,  "  Now  I  have  three  meals  a  day  and 
no  part  to  play,  and  for  this  relief  Providence  has  my 
most  heartfelt  thanks." 

We  were  for  something  more  than  five  happy 
years  the  best  of  friends ;  our  opinions  on  the  art 
of  acting  perfectly  coincided  with  his  own ;  and  the 
result  was,  to  quote  the  words  of  others,  "  a  new  era 
in  dramatic  history."  There  is  no  doubt  that,  when 
he  wrote  for  us,  his  whole  heart  was  in  his  work,  for 
his  best  plays  were  written  for  the  theatre  where  he 
never  knew  failure. 

It  was  fully  recognised  at  the  time  that  our 
appreciation  of  his  genius  and  our  care  in  producing 
his  comedies  did  much  to  inspire  and  encourage  him ; 
while  he,  by  his  loyal  co-operation,  did  much  to 
sustain  the  reputation  of  the  theatre.  Indeed,  there 
is  hardly  any  sign  of  novelty  in  the  plays  he  wrote 
for  other  theatres ;  not  one  of  the  dramas  produced 
elsewhere  was  written  in  the  vein  by  which  he  made 
his  name,  and  which  he  was  entitled  to  call  his  own, 
as,  away  from  our  theatre,  he  almost  seemed  to  have 
no  just  pride  of  authorship. 

Although  his  own  style  was  quite  of  another  kind, 
Robertson  was  a  great  admirer  of  Sardou,  and  we 
recall  distinctly  his  enthusiasm  on  a  return  from 
Paris  after  seeing  Patrie,  and  a  like  appreciation,  at 
another  time,  of  Meilhac  and  Halevy's  Frou-Frou. 

Some  of  his  peculiarities  may  be  worth  recording. 
He  always  sat  in  the  same  box  on  first  nights  of 
his  comedies  at  the  Prince  of  Wales's  Theatre,  and 
during  their  progress  rarely  looked  at  the  stage,  but 
keenly  watched  the  audience,  glancing  rapidly  from 


FIRST   NIGHTS  119 

one  part  of  the  theatre  to  another,  to  gather  the 
different  effects  the  same  point  or  speech  might  pro- 
duce on  various  people ;  while,  between  the  acts,  he 
would  often  push  his  way  into  parts  of  the  theatre 
where  he  would  not  be  recognised,  and  listen  to  the 
opinions  he  could  overhear.  He  also  made  a  point 
of  having  some  one — entirely  unconnected  with 
theatrical  life — in  each  part  of  the  theatre,  whom  he 
would  see  on  the  following  day  and  hold  conversa- 
tions with,  carefully  comparing  the  impressions  and 
the  remarks  he  drew  from  these  different  witnesses — 
generally,  he  said,  with  valuable  results. 

Never  were  the  oft-quoted  words,  "  What  shadows 
we  are  !  What  shadows  we  pursue !  "  more  ftiUy 
realised  than  in  Tom  Robertson's  life  and  death. 
After  an  early  manhood  passed  in  struggling  misery, 
sometimes  almost  in  want,  he  was  snatched  from  hfe 
when  he  had  only  just  begun  to  taste  its  sweets.  He 
planted  his  footprints  rapidly  upon  the  sandy  shores 
of  Fame ;  but  he  trod  deep  enough,  for  Time  has 
not  yet  effaced  them. 

Tom  Taylor,  writing  in  later  years  on  Robertson, 
recalled  how  the  author  and  the  theatre,  the  actors 
and  the  roles,  all  seemed  made  for  one  another.     The 
public  and  the  time  were  in  harmony  with  the  spirit 
of  the  plays  and  the  talent  of  the  performers  ;  every- 
thing had  come  about  as  it  should.     A  critic  of  equal 
rank  said:    "What  pleasant   figures  Mrs.    Bancroft  "^i 
has  presented  to  us  !  that  Naomi  or  '  Nummy '  Tighe    | 
in  School,  or  that  lively  girl  who  made  the  pudding  in    \ 
the  Crimea,  or  Polly  who  made  tea  for  Bancroft,  in    I 
Caste.     Her  face  beaming  with  good-humour  and  a 
refined  gaiety — such  as  old  people  tell  us  was  the 
fascination  of  Mrs.  Jordan — made  the  charm  of  these  ""^ 
characters."     She  had  revived,  the  writer  continued, 
the  almost  lost  idea,  that  there  were  other  arts  of 
acting   besides   exaggerated   gestures,   and   that  the 
eye,  the  mouth,  the  expression  dimly  opening,  and 
then  spreading  over  the  face ;  the  delayed  speech, 
whose   meaning  was   anticipated   by   a   preparatory 


120   ROBERTSON  AND   HIS   COMEDIES 

glance ;  the  struggle  of  pleasure  and  pain,  also 
revealed  in  the  face,  the  eager  motion  forward, 
checked  irresolutely,  the  lips  assuming  a  fictitious 
solemnity,  only  to  relax  in  the  contagious  merriment 
of  the  ingenue — these  evidences  of  delicate  emotion 
were  the  really  interesting  portion  of  acting,  and  had 
an  inexhaustible  attraction  for  the  spectator.  "  And 
now  to  turn  to  her  ever- welcome  husband — the  good- 
humoured,  good-natured,  unselfish  Bancr no,  the 

Tom  Stylus,  or  Captain  Hawtree,  or  Jack  Poyntz, 
those  friendly  officers  to  whom  he  has  introduced 
us."  Here  could  be  applied  the  unfailing  test  of  the 
sending  the  spectator  home  in  good-humour,  smiling 
to  himself,  and  a  recurrence  with  satisfaction  there- 
after to  that  pleasant  figure.  That  gravity  of  a  good, 
honest  fellow,  that  unobtrusiveness,  friendliness,  had 
never,  he  declared,  been  so  faithfully  presented  as  in 
those  characters,  full  of  delicate  touches,  which  only 
a  study  from  within,  and  not  mere  observation  of 
such  peculiarities,  at  mess-tables  or  in  Rotten  Row, 
could  furnish.  There  were  but  few  actors,  he  con- 
sidered, to  whom  that  process  was  known  ;  not  one 
who  had  greater  faculty  for  observation,  or  who  was 
more  keenly  alive  to  the  ridiculous.  "A  profound 
student  of  human  nature,  he  can  invest  even  a 
questionable  character  with  good  qualities.  No  man 
can  be  thoroughly  bad  when  represented  by  Bancroft  " 

Mr.  Justin  McCarthy,  in  his  Portraits  of  the 
Sixties,  wrote : 

"  Marie  Wilton  devoted  herself  to  the  revival  of 
genuine  English  comedy;  a  revival  in  the  strictest 
sense,  because  for  a  long  time  there  had  been  little 
or  nothing  of  real  comedy  seen  upon  the  English 
stage — it  had  come  to  be  the  opinion  of  many 
I^ondon  managers  and  actors  that  there  was  no 
chance  of  success  for  English  comedy.  The  great 
demand  was  for  translations  from  the  French.  I 
remember  arguing  the  point  with  Leicester  Bucking- 
ham, who  declared  that  no  London  manager  would 
run  the  risk  of  producing  any  comedy  which  had 


REFORMATION  121 

not  already  passed  successfully  through  the  ordeal 
of  performance  in  Paris.  .  .  .  Marie  Wilton  suc- 
ceeded in  reviving  English  comedy  on  the  English 
stage.  She  brought  out  the  comedies  of  the  late 
T.  W.  Robertson,  and  these  were  thoroughly  English. 
The  spell  of  the  French  stage  was  broken  for  British 
audiences.  Since  that  time  English  comedy  has 
never  lost  its  hold  upon  the  public,  and  Lady 
Bancroft  may  claim  to  have  borne  a  leading  part 
in  this  momentous  artistic  revival." 

It    was    Milton    who    wrote    of    "  the    inward 

[)rompting  which  grows  daily  upon  me,  that  by 
abour  and  intent  study,  which  I  take  to  be  my 
portion  in  this  life,  joined  with  the  strong  propensity 
of  Nature,  I  might  perhaps  leave  something  so 
written  to  after-times,  as  they  should  not  willingly 
let  it  die."  And  so,  in  a  humble  way,  we  think  it 
was  with  Robertson.  After-times  may  never  realise 
what  they  owe  to  these  six  little  plays  on  which 
we  have  dwelt  with  gratitude  and  love ;  they  con- 
veyed with  surpassing  charm  the  spirit  of  the  passing 
hour ;  the  younger  generation  may  know  them  not, 
but  it  remains  true  that  Robertson  and  the  old 
Prince  of  Wales's  Theatre  worked  a  "complete 
reformation  of  the  drama  of  which  the  playgoers 
of  to-day  are  reaping  the  fruit."  To  quote  the  late 
Joseph  Knight,  "  Robertson  may  be  credited  with 
the  foundation  of  a  school  the  influence  of  which 
survives  and  is  felt." 

Tributes  to  the  dramatist  may  be  multiplied 
almost  beyond  number,  but  we  will  be  content  to 
add  that  when  he  was  presented  to  Charles  Dickens, 
who  was  a  frequent  visitor  to  the  old  Prince  of 
Wales's  Theatre,  the  great  novelist  said  that  what 
so  strongly  appealed  to  him  in  Robertson's  charming 
comedies  was,  of  all  things,  "  their  unassuming  form, 
which  had  so  happily  shown  that  real  wit  could  afford 
to  put  off  any  airs  of  attention  to  it."  ^^\ 

The  whole  secret  of  his  success  was  truth.    Behind     I 
his  work  there  lay  not  only  a  consummate  knowledge 


122   ROBERTSON   AND   HIS   COMEDIES 

of  the  stage,  but  a  touch  of  inborn  genius,  and  he 
achieved  his  success  without  pandering  to  the  lower 
tastes  of  humanity.  There  was  not  the  sUghtest 
suspicion  of  vulgarity  in  his  art.  He  never  wrote  a 
line  or  suggested  a  thought  with  a  coarse  or  dubious 
intention.  His  aspirations  were  noble  and  his  char- 
acters gentle  ;  and,  though  there  was  much  cynicism 
in  his  plays,  it  was  never  levelled  at  anything  pure 
or  good.  Concerning  such  plays  as  his — so  chivalrous 
in  sentiment,  so  English  in  tone — we  may  truly  say, 
as  Wordsworth  said  of  his  books  and  dreams : 

"Round  these  with  tendrils  strong  as  flesh  and  blood 
Our  pastime  and  our  happiness  will  grow.*" 

There  can  be  no  better  assurance  of  Robertson's 
lovable  nature  than  the  fact  that  he  made  no 
enemies.  No  one  envied  him  his  success.  He  was 
as  much  beloved  in  private  as  he  was  appreciated  in 
public. 

The  great  American  actor,  Joseph  Jefferson,  who 
was  then  entrancing  London  playgoers  by  his  per- 
formance of  Rip  Van  Winkle,  said  that  of  all  the 
men  he  ever  talked  vidth,  Robertson  was  the  most 
entertaining. 

When  another  distinguished  American,  Artemus 
Ward,  lay  dying,  he  was  affectionately  tended  by 
Tom  Robertson,  a  strong  attachment  having  sprung 
up  between  them.  Just  before  Ward's  death  Robert- 
son poured  out  some  medicine  and  offered  it  to  the 
sick  man,  who  said,  "My  dear  Tom,  I  won't  take 
any  more  of  that  horrible  stuff !  " 

Robertson  urged  him  to  swallow  the  mixture, 
saying,  "  Do  now,  there's  a  dear  fellow,  for  my  sake  ; 
you  know  I  would  do  anything  for  you." 

"  Would  you  ? "  said  Ward  feebly,  grasping  his 
friend's  hand  for  the  last  time. 

"  I  would  indeed,"  said  Robertson. 

"  Then  you  take  it ! " 

Ward  passed  away  a  few  hours  afterwards. 

We   cannot    better   close    the   chapter  than   by 


p.  122J 


ROBERTSON  AND   ARTEMUS  WARD     123 

applying  to   Robertson  himself  the  words   he  then 
wrote  of  his  lost  comrade : 

"  Few  tasks  are  more  difficult  or  delicate  than  to 
write  of  a  departed  friend.  The  pen  falters  as  the 
familiar  face  looks  out  through  the  paper.  The  mind 
is  diverted  from  the  thought  of  death  as  the  memory 
recalls  some  happy  epigram.  It  seems  so  strange 
that  the  hand  that  traced  the  joke  should  be  cold, 
that  the  tongue  that  trolled  out  all  the  good  things 
should  be  silent,  that  the  jokes  and  good  things 
should  remain,  and  the  man  who  made  them  should 
be  gone  for  ever." 


CHAPTER  V 

SOME    OLD    COMEDIES 

"  Courage  and  hope,  both  teaching  him  the  practice." 

When  Robertson  died,  I  was  twenty-nine.  Few 
people,  nowadays,  remember  or  know  the  youth  of 
the  Bancroft  management.  It  was  thought  by  many, 
and  said  openly  by  some,  that  his  death  would  be  a 
blow  to  the  Prince  of  Wales's  Theatre  from  which  it 
could  not  recover,  and  at  the  time  such  expressions 
as  "  That  bubble  has  burst "  reached  our  ears.  We 
waited  quietly  and  patiently,  fully  alive  to  the  im- 
portance of  our  next  step,  and  resolved  that  it  should 
not  be  a  timid  one. 

In  my  own  estimate  of  my  capacity  for  manage- 
ment, I  have  often  thought  the  most  valuable  quality 
to  have  been  courage  :  ours  was  then  a  position  which 
certainly  called  for  it.  Not  the  least  important  form 
of  managerial  courage  is  the  strength  of  will  to  with- 
draw a  play  while  still  very  remunerative,  not  only 
from  belief  in  the  attractive  powers  of  its  successor, 
but  also  that  life  may  be  spared  to  it  to  allow  of  its 
increasing  the  repertoire  of  the  theatre,  either  for 
revival  when  ripe  enough  to  be  played  again,  or  for 
use  as  a  stop-gap  to  stem  the  tide  of  ill-fortune  and 
dam  the  floods  of  failure  which  must  have  a  share  in 
the  most  favoured  theatrical  enterprise.  That  enter- 
prise is  one  which  so  partakes  of  the  character  of 
gambling  that  I  found  its  powers  strong  enough  in 
this  respect  to  rob  me  of  all  desire  for  that  form  of 

124 


A   TEXT  125 

excitement  in  other  ways,  and  may  add  that  I  have 
often  laughed  at  ridiculous  rumours  (as  widely  remote 
from  truth  as  many  others  that  have  reached  me 
about  me  and  mine)  of  the  sums  I  have  realised  by 
fortunate  dealings  on  the  Stock  Exchange ;  the  truth 
being  that  my  few  gambling  speculations  proved  con- 
spicuous failures,  while  I  have  but  a  feeble  definition 
to  offer  of  the  meaning  of  "  buUing  "  or  "  bearing," 
and  such  words  as  "  contango  "  are  as  foreign  to  me 
as  the  tongues  of  Persia  and  Arabia. 

It  is  now,  certainly,  one  of  our  pleasantest  reflec- 
tions that  with  the  sole  exception  of  the  loan — 
happily,  so  soon  to  be  repaid — with  which  the  theatre 
was  started,  we  have  neither  of  us  ever  been  indebted 
for  a  shilling's-worth  of  help  to  any  one,  every  penny 
we  have  ever  owned  being  solely  the  result  of  our 
twenty  years'  hard  work  in  theatrical  management. 
And  how  much  more  than  money  do  we  owe  to  it  I 
Some  acquaintance  with  many  of  the  most  able  and 
most  gifted  people  in  every  rank  of  life,  in  our  own 
and  other  lands,  whom  we  never  should  have  known 
at  all  but  for  the  calling  we  have  loved  and  served. 

In  the  early  days,  when  at  the  age  of  twenty-six 
I  found  myself  face  to  face  with  the  responsibility  of 
sparing  my  wife  the  more  laborious  side  of  managing 
a  London  theatre,  I  took  for  my  text  some  words 
which  were  written  of  a  distinguished  actor  more 
than  a  hundred  years  before :  "  By  his  impartial 
management  of  the  stage  and  the  affability  of  his 
temper  he  merited  the  respect  and  esteem  of  all 
within  the  theatre  and  the  applause  of  those  without." 
Like  many  other  texts,  not  easy  to  live  up  to ;  but  if 
in  the  years  which  followed,  when  in  a  harassing  pro- 
fession I  bore  the  weight  and  responsibility  of  ruling 
others,  I  in  the  main  obeyed  my  maxim,  it  is  all  that 
can  be  asked  of  poor  humanity. 

My  wife  from  the  beginning  placed  perfect  con- 
fidence in  my  judgment  in  the  choice  of  plays,  and 
accepted  my  opinion  in  all  important  matters,  even 
when  it  chanced  to  be  at  variance   with   her   own 


126  SOME   OLD   COMEDIES 

Whenever  I  was  at  fault,  she  stood  more  firmly  by 
my  side,  and  never  once  allowed  her  faith  in  me  to 
be  shaken  by  an  occasional  mistake.  I  can  most  truly 
add  that  throughout  our  managerial  career  she  was 
my  strongest  help  :  modest  in  success,  full  of  courage 
to  meet  a  reverse,  as  faithful  in  sorrow  as  in  joy. 

Walls,  they  say,  have  ears ;  were  trees  endowed 
with  lips,  those  round  the  garden  and  the  little 
orchard  of  the  house  we  lived  in  then  could  tell  of 
many  an  anxious  walk  and  talk  between  us  two 
about  the  theatre's  future,  which  had,  of  course, 
become  a  serious  problem. 

Brilliant  offers  to  visit  America,  with  our  distin- 
guished little  company,  had  first  to  be  considered  ; 
but  then,  and  later,  my  wife's  terror  of  the  sea  inter- 
vened and  remained,  to  our  great  loss,  an  insurmount- 
able obstacle.  Throughout  her  life  she  has  loved  to 
be  beside  it,  but  to  be  on  it  is  another  matter,  and, 
in  her  own  amusing  way  of  putting  it,  the  mere  sight 
of  a  sailor  in  the  street  makes  her  feel  uncomfortable. 
But  what  a  pity  I  Art  belongs  to  the  world,  and 
hers  should  have  been  seen  on  the  Western  side  of  it, 
to  say  nothing  of  how  much  even  then  we  should 
have  been  the  pioneers. 

My  first  thought  towards  our  next  step  was 
Vanity  Fair,  the  character  of  Becky  Sharp  for  my 
wife,  supported  by  Hare  as  Lord  Steyne  and  myself 
as  Rawdon  Crawley.  We  were  unlucky:  three 
dramatists  of  the  day  failed  to  make  a  worthy  play 
from  Thackeray's  masterpiece. 

"  Money  " 

We  finally  resolved  that  the  first  successor  to  the 
Robertson  comedies  should  be  a  production  of  Lord 
Lytton's  Money.  Many  head-shakings  and  ominous 
forebodings  followed  the  bold  announcement  of  our 
intention ;  some  of  our  best  friends  thought  the  step 
a  mad  one,  and  that  certain  failure  awaited  the 
temerity  of  our  attack  upon  what  had  grown  to  be 
known  as  a  "  standard  work." 


"MONEY"  127 

It  was  certainly  a  venturesome  move — although 
Money  was  really  ten  years  younger  then  than  Caste 
is  now. 

At  its  first  production  by  Macready,  with  Helen 
Faucit,  Mrs.  Glover,  Benjamin  Webster,  and  Walter 
Lacy  also  acting  in  it,  the  author,  then  Mr.  Edward 
Lytton  Bulwer,  thought  it,  as  he  wrote  in  a  letter  to 
a  friend,  "  badly  acted ;  the  principal  comic  part  in 
the  play,  Sir  John  Vesey,  was  made  by  Strickland  a 
dead  weight  throughout,  Macready  himself  being  a 
little  unnerved  by  his  own  afflictions,  and  the  whole 
thing  was  much  too  long."  Macready  did  not  like 
the  part  of  Evelyn,  although  it  was  specially  written 
to  give  him  the  opportunity  of  appearing  in  a  modern 
play,  and,  as  he  admitted  in  his  diary,  "  I  wanted 
lightness,  self-possession,  and,  in  the  serious  scenes, 
truth.  I  was  not  good  ;  I  feel  it."  He  had  just  lost 
a  much-loved  daughter — such  a  grief  as  players  must 
hide  and  bear — which  perhaps  biassed  his  judgment. 
Although  the  original  production  proved  successful, 
the  comedy  had  since  acquired  the  reputation  of 
being  unlucky,  and  one  that  had  persistently  belied 
its  name. 

This  was  the  play  that,  in  spite  of  the  forebodings 
of  our  friends,  we  determined  to  do.  When  we  con- 
sulted as  to  how  to  cast  it,  the  idea  of  making  the 
part  of  Lady  Franklin  a  young  woman  did  not  strike 
us,  and  my  wife,  who  shared  the  belief  with  me  that 
considerations  as  to  what  parts  we  should  play  our- 
selves were  not  to  influence  decisions  in  the  refusal 
or  acceptance  of  plays,  cheerfully  sank  her  own 
importance  as  an  actress  on  this,  as  on  too  many 
subsequent  occasions,  and  agreed  to  accept  the  small 
part  of  Georgiana  Vesey,  while  I  resigned  "  Deadly  " 
Smooth — not  without  a  pang,  I  confess,  for  it  had 
been  a  favourite  part  of  mine  in  the  country — and 
undertook  the  not  slight  task  of  trying  to  invent  still 
another  type  of  "dandy"  and  bestow  whatever 
might  result  from  the  effort  on  the  character  of  Sir 
Frederick   Blount.      This   was  done,  eventually,  by 


128  SOME   OLD   COMEDIES 

a  careful,  but  not  slavish,  imitation  of  a  friend,  who 
never  detected  my  audacity  and  remained  one  of  my 
warm  admirers. 

The  many  small  but  important  parts  were  very 
carefully  treated,  and  we  worked  diligently  at  the 
rehearsals  for  six  or  seven  weeks,  with  the  conviction 
that  we  were  playing  for  the  highest  stake  we  had 
risked  up  to  that  time,  though  always  conscious  that 
success  would  break  our  trammels  and  allow  our 
choice  of  plays  a  much  wider  range  in  the  future. 

1  applied  to  the  author  to  be  allowed  to  make 
a  few  alterations  in  his  play,  chiefly  with  a  view  to 
avoiding  a  change  of  scene,  and  received  the  following 
response ; 

12,  Gbosvknor  Square. 

Dear  Sir, — 

I  am  obliged  for  your  courteous  letter,  and 
have  no  wish  to  make  frivolous  objections  to  your 
performance  of  my  comedy.  If  it  suits  your  con- 
venience to  play  Act  IV.  without  change  of  scene 
between  one  room  and  another  in  Evelyn's  house, 
so  be  it ;  only  let  me  see  first  how  you  would  modify 
lines. 

It  is  not  a  few  verbal  cuts  here  and  there  on 
which  I  should  think  it  worth  while  to  cavil  with 
a  management  so  accomplished  and  so  skilled  as 
yours. 

Yours  truly, 

Lytton. 

Fortified  by  the  courteous  sympathy  received 
from  the  distinguished  author  during  interviews  at 
his  charming  house  in  Grosvenor  Square  —  now 
occupied,  I  believe,  by  Mr.  Pierpont  Morgan,  Junior 
— on  the  treatment  of  his  work,  we  rehearsed  with 
renewed  vigour,  bestowing  the  greatest  pains  upon 
the  cast  and  upon  the  most  elaborate  interiors  of 
rooms  we  had  as  yet  shown.  An  exact  reproduction 
of  a  card-room  in  a  West-end  club  was  a  strong 
feature ;  and  there  was  no  thought  of  *'  supers  "  to 


AN   OLD   SAYING  129 

represent  the  members,  who  were  actors,  recruited 
by  well-mannered  aspirants  whom  I  was  delighted 
to  encourage  to  go  upon  the  stage.  I  was  justified 
by  the  subsequent  careers  of  several  youngsters  who 
made  their  first  appearance  then. 

The  play  was  produced  on  Saturday,  May  4, 
1872,  with  a  cast  which  included,  as  I  have  said, 
ourselves ;  John  Hare  as  Sir  John  Vesey ;  Charles 
Coghlan  as  Alfred  Evelyn ;  Frank  Archer,  who  then 
made  his  first  appearance  in  London  and  a  marked 
success,  as  Captain  Dudley  Smooth ;  George  Honey 
as  Graves ;  Frederick  Dewar  as  Stout ;  Mrs.  Leigh 
Murray  as  Lady  Franklin ;  and  Fanny  Brough — then 
quite  a  girl — as  Clara  Douglas.  Perhaps  the  actor 
who  gained  most  by  the  production  was  Coghlan, 
whose  performance  of  the  difficult  part  of  the  hero  I 
will  only  briefly  say  has  never,  in  my  judgment,  been 
excelled.  Of  my  own  performance  The  Times  told 
me  that  the  part  of  the  "  exquisite  "  was  raised  by 
me  "to  an  importance  which  did  not  belong  to  him 
in  the  olden  time  "  ;  and  The  Daily  Telegraph  said 
that  there  was  such  polish  about  the  impersonation 
of  the  foppish  baronet,  Sir  Frederick  Blount,  as  to 
redeem  the  character  from  the  imbecility  with  which 
it  had  been  previously  invested.  "  In  a  delineation 
of  this  kind  Mr.  Bancroft  has  not  a  rival  upon  the 
stage,  and  the  inane  *  swell '  who  still  forces  upon  you 
the  conviction  that  he  is  a  true  gentleman  at  heart  re- 
quires so  many  qualifications  to  be  faithfully  rendered 
that  the  merits  of  an  assumption  of  this  kind  are 
much  more  frequently  over-looked  than  over-rated." 

Time  has  not  greatly  interfered  with  the  following 
old  saying  which  we  printed  on  the  playbill : 

"'Tis  a  very  good  world  we  live  in, 
To  lend,  or  to  spend,  or  to  give  in, 
But  to  beg,  or  to  borrow,  or  get  a  man's  own, 
'Tis  the  very  worst  world  that  ever  was  known." 

The  success  of  our  new  rendering  of  the  old 
comedy  was  instantaneous  and  very  great,  revealing 

9 


130  SOME   OLD   COMEDIES 

possibilities  in  the  Prince  of  Wales's  company  which 
some  of  our  warmest  admirers  had  not  suspected. 
One  of  the  most  accomplished  critics  of  those  days 
wrote  that,  while  of  the  general  excellence  of  this 
company  no  doubt  had  ever  been  entertained,  the 
question  had  been  raised  whether  the  talents  of  the 
individual  members  would  bear  the  task  of  a  per- 
formance drawing  upon  another  kind  of  repertory 
than  that  supplied  by  Robertson.  The  question  had 
indeed  been  satisfactorily  answered  by  the  production 
of  Money.  Another  journal,  the  Athenceum^  never 
given  to  excessive  praise,  recorded  that  from  the 
current  blemishes  of  English  acting  the  Prince  of 
Wales's  company  was  to  a  great  extent  free.  No 
attempt  was  made  by  any  of  its  members  to  eclipse 
his  fellows,  or  to  monopolise  either  the  space  on  the 
boards  or  the  attention  of  the  audience.  No  piece 
was  presented  in  such  a  state  of  unpreparedness  that 
the  first  dozen  performances  were  no  better  than 
rehearsals ;  no  slovenliness  in  the  less  important 
accessories  of  the  play  was  permitted.  A  nearer 
approach  was  witnessed,  accordingly,  than  elsewhere 
in  England  could  be  found,  to  that  ensemble  it  was 
the  boast  of  the  Comedie  Fran9aise  to  encourage. 
Actors  were  measured,  so  to  speak,  by  their  parts, 
and  were  only  to  take  such  as  fit  them.  "  Mrs. 
Bancroft  herself,  with  an  artistic  feeling  to  be  ex- 
pected from  her,  accepts  a  subordinate  character. 
The  example  she  sets  is  followed,  and,  as  a  result, 
the  performance  takes  the  town  with  a  sort  of 
wonder." 

Discarding  the  traditional  business,  we  followed 
what  became  our  practice  in  all  our  revivals  of  old 
comedy,  and  produced  the  play  entirely  in  accord- 
ance with  our  own  ideas  of  its  appeal  to  a  modern 
audience.  We  were  delighted  when  Lord  Lytton 
expressed  his  wish  to  be  present  at  the  first  perform- 
ance ;  he  slipped  away  just  in  time  to  avoid  appearing 
on  the  stage  in  reply  to  the  enthusiastic  calls,  and 
sent  us  the  following  letter  : 


THE   AUTHOR  OF   "MONEY"        131 

12,  Grosvenob  Square, 

May  10,  1872. 

Dear  Madam, — 

Our  mutual  friend,  Mrs.  Lehmann,  I  trust 
conveyed  to  you  my  high  appreciation  of  the  remark- 
able skill  and  ability  with  which  the  comedy  of 
Money  has  been  placed  on  your  stage.  But  I  feel 
that  I  ought  to  thank  you,  in  words  not  addressed 
through  another,  for  the  gratification  afforded  me. 
Had  the  play  been  written  by  a  stranger  to  me,  I 
should  have  enjoyed  extremely  such  excellent  acting 
— an  enjoyment  necessarily  heightened  to  an  author 
whose  conceptions  the  acting  embodied  and  adorned. 

Truly  and  obliged, 

Lytton. 

To  Mrs.  Bancroft. 

The  Frederick  Lehmanns — for  many  years  the 
kindest  of  friends,  for  some  of  them  dear  neighbours 
— who  were  of  the  party  in  the  author's  box,  soon 
afterwards  included  us  in  a  charming  dinner-party, 
when  the  guests  invited  included  Lord  Lytton,  Lord 
Chief  Justice  Cockburn,  and  Wilkie  Collins.  It  was 
at  that  time  we  first  saw  the  then  freshly  painted 
portrait  of  their  daughter  Nina  (now  Lady  Campbell), 
a  picture  of  lovely  childhood  which  alone  would 
have  immortalised  the  brush  of  Millais. 

Some  nine  months  later  the  eminent  author  of 
the  play  we  were  still  acting  died  at  Torquay  after  a 
short  illness.  Indeed,  it  was  only  a  few  days  before 
that  his  son,  then  Mr.  Robert  Lytton  (the  first  Earl, 
Viceroy  of  India,  and  afterwards  Ambassador  to 
France),  who  had  been  for  some  time  abroad,  did  us 
the  honour  to  seek  our  acquaintance,  enclosing  a 
letter  of  introduction  from  his  father.  This  led  to  a 
long  talk  about  our  production  of  Money,  which 
*'  Owen  Meredith  "  arranged  to  see  on  the  following 
evening,  just  before  his  summons  to  the  author's 
death-bed. 

Money  then  ran  for  more  than  two  hundred  per- 
formances, a  triumph  far  eclipsing  all  its   previous 


132  SOME   OLD   COMEDIES 

records,  and  served  the  exchequer  to  a  greater  extent 
than  any  of  our  productions  up  to  that  date,  except- 
ing only  School.  Our  bold  adventure  was  well  re- 
warded, and  encouraged  us  to  further  efforts. 

Less  than  three  years  later  we  revived  the 
comedy,  when,  through  one  of  our  few  failures,  we 
were  in  suddfen  need,  and  again  crowded  houses  testi- 
fied to  the  now  favourite  old  comedy's  undiminished 
popularity.  On  this  occasion  my  wife  appeared  as 
Lady  Franklin,  the  character  being  then  for  the  first 
time  acted  as  a  young  woman,  Carlotta  Addison  was 
the  Georgina,  and  Ellen  Terry  the  most  distinguished 
Clara  Douglas  since  the  days  of  Helen  Faucit.  An 
accomplished  critic  pointed  out  how  an  accom- 
plished actress  could  win  success  from  the  most 
unlikely  material.  All  the  winning  wilfulness  of 
Lady  Franklin,  all  her  coaxings,  all  her  teasings,  all 
her  plots,  counterplots,  and  trickeries,  only  took  up 
twenty-two  scraps  of  conversation  in  dialogue.  "  The 
concentration  of  Mrs.  Bancroft's  art  at  this  point  is 
marvellous.  A  more  perfect  example  of  comedy  art 
in  its  truest  and  best  sense  has  certainly  not  been 
seen  in  our  time." 

On  an  occasion  of  one  of  those  giant  performances 
which  are  sometimes  given  for  the  benefit  of  an  old 
actor,  Webster — who  had  long  retired  and  who  was 
nearly,  if  not  quite,  eighty — was  unwisely  induced  to 
appear  in  a  selection  from  Money,  in  his  original 
character,  Mr.  Graves,  which  he  had  created  nearly 
forty  years  before.  When  the  sad  wreck  of  the  once 
famous,  handsome  actor  came  to  the  wing  dressed  for 
the  performance,  I  saw  plainly  how  feeble  he  was. 
As  his  cue  approached,  he  suddenly  clung  to  me  in  a 
terror-stricken  way,  and  said  with  emotion,  "  Oh,  my 
dear  boy,  where  am  I  ?  I'm  very  frightened;  I  don't 
remember  what  I  have  to  do."  Fortunately  he  had 
but  a  few  words  to  say.  I  endeavoured  to  cheer  him, 
and  putting  my  arm  round  him,  said  gently,  "  It's  all 
right,  Mr.  Webster  ;  you  remember  Mrs.  Bancroft, 
don't  you  ?  "    "  Remember  Marie  ?    Of  course  I  do  I " 


WEBSTER'S   LAST   APPEARANCE     133 

"  Then,  sir,  you  Ve  nothing  to  fear :  she  will  look 
after  you  directly  you  step  upon  the  stage." 

I  had  to  reassure  and  talk  to  him  in  this  way  as 
his  cue  came  nearer  and  nearer.  I  told  him  how  and 
when  to  start ;  he  gave  me  a  last  wistful  look,  and 
then  obeyed  me  like  a  little  child.  After  the  applause 
which  welcomed  the  great  comedian  of  days  gone  by 
had  died  away — which  he  had  lost  the  art  of  acknow- 
ledging, but  stood  as  if  in  a  dream — Mrs.  Bancroft 
gently  took  her  place  by  the  old  man's  side,  as  her 
part  allowed  her  to  do,  and  helped  him  through  the 
lines  he  had  to  speak. 

When  we  moved  to  the  Haymarket  Theatre,  it 
was  Money  which  we  finally  selected  as  our  first 
production  in  our  new  home.  We  were  influenced  in 
this  choice  by  the  fact  that  our  own  parts  in  the  play 
would  be  light ;  for  while  the  elaborate  preparations 
before  and  behind  where  it  seemed  unlikely  a  curtain 
ever  again  would  hang  were  going  on  through  every 
hour  of  the  day,  I  was  at  the  beck  and  call  of  archi- 
tect, clerk  of  the  works,  scene-painters,  decorators, 
stage-carpenters,  costumiers,  upholsterers,  and  the 
host  of  smaller  folk  employed  ad  infinitum  in  such  an 
enterprise. 

This  was  the  last  run  of  the  comedy  for  which 
fees  were  paid,  as  the  copyright  had  then  nearly 
expired  ;  indeed,  we  had  to  make  special  terms  with 
the  then  Lord  Lytton  ("  Owen  Meredith  ")  for  its 
revival.  Rehearsals,  which  had  begun  in  peace  at 
the  Prince  of  Wales's,  were  ended  in  tumult  at  the 
Haymarket.  The  five  years  that  had  intervened 
since  our  last  production  of  the  play  rendered  it 
impossible  to  recall  some  of  the  former  successes  to 
the  cast,  but  while  we  ourselves  retained  our  old 
parts,  Marion  Terry,  Arthur  Cecil,  Conway,  and 
Forbes-Robertson  then  appeared  for  the  first  time 
in  the  play,  which  introduced  Charles  Brookfield  to 
the  London  stage,  and  also  Frederick  Terry,  who 
appeared  as  a  boyish  member  in  the  club  scene. 

The  opening  night  of  our  new  theatre  was  an 


134  SOME   OLD   COMEDIES 

eventful  one  and  will  be  dealt  with  elsewhere,  as  will 
the  demonstration  that  greeted  my  abolition  of  the 
pit.  To  add  to  that,  there  was  a  dense  fog ;  while 
the  new  surroundings  and  the  want  of  sufficient 
rehearsal  on  the  unfamiliar  stage  affected  many  of 
the  company  with  nervousness.  Dutton  Cook  aptly 
discerned  that  the  players  hardly  yet  understood 
the  perspective,  or  the  optique  du  theatre,  of  their 
new  position.  "  Mrs.  Bancroft,  who  had  an  extremely 
affectionate  greeting  when  she  stepped  on  the  stage 
as  Lady  Franklin,  was  the  only  member  of  the 
company  who  entirely  controlled  her  nervousness." 
Shortcomings  in  the  ensemble  were  remedied  as  we 
grew  accustomed  to  the  great  change  in  our  surround- 
ings, and  the  play  ran  with  great  success  for  eighty 
nights,  with  a  result  which  surpassed  what  would 
have  been  possible  in  our  former  home,  and  at  once 
rendered  our  prospects  at  the  Haymarket  more  secure 
than,  at  the  time,  was  either  thought  or  believed. 

"  The  School  for  Scandal  " 

Our  next  and  still  more  daring  excursion  at  the 
Prince  of  Wales's  into  the  field  of  old  comedy  was 
The  School  for  Scandal,  which  we  produced  in  the 
spring  of  1874.  Supported  by  the  brilliant  success 
achieved  by  Money,  and  the  importance  to  the 
theatre  of  finding  a  part  of  value  for  my  wife,  I 
decided  to  go  still  further  to  the  classics,  and  venture 
upon  a  production  of  Sheridan's  masterpiece,  with  a 
view  to  presenting  the  grand  old  comedy  as  an  exact 
picture  of  its  period. 

The  first  steps  towards  this  ambition  were  long 
and  careful  visits  to  both  the  Print-room  and  the 
Reading-room  in  the  British  Museum,  and  equally 
valuable  pilgrimages  to  Knole.  This  entrancing 
country  seat  I  visited  in  the  companionship  of  George 
Gordon,  our  principal  scenic  artist,  in  order  to  choose 
such  types  of  rooms  as,  from  their  wealth  of  pictures 
and  old  furniture,  might  best  serve  our  scheme  of 


"THE   SCHOOL   FOR   SCANDAL"     135 

elaborate  and  faithful  decoration.     For  many  months 
before  the  date  of  the  production  we  were  at  work 
upon  the  details  of  the  play.     During  the  hundred 
years  which  had  elapsed  since  it  first  took  the  town, 
the  tastes  and  requirements  had  considerably  changed, 
and  we  felt  that  it  would  be  only  just  to  the  great 
comedy  to  heighten  its  effect  by  an  unprecedented  / 
attention    to   the    costumes,    scenery,    and    general 
appointments,   and   by  a   few  transpositions   in   the 
sequence  of  the  scenes,  made  with  every  regard  for  / 
the  integrity  of  the  text — an  arrangement  which  was 
the  joint  work  of  Charles  Coghlan  and  myself.     My 
wife  conceived  the  idea  of  introducing,  for  the  first 
time,  the   minuet   de  la   cour    at   Lady   Sneerwell's    ^ 
reception,  which   greatly  enriched  the  scene.      The 
general   effect  of  this  interpolated  dance  was  repro- 
duced on  the  curtain  painted  for  us  when  we  moved 
to  the  Haymarket,  and  a  replica  of  it  can  still  be 
seen  at  the  now  altered   theatre.      This   dance  also 
inspired  a  charming  picture  by  Val  Prinsep,   R.A., 
exhibited   in   the    Royal   Academy ;    the   sketch   of 
"  The  Minuet,"  as  our  old  friend  called  it,  he  kindly 
gave  to  my  wife.     Our  example  in  introducing  the 
dance    has    so   often   been   followed    at   subsequent 
revivals  of  the  comedy  as  to  cause  it  to  be  regarded 
as  part  of  the  original  work.     The  same  story  might     , 
be  told,  no  doubt,  of  my  part  of  the  rearrangement,  by 
which  Charles  Surface's  banquet  and  the  subsequent 
sale  of  the  portraits  of  his  ancestors  took  place  for  the 
first  time  in  the  same  scene.     This  plan  is  now  always 
adhered  to,  and  was  even  announced  some  years  ago 
by  a  manager  in  America  as  his  own  "  new  arrange- 
ment."    "  Out,  out,  brief  candle  ! " 

Another  feature  which  we  introduced  into  the  i 
comedy  for  the  first  time  was  Lady  Teazle's  black 
page.  My  wife  resolved  that  our  Pompey  should 
be  a  real  one,  but  we  had  great  difficulty  in  finding 
him.  The  docks,  workhouses,  charitable  institutions, 
and  every  likely  place  we  could  think  of  were 
searched  in  vain.     At  last  a  boy  of  the  true  type  of 


136  SOME   OLD   COMEDIES 

African  beauty,  with  large  protruding  lips,  gleaming 
eyes,  receding  forehead,  woolly  hair,  and  a  skin  which 
shone  like  a  well-coloured  meerschaum  pipe,  was  lent 
to  us  by  an  owner  of  sugar  plantations.  The  boy 
was  called  "  Biafra,"  after  the  ship  he  came  over  in, 
and  looked  a  picture  in  his  laced  scarlet  coat,  his 
white  turban,  and  gilt  dog-collar.  Lewis  Wingfield 
was  so  taken  by  the  boy's  appearance  that  he  painted 
a  portrait  of  him  and  gave  it  to  my  wife. 

The  cast  included,  besides  ourselves  as  Lady 
Teazle  and  Joseph  Surface,  John  Hare  as  Sir  Peter, 
and  Charles  Coghlan  as  Charles  Surface,  performances 
which  are  elsewhere  alluded  to ;  Lin  Rayne  was  an 
original  and  admirable  Benjamin  Backbite,  and  Fanny 
Josephs  a  most  captivating  Lady  Sneerwell. 

The  production  of  the  comedy  was  so  exceptional 
at  the  time  as  to  draw  a  powerful  description  of  its 
many  beauties  from  the  picturesque  pen  of  Clement 
Scott,  who  then  was  rendering  great  service  to  the 
stage  by  his  tributes  to  the  acting  of  those  days : 

**  There  are  four  complete  and  accurate  pictures 
of  high  life  towards  the  close  of  the  eighteenth 
century.  We  are  shown  society  in  Lady  SneerwelFs 
drawing-room ;  society  in  Sir  Peter  I'eazle's  house  ; 
society  at  Charles  Surface's  ;  and,  finally,  a  complete 
insight  into  the  life  of  Joseph  Surface.  Come,  then, 
to  Lady  Sneerwell's.  It  is  the  morning  of  a  great 
rout  or  assembly.  The  amber  satin  curtains  are  half 
pulled  up  the  lofty  windows.  The  sunshine  falls 
upon  the  quilted  panels  of  spotless  gold  satin.  Lady 
Sneerwell,  in  powder  and  brocade,  sits  sipping  her 
tea  out  of  faultless  china  in  a  high  marqueterie  chair, 
her  feet  upon  a  cushion  of  luxurious  down.  The 
appearance  of  the  room  is  dazzling.  The  tone  of 
society  is  a  lavish  and  lazy  luxury.  Here  comes 
Mrs.  Candour  with  her  fan  and  her  scandalous 
stories ;  Crabtree  with  his  richly  embroidered  coat ; 
Sir  Benjamin  Backbite,  in  pink  silk,  with  his  mincing, 
macaroni  airs,  his  point-lace  handkerchief,  his  scented 
snuiF;   and   here    amongst   this   gaudiness,  frivolity, 


"THE   SCHOOL   FOR   SCANDAL"     187 

and  affectation,  sits  poor  Maria,  detesting  the  shallow- 
ness and  insincerity  of  the  age  in  which  she  was 
born.  Change  the  scene  quickly  to  Lady  Sneer- 
well's  drawing-room  at  night.  The  spinet  and  the 
powdered  musicians ;  the  room  being  bared  of 
furniture  and  empty  for  a  dance.  Watch  the 
gorgeous  footmen  calmly  going  round  the  room  to 
snufF  the  guttering  candles  ;  listen  how  the  guests 
chatter  and  flatter  one  another,  seated  on  rout-seats 
against  the  wall ;  they  take  snufF  with  an  air  and 
bow  with  courtly  gravity ;  they  turn  a  verse  or 
recite  an  epigram.  Sir  Benjamin  Backbite  is  pestered 
for  the  latest  folly,  Mrs.  Candour  is  teased  for  her 
latest  bit  of  scandal.  But  see,  Lady  Teazle  enters, 
her  train  held  by  a  negro  page-boy ;  all  eyes  are 
attracted  by  her  beautiful  dress,  while  all  tongues 
are  wagging  about  the  young  wife  who  has  married 
an  old  bachelor.  The  music  gives  out  the  first  bars 
of  a  glorious  minuet,  and  tells  us  of  the  days  when 
musicians  wrote  for  dancing,  and  when  dancing  was 
an  art.  We  know  not  which  most  to  admire,  the 
refined  orchestration  or  the  studied  courtesy  of  the 
poUshed  dance. 

"  Change  the  scene  again  to  a  room  at  Sir  Peter 
Teazle's :  its  semi-circular  shape  is  seized  as  an 
opportunity  for  exhibiting  some  tapestry,  which  may 
have  come  from  the  manufactory  of  Sir  Francis 
Crane  at  Mortlake,  may  have  been  picked  up  in 
Flanders,  or  Bayeux,  or  Gobelins,  dated  in  the  reign 
of  Louis  Quatorze.  A  rare  chandelier,  suspended  by 
a  crimson  silken  cord,  contrasts  well  with  the  carved 
oak  ceiling.  A  mandolin  lies  neglected  on  the  floor, 
and  the  whole  apartment  is  rich,  heavy,  and  luxurious 
— the  favourite  apartment  of  a  wealthy  man  of  taste. 
Here  Sir  Peter  welcomes  his  old  friend  '  Noll ' ; 
here  Lady  Teazle,  sitting  on  a  low  stool  at  his  feet, 
pets  and  coaxes  her  testy  and  withal  affectionate  old 
husband.  Once  more  we  make  a  change.  We  are 
amongst  bachelors,  and  dice-players,  and  wine- 
bibbers.     We  are  in  the  extravagant  home  of  Charles 


138  SOME   OLD   COMEDIES 

Surface,  where  his  servant  Trip  borrows  money  by 
way  of  annuity,  and  Charles  himself  sits  at  the  head 
of  a  rollicking  crew  surrounded  by  the  portraits  of 
his  ancestors.     How  they  drink,  and  talk,  and  sing, 
and  swear  !     How  they  empty  the  punch-bowl,  care- 
fully  and   continually   replenished   by  the   drawling 
Trip.     Here  sits  Charles  Surface  in  a  costume  whose 
colour   can   only   be   compared   to   that   of    a    blue 
convolvulus  ruined  by  the  sun,  his  vest  unbuttoned, 
his  ruffles  loosened,  and  his  whole  being  abandoned 
to  the  gaiety  of  the  moment.     Moses  and  Premium 
are  introduced,  and  made  to  join  the  festive  group, 
mutually  pleased  and  shocked.     The  family  pictures 
are   sold    coram   populo,   without   any   necessity   of 
retiring  to  another  room.     Some  are  smoking,  some 
are  snuffing,  all  are  drinking,  laughing,  and  making 
merry.     All  round   are   colour,  richness,  animation, 
and  revelry.     This,  then,  is  the  picture  of  bachelor 
life.     Here   are   the  wild  oats  sown.     The  scene  is 
hushed   and   still   when  we   come  to  the  library  of 
Joseph   Surface.      The  picture  is  in  wonderful   con- 
trast  to   the   banquet   at  the   home   of  his  brother 
Charles.     The  furniture  is  massive,  heavy,  and   im- 
portant.     The  bookcases   are   of  oak,    as   black   as 
ebony.      The  windows  are  of  painted   glass.      The 
fireplace  is  as  carved  and  pillared  as  an  old  cathedral 
cope-chest.     The  bindings  of  the  books  are  of  russia 
leather,    and   there   are    ponderous   tomes    amongst 
them.     The  carpet  is  of  thick  pile,  and  from  Turkey. 
The  only  contrast  of  colour  in  the  room  is  found  in 
the  Oriental  blue  vases  on  the  mantel-shelf,  in  the 
blue  delft  dishes  on  the  walls,  in  the  polished  brass 
of  the   coal-scuttle,  in   the  gleam  of  the   Venetian 
mirror,  and   the   dull   crimson  of  the  all-important 
screen.     These  probably  are  the  mere  ideas  sought 
to  be   conveyed   to  the   audience   by  the   beautiful 
pictures  placed  before  them." 

The  parts  we  ourselves  played  were  so  different 
from  those  rendered  familiar  to  London  playgoers 
by  frequent  repetitions  of  the  Robertson  comedies, 


LADY   TEAZLE  189 

and  were  treated  in  such  an  unconventional  way, 
that  we  venture  to  add  comment  by  the  same  writer 
upon  the  performance  of  them : 

"At  last  we  obtain — at  least  in  modern  days — 
a  Lady  Teazle  who  is  the  fresh,  genuine,  im- 
pulsive maiden  wedded  to  an  old  bachelor,  and 
not  the  practised  actress,  with  all  her  airs  and 
graces.  How  often  in  Lady  Teazle  the  character 
is  forgotten,  the  actress  and  the  old  business 
invariably  remembered  !  In  the  scandal  scenes 
we  were  presented  with  an  archness  and  sly  sense 
of  humour,  always  evident  but  never  super- 
abundant, in  which  Mrs.  Bancroft  has  a  special 
patent ;  in  the  coaxing  scene  with  Sir  Peter  Teazle, 
the  childlike  desire  to  kiss  and  make  friends,  the 
almost  kitten-like  content  when  the  reconciliation 
is  made,  and  the  expressive  change  of  the  coun- 
tenance from  sunshine  to  storm  when  the  wrangle 
commences  again,  were  admirably  conveyed.  But 
it  was  reserved  for  Mrs.  Bancroft  to  make  her  most 
lasting  impression  in  the  screen  scene.  With  won- 
derful care  and  welcome  art  the  impression  conveyed 
to  an  innocent  mind  by  the  insinuating  deceit  of 
Joseph  was  accurately  shown  by  expression  to  the 
audience,  though  the  excellence  of  the  general  idea 
culminated  in  what  is  known  as  Lady  Teazle's 
defence,  when  the  screen  has  fallen,  and  the  denoue- 
ment has  taken  place.  This  was  entirely  new 
and  thoroughly  effective.  The  tones,  alternating 
between  indignation  and  pathos,  between  hatred 
of  Joseph  and  pity  for  her  husband's  condition, 
were  expressed  with  excellent  effect.  It  was  the 
frank  and  candid  avowal  of  a  once  foolish  but  now 
repentant  woman.  The  womanly  instinct  which  bids 
Lady  Teazle  touch  and  try  to  kiss  her  husband's 
hand,  the  womanly  weakness  which  makes  Lady 
Teazle  totter  and  trip  as  she  makes  for  the  door, 
the  womanly  strength  which  steels  Lady  Teazle 
in  her  refusal  of  assistance  from  Joseph,  and 
the  woman's   inevitable   abandonment   to   hysterical 


140  SOME   OLD   COMEDIES 

grief  Just  before  the  heroic  goal  is  reached — were  one 
and  all  instances  of  the  treasured  possession  of  an 
artistic  temperament." 

The  celebrated  Miss  Farren,  afterwards  Countess 
of  Derby,  performed  the  part  of  Lady  Teazle,  it 
is  said,  with  a  finished  air  of  complete,  fashionable 
indifference.  But  this  is  hardly  Sheridan's  creation. 
The  old  country  training  and  the  rustic  simplicity 
were  never  entirely  effaced  in  Lady  Teazle.  Dutton 
Cook,  one  of  the  hardest  of  critics  to  satisfy  and 
please,  said  that  my  wife's  performance  must  have 
strongly  resembled  that  of  Mrs.  Jordan  in  the  part. 

According  to  the  same  critic,  my  reading  of 
Joseph  Surface,  in  that  it  was  one  of  the  most 
original  and  reflective  performances,  would  attract 
most  criticism  and  would  probably  court  the  most 
objection.  He  recalled  how  when  Fechter  played 
lago,  and  discarded  the  hackneyed  villain,  there  was 
a  similar  disturbance.  According  to  stage  tradition, 
lago  and  Joseph  Surface  are  such  outrageous  and 
obvious  rascals  that  they  would  not  be  tolerated  in 
any  society.  **  Mr.  Bancroft  reforms  this  altogether, 
and,  by  a  subtlety  and  ease  most  commendable, 
valuably  strengthens  his  position  as  an  actor  and  his 
discrimination  as  an  artist."  Joseph  Surface  could  be 
played  as  a  low  villain,  or  as  a  hungry,  excited,  and 
abandoned  libertine  ;  I  had  adopted  the  golden  mean. 
The  deception  was  never  on  the  surface,  the  libertin- 
ism was  never  for  an  instant  repulsive.  "It  is  one 
of  those  instances  of  good  acting  which  strike  the 
beholder  when  the  curtain  is  down  and  the  play  put 
away." 

Our  School  for  Scandal,  according  to  a  well-known 
critic,  was  practically  a  new  play ;  and  that  not  so 
much  by  reason  of  the  alterations  in  the  sequence  of 
its  scenes  as  on  account  of  the  heart  and  sympathy 
infused  into  what  had  before  so  often  seemed  a 
string  of  brilliant,  cruel  epigrams,  unconnected  by 
a  thread  of  human  interest.  Future  managers,  he 
continued,  would  thank  us  for  the  upsetting  of  the 


WILKIE   COLLINS'S   ENTHUSIASM     141 

great  traditional  Dagon,  and  the  rebuilding  of  the 
play  on  a  natural  basis.  Words  which  admirably 
express  the  principle  underlying  our  treatment. 

The  critic  of  The  Times  said  that  so  novel  a 
conception  so  perfectly  realised  deserved  the  attention 
of  every  one  who  took  an  interest  in  the  contemporary 
stage. 

As  we  have  shown,  our  production  of  The  School 
for  Scandal  attracted  remarkable  notice  and  proved 
a  success  of  the  first  rank  artistically  and  financially, 
aided  greatly  in  the  latter  field  by  the  bold  step  then 
taken,  and  explained  in  an  earlier  chapter,  of  in- 
creasing the  price  of  seats. 

We  will  quote  one  or  two  extracts,  equally 
characteristic  and  appreciative,  from  a  number  of 
interesting  letters  we  received  at  the  time.  Wilkie 
Collins  wrote  that  the  get-up  of  the  comedy  was 
simply  wonderful ;  he  had  never  before  seen  anything, 
within  the  space,  so  beautiful  and  so  complete ;  but 
the  splendid  costumes  and  scenery  did  not  live  in 
his  memory  as  did  the  acting  of  Mrs.  Bancroft.  He 
did  not  know  when  he  had  seen  anything  so  fine  as 
her  playing  of  the  great  scene  with  Joseph ;  the 
truth  and  beauty  of  it,  the  marvellous  play  of 
expression  in  her  face,  the  quiet  and  beautiful  dignity 
of  her  repentance,  were  beyond  all  praise. 

"  1  cannot  tell  you  or  tell  her  how  it  delighted  and 
affected  me.  You,  too,  played  admirably."  The 
"  key "  of  my  performance  he  thought  perhaps  a 
little  too  low ;  but  the  conception  of  the  man's 
character  he  considered  most  excellent.  "  I  left  my 
seat  in  a  red-hot  fever  of  enthusiasm.  I  have  all 
sorts  of  things  to  say  about  the  acting — which  cannot 
be  said  here — when  we  next  meet." 

A  veteran  actor,  who  for  many  years  had  acted 
with  distinction  in  the  play,  whose  training  we  fairly 
thought  might  rebel  at  our  innovations,  after  asking 
our  "  permission  "  to  congratulate  us  upon  a  success 
so  justly  and  honourably  achieved,  went  on  to  say 
that  our  boldness,  liberality,  and  taste  in  rearranging 


142  SOME    OLD    COMEDIES 

and  mounting  the  play,  instead  of  "  offending  his 
prejudices,"  most  fully  and  thoroughly  gratified  them, 
more  especially  so,  as  he  had  ever  thought  that  the 
revival  of  a  great  dramatic  work  should  resemble 
the  production  of  a  grand  book.  The  illustrations 
should  be  original,  new,  and  more  brilliant  and 
appropriate  than  any  upon  the  same  subject  that 
might  have  preceded  it.  The  last  edition  should  be 
the  handsomest  and  the  best,  as  it  unquestionably 
was  in  this  present  instance.  It  would  be,  he  believed, 
a  very  long  time  before  any  one  would  be  so  rash  as 
to  attempt  another  illustrated  edition  of  The  School 
for  Scandal. 

The  distinguished  Academician,  W.  P.  Frith, 
whose  pictures  in  those  days  had  often  to  be  guarded 
from  the  crowds  at  Burlington  House,  wrote  to  me, 
"  You  and  all  your  people  gave  to  me  and  mine 
very  great  pleasure  last  night."  He  was  afraid  to 
say  how  many  times  he  had  seen  The  School  for 
Scandal,  and  how  many  great  actors  and  actresses  he 
had  seen  in  it.  He  would  not  say  but  that  on  some 
occasions  one  or  two  of  the  parts  had  been  better 
filled ;  but  take  our  cast  altogether,  it  was  one 
that  no  other  theatre  could  show,  and  the  play 
was  rendered  with  high  intelligence.  My  wife,  he 
concluded,  was,  as  she  always  was,  perfect.  In  his 
opinion,  the  minuet  was  one  of  the  most  delightful 
bits  of  grace  and  exquisite  taste  ever  seen.  It  took 
him  back  to  the  days  of  his  great-grandmother,  a 
hundred  years  ago. 

We  will  only  add  a  characteristic  and  appreciative 
letter  from  another  stage  veteran,  Walter  Lacy : 

"  When  long  years  since,  Macready  was  announced 
to  play  Richard  III.,  although  I  had  banqueted  right 
royally  on  the  grand  Edmund  Kean,  and  was  not  to 
be  weaned  from  my  old  love,  I  thoroughly  enjoyed 
the  highly  intellectual  treat  prepared  for  me  by  Alac's 
new  reading;  and  so  was  it  to-night  in  the  classic 
little  temple  where  I  made  my  debut  in  The  French 
Spy  with  Celeste,  shortly  after  seeing  the  new  Richard 


HARE   LEAVES   THE   COMPANY     143 

at  Drury  Lane.  As  Macready  carefully  avoided 
every  point  made  by  Kean,  much  of  the  comedy 
to-night  was  made  pathetic,  and  vice  versa,  but, 
both  in  conception  and  finish  of  execution,  evincing 
the  common  sense,  good  taste,  delicacy,  and  refinement 
of  yourself  and  our  most  natural  actress,  whose  Lady 
Teazle  had  touches  of  unapproachable  excellence. 
The  brothers  were  equally  admirable,  and  would  have 
perhaps  been  even  more  so  had  they  changed  parts. 
Mr.  Hare's  screen-scene  was  worthy  of  his  reputation, 
and  nothing  could  surpass  the  Lady  Sneerwell.  The 
*  picture  '-scene  is  distinctly  in  advance  upon  the  old 
arrangement.     Thanks  for  a  great  treat." 

I  dispute  Lacy's  judgment  in  suggesting  that  1 
might  with  advantage  have  exchanged  parts  with 
Coghlan,  whose  splendid  acting  as  Charles  Surface 
was  greatly  praised  by  all  the  critics  and  by  all 
judges  of  our  art.  While  sharing  to  the  fullest  extent 
this  admiration  for  his  performance,  1  would  yet 
venture  to  wonder  if,  in  its  beautiful  finish,  the 
character  was  not  in  his  hands  somewhat  more 
suggestive  of  a  dissolute  young  French  marquis  than 
of  a  reckless  and  boisterous  young  Englishman.  Be 
that  as  it  may,  a  strong  factor  towards  our  success 
with  the  play,  in  my  opinion,  was  the  fact  of  our 
both  being  really  young  men,  for  the  brothers  had 
too  often  been  represented  by  actors  of  fame,  but 
whose  united  ages  were  hardly  attractive,  and  after 
all,  the  dramatic  side  of  the  comedy  greatly  depends 
upon  Uncle  "  Noll  "  and  his  two  nephews. 

It  was  at  this  time  that  our  company  suffered  a 
great  loss  in  the  departure  of  one  of  its  oldest  and  one 
of  its  most  valued  members,  John  Hare.  Time  has 
not  weakened  our  remembrance  of  his  services  and 
his  long  association  with  the  Robertson  comedies. 
Wisely  enough — for  there  was  ample  room  in  those 
days  for  two  such  theatres  as  the  then  Prince  of 
Wales's  in  friendly  rivalry — he  had  for  some  time 
entertained  ideas  of  commencing  management  on  his 
own  account. 


144  SOME   OLD   COMEDIES 

Hare  and  I  had  dressed  in  the  same  room  to- 
gether for  years — those  years  being  the  happiest  of 
my  hfe,  for  they  began  when  I  was  twenty-four  and 
ended  when  I  was  thirty-three.  I  can  claim  to  be 
his  oldest  theatrical  friend.  After  he  left  us,  the 
little  dressing-room  knew  me  no  more ;  the  next 
night  I  found  a  lonely  corner  somewhere  else.  It 
was  pleasant  some  years  afterwards  to  hear  him  speak 
these  words : 

"To  praise  a  man  before  his  face  is  a  some- 
what delicate  task;  but,  fortunately,  we  all  know 
Bancroft  so  well  and  esteem  him  so  highly,  that 
he  may  well  be  spared  any  eulogies  from  me.  His 
great  ability  as  a  manager  is  known  to  all,  and  it 
should  never  be  forgotten  that  he  was  the  first  to 
originate  and  to  introduce  those  reforms  to  which  the 
dramatic  profession  owes  so  much  of  its  present  proud 
position ;  although  other  managers  have  followed  his 
lead,  it  should  always  be  remembered  that  the  lead 
was  his.  Those  who  have  been  fortunate  enough  to 
serve  under  his  management  can  testify  to  his  un- 
varying kindness,  his  generosity,  and  his  just  dealings 
with  all,  and  many  of  his  most  generous  actions  have 
been  known  only  to  the  recipients  of  them.  Perhaps 
not  the  least  pleasing  of  Bancroft's  reflections  in  the 
evening  of  his  life,  when  we  trust  he  may  long  enjoy 
the  rest  he  deserves  and  has  worked  for  so  well,  will 
be  that  his  long  career  as  a  manager  has  been  one  of 
probity  and  honour,  that  he  has  intentionally  wronged 
no  man,  but  that  many  owe  much  to  him,  and  hold 
him  in  affectionate  remembrance." 

Although  I  always  detested  scratch  performances, 
I  once  consented  to  play  Sir  Benjamin  Backbite  in 
The  School  for  Scandal  at  some  big  benefit  at  Drury 
Lane.  Mixed  up  in  the  programme  were  actors  of 
every  age  and  standing — Webster  and  Toole,  Buck- 
stone  and  Kendal,  Wigan  and  Montague,  James 
Anderson  and  H.  J.  Byron,  Amy  Sedgwick  and 
Mrs.  Alfred  Mellon,  myself  and  Compton.  With 
the  last  I  shared  a  dressing-room,  and  his  companion- 


GRACE   BEFORE   MEAT  145 

ship,  though  brief,  was  delightful.  He  was  a  charming, 
courteous  old  gentleman,  a  cousin  of  the  late  Sir 
Morell  Mackenzie,  and  father  of  Edward  Compton, 
so  well  known  by  his  admirable  work  in  the  provincial 
cities,  and  of  the  lady  who  has  acted  with  such 
success  in  Lord  and  Lady  Algy  and  others  of  her 
husband's  plays. 

The  remembrance  recalls  to  my  mind  an  occasion 
when  the  elder  Compton  was  present  at  a  banquet 
presided  over  by  a  distinguished  bishop,  who  mistook 
the  sedate  and  quietly  dressed  comedian  for  a  well- 
known  Nonconformist  minister  and,  as  a  compliment, 
asked  him  to  be  kind  enough  to  say  grace.  The  old 
actor,  who  was  very  flattered  and  flustered,  rose  to 
the  occasion  with  these  words :  "  O  Lord,  open 
Thou  our  lips,  and  our  mouths  shall  show  forth  our 
praise  I  "  The  effect  of  this  utterance  was,  perhaps, 
equalled  by  a  sporting  parson,  an  old  and  well- 
beloved  member  of  the  Garrick  Club,  who  once  at  a 
county  cricket  match,  in  his  own  neighbourhood, 
entered  a  tent  where  a  big  luncheon  was  announced 
to  be  served.  He  was  motioned  by  some  friends  and 
neighbours  to  preside  at  the  head  of  the  long  table  ; 
and  then  one  of  them  thought  it  only  proper  to  ask 
their  vicar  to  say  grace.  He  obeyed  in  these  words  : 
"  For  what  you  are  going  to  receive  you  will  all 
have  to  pay  three-and-six  !  " 

"  Masks  and  Faces  " 

The  third  old  comedy  which  we  chose  for  revival, 
and  which  we  invested  with  the  richness  and  beauty 
of  Georgian  days,  proved  to  be  one  of  our  staunchest 
friends  until  the  close  of  our  management  ten  years 
afterwards — Masks  and  Faces,  written  by  Charles 
Reade  and  Tom  Taylor. 

I  confess  that  personal  feeling  had  a  large  share  in 
the  choice,  although  it  was  not  without  much  fear 
and  trembling  that  I  resolved  to  play  the  part  of 
Triplet.     I  felt,  however,  that  unless  I  made  some 

10 


146  SOME   OLD   COMEDIES 

effort  equally  bold,  I  should  be  condemned  perpetually 
to  the  inanition  of  ringing  the  changes  on  what  had 
for  some  time  achieved  the  dignity  of  being  called 
"  Bancroft  parts."  No  actor  perhaps  has  suffered  in 
one  way  more  than  I  have  through  having  made  some 
early  success  in  a  certain  marked  line  of  character, 
which,  but  for  great  efforts  on  my  own  part,  I  might 
have  been  doomed  to  play  to  the  end  of  my  career. 
Long  runs  of  successful  plays,  lasting  for  several 
years,  made  it  very  hard  for  both  audiences  and 
critics  (especially  as  many  people  fostered  the  fable  I 
never  could  account  for,  that  my  early  manhood 
was  passed  in  the  mess-rooms  of  cavalry  barracks 
instead  of  the  drudgery  of  country  theatres)  to  accept 
my  efforts  in  parts  other  than  those  typical  of  military 
swelldom,  and  this  fact  gave  me  double  work  to 
secure  praise  in  those  of  quite  another  description. 
Nor  was  it  without  difficulty  that  I  succeeded  in 
persuading  my  wife  to  play  Peg  Woffington.  Her 
feelings  on  the  subject  she  will  explain  in  her  own 
words. 

When  it  was  suggested  that  I  should  play  Peg 
Woffington,  I  felt  more  gratified  than  1  can  express, 
for  to  be  considered  capable  of  acting  a  part  so 
different  from  anything  1  had  undertaken  before,  a 
character  with  such  serious  moments — at  times  almost 
reaching  to  the  point  of  tragedy — was  indeed  a  com- 
pliment. But  when  I  began  to  think  the  matter  over, 
I  felt,  very  keenly,  how  physically  unsuited  I  was  to 
the  part.  Peg  required  a  tall  and  handsome  presence 
— I  was  neither  tall  nor  handsome  ;  my  brains  would 
tell  me  probably  how  to  act  it,  but,  alas  !  I  could  not 
shut  my  eyes  to  the  fact  that  I  should  be  severely 
handicapped  by  the  tall,  willowy  figure  and  beautiful 
face  of  Ellen  Terry  as  Mabel  Vane.  So  I  begged 
Charles  Reade  to  release  me  from  a  hasty  promise  and 
give  Peg  to  Ellen  Terry,  while  I  would  willingly  take 
the  small  part  of  Kitty  Clive.  I  had  so  often 
taken  a  "  third  seat  back  "  for  the  good  of  the  play, 


MARIE  BANCROFT  AS   PEG   WOFFINGTON 
From  a  painting  by  H.  Allen 


V-  146] 


"MASKS   AND   FACES"  147 

that  there  would  have  been  nothing  unusual  in  this  ; 
but  he  would  not  consent  to  such  an  arrangement,  so 
with  many  misgivings  I  finally  undertook  to  play 
Peg.  Miss  Terry  never  knew  al]  this.  I  wish 
she  had  ! 

I  do  not  think  there  was  ever  any  member  of 
my  profession  who  suffered  more  from  want  of  self- 
reliance  and  courage  in  acting  than  I  did  whenever  I 
had  to  appear  in  a  new  part.  Restless  nights,  loss  of 
appetite,  and  a  heart  beating  fifteen  to  the  dozen  were 
my  portion,  until  the  play  was  well  out.  When 
dressing  me  for  a  new  piece  my  maid,  in  sympathy, 
would  say,  "  Never  mind,  madam ;  twelve  o'clock  must 
come  !  "  The  moment  I  set  foot  upon  the  stage 
my  courage  returned  and  Richard  was  himself  again. 

Moreover,  I  never  acted  a  part  without  feeling 
that  1  might  have  done  it  better.  I  can  well  under- 
stand the  sufferings  of  the  late  John  Parry,  who  at 
length  was  compelled  to  give  up  appearing  in  public 
on  account  of  nervous  exhaustion.  A  highly  strung, 
artistic  temperament  is  a  great  gift,  which  one  should 
be  proud  of  and  thankful  for.  But  oh  !  how  tiresome 
it  can  be ! 

My  own  views  of  the  part  of  Triplet  differed 
just  as  much  from  previous  representations.  But, 
in  the  immortal  words  of  Sam  Weller,  "  If  there 
was  no  difference  of  opinion  there  would  be  no  fancy 
weskits." 

It  was  not  an  easy  task  to  persuade  Charles  Reade, 
to  whom  the  play  belonged,  to  consent  to  the  changes 
we  sought  to  make  in  his  work.  At  length,  after 
many  a  tough  fight,  we  won  the  day  and  gained  our 
wish,  afterwards  having  the  great  satisfaction  of 
Charles  Reade's  tribute  to  every  change — he  discarded 
the  old  book  for  ever.  It  was  the  treatment  of  the 
play  we  chiefly  ventured  to  alter. 

Our  great  fight  was  over  the  end  of  it ;  and  only 
after  many  struggles  with  Charles  Reade  did  he  allow 
us  to  cut  out  the  old  stagey,  rhyming  tag,  and  agree 


148  SOME   OLD   COMEDIES 

to  the  pathetic  ending  we  proposed.  We  conquered 
him  at  last  by  acting  to  him  what  we  wished  to  do. 
Reade  said  afterwards,  "  Dear  Peg,  you  are  too 
much  for  me  ;  and  after  this  I  don't  measure  my  wit 
against  yours.  I  cave  in,  as  the  Yankees  say,  and 
submit  at  once  to  your  proposal." 

My  wife  and  I  had  many  a  talk  about  the 
play  with  Charles  Reade,  as  to  which  was  his  share 
and  which  was  Tom  Taylor's.  He  frankly  told 
us  the  whole  story  of  its  growth  and  completion, 
always  regarding  the  work  as  fairly  divided  between 
them.  The  conception  of  the  play,  which  arose 
from  his  looking  a  long  time  one  day  at  Hogarth's 
portrait  of  Peg  Woffington  in  the  Garrick  Club, 
and  the  most  beautiful  scene  in  the  last  act 
between  the  two  women,  were  certainly  Reade's ; 
but  Taylor  was  responsible  for  a  delightful  part 
of  the  second  act,  and  undoubtedly  put  many  of 
Reade's  early  ideas  into  more  workmanlike  shape. 
The  part  of  Peg  Woffington  was  mainly  Reade's 
work,  while  that  of  Mabel  Vane  was  chiefly 
Taylor's. 

Reade  had  a  singularly  varied  nature,  which 
never  has  been,  and  never  could  be,  more  ably 
described  than  by  Ellen  Terry : 

"  Dear,  kind,  unjust,  generous,  cautious,  impulsive, 
passionate,  gentle,  Charles  Reade  !  who  combined  so 
many  qualities,  far  asunder  as  the  poles.  He  was 
placid  and  turbulent,  yet  always  majestic.  He  was 
inexplicable  and  entirely  lovable — a  stupid  old  dear, 
and  as  wise  as  Solomon  !  He  seemed  guileless,  and 
yet  had  moments  of  suspicion  and  craftiness  worthy 
of  the  wisdom  of  the  serpent."  A  superb  description, 
with  the  clear  insight  of  a  gifted  woman. 

Very  diligent  rehearsals  attended  this  production 
before  we  felt  it  to  be  ready  to  face  the  ordeal  of 
criticism.  As  we  have  said,  we  ourselves  under- 
took the  parts  of  Peg  Woffington  and  James  Triplet ; 
Coghlan  played  Sir  Charles  Pomander  with  great 
distinction  ;  Archer  was  the  Ernest  Vane  ;  Margaret 


CHARLES   READE'S   DELIGHT       149 

Brennan  an  admirable,  sarcastic,  acidulated  Kitty 
Clive ;  and  Ellen  Terry  lent  all  her  charm  as  an 
actress  and  her  beauty  as  a  woman  to  her  attractive 
and  lovable  rendering  of  Mabel  Vane. 

Permission  was  obtained  from  the  Committee  of 
the  Garrick  Club  to  have  copies  made  of  some  pictures 
of  the  time  from  its  celebrated  collection,  and  so  we 
adorned  the  walls  of  the  first  act,  which  represented 
the  green-room  of  old  Covent  Garden  Theatre,  with 
reproductions  of  Grisoni's  portrait  of  CoUey  Cibber 
as  Lord  Foppington,  the  well-known  picture  of 
Garrick  as  Richard  IH.,  Vandergucht's  portrait  of 
Woodward  as  Petruchio,  and  ZofFany's  Garrick  and 
Mrs.  Pritchard  in  Macbeth,  dressed  in  court  clothes 
of  the  period. 

The  beautiful  tapestry  chamber  which  formed  the 
scene  of  the  second  act  was,  perhaps,  with  a  group  of 
characters  on  the  stage,  one  of  the  most  real  pictures 
of  the  times  ever  shown  in  a  theatre ;  while  Triplet's 
home  bore  resemblance  to  the  garret  of  Hogarth's 
"Distressed  Poet." 

Success  of  the  highest  kind  rewarded  our  work. 
Charles  Reade,  although  very  critical,  was  very  pleased. 
On  reaching  home  after  the  first  performance  he  wrote 
the  following  lines,  and  sent  with  them  in  the  morn- 
ing an  autograph  letter  of  Margaret  Woffington's  : 
"  Presented  by  Charles  Reade  to  his  friend  Mrs. 
Bancroft  upon  her  admirable  personation  of  Peg 
WofHngton  in  Masks  and  Faces,  C.  R.,  November  6, 
1875." 

A  few  days  later  we  received  a  long  and  interest- 
ing letter  of  criticism  from  Charles  Reade,  on  the 
treatment  of  his  play  written  after  three  visits  to  the 
theatre.  Of  our  own  acting  as  Peg  Woffington  and 
Triplet  the  distinguished  writer  was  so  generous  as 
to  say  that  he  really  could  see  in  these  two  perform- 
ances no  fault.  There  were  a  few  lines,  here  and 
there,  read  somewhat  differently  from  the  way  he 
read  them,  but  when  they  were  read  naturally  and 
effectively,  "  I  ask  no  more ;  I  don't  want  machines 


150  SOME   OLD   COMEDIES 

to  act  my  plays."  He  then  repeated  that  he  could 
see  a  wealth  of  thought,  care,  labour,  and  talent  in 
our  performances ;  and  could  see  nothing  wrong.  He 
intended  by-and-by  to  propose  a  single  variation,  but 
he  had  no  correction  to  offer  ;  and  in  particular  he 
disowned  with  contempt  the  shallow  suggestion  of 
those  critics  who  would  have  Peg  Woffington  in 
Act  II.  shake  off  her  blow  entirely,  and  make  those 
introductions  with  a  comic  gusto,  forgetting  alike 
that  she  is  acting  the  woman  of  quality  and  that  she 
is  not  herself  as  happy  as  a  lark.  "  No  ;  give  me  the 
actor  who  considers  not  each  line  only,  but  the 
dominant  sentiment  of  the  entire  scene,  and  deals 
with  the  line  accordingly." 

His  warm  praise  of  Coghlan's  fine  acting  as 
Sir  Charles  Pomander  and  of  Ellen  Terry's  ex- 
quisite Mabel  Vane,  two  impersonations  which 
seemed  to  us  both  beyond  the  range  of  fault-finding, 
is  faintly  qualified  ;  while  he  complained  of  one  actor 
that  his  performance  was  "going  off,  through  his 
taking  snufF  without  discretion.  Very  few  actors  are 
to  be  trusted  with  a  snufF-box  ;  indiscreetly  used, 
it  fritters  points  away,  instead  of  sharpening  them." 
The  letter  ends  : 

"  But  who  can  foretell  the  future  ?  You  and 
Mrs.  Bancroft  and  Miss  Terry  have  the  third  act 
pretty  much  to  yourselves,  and  you  may  be  able 
to  make  the  piece  safe.  Still,  you  must  not  fancy 
that  the  play  is  written  unevenly.  Of  course,  it  is 
written  on  the  principle  of  climax,  and  the  third  act 
is  the  most  brilliant;  but  remember,  too,  in  the 
third  act  we  grease  the  fat  sow,  for  the  act  is  nearly 
all  in  the  hands  of  first-rate  actors. 

"My  winter  cough  has  come  on.  I  shall  most 
likely  not  be  out  at  nights  for  three  months,  and  may 
never  again  have  the  great  pleasure  of  seeing  your 
performance  and  Mrs.  Bancroft's,  so  I  say  my  say 
and  exhaust  the  subject." 

The  new  Peg  Woffington  shall  now,  in  her  own 
words,  describe  the  reading  she  gave   of  the  great 


PEG   WOFFINGTON   EXPLAINS      151 

comedian  of  Garrick's  day,  of  whom  it   was   truly 
written : 

"  Nor  was  her  worth  to  public  scenes  confined ; 
She  knew  the  noblest  feelings  of  the  mind ; 
Her  ears  were  ever  open  to  distress  ; 
Her  ready  hand  was  ever  stretched  to  bless."" 

In  answer  to  a  critical  letter  from  a  friend,  my 
wife  replied  : 

"You  ask  me  to  explain  to  you,  and  to  make 
clearer,  why  I  presented  Peg  Woffington  in  a  new 
light  and  as  a  different  woman  from  what  my 
distinguished  predecessors  had  made  her.  All  great 
parts  are  capable  of  various  conceptions,  and  it  is 
often  a  thankless  office  to  play  a  character  which  has 
been  originally  created  by  an  actress  of  position  ;  I 
felt  this  difficulty  keenly  when  I  agreed  after  long 
persuasion  to  accept  the  part  of  Peg.  Many  people 
then  remembered  the  great  original,  our  friend  for 
many  years  towards  the  close  of  her  long  life,  the 
celebrated  Mrs.  Stirling,  who  bequeathed  to  me 
a  charming  portrait  of  herself  by  Phillips  in  the 
character.  When  I  was  first  spoken  to  on  the  subject, 
I  urged  that  the  task  would  be  a  hard  one  for  me, 
and  I  was  frightened  at  the  thought  of  it.  There 
was,  as  far  as  I  could  see,  but  one  way  out  of 
the  difficulty,  to  treat  the  part  in  a  distinctly  new 
way  ;  so  I  set  to  work  carefully  to  consider  if  it  was 
possible  to  clothe  Peg  in  a  new  dress. 

"  When  I  read  the  book  I  was  deeply  impressed 
by  the  beauty  of  the  words  Peg  had  to  speak  in 
her  serious  scenes.  I  soon  felt  that  one  who  could 
utter  such  sentiments  and  make  so  great  a  sacrifice 
must  be  more  than  an  ordinary  woman,  capable  of 
good  deeds  and  noble  aspirations.  Her  words  in  the 
first  scene  addressed  to  the  man  she  loves,  to  whom 
she  confides  her  innermost  thoughts,  telling  him  how 
wearisome  she  finds  the  emptiness  of  her  life,  point 
to  a  superior  mind.  She  wants  to  be  a  good  woman, 
and  asks  him  to  help  her.     He  teaches  her  to  trust 


152  SOME   OLD   COMEDIES 

him,  and  promises  all  that  she  asks,  and  she  is  happy, 
thinking  him  worthy  and  honest.  But  when  she 
discovers  that  he  has  deceived  and  insulted  her  by 
presenting  himself  to  her  as  an  unmarried  man,  when 
all  the  time  he  has  a  young  and  neglected  wife,  her 
love  gives  way  to  the  bitterness  of  injured  pride, 
hatred,  and  revenge — revenge  against  him,  and 
her,  and  all  the  world.  Then  in  the  scene  when, 
full  of  venom,  she  overhears  a  conversation  between 
the  young  wife  and  Triplet,  the  only  friend  who 
clings  to  Peg,  the  gentle  sweetness  and  innocence 
of  Mabel  so  affect  her  that  her  revenge  and  anger 
disappear,  leaving  the  beauty  of  her  nature  to  prompt 
her  to  make  the  greatest  sacrifice  in  a  woman's  power. 

"  Here  is  a  fragment  of  the  scene  between  the  two 
women  : 

"  Peg  :  Such  as  you  are  the  diamonds  of  the  world ! 
Angel  of  truth  and  goodness,  you  have  conquered. 
The  poor  heart  which  we  both  overrate  shall  be  yours 
again.  In  my  hands  'tis  but  painted  glass  at  best, 
but  set  in  the  lustre  of  your  love,  it  may  become 
a  priceless  jewel.     Will  you  trust  me  ? 

"  Mabel  :  With  my  hfe  ! 

"Surely  a  woman  who  can  utter  such  words 
must  be  by  nature  good  and  capable  of  fine  emotions. 
She  is  sensitive,  lovable,  trusting  and  charitable, 
headstrong  and  impulsive,  ready  to  act  upon  a 
revengeful  impulse,  however  she  might  regret  it  after- 
wards ;  she  pines  for  honest  friendship  and  finds  it 
not,  and  in  the  last  act  one  can  see  how  her  nature 
is  warped  and  nearly  spoiled.  Read  her  farewell 
speech  to  Mabel,  so  simple,  true,  and  pathetic  : 

"  Mabel  :  In  what  way  can  I  ever  thank  you  ? 

"  Peg  :  When  hereafter,  in  your  home  of  peace, 
you  hear  harsh  sentence  passed  on  us,  whose  lot 
is  admiration,  rarely  love,  triumph,  but  never  tran- 
quillity, think  sometimes  of  Margaret  Woffington, 
and  say,  *  Stage-masks  may  cover  honest  faces,  and 
hearts  beat  true  beneath  a  tinselled  robe.'  "^ 

"As  the   play  had   been   previously  acted,  after 


THE   NEW   PEG   WOFFINGTON      153 

this  touching  farewell  she  goes  off  into  laughter,  and 
ends  the  play  with  a  rhymed  comic  tag,  which  so 
jarred  upon  my  senses  that  I  could  not  have  given 
effect  to  the  original  end,  because  I  could  not  feel  it. 
If  Charles  Reade  had  not  allowed  me  to  alter  the  end 
of  the  play  I  could  not  have  acted  the  part.  It  was 
some  time  before  I  could  bring  him  round  to  my  way 
of  thinking,  so  I  illustrated  my  meaning  by  acting 
the  last  scene  to  him  as  I  wished  it  to  be  done. 
The  change  which  I  suggested  was  this  :  After  Peg's 
farewell  to  Mabel,  and  while  kissing  her,  her  eyes 
meet  Ernest's ;  she  stands  gazing  at  him,  as  if  to 
realise  the  fact  that  he  could  have  been  capable  of 
so  much  cruelty.  Pale  with  emotion,  she  hands 
Mabel  to  him  and  watches  them  as  they  are  going 
through  the  doorway,  casting  a  lingering  look  upon 
him.  At  that  beautiful  moment  of  her  anguish, 
crushed  and  broken,  I  am  convinced  that  she  should 
be  left  to  commune  with  her  thoughts,  with  no  one 
by  her  side  but  her  true  friend.  Triplet,  upon  whose 
breast  she  leans,  and  at  last  gives  way  to  the  tears 
which  have  up  to  now  been  denied  her.  The  curtain 
should  fall  upon  these  two  figures,  leaving  Peg  in 
the  hearts  of  her  audience,  who  have  followed  her  in 
her  sorrows,  and  must,  therefore,  pity  her.  While 
deeply  sympathising  with  the  wife,  they  must  love 
Peg  for  her  noble  conduct,  and  weep  with  her  in  her 
suffering. 

"  During  my  rehearsal,  which  took  place  in  our 
own  house,  Charles  Reade  was  silent ;  at  the  end, 
when  I  looked  at  him  for  his  opinion,  I  found  that  he 
was  crying.  He  rose  from  his  chair,  took  my  hands 
in  his,  kissed  me,  and  said,  '  You  are  right,  my  dear. 
You  have  made  me  cry  ;  your  instincts  are  right ;  it 
shall  be  so.' " 

Of  the  new  Peg  Woffington  two  leading  critics 
wrote  that  in  the  gift  of  silvery  utterance  my  wife 
had  no  rival.  As  ever,  the  accomplished  and  incom- 
parable actress  revelled  in  the  scenes  of  playfulness 


154  SOME   OLD    COMEDIES 

and  humour,  and  finally  flung  her  impulsive  nature 
and  energy  into  an  Irish  jig,  danced  with  exquisite 
grace  and  modesty.  Her  Peg  Woffington  was  de- 
clared to  be  "  one  of  the  finest  of  her  impersonations — 
a  masterpiece — a  performance  of  real  genius  which 
would  compare  favourably  with  any  acting  upon  any 
stage  in  the  world." 

The  following  letter,  which  was  written  during  a 
stay  at  Homburg,  is  rendered  more  interesting  to  my 
wife  as  she  now  enjoys  the  friendship  of  the  present 
I^ord  and  Lady  Forester. 

11,  Untbr  Promenade^ 

17th  August,  1883. 

Dear  Mrs.  Bancroft — 

You  named  last  evening  that  Peg  Woffing- 
ton was  your  favourite  part ;  Rachel's  was  that  of 
Adrienne  Lecouvreur.  How  interesting  that  the  two 
finest  actresses  I  have  ever  seen  should  select  for  their 
favourite  part  that  of  an  actress  ! — and  how  natural ! 
for  who  could  so  well  understand  it  ? 

Truly  yours, 

M.  A.  Forester. 


My  own  appearance  as  Triplet,  a  character  of 
which  I  also  gave  a  new  reading,  was  of  much  im- 
portance— at  least,  to  me.  Happily  it  set  me  free 
from  the  threat  of  everlasting  durance  in  "  swelldom." 
I  bestowed  great  thought  upon  the  part,  and  my 
view  of  the  character  was  that  Triplet  was  a  man  of 
greater  refinement  than,  so  far  as  I  could  learn,  he 
had  been  hitherto  considered.  This  I  justify  by  the 
delicate  treatment  Peg  Woffington  shows  Triplet  in 
her  charity  and  help :  were  he  not  the  broken  wreck 
of  a  somewhat  cultured  person,  I  think  the  kind- 
hearted,  busy  actress  would  have  relieved  his  wants 
in  a  blunter  and  simpler  way. 

Charles  Reade's  opinion  has  already  been  quoted. 
To  repeat  many  of  the  expressions  of  approval 
lavished  by  the  critics  on  what  they  not  unnaturally 


THE   NEW   TRIPLET  155 

considered  something  of  an  experiment  on  my  part 
would  be   to   weary   the   reader;   but   I    make  two 
extracts  which  have  a  special  interest.     The  first  is 
an  admirable  description  of  the  aim  of  my  rendering 
of  the   character.     Webster's,  it   was   said,   was   an 
actor's  Triplet;  mine  a  broken-down  gentleman,  as 
pathetic  a  picture  as  ever  was  drawn  by  Thackeray. 
Triplet's  scenes  with  Peg  with  the  manuscripts,  and 
with  Mabel  Vane  with  the  sherry  and  biscuits,  were 
declared  exquisitely  touching.     What  it  conveyed  so 
admirably  was  the  idea  of  a  man  who  has  been  a 
jolly  fellow,  but  who  has  been  crushed  by  misfortune. 
His   temperament    is    light,   airy,   enthusiastic,   and 
sanguine,  but  the  res  angusta  dovii  have  been  too 
much  for  him.     He  is  prematurely  saddened  by  dis- 
tress.    He  is  a  man,  and  he  is  gentle.     Emphatically 
he  is  a  gentle-man.     Never  was  a  man  so  buoyed  up 
by  hope  as  the  new  Triplet.     He  does  not  cringe  or 
whine.     When  Peg  Woffington  chaffs  him  about  his 
manuscripts,  he  shows  some  reverence  for  the  calling 
of  the  author.     When  Mabel  Vane  encourages  his 
literary  vanity,  the  genial  fellow,  mellowed  by  his 
wine,   rhapsodises   and   eulogises  the  poet's   calling. 
When    sunshine    steals    into    the    poverty-stricken 
garret,  no  one  is  so  gay  as  James  Triplet.     But  it 
was  one  thing,  the  writer  went  on,  to  understand  a 
part,  and  another  to  give  it  artistic  expression.     "  If 
you  want  to  see  a  bit   of  delicate   and   suggestive 
art,  watch  how  Triplet,  ravenous  with  hunger,  slips 
some  of  the  biscuits  into  his  pocket,  and,  looking 
into  vacancy,  says,  '  For  my  little  ones.'     If  this  had 
been  flung  at  the  heads  of  the  audience,  the  idea 
would  have  failed ;  but  Bancroft,  by  the  way  he  does 
it,  touches   every   sympathetic   chord   in   the  whole 
house." 

Another  verdict  was  that  nothing  better  had  been 
seen  upon  the  modern  stage,  and  that  whatever  I 
might  now  choose  to  play,  concerning  the  range  of 
my  powers  there  could  be  no  question. 

In  the  course  of  the  run  we  received  the  following 


156  SOME   OLD   COMEDIES 

letter  from  our  valued  friend,  the  great  surgeon,  Sir 
William  Fergusson : 

16,  George  Street,  Hanover  Square^ 
March  16,  1876. 

Dear  Mrs.  Bancroft — 

I  have  to  thank  you  most  heartily  for  the 
great  treat  of  last  night.  I  have  rarely  enjoyed  my- 
self more  thoroughly  at  the  theatre.  1  was  familiar 
with  the  play  in  former  days,  when  Mrs.  Stirling  and 
Webster  were  in  all  their  force ;  and,  though  pre- 
pared by  newspaper  and  other  reports  to  be  pleased, 
I  fancied  that  old  recollections  would  cause  me  to 
feel  a  blank. 

From  the  beginning  to  the  end  last  night  my 
interest  never  flagged ;  and,  with  pleasant  memories 
of  the  past,  I  cannot  refrain  from  saying  to  you  and 
your  good  man  how  truly  I  was  gratified. 

With  kind  regards  to  Squire,  I  remain,  yours 
very  sincerely, 

Wm.  Fergusson. 

There  came  also  some  pleasant  lines  from  George 
VandenhofF,  an  old  and  famous  actor  who  passed 
many  years  in  America: 

"  I  have  to  thank  you  for  a  great  pleasure  in  the 
charming  performance  of  Mrs.  Bancroft.  It  is  years 
since  I  saw  the  play,  and  I  confess  to  you  that  I  did 
not  know  there  was  an  English-speaking  actress  who 
could  move  me  to  tears  and  laughter  by  turns  as  the 
accomplished  Peg  Woffington  did  last  night.  Her 
comedy  reminded  me  of  poor  Nisbett  in  her  best 
days,  and  her  pathos  had  the  sincerity  in  it  which 
that  accomplished  comedienne  never  reached. 

"  I  had  not  seen  you  act  before,  and  your  Triplet 
was  a  worthy  pendant  to  your  lady's  admirable 
picture." 

Our  great  success  brought  a  renewal  of  even 
magnified  temptations  to  visit  America  with  Masks 
and  Fax^es  and  The  School  for  Scandal,  which  had 
to  be  regretfully  resisted  from  the  old  cause — my 


A  CARTOON   BY   BROOKFIELD      157 

wife's  terror  of  the  sea.  During  the  run  of  the 
play  I  remember  attending  a  meeting  of  a  theatrical 
character  at  the  Mansion  House,  and  encountering 
Benjamin  Webster  there.  The  old  actor,  after 
looking  long  and  wistfully  at  me,  said  pleasant, 
graceful  things  of  his  own  old  part  to  the  younger 
Triplet. 

The  next  time  we  played  Masks  and  Faces  was 
at  the  Haymarket  in  1881.  The  rehearsals  were 
conducted  with  all  the  care  bestowed  upon  a  new 
work.  Elaborate  dresses  were  made  from  the  de- 
signs of  the  Hon.  Lewis  Wingfield,  and  the  scenery 
and  accessories  realised  the  beauties  of  the  eighteenth 
century  as  fully  as  any  of  our  previous  productions. 
An  interesting  newspaper  correspondence  on  the 
occasion  of  this  revival  bears  evidence  of  our  exacti- 
tude. We  were  even  able  to  settle  the  question  of 
whether  or  not  Roman  numerals  on  the  dial  of  a 
clock  were  correct,  by  speaking  of  the  actual  time- 
piece which  Foote  presented  to  the  green-room  of  the 
old  "  Little  Theatre  in  the  Haymarket,"  more  than  a 
hundred  years  before. 

Marion  Terry  succeeded  her  sister  Ellen  as  Mabel 
Vane,  Conway  played  Pomander,  while  Arthur  Cecil 
and  I  commenced  by  alternating  the  parts  of  Triplet 
and  CoUey  Cibber.  After  a  while  Cecil  asked  to  be 
relieved  from  his  share  of  Triplet,  which  proved  to 
be  beyond  his  limitations.  The  portrayal  of  manners 
upon  the  stage  and  the  acting  of  emotion  are  two 
very  distinct  and  different  qualities.  This  alternation 
was  the  subject  of  a  comic  sketch  by  Charles  Brook- 
field,  who  was  then  a  member  of  our  company, 
depicting  the  two  Triplets,  the  one  lean  and  hungry, 
the  other  in  better  feather,  as  both  dressed  for  the 
part  by  mistake  on  the  same  evening,  and  meeting 
on  the  way  to  the  stage  with  these  exclamations: 
"  Really,  my  dear  Arthur  I "  "  Oh,  my  goodness, 
B.  I "  Dear  Arthur  certainly  looked  too  highly 
nourished  for  poor  half-starved  Triplet.  Henry 
Kemble  and  Charles  Brookfield  made  the  two  critics, 


158  SOME   OLD   COMEDIES 

Snarl  and  Soaper,  of  much  value  in  the  lighter 
scenes. 

The  stir  made  by  the  performance  far  eclipsed 
our  first  production  of  the  play.  It  drew  crowded 
audiences  for  more  than  a  hundred  nights,  with  a 
financial  result  which  altogether  surpassed  its  success 
in  the  smaller  theatre,  and  the  criticisms  were  one 
loud  chorus  of  praise.  Clement  Scott  wrote :  "  In 
my  time,  in  pure  comedy,  in  the  sunlight  sparkle  of 
humour,  and  in  the  art  of  immediately  influencing 
the  audience,  Marie  Bancroft  stands  unrivalled."  .  .  . 
Triplet,  with  his  black  cravat  hiding  the  absence  of 
linen,  his  patched  attire  and  general  air  of  seediness, 
not  wilfully  displayed  but  rather  ineffectually  con- 
cealed, was  not,  he  declared,  the  least  picturesque, 
and  assuredly  not  the  least  touching,  figure  in  the 
performance.  "  Bancroft  is  a  greater  actor  when 
playing  Triplet  than  in  the  Robertsonian  parts  with 
which  he  has  been  so  long  identified  ;  higher  praise  it 
would  not  be  possible  to  bestow." 

A  very  able  and,  if  I  may  be  allowed  to  say  so, 
not  too  easily  pleased  critic,  Mr.  William  Archer,  did 
me  the  honour  to  give  it  as  his  opinion  that  there 
was  "  no  more  delicate,  more  pathetic,  more  lovable 
piece  of  acting "  than  my  Triplet  on  the  English 
stage.  The  green-room  scene  appealed  to  him  more 
irresistibly  every  time  he  saw  it.  "  Such  acting  would 
move  a  heart  of  stone  or  an  eye  of  glass.  Every  one 
who  has  not  seen  it  should  see  it  forthwith,  and 
every  one  who  has  seen  it  once,  twice,  or  thrice 
should  see  it  again,  even  to  the  seventh  time." 

The  same  cultured  pen  many  years  afterwards, 
writing  of  another  performance  of  Triplet,  said  :  "  So 
familiar  was  I  at  one  time  with  Sir  Squire  Bancroft's 
rendering  of  the  part,  that  the  mere  repetition  of  the 
words  called  up  in  my  mind  almost  every  attitude, 
expression,  and  intonation  of  that  masterly  and  most 
pathetic  piece  of  acting.  It  was  really  a  curious 
phenomenon.  I  do  not  remember  ever  before  to 
have  experienced  so  vivid  and  complete  an  evocation 


1).  158] 


SQUIRE  BANCROFT  AS  TRIPLET 
From  a  painting  by  H.  Allen 


A   LETTER   FROM   GLADSTONE     159 

of  a  memory  latent  for  many  years.  My  bodily 
vision  dwelt  but  languidly  on  the  Triplet  of  the 
moment,  so  intent  was  my  mind's  eye  upon  the 
delightful  phantasm  which  the  words  of  the  part 
conjured  up." 

One  night,  just  before  the  play  commenced,  our 
business  manager  came  to  tell  me  that  Mr.  Gladstone 
had  taken  stalls  which  were  rather  far  removed  from 
the  stage,  and  had  asked  if  anything  could  be  done 
to  place  him  nearer,  as  his  sense  of  hearing  was 
becoming  less  keen.  The  only  vacant  seats  in  the 
house  were  in  the  royal  box,  which  we  begged  to 
place  at  his  disposal.  In  a  day  or  two  came  this 
autograph  letter  of  thanks  in  generous  acknowledg- 
ment of  so  small  a  politeness  : 

10,  Downing  Street,  Whitehall, 
April  5,  1881. 

Dear  Sir, — 

Let  me  thank  you  very  much  for  your 
courtesy  in  allowing  me  with  my  party  to  occupy  a 
most  advantageous  post  in  your  theatre  on  Saturday 
night.  By  so  doing  you  secured  to  me  the  fulness 
of  a  great  treat,  which  otherwise  declining  powers  of 
sight  and  hearing  would  somewhat  have  impaired. 

For  the  capital  acting  of  the  chief  parts  I  was 
prepared  ;  but  the  whole  cast,  likewise,  seemed  to  me 
excellent. 

I  remain,  dear  sir,  your  very  faithful  and  obliged, 

W.  E.  Gladstone. 


The  date  of  the  letter  reminds  me  that  the  life  of 
another  great  statesman.  Lord  Beaconsfield,  to  whose 
memory  I  owe  my  humble  allegiance,  was  then 
hanging  by  a  thread,  which  added  deeply  to  our 
regret  at  never  having  known  him.  Only  a  few 
weeks  before  his  fatal  illness  we  missed  the  honour 
of  presentation  to  him,  arriving  at  the  house  of  a 
friend  only  in  time  to  see  him  drive  away  in  the 
company  of  Lord  Rowton.     The  date  of  his  death, 


160  SOME   OLD   COMEDIES 

April  19,  is  still  well  remembered  as  Primrose  Day. 
These  two  great  rivals,  Disraeli  and  Gladstone,  we 
have  heard  both  cheered  and  hooted  in  their  turn  by 
the  mob.  How  truly  the  words  of  Shakespeare  apply 
to  any  sometime  idol  of  the  crowd :  "  There  have 
been  many  great  men  that  have  flattered  the  people, 
who  never  loved  them  ;  and  there  be  many  that  they 
have  loved,  they  know  not  wherefore  ;  so  that,  if 
they  love  they  know  not  why,  they  hate  upon  no 
better  ground." 

Charles  Reade  came  to  see  the  revival  of  his 
pet  play,  the  occasion  being,  I  think,  his  last  visit 
to  a  theatre.  He  was,  as  we  had  always  found 
him,  generous  in  his  praise,  keen  in  his  judgment, 
helpful  in  his  criticism.  Not  long  afterwards  the 
distinguished  writer  passed  away  in  his  seventieth 
year. 

Reade,  whose  world-wide  fame  as  a  novelist  and 
man  of  letters  entitles  his  name  to  be  enrolled  among 
the  Victorian  literary  giants,  had  for  years  been  a 
martyr  to  asthma  and  bronchitis.  He  was  brought 
home,  after  a  fruitless  search  for  better  health  on  the 
shores  of  the  Mediterranean,  only  in  time  to  die  in 
his  native  land,  where  his  memory  will  long  be 
honoured.  The  recollection  of  his  friendship,  which 
we  enjoyed  for  full  twelve  years,  we  shall  always 
treasure. 

Our  pleasure  may  be  best  imagined  at  finding, 
from  the  following  words  in  the  Life  of  Charles  Reade, 
that  this  feeling  was  reciprocal :  "  Below  a  very  natural 
and  sweet  letter  of  hers,  Charles  Reade  has  inscribed 
these  words :  '  Marie  Bancroft,  a  gifted  and  amiable 
artist,  who  in  this  letter  makes  too  much  of  my  friend- 
ship, which  both  she  and  her  husband  had  so  richly 
earned  by  their  kindness  and  courtesy  to  me.' " 

"  London  Assurance  " 

We  also  revived  Boucicault's  comedy,  London 
Assurance,   for  the   season   1877,   at  the   little   old 


"LONDON   ASSURANCE"  161 

theatre.    The  following  letter  preserves  an  interesting 
item  about  its  authorship  : 

RoTAL  Adelphi  Theatre, 
March  21,  1877. 

Dear  Mr.  Bancroft, — 

Pray  pardon  my  not  having  written  to  you 
before,  but  a  nervous  attack  to  my  right  hand  pre- 
vented me.  London  Assurance  was  mine  ever  since 
it  was  written. 

The  plot  was  originally  John  Brougham's,  for 
which  Vestris  made  Boucicault  give  him  half  the 
proceeds  ;  so,  between  one  and  the  other,  I  paid  very 
dearly  for  it. 

With  kind  regards  to  you  and  Mrs.  Bancroft,  I 
am,  yours  faithfully, 

B.  Webster. 

With  Boucicault's  consent,  I  had  arranged  his 
comedy  in  four  acts  instead  of  five.  Boucicault  was 
in  America  at  the  time,  and  sent  me  his  sanction 
from  Chicago  in  these  words :  "  Your  shape  of 
London  Assurance  will  be,  like  all  you  have  done 
at  the  Prince  of  Wales's,  unexceptionable.  I  wish  I 
could  be  there  to  taste  your  brew."  We  found  it 
necessary  to  purge  the  play  of  some  impossibly  old- 
fashioned  elements  and  of  the  accretions  of  "  gag " 
which  had  grown  around  it. 

I  think  the  cast  we  gave  the  old  comedy  justified 
the  revival  and  its  bright  run  of  a  hundred  nights : 
Arthur  Cecil,  Sir  Harcourt  Courtly  ;  Kendal,  Charles 
Courtly;  Mrs.  Kendal,  Lady  Gay  Spanker;  Henry 
Kemble,  her  fox-hunting  husband,  Dolly ;  Charles 
Sugden,  Cool ;  myself.  Dazzle  ;  and  Mrs.  Bancroft 
in  the  small  part  of  Pert.  I  fear  that  in  the  second 
act,  to  which  the  appearance  of  Pert  is  limited,  my 
wife  ran  riot  in  the  desire  to  augment  its  value. 
Pert  is  a  smart  lady's-maid  who  has  only  one  short 
scene ;  but  this  in  the  course  of  a  few  nights  played 
double  the  time  intended  by  the  author,  and  I  do  not 
know  what  he  would  have  said  to  the  liberties  taken 

11 


162  SOME   OLD   COMEDIES 

with  the  text.  The  audience,  however,  laughed 
immoderately  and  seemed  thoroughly  to  enjoy  it, 
so  I  must  include  them  in  the  conspiracy.  I  well 
remember  one  night  Mrs.  Boucicault  looking  with 
amazement  from  a  private  box  at  Pert's  audacity, 
but  at  the  same  time  laughing  as  heartily  as  the  rest 
of  the  captivated  spectators. 

There  were  no  more  such  revivals  at  the  old  theatre, 
and  only  one  at  the  Haymarket.  I  had  ardently 
wished  to  give  an  elaborate  production  there  of  The 
Merry  Wives  of  Windsor,  but  was  not,  at  the  time, 
satisfied  about  a  performance  of  FalstafF,  as  we  could 
not  succeed  in  getting  John  Clayton,  whom  we  wanted 
for  the  part,  and  whose  wide  range  of  abilities  I 
always  held  in  high  esteem.  My  wife  and  Mrs. 
John  Wood,  with  their  buoyant  flow  of  animal 
spirits,  would  have  revelled  in  the  mischievous  wives. 
I  should  have,  personally,  rejoiced  to  play  the  jealous 
Ford — a  part  in  which  Charles  Kean  excelled.  In 
the  company  were  very  able  comedians,  including 
Arthur  Cecil,  Alfred  Bishop,  Henry  Kemble,  and 
Charles  Brookfield  for  other  characters.  I  always 
felt  assured  of  a  great  success,  a  glorious  romp, 
similar  to  that  so  splendidly  achieved  at  His  Majesty's 
by  Tree  with  the  aid  of  Mrs.  Kendal  and  Ellen 
Terry. 

"  The  Rivals  " 

I  afterwards  turned  my  thoughts  to  what  I 
had  also  contemplated,  a  picturesque  and  historical 
production  of  The  Rivals,  and  had  bestowed  much 
work  and  thought  upon  a  rearrangement  of  certain 
scenes  to  prevent  the  frequent  change  so  common 
and  often  so  unnecessary  in  the  days  of  Sheridan, 
and  to  allow  of  the  intended  elaborate  picture  of 
old  Bath. 

To  carry  out  these  plans  we  sought  the  aid  of 
Pinero,  who,  with  myself,  became  responsible  for  the 
version  presented  of  the  standard  comedy.     The  text 


"THE   RIVALS"  163 

was,  of  course,  strictly  preserved,  some  transposi- 
tions in  the  dialogue  and  some  variation  of  locality 
being  sufficient  for  the  purpose.  William  Telbin 
went  down  to  the  famous  old  city  to  seek  authorities 
and  make  sketches  for  his  beautiful  opening  scene,  in 
which  so  much  eighteenth-century  detail  was  shown, 
including  the  arrival  of  the  coach  from  London, 
the  bookshop  where  Lucy  was  seen  exchanging 
novels  for  her  lackadaisical  young  mistress,  and  the 
old  watchman  calling  the  hour  as  the  curtain  fell 
on  the  act  at  nightfall.  We  must  have  tried  the 
patience  of  those  kind  friends  in  the  reading-room 
of  the  British  Museum,  who  cheerfully  devoted 
considerable  time  towards  helping  our  researches  to 
learn  all  we  could  of  the  fashionable  resort  of  our 
forefathers — the  Homburg  and  the  Marienbad  of 
their  day. 

The  gavotte  we  introduced  in  the  "  tea-room  " 
leading  from  the  pump-room,  where  hung  the  au- 
thenticated portrait  of  the  city's  former  king.  Beau 
Nash,  was  the  result  of  some  pains,  and  the  designs 
for  the  historically  correct  and  beautiful  dresses  were 
made  by  Forbes-Robertson.  Mrs.  Stirling  came  to 
give  her  splendid  performance  of  Mrs.  Malaprop ; 
Pinero  himself  (it  being  his  last  engagement  as  an 
actor)  undertook  Sir  Anthony ;  Lionel  Brough  was 
the  Bob  Acres ;  Alfred  Bishop  the  Sir  Lucius 
O'Trigger  ;  Forbes-Robertson  was  Captain  Absolute ; 
Eleanor  Calhoun  (a  highly  promising  young  Cali- 
fornian  actress)  was  the  Lydia  Languish ;  Mrs. 
Bernard  Beere  played  Julia ;  and,  influenced  by  the 
remembrance  in  very  early  stage  days  of  Leigh 
Murray's  estimate  of  the  thankless  part  of  Faulkland, 
when  he  told  me  that  he  preferred  it  to  that  of 
Captain  Absolute  (a  choice  which,  I  admit,  I  cannot 
understand),  1  resolved  to  try  and  force  this  comically 
jealous  nature  into  more  prominence  than  it  some- 
times receives.  The  attempt  was  successful,  if  I 
may  judge  from  what  was  said  at  the  time — that 
"this  singularly  manly  and   satisfactory"  Faulkland 


164  SOME   OLD   COMEDIES 

was  a  distinct  revelation,  and  that  I  had  shown  that 
Faulkland,  played  in  the  spirit  of  high  comedy,  had 
at  least  one  brilliant  scene,  the  greatest  success  of 
the  revival.  "  Faulkland  is  for  the  first  time  brought 
within  the  frame  of  a  comedy  picture." 

The  following  words  were  written  some  years 
subsequently  by  William  Archer : 

"  The  Bancrofts  steered  clear  of  the  worst  vices 
of  actor-managership.  Partly,  no  doubt,  because 
they  always  formed  a  committee  of  two  (a  very 
different  thing  from  an  autocracy),  they  on  many 
occasions  showed  a  most  commendable  spirit  of  self- 
abnegation,  and  met  with  their  reward  in  the  in- 
creased esteem  of  all  who  know  good  acting  when 
they  see  it,  be  the  part  small  or  great.  Bancroft's 
Faulkland  in  The  Rivals  dwells  in  my  memory  as 
an  altogether  masterly  performance,  far  more  truly 
artistic  than  many  a  much-applauded  piece  of  actor- 
manager  bravura." 

The  revival  was  given  towards  the  close  of  the 
season  in  1884,  but  the  old  comedy  was  a  bad 
selection  for  elaborate  illustration.  Its  plots  and 
incidents  are  too  disjointed  and  fragile  to  bear  such 
detailed  treatment  as  harmonised  perfectly  with  the 
author's  great  companion  work.  The  School  for 
Scandal, 

The  full  houses  the  revival  attracted  for  a  few 
weeks  sufficed  to  more  than  recoup  the  large  outlay 
on  its  production ;  but  the  performance  never  laid  a 
firm  hold  upon  the  public,  and  my  wife  was  not 
playing  in  it. 

I  have  always  remembered  our  dear  friend  Ada 
Rehan — one  of  the  greatest  English-speaking  actresses 
of  our  day,  whose  charm  and  personality  cast  a  spell 
over  playgoers,  but  whom  we  did  not  then  know — 
afterwards  telling  me  that  she  considered  the  scene 
of  old  Bath,  to  which  I  have  alluded,  as  the  most 
perfect  stage-picture  she  had  ever  seen. 

We  will  end  these  records  of  old  comedies  with 
a  pleasant  sentence  from   a  good-bye  letter  Pinero 


PINERO  LEAVES  THE  STAGE       165 

wrote  to  us  when  he  resolved  to  give  up  acting  and 
devote  himself  to  play-writing : 

"  In  one's  early  days,  what  is  known  as  *  sentiment  ^ 

in  business '  flourished   poorly.     In  the  Haymarket  /  t^  ^       f 
Theatre,  the  actor's  willingness  to  do  as  much  as  hen      ^j  1\^^ 
can  for  his  managers  is  outmatched  by  his  managers         xfiA"^ 
anxiety  to  do  more  for  the  actor.     I  carry  away  with  ^ 
me  a  regard  for  you  both,  quite  unbusinesslike,  but 
which  I  am  glad  to  acknowledge  always  and  every- 
where." 


CHAPTER    VI 

OTHER   PLAYS 
"  A  mingled  yarn,  good  and  ill  together." 

Two  plays  were  written  for  the  Prince  of  Wales's 
Theatre  by  Byron  before  his  partnership  there  came 
to  an  end— War  to  the  Knife  and  £100,000,  They 
were  both  successful  and  more  than  fulfilled  their 
mission. 

Soon  after  Robertson's  death,  having  waded 
through  reams  of  rubbish,  we  were  told  by  Hare 
that  Wilkie  Colhns,  with  whom  he  was  acquainted, 
had  written  a  drama  founded  on  Man  and  Wife,  a 
novel  of  CoUins's,  which  created  a  great  stir  at  the 
time  of  its  appearance.  We  read  the  play  and  at 
once  agreed  to  produce  it.  A  letter  from  the  author, 
which  we  quote,  ratifies  the  time  we  came  to  this 
decision,  although  the  play  was  not  acted  until 
eighteen  months  later. 

August  1,  1871. 

Dear  Mr.  Bancroft, — 

Let  me  assure  you  that  I  feel  the  sincerest 
gratification  that  Man  and  Wife  has  been  accepted 
at  the  Prince  of  Wales's  Theatre.  Every  advantage 
that  I  could  possibly  wish  for  is,  I  know  beforehand, 
already  obtained  for  my  work,  now  that  it  has  secured 
the  good  fortune  of  addressing  itself  to  the  public 
with  Mrs.  Bancroft's  introduction. 

Believe  me,  very  faithfully  yours, 

WiLKiE  Collins. 

166 


WILKIE   COLLINS  167 

So  commenced  a  friendship  which  it  was  our 
privilege  to  enjoy  through  the  remaining  years  of 
one  whose  masterly  romances  had  lightened  many 
an  hour  and  given  us  infinite  delight ;  for  deep  is 
our  debt  of  gratitude  to  the  creator  of  Margaret 
Vanstone,  Mercy  Merrick,  Rachel  Verrinder,  Hester 
Dethridge,  Captain  Wragge,  and  Count  Fosco. 
Wilkie  Collins  as  a  novelist  might  be  compared  with 
Sardou  as  a  dramatist :  the  smallest  brick  in  the 
structure  is  intentionally  placed,  and  carries  many 
others  ;  if  a  single  one  were  knocked  out  or  dis- 
placed, serious  results  would  to  a  certainty  befall  the 
entire  fabric. 

We  asked  Wilkie  Collins  to  read  his  long-post- 
poned play  to  the  company.  This  he  did  with  great 
effect  and  nervous  force,  giving  all  concerned  a  clear 
insight  into  his  view  of  the  characters ;  and,  indeed, 
acting  the  old  Scotch  waiter  with  rare  ability  to  roars 
of  laughter.  He  had  been,  it  should  be  recalled,  a 
valued  member  of  the  band  of  amateurs  led  by 
Charles  Dickens.  We  felt  the  play  required  certain 
alteration  which  could  best  be  made  after  some  re- 
hearsals, and  also  were  impressed  with  the  necessity 
to  do  all  that  was  possible  to  deserve  a  success  in 
our  first  really  new  piece  since  the  Robertson 
comedies ;  so  we  decided  to  aid  the  cast  to  the 
utmost  of  our  power  by  taking  small  parts,  my  wife 
agreeing  to  play  Blanche  Lundie,  a  bright,  pretty 
part,  but  quite  of  a  secondary  order,  as  was  that  she 
had  just  played  in  Money,  while  I  offered  to  appear 
as  the  Doctor,  an  important  but  minor  character 
confined  to  a  dozen  sentences. 

A  distinguished  critic,  in  reviewing  the  progress 
of  the  stage  during  our  management,  went  so  far 
as  to  say  that  the  greater  portion  of  my  wife's  career 
had  been  occupied  in  loyally  subordinating  herself 
for  the  sake  of  the  general  harmony  of  the  work  ; 
while  as  for  me,  though  myself  an  actor,  I  had 
shown  the  solid  judgment  of  a  man  who  is  always 
ready  to  seek  the  co-operation  of  another  histrion. 


168  OTHER   PLAYS 

apart  from  envy  or  malice.  If  my  wife  had  been 
mindful  of  the  obligations  of  art,  and  brought  to  her 
aid  some  of  the  fairest,  brightest,  and  most  refined 
actresses  of  her  time,  I  had  demonstrated  the  same 
impartiality  in  relation  to  my  own  sex ;  and  our 
management  had  been  conspicuous  by  the  absence 
of  that  jealousy  which  too  often  dwarfed  the  character 
of  a  company  in  relation  to  its  chiefs. 

It  is  true  that  we  never  allowed  considerations 
as  to  what  parts  there  were  for  ourselves  to  bias  our 
judgment  in  the  acceptance  or  refusal  of  plays,  as 
many  instances  recorded  in  this  book  will  show. 

We  bestowed  great  pains  upon  the  rehearsals  of 
Collins's  play,  often  having  the  advantage  of  the 
author's  presence  and  assistance,  which,  when  the 
work  was  well  advanced,  proved  of  real  service.  He 
also,  in  the  kindest  way,  fell  in  with  our  views  and 
altered  the  second  act — in  which  he  originally  in- 
tended to  divide  the  stage  into  two  rooms,  the 
parlour  of  the  inn  at  Craig  Fernie,  and  the  adjoining 
pantry  of  old  Bishopriggs — in  accordance  with  our 
suggestions,  and  greatly,  as  he  generously  admitted, 
to  the  advantage  of  its  representation.  In  this  scene 
we  went  to  unusual  pains  to  realise  a  storm,  and  I 
think  electric  lightning  was  then  first  used,  as  was 
also  an  effect  we  introduced  of  moving  clouds. 

I  was  modest  and  nervous  about  stage-manage- 
ment in  those  days,  and  had  not  yet  asserted  myself 
in  that  capacity.  Some  of  my  views  bore  fruit  in 
secret  at  Collins's  house,  and  one  prominent  member 
of  the  cast  was  schooled  by  me  in  his  part  at  our 
own. 

Man  and  Wife  was  produced  in  February  1873, 
in  the  presence  of  the  most  brilliant  audience  which 
the  theatre  had  as  yet  seen  assembled  within  its 
limited  walls.  The  list  included  names  well  known 
throughout  England  in  every  art  and  calling ;  but, 
alas!   it  would  now  be  but  a  sad. record  : 

"Our  little  life 
Is  rounded  with  a  sleep." 


AN   AUTHOR'S   FRIGHT  169 

We  learned  from  one  newspaper  report  of  the 
premiere  that  the  demand  for  places  was  so  unprece- 
dented that  stalls  were  sent  up  to  five  guineas  cash 
by  speculators,  while  two  guineas  were  offered  for 
seats  in  other  parts  of  the  house.  Literary  and 
artistic  London  was  present  in  unusual  force,  and 
an  audience  more  representative  of  the  intellect  of 
the  time  has  seldom  been  gathered  within  the  walls 
of  a  theatre. 

The  great  excitement  might  perhaps  be  ascribed 
to  two  causes.  In  the  first  place,  Man  and  Wife 
was  the  first  new  play  that  had  been  produced  at 
the  Prince  of  Wales's  for  some  years  ;  and  in  the 
second  place,  it  was  widely  guessed  that  in  this  play 
the  style  of  comedy  with  which  our  theatre  was 
closely  identified  was  to  be  in  parts  exchanged  for 
drama  of  a  more  serious  interest. 

The  cast  also  included  Hare,  Coghlan,  Dewar, 
Mrs.  Leigh  Murray,  and  Lydia  Foote,  and  the  play 
was  an  instantaneous  success. 

Wilkie  Collins  passed  almost  all  the  evening  in 
my  dressing-room  in  a  state  of  nervous  terror  painful 
to  see,  and  which  I  could  not  have  endured  but  for 
the  short  part  I  had  to  play.  His  sufferings  were, 
however,  lessened  now  and  then  by  loud  bursts  of 
applause,  which,  fortunately,  were  just  within  earshot. 
Only  for  one  brief  moment  did  he  see  the  stage  that 
night,  until  he  was  summoned  by  the  enthusiastic 
audience  to  receive  their  plaudits  at  the  end  of  the 
play.  Ever  modest,  ever  generous,  he  largely  attri- 
buted his  success  to  the  acting,  and  was  loud  in  his 
admiration,  at  the  final  rehearsals,  especially  of 
Coghlan  and  Hare,  Miss  Foote  and  Mrs.  Bancroft. 
He  wrote  to  a  friend  describing  the  scene  as 
follows  : 

"  It  was  certainly  an  extraordinary  success.  The 
pit  got  on  its  legs  and  cheered  with  all  its  might 
the  moment  I  showed  myself  in  front  of  the  curtain. 
I  counted  that  I  had  only  thirty  friends  in  the  house 
to  match  against  a  picked  band  of  the  '  lower  orders  ' 


176  OTHER   PLAYS 

of  literature  and  the  drama  assembled  at  the  back 
of  the  dress  circle  to  hiss  and  laugh  at  the  first 
chance.  The  services  of  my  friends  were  not  re- 
quired. The  public  never  gave  the  '  opposition  * 
a  chance  all  through  the  evening.  The  acting,  I  hear 
all  round,  was  superb ;  the  Bancrofts,  Lydia  Foote, 
Hare,  Coghlan,  surpassed  themselves ;  not  a  mistake 
made  by  anybody.  The  play  was  over  at  a  quarter 
past  eleven.  It  remains  to  be  seen  whether  I  can 
fill  the  theatre  with  a  new  audience.  Thus  far,  the 
results  have  been  extraordinary." 

It  is  true  that  the  opinion  of  the  press  critics 
was  sharply  divided,  some  attacking  the  play  as 
ardently  as  others  commended  it ;  and  some  little 
disagreement  reigned  even  over  the  acting  of  the 
three  principal  characters — Coghlan 's  version  of  the 
brutal  athlete,  Geoffrey  Delamayn,  Dewar's  of 
the  old  Scotch  waiter,  and  (strangely  enough) 
Hare's  of  the  retired  Scotch  lawyer,  Sir  Patrick 
Lundie,  all  of  which  seemed  to  ourselves  to  be 
admirably  rendered.  All  were  agreed,  however,  that 
"  one  thing  may  at  least  be  said,  and  that  is,  that 
the  Prince  of  Wales's  company  has  shown  itself 
capable  of  power."  Small  as  was  the  part  played 
by  my  wife,  her  performance  was  declared  to  be 
"  simply  exquisite  in  the  charming  piquancy  of  its 
mingled  amiability,  innocence,  and  droll  shrewdness 
in  the  early  portions  of  the  play,  and  the  naturally 
and  quietly  expressed  pathos  of  the  last  act " ; 
while  as  for  my  own  little  part  of  Doctor  Speed- 
well, I  found  in  it  two  causes  of  consolation,  if  any 
consolation  were  needed.  One  was  the  generous 
recognition  it  received. 

"  For  this  trifling  part,"  it  was  written,  "  Mr. 
Bancroft  assumes  the  most  complete  disguise,  and 
entirely  sinks  his  own  identity  with  the  skill  as 
well  as  the  generous  abnegation  of  a  thorough  artist. 
The  brows  of  the  doctor,  overshadowed  by  grey 
hair,  the  penetrating  eyes  that  would  cause  a  patient 
to  hope  or  shudder  as  they  formed  a  rapid  diagnosis^ 


A   DOMESTIC   DRAMA  171 

of  his  condition,  were  so  unlike  those  of  Bancroft 
that  he  was  not  for  some  time  recognised." 

The  other  cause  of  consolation  was  that  the  brevity 
of  the  part  gave  me  frequent  opportunities  of  seeing 
Aimee  Descfee  at  the  Princess's  Theatre,  which  was 
close  by,  in  the  early  acts  of  Frou-Frou  and  others 
of  her  great  parts.  The  impression  left  on  my 
memory  is  that  she  was  one  of  the  finest  and  most 
touching  actresses  who  ever  adorned  the  art  I  love. 
Did  not  Alexandre  Dumas  fits  exclaim  after  her 
sadly  early  death  ? — "  Elle  nous  a  emus,  et  elle  en  est 
morte.     Voila  tout  son  histoire  !  " 

A  tour  of  Man  and  Wife  to  the  leading  pro- 
vincial theatres  was  soon  started,  Charles  Wyndham 
being  engaged  for  the  part  of  Geoffrey  Delamayn, 
and  Ada  Dyas  for  that  of  Anne  Sylvester,  both  of 
whom  acted  with  great  eclat. 

Man  and  Wife  was  a  favourite  play  with  the 
Royal  Family :  the  then  Prince  of  Wales  saw  it 
twice,  and  the  Princess  three  times,  between 
February  25  and  March  4,  and  again  were  present 
before  its  withdrawal  in  July,  being  then  accom- 
panied by  the  Czarevitch  and  Czarevna,  afterwards 
Emperor  and  Empress  of  Russia. 

The  favour  thus  shown  to  this  production  on 
one  occasion  caused,  indirectly,  the  plot  of  a  little 
domestic  drama. 

The  Royal  box  was  made  by  throwing  two 
ordinary  private  boxes  into  one,  and  on  a  certain 
Friday  night  news  reached  the  theatre  that  it  was 
required  for  the  following  evening.  Both  boxes 
had  been  taken — one  at  the  theatre,  the  other  at  a 
librarian's  in  Bond  Street — and  nothing  remained 
unlet  but  a  small  box  on  the  top  tier.  Not  to 
disappoint  the  Prince  of  Wales,  it  was  decided  that 
every  effort  should  be  made  in  the  morning  to 
arrange  matters.  The  box  which  had  been  sold 
at  the  theatre  was  kindly  given  up  by  the  pur- 
chaser, and  a  visit  to  Bond  Street  fortunately  dis- 
closed the  name  of  the  possessor  of  the  other,     ThQ 


172  OTHER   PLAYS 

gentleman  was  a  stockbroker,  so  a  messenger  was 
at  once  sent  to  his  office  in  the  city,  only  to  find 
that  he  had  just  left.  After  a  great  deal  of  diffi- 
culty our  invincible  messenger  succeeded  in  learning 
his  private  address,  where,  on  arrival,  he  was  told 
by  the  servant  that  "  Master  went  to  Liverpool  on 
business  this  morning,  and  won't  be  back  till 
Monday." 

The  door  of  a  room  leading  from  the  hall  was 
opened  at  this  moment,  and  a  portly  lady  appeared 
upon  the  scene. 

"  Went  to  Liverpool ! "  echoed  the  messenger. 
"  Nonsense !  He's  going  to  the  Prince  of  Wales's 
Theatre  this  evening." 

The  portly  lady  now  approached,  and  asked  if 
she  could  be  of  any  service.  The  messenger  re- 
peated his  story  and  stated  his  errand.  The  lady 
smiled  blandly,  and  said  that,  if  the  small  box  on 
the  upper  tier  were  reserved,  matters  no  doubt 
would  be  amicably  arranged  in  the  evening,  and 
so  the  man  went  away  rejoicing. 

At  night,  not  long  before  the  play  began,  the 
gentleman  who  had  in  vain  been  sought  so  urgently 
arrived  in  high  spirits,  accompanied  by  a  very  hand- 
some lady.  When  the  circumstances  were  explained 
to  him,  he  very  kindly  agreed  to  put  up  with  the 
alteration. 

There  ended  our  share  in  the  transaction  ;  but 
hardly  were  the  unfortunate  man  and  his  attractive 
companion  left  alone  than  the  portly  lady  from  his 
private  residence  reached  the  theatre  and  asked  to  be 
shown  to  Box  X.  She  was  at  once  conducted  there  ; 
the  door  was  opened.  Tableau  !  What  explanation 
was  given  as  to  the  business  trip  to  Liverpool  we 
never  knew,  or  whether  the  third  act  of  this  domestic 
drama  was  rehearsed  later  at  the  Law  Courts  before 
"  the  President." 

Although  Man  and  Wife  did  not  achieve  the 
same  length  of  run  as  some  of  its  predecessors,  the 
receipts  for  the  first  eighty  performances  were  on  a 


A   STORY  OF  WILKIE   COLLINS     173 

par  with  previous  successes.  Subsequently  a  summer 
of  unusual  heat  affected  the  theatres,  and  the  fetes 
of  many  kinds  given  that  year  in  honour  of  the  Shah 
of  Persia  were  also  detrimental  to  them.  Having 
broken  the  spell,  as  it  were,  and  proved  that  we 
could  be  successful  in  plays  widely  different  from 
those  which  first  made  the  reputation  of  our  manage- 
ment, we  wrote  to  Wilkie  Collins  to  say  that  his 
play  would  exhaust  its  attraction  by  the  end  of  the 
season.     This  was  his  answer  to  the  letter  : 

90,  Gi^ucESTER  Place,  Portman  Square, 
July  17,  1873. 

My  dear  Bancroft, — 

Thank  you  heartily  for  your  kind  letter.  I 
should  be  the  most  ungrateful  man  living  if  the 
result  of  Man  a7id  Wife  did  not  far  more  than 
merely  "  satisfy  "  me.  My  play  has  been  magnifi- 
cently acted,  everybody  concerned  with  it  has  treated 
me  with  the  greatest  kindness,  and  you  and  Mrs. 
Bancroft  have  laid  me  under  obligations  to  your 
sympathy  and  friendship  for  which  I  cannot  suffi- 
ciently thank  you.  The  least  I  can  do,  if  all  goes 
well,  is  to  write  for  the  Prince  of  Wales's  Theatre 
again,  and  next  time  to  give  you  and  Mrs.  Bancroft 
parts  that  will  be  a  little  more  worthy  of  you. 

Ever  yours, 

Wilkie  Collins. 

When  the  season  closed  at  the  beginning  of 
August,  his  play  had  been  acted  one  hundred  and 
thirty-six  times. 

I  was  travelling  once  to  the  Engadine  in  the 
pleasant  companionship  of  the  late  Frederick  Leh- 
mann.  We  halted  for  the  night  at  Coire,  where  the 
railway  ended  in  those  days,  the  rest  of  the  journey 
consisting  of  a  long  and  beautiful  drive  over  the 
Albula  or  the  Julier  Pass.  Lehmann,  after  we  had 
dined,  told  me,  very  impressively,  how  the  quaint  old 
town  reminded  him  of  an  eventful  evening  he  had 


174  OTHER  PLAYS 

spent  there  on  the  homeward  journey  some  years 
before  with  Wilkie  CoUins.  CoUins  had  then  become 
a  confirmed  opium  taker.  They  were  close  friends, 
and  had  passed  some  weeks  together  at  St.  Moritz. 
On  the  morning  of  their  departure,  as  their  carriage 
was  creeping  up  the  mountain  road,  ColUns  said  to 
Lehmann,  "  Fred,  I  am  in  a  terrible  trouble.  I  have 
only  just  discovered  that  my  laudanum  has  come  to 
an  end.  I  know,  however,  that  there  are  six  chemists 
at  Coire  ;  and  if  you  and  I  pretend,  separately,  to 
be  physicians,  and  each  chemist  consents  to  give  to 
each  of  us  the  maximum  of  opium  he  may  by  Swiss 
law,  which  is  very  strict,  give  to  one  person,  1  shall 
just  have  enough  to  get  through  the  night.  After- 
wards we  must  go  through  the  same  thing  at  Basle. 
If  we  fail — Heaven  help  me ! "  The  two  friends 
played  their  parts  skilfully,  and,  owing  greatly  to 
Lehmann's  perfect  knowledge  of  the  German  lan- 
guage, they  both  succeeded,  and  the  trying  situation 
was  saved. 

In  confirmation  of  this  story  I  may  add  that  one 
Sunday  evening  when  our  friends  Sir  William 
Fergusson,  Ithe  eminent  surgeon,  and  Mr.  Critchett, 
the  distinguished  oculist  and  father  of  a  distinguished 
son.  Sir  Anderson  Critchett,  were,  with  Wilkie 
Collins,  among  our  guests,  Critchett  said  to  Sir 
William  during  dinner  that  he  had  Mr.  CoUins's 
permission  to  ask  him  a  question,  which  was  this. 
The  novelist  had  confided  to  him  the  quantity,  which 
he  named,  of  laudanum  which  he  swallowed  every 
night  on  going  to  bed,  and  which  Critchett  had  told 
him  was  more  than  sufficient  to  prevent  any  ordinary 
person  from  ever  awaking.  He  now  asked  Sir 
William  if  that  was  not  well  within  the  truth.. 
Fergusson  replied  that  the  dose  of  opium  to  which  > 
Wilkie  Collins  from  long  usage  had  accustomed 
himself  was  enough  to  kill  every  man  seated  at  the^ 
table. 

It  was  during  our  performance  of  Man  and  Wife,. 
I  remember,  that  the  death  of  Macready  occurred^ 


DEATH   OF   MACREADY  175 

The  great  actor  of  a  former  generation,  who  for  years 
had  lived  on  a  hard-earned  modest  competency  at 
Sherborne  in  Dorsetshire,  went  afterwards  to  Chelten- 
ham and,  soon  after  the  completion  of  his  eightieth 
year,  died  there.  He  retired  from  the  stage  in  1851, 
when  he  was  fifty-eight,  in  the  height  of  his  great 
powers,  and  is  one  of  the  strongest  instances  of  a 
public  favourite  having  resisted  every  temptation  to 
return  to  it.  His  funeral  at  Kensal  Green  attracted 
an  enormous  crowd,  including  a  pathetic  group  of  old 
actors  who  had  once  been  members  of  his  company, 
some  of  them  being  thought  long  since  dead.  On 
reading  the  tablet  belonging  to  his  catacomb  one 
could  not  fail  to  be  struck  by  the  frequent  sorrows 
that  had  befallen  him,  and  to  reflect  how  much  they 
might  be  responsible  for  the  constant  and  reiterated 
regrets  which  so  abound  in  the  late  Sir  Frederick 
Pollock's  interesting  Life  of  his  eminent  friend.  Much 
that  was  beautiful  in  his  complex  character  may  be 
learnt  from  a  delightful  little  volume  called  Macready 
as  I  Knew  Him,  written  by  Lady  Pollock. 

In  his  declining  years  his  health  had  been  much 
enfeebled,  and  his  last  visits  to  London  were  to  place 
himself  under  the  care  of  the  great  surgeon.  Sir 
Henry  Thompson.  His  last  visit  to  a  theatre  was 
on  one  of  those  occasions,  when  he  yielded,  although 
then  infirm,  to  the  persuasions  of  Charles  Dickens 
and  Wilkie  Collins  to  go  with  them  to  see  Fechter 
play  his  own  old  part  of  Claude  Melnotte  in  The 
Lady  of  Lyons.  JNlacready  sat  in  silence  nearly  all 
the  evening,  and  when  the  curtain  fell  he  merely 
muttered,  *'  Very  pretty  music  ! "  I  should  doubt 
if  Macbeth  or  Lear  were  ever  better  played  than  by 
Macready,  while  as  Richelieu,  Werner,  and  Virginius 
he  must  have  been  beyond  compare. 

It  was  he  who,  during  his  management  of  Drury 
Lane  Theatre,  was  the  pioneer  of  gorgeous  Shake- 
spearian productions.  These  were  followed  by  the 
sumptuous  revivals  of  Kean  at  the  Princess's,  to  be 
outdone   in   splendour   by   Irving   at  the    Lyceum, 


176  OTHER   PLAYS 

some  of  whose  grand  illustrations  have,  in  their  turn, 
been  eclipsed  in  pictorial  pageantry  by  Tree  at  His 
Majesty's. 

It  is  dangerous  to  tell  anecdotes  of  any  actors 
of  the  past,  lest  the  stories  should  have  been  in 
print  before.  That  doubtless  is  the  case  with  one 
told  me  years  ago  by  a  tragedian  of  a  past  generation. 
Macready  was  playing  Hamlet  in  America,  and 
during  rehearsals  had  so  severely  found  fault  with 
the  actor,  a  local  favourite,  who  took  the  part  of 
the  King,  that  his  Majesty  determined  at  night  to 
be  revenged  upon  the  great  man  by  reeling,  when 
stabbed  by  Hamlet,  to  the  centre  of  the  stage 
(instead  of  remaining  at  the  back)  and  falling  dead 
upon  the  very  spot  Macready  had  reserved  for  his 
own  final  effort  before  he  expired  in  Horatio's  arms. 
Macready  groaned  and  grunted,  "  Die  further  up  the 
stage,  sir.  .  .  .  What  are  you  doing  down  here,  sir  ? 
Get  up,  and  die  elsewhere,  sir !  "  when,  to  the  amaze- 
ment of  the  audience,  the  King  sat  bolt  upright  on 
the  stage,  and  said,  "  1  guess,  Mr.  Macready,  you 
had  your  way  at  rehearsal,  but  Fm  King  now,  and  I 
shall  die  where  I  please  I  " 

Another  little  incident,  told  sometimes  of  other 
tragedians,  really  happened  to  Macready.  He  de- 
pended very  much  in  Virginius  upon  a  subordinate 
actor's  emphasis  and  delivery  of  a  simple  sentence. 
At  rehearsal  he  was  very  patient  and  repeated  the 
words,  as  he  wished  them  spoken,  over  and  over 
again  to  a  young  actor,  who  in  vain  tried  to  catch 
the  desired  tone.  At  last  Macready  said  peevishly, 
"  Surely,  man,  it's  easy  enough — can't  you  speak  the 
words  as  I  do  ?  "  ''  No,  sir,  I  can't,"  was  the  actor's 
reply,  "or  I  might  be  in  your  position  instead  of 
earning  only  thirty  shillings  a  week." 

Once  in  the  late  'sixties  I  was  on  the  platform 
of  a  Great  Western  Railway  station,  when  an  official 
said  to  me,  "  Did  you  notice  that  venerable  old 
gentleman  who  just  now  alighted  from  the  train  ? " 
I  said  '*  No."     He  then  told  me  it  was  Macready ; 


"  SWEETHEAKTS  "  177 

and  so,  alas  I  I  never  even  saw  him,  but  I  had  the 
pleasure  of  knowing  his  son  Jonathan,  the  surgeon, 
since  whose  death  I  have  met  Macready's  youngest 
son  and  grandchild. 

Certainly  one  of  the  most  charming  and  successful 
plays  we  ever  produced  was  Sweethearts,  which  we 
first  accepted  from  its  renowned  author,  Sir  William 
S.  Gilbert,  under  the  title  of  The  White  Willow. 
After  the  play  was  put  into  rehearsal  in  1874,  I  was 
so  fortunate,  when  we  were  all  at  our  wits'  end  for 
a  title,  as  to  hit  on  Sweethearts ;  The  White  Willow, 
Doctor  Time,  Thirty  Years,  Spring  and  Autumn, 
being  among  the  many  proposed  names  which  my 
suggestion  was  thought  to  beat. 

No  play  of  its  length,  perhaps,  ever  excited  more 
attention  than  Sweethearts.  Pages  could  be  filled 
with  the  chorus  of  praise  which  burst  from  the  press. 
One  leading  critic  wrote  that  Gilbert  had  determined 
to  test  talent  by  a  most  difficult  stage  exercise ; 
and  that  my  wife  had  been  able  to  prove  beyond 
dispute  the  studied  grace  and  polished  elegance  of 
her  dramatic  scholarship.  "  From  the  subject  set  to 
her,  called  Sweethearts,  she  has  produced  the  poem 
of  'Jenny.'"  The  success  of  the  creation  was  de- 
clared complete.  No  striking  or  unusually  clever 
writing,  no  wit,  or  epigram,  or  quaint  expression  of 
words,  no  telling  scene,  or  passionate  speech,  taken 
separately  or  in  combination,  could  be  said  to  account 
for  the  impression  made  by  the  actress.  The  audience 
was  fascinated  by  the  detail  of  the  portrait,  as  charm- 
ing in  youth  as  it  was  beautiful  in  age.  "  By  this 
character  of  Jenny,  with  all  its  elaboration,  its  variety, 
its  contrast,  its  tenderness,  its  suggestion,  and  its 
poetical  decoration,  the  best  work  of  the  artist  has 
been  put  forward.  It  is  the  most  valuable  kind  of 
dramatic  scholarship." 

More  perfect  acting  than  Mrs.  Bancroft's  in  the 
second  act,  sang  another  voice,  had  not  been  seen 
upon  the  stage.     For  her  archness  and  sly  roguery 

12 


178  OTHER   PLAYS 

in  the  first  act,  her  love  of  fun  brought  into  striking 
contrast  with  ready  touches  of  pathos,  everybody 
was  prepared.  But  for  the  finished  portrait  of  a 
stately  and  elderly  lady  in  the  second  act  they  were 
not  prepared.  It  was  to  the  life.  Anything  more 
exquisite  than  this  assumption  the  writer  had  never 
seen. 

In  all  her  career,  said  a  third,  from  the  dawn 
of  her  genius  to  the  present  noon  of  her  prosperity, 
my  wife  had  never  so  thoroughly  revealed  the  effect 
of  her  innate  talent  and  of  the  hard  artistic  training 
she  had  undergone.  The  ars  celare  artem  was  here 
at  its  highest  and  its  best ;  there  were  tones  and 
touches,  delicate  hints  and  suggestions,  which  were 
absolutely  marvellous  in  the  wealth  of  meaning  they 
conveyed.  The  thoughtless  insolence  of  the  girl,  the 
chastened  cheerfulness  of  the  elderly  woman,  were 
both  pourtrayed  with  a  mixture  of  vigour  and  re- 
finement such  as  was  nowhere  else  to  be  met  with 
on  the  English  stage.  Of  her  acting,  indeed,  it 
might  be  said,  as  one  of  our  old  poets  said  of  the 
face  of  his  mistress : 

"'TIS  like  the  milky  way  i'  the  sky, 
A  meeting  of  gentle  lights  without  a  name  ! " 

Many  curious  and  touching  letters  were  addressed 
to  Mrs.  Bancroft,  impelled  by  the  emotions  the  play 
and  her  acting  caused  the  writers  of  them,  the 
following  kind  note,  addressed  to  her  by  a  former 
leader  of  our  profession  so  distinguished  as  Mrs. 
Charles  Kean,  giving  her  especial  pleasure. 

47,    QUEENSBOROUGH    TeBRACE,    KeNSINGTON   GaRDENS, 

March  28,  1875. 

Dear  Madam, — 

I  have  been  so  long  ill  that  I  have  seen 
nothing  of  what  has  been  going  on  in  the  theatrical 
world ;  but  I  had  a  great  desire  to  see  you  in  Sweet- 
hearts, and  did  so  on  Saturday.  Allow  me  now  to 
thank  you  much  for  the  enjoyment  you  afforded  me 
by  your  charming  acting  as  Jenny  Northcott. 


A  TRIBUTE   OF   TEARS  179 

Perhaps  it  may  not  be  unpleasing  to  know  that 
a  very  old  actress  thought  it  perfection.  Your  style 
is  all  your  own,  and  touchingly  true  to  nature. 

Again  thanking  you,  believe  me,  truly  yours, 

Ellen  Kean. 

Strange  that  this  praise  should  he  confirmed  more 
than  thirty  years  later  by  Ellen  Kean's  child-pupil, 
Ellen  Terry,  in  the  fascinating  story  of  her  life. 

During  the  second  act,  early  in  the  run  of  the 
play,  the  occupant  of  a  stall  close  to  the  stage  was 
palpably  unable  to  control  his  emotion.  At  last  he 
attracted  the  attention  of  his  neighbour — a  lady — so 
markedly,  that  he  turned  to  her  and  exclaimed, 
quite  audibly  to  the  audience,  "  Yes,  madam,  I  am 
crying,  and  I'm  proud  of  it !  " 

I  have  seen  all  the  finest  acting  that  I  could  see 
in  the  last  fifty  years,  and  still  rejoice  in  all  that  I 
can  see  now.  I  can  summon  noble  phantoms  from 
the  distant  past,  and  dwell  upon  sweet  memories  of 
more  recent  days.  After  the  most  searching  thought, 
the  most  critical  remembrance,  I  can  recall  no  single 
effort  at  acting  so  perfect,  in  my  own  judgment,  as 
my  wife's  performance,  or  performances,  in  Sweet- 
hearts.  The  creatures  of  the  different  acts  were,  from 
the  first  line  to  the  last,  absolutely  distinct,  but 
equally  complete  ;  the  one  a  portrait  of  impetuous 
youth,  the  other  of  calm  maturity.  There  was  not, 
throughout  them  both,  one  single  movement  of  the 
body,  one  single  tone  of  the  voice,  one  single  look 
on  the  speaking  face,  to  change  or  alter ;  there  was 
nothing  that  could  in  any  way,  it  seemed  to  me,  be 
bettered. 

Again  came  tempting  offers  from  America,  again 
to  be  declined  ;  but  it  was  pleasant  to  receive,  later, 
from  a  friend  in  the  distant  land,  words  written  by 
its  accomphshed  poet  and  critic,  William  Winter : 

"  Our  age  indeed  has  no  Gibber  to  describe  their 
loveliness  and  celebrate  their  achievements ;  but 
surely  if  he  were  living  at  this  hour,  that  courtly, 


180  OTHER   PLAYS 

characteristic,  and  sensuous  writer — who  saw  so 
clearly  and  could  pourtray  so  well  the  peculiarities 
of  the  feminine  nature — would  not  deem  the  period 
of  Ellen  Terry  and  Marie  Bancroft,  of  Ada  Rehan 
and  Sarah  Bernhardt,  of  Clara  Morris  and  Jane 
Hading,  unworthy  of  his  pen.  As  often  as  fancy 
ranges  over  those  bright  names  and  others  that  are 
kindred  with  them — a  glittering  sisterhood  of  charms 
and  talents — the  regret  must  arise  that  no  literary 
artist  with  just  the  gallant  spirit,  the  chivalry,  the 
fine  insight,  and  the  pictorial  touch  of  old  Gibber  is 
extant  to  perpetuate  their  glory." 

A  few  years  later  we  revived  Sweethearts,  giving 
it  a  place  in  a  summer  programme  of  the  lightest 
nature  ever  offered  to  the  public,  but  which,  to  the 
amazement  of  most  people,  was  found  strong  enough 
to  fill  the  theatre  from  early  May  until  the  end  of 
the  season  in  August.  The  playbill,  which  proves 
what  may  almost  be  termed  the  audacity  of  the 
experiment,  comprised  Heads  or  Taih,  a  little 
comedietta,  written  by  Palgrave  Simpson,  in  which 
Henry  Kemble  was  very  amusing  as  an  amorous 
young  man  afflicted  with  a  chronic  cold  ;  followed 
by  Sweethearts,  which  my  wife  and  I  acted  together 
for  the  first  time ;  and  Buckstone's  comic  drama, 
Good  for  Nothing,  with  this  cast  of  characters,  which 
will  speak  for  itself :  Tom  Dibbles,  Arthur  Cecil ; 
Harry  Collier,  John  Clayton  ;  Charlie,  H.  B.  Conway  ; 
Young  Mr.  Simpson,  Henry  Kemble ;  and  Nan,  Mrs. 
Bancroft. 

Once  more,  during  the  final  season  of  our  manage- 
ment, we  again  revived,  for  some  farewell  perform- 
ances, this  gem  of  Gilbert's  and  also  Good  for 
Nothing;  when  a  faithful  member  of  our  Chorus 
sang  that  my  wife  had  never  shown  in  such  a 
marked  manner  the  versatility  of  her  temperament 
or  the  elasticity  of  her  art.  The  audience  could 
scarcely  believe  their  eyes  when  they  saw  the  delicate- 
minded  and  silvery-toned  Miss  Northcott  turned  into 
the  dirty-faced,  touzle-headed  little  reprobate,  whose 


"  I  wish  I  had  tuppence,  I'd  ran  right  away 


p.  180] 


"THE  VICARAGE"  181 

knowledge  of  the  Cockney  vernacular  was  so  absolute 
and  complete.  The  assumption  of  one  piece  of 
finery  after  another  was  deliciously  droll ;  and  as  the 
actress  bounded  out  of  the  door  with  a  tiny  parasol 
over  her  shoulder,  there  went  up  a  spontaneous  shout 
of  laughter  and  applause.  My  Spreadbrow  the  writer 
dismissed  with  a  few  words  of  unqualified  praise. 
My  rendering  of  the  young  man  in  the  first  act  he 
declared  to  be  full  of  fine  points,  eloquent  of  un- 
expressed feeling,  while  in  the  second  division  of  the 
"  dramatic  contrast,"  as  the  play  was  called,  I  had 
represented  the  selfish  and  cheery  old  bachelor  with 
abundant  sly  touches  of  observant  humour.  *'  We 
do  not  remember  this  part  of  the  play  to  have  been 
so  well  acted  nor  to  have  gone  so  well." 

This  bill  was  completed  by  Katharine  and 
Petruchio,  the  mangled  version  arranged  by  Garrick  of 
Shakespeare's  Taming  of  the  Shrew,  in  which  Forbes- 
Robertson  and  Mrs.  Bernard  Beere  acted  the  chief 
parts. 

Another  very  successful  piece  on  a  small  canvas 
was  The  Vicarage,  an  adaptation,  made  at  my 
request  by  Clement  Scott,  of  Le  Village,  a  proverbe, 
by  Octave  Feuillet,  which  we  produced  in  1877  with 
the  appropriate  description  of  "a  fireside  story."  It 
appealed  at  once  to  the  tastes  of  our  audiences,  with 
Mrs.  Bancroft  as  Mrs.  Haygarth,  the  Vicar's  wife, 
Arthur  Cecil  as  the  Vicar,  and  Kendal  first,  myself 
afterwards,  as  George  Clarke,  C.B.,  the  old  friend 
who  disturbs  for  a  while  the  peace  of  the  rural 
vicarage  by  persuading  the  Vicar  that  his  life  there 
is  too  dull  and  narrow,  and  that  it  is  his  duty  to 
travel. 

Scott's  treatment  of  the  theme  made  a  touching 
little  play,  in  which  my  wife  had  an  opportunity  of 
repeating  the  success  achieved  in  the  second  part  of 
Sweethearts,  Indeed,  one  critic  declared  that,  if 
possible,  Mrs.  Haygarth  was  an  even  more  delightful 
old  lady  than  she  whose  acquaintance  was  made  in 


182  OTHER   PLAYS 

Sweethearts ;  it  was  difficult  to  imagine  anything 
more  touching  or  effective  than  her  loving,  benign 
face  beneath  her  matronly  cap,  and  the  sustained 
sweetness  and  chastened  grace  of  her  deportment. 
This  was  the  central  figure  in  the  group,  and  all  was 
in  harmony  with  it.  "  All  recollection  of  the  theatre 
passes  away — the  spectator  feels  himself  in  the  com- 
pany of  some  genial  old  country  parson  and  his 
amiable,  elderly  wife,  in  rustling  dove-coloured  silk 
and  creamy  shawl." 

Spontaneous  criticisms  from  fellow-workers  are 
always  delightful  in  every  art,  as  was  this  kind 
expression  from  a  veteran  tragedian : 

Garrick  Club, 

May  3,  1877. 

Dear  Mrs.  Bancroft, — 

Pray  do  me  the  favour  to  accept  an  old 
actor's  warmest  felicitations  on  your  rendering  of 
the  parson's  wife  in  The  Vicarage.  More  perfect, 
quiet  acting  I  have  never  witnessed.  You  must 
believe  me  sincere  when  I  tell  you  it  moved  me 
even  to  tears — the  delicate  harmony  of  comedy  and 
pathos  awakened  me  to  surprise  and  admiration. 
Having  gratified  my  love  for  legitimate  acting  so 
much,  you  will  not,  I  trust,  refuse  to  accept  the 
sincere  and  appreciative  thanks  of 

Yours  very  faithfully, 

James  Anderson. 

We  also  acted  this  little  play  with  great  success 
at  the  Haymarket,  and  several  times  subsequently 
for  charities. 

A  favourite  old  comedy.  An  Unequal  Match, 
which  Tom  Taylor  read  to  the  company,  the  play 
being  somewhat  altered  for  the  occasion,  was  also 
revived  by  us  in  conjunction  with  the  farce,  first 
made  famous  by  Alfred  Wigan  and  the  Keeleys, 
To  Parents  and  Ghiardians,    The  action  of  the  latter 


THE  VICAKAGE' 


A    WILD   NIGHT  183 

Tom  Taylor  reduced,  at  my  suggestion,  and  with 
great  advantage,  he  considered,  to  a  single  scene. 
It  proved  an  excellent  afterpiece,  and  gave  Arthur 
Cecil  an  admirable  part  in  the  old  French  usher, 
while  Henry  Kemble  quite  revelled  in  the  boyish 
troubles  of  the  fat  butt  of  the  school,  known  to  his 
playmates  as  Master  William  Waddilove. 

Another  interesting  fact  may  be  mentioned  :  that 
Albert  Chevalier  then  made  his  first  appearance  on 
the  stage,  as  one  of  the  schoolboys.  The  programme 
added  a  considerable  sum  to  the  treasury,  and  ran  for 
a  hundred  nights. 

Later  on,  at  the  Haymarket,  we  revived  Tom 
Taylor's  drama  Plot  and  Passion  for  a  limited  time, 
in  which  Ada  Cavendish,  Arthur  Cecil,  H.  B. 
Conway,  A.  W.  Pinero,  and  I  acted  the  chief  parts. 

The  elements  were  often  unkind  to  us  on  the 
opening  night  of  a  season,  and  this  year  they  were 
more  so  than  usual.  The  evening  was  most  tem- 
pestuous and  the  sound  of  the  storm  penetrated  into 
the  theatre.  The  large  ventilator  over  the  sunlight, 
and  smaller  ones  above  the  gallery  ceiling,  groaned 
and  rattled  as  the  hurricane  of  wind  whirled  them 
round  and  round,  threatening  their  safety.  When 
the  audience  assembled,  it  could  not  have  been  in 
a  cheerful  frame  of  mind.  Whether  the  drama,  or 
the  actors,  or  the  spectators  were,  one  or  the  other 
or  all  three,  a  little  dull,  does  not  much  matter  now  ; 
but  the  production  did  not  take  rank  with  our 
successes — indeed,  it  would  have  been  added  to 
our  brief  list  of  failures,  of  which  the  next  chapter 
will  render  an  account,  had  not  the  novelty  which 
completed  the  programme,  and  which  was  most 
warmly  received,  fortunately  made  amends.  This 
was  an  admirable  adaptation  by  Burnand  of  a  bright 
little  comedy  called  Lolotte,  once  played  with  great 
success  by  Chaumont,  and  later  by  Rejane,  of  which 
I  had  bought  the  English  rights  some  time  before. 
A    Lesson,   as  this   adaptation   was    christened,    as 


184  OTHER   PLAYS 

played  by  Brookfield,  Conway,  Blanche  Henri,  and 
Mrs.  Bancroft,  was  extremely  successful.  Burnand 
was  not  able  to  be  present  on  the  first  night,  but  his 
letter  of  the  following  day  will  confirm  our  im- 
pressions of  the  elements : 

18,  Royal  CbbscenTj  Ramsgatb, 
November  27,  1881. 

My  dear  Mrs.  Bancroft, 

Excuse  the  style  of  this  letter,  for  after  such 
a  fearful  night  here,  not  at  the  Haymarket,  I  write 
with  (a  pen — yes)  several  tiles  off!  I  sincerely  con- 
gratulate you  upon  what  appears  from  The  Observer 
to  have  been  a  Big  Success  with  a  very  Small  Piece. 
We  came  down  here  to  rest  and  be  thankful.  We 
did  not  rest  and  we  are  not  thankful.  Such  a  gale ! 
The  centre  part  of  the  Crescent  verandah  at  the 
back  blown  right  down,  and  the  doors  blockaded ; 
chimneys  nowhere  ;  wrecks,  alas  I  everywhere.  Tugs 
and  lifeboats  in  full  employ.  "  A  night  for  crossing  !  " 
Well,  to  some  it  was  a  night  for  crossing  themselves 
and  saying  their  prayers,  for  we  thought  that  Mother 
Shipton's  prophecies  had  come  true,  and  there  was 
an  end  of  everything,  as  there  is  to  this  letter.  Wife 
and  self  immensely  pleased.  We  thought  of  you  at 
10  and  10.30  last  night,  and  wondered. 

Yours  very  truly, 

F.  C.  Burnand. 

To  Tom  Taylor  we  returned  again  in  the  following 
season,  reviving  his  clever  comedy  and  Haymarket 
success  of  former  days.  The  Oveidarid  Route,  which 
we  had  long  wished  to  do  when  occasion  arose.  In 
the  previous  year  I  h^  purposely  made  a  voyage 
to  Malta.  The  trip  was  of  the  greatest  service  in 
furnishing  all  kinds  of  detail  (of  which  I  made  rough 
drawings  and  took  copious  notes),  and  was  made  on 
one  of  the  older  type  of  the  fine  P.  &  O.  fleet,  built 
long  before  the  present  floating  palaces  were  con- 
templated, and  better  suited  as  a  model  for  our 
projected  ship-scene.     There  were  no  such  luxuries 


A   TRIP   TO   THE   EAST  185 

in  those  days  as  cold  chambers  for  preserving  food. 
I  occupied  the  doctor's  sanctum,  and  although  the 
space  and  privacy  were  highly  valued,  the  luxury 
was  not  an  unmixed  blessing,  for  just  outside  my 
cabin  there  was  a  kind  of  poultry-yard,  the  feathered 
occupants  of  which  never  failed  to  remind  me  of 
their  existence  in  the  early  hours,  while,  periodically, 
their  short  span  of  life  was  noisily  shortened  for 
table  purposes.  Very  close,  and  also  within  view, 
was  the  slaughter-house  and  home  of  the  ship's 
butcher  !  The  traveller  by  sea  in  those  days  had  to 
be  careful  in  the  choice  of  a  deck-cabin. 

A  brief  stay  at  Malta  was  full  of  interest,  in- 
cluding a  visit  to  the  monastery,  where,  in  the  vaults 
below,  dead  monks,  like  mummies,  were  propped  up 
in  niches,  and  I  can  still  remember  the  calm  smile 
of  the  brother  who  acted  as  guide,  when  he  pointed 
to  a  vacant  space  which,  he  explained,  was  waiting 
for  him.  A  different  resting-place  was  one  suggested 
by  an  epitaph  in  the  cemetery  on  the  grave  of  a 
former  resident  in  Soho,  "  who  had  been  ordered  by 
his  physician  to  a  warmer  climate." 

I  afterwards  went  on  to  Constantinople,  landing 
at  Syra  on  the  way.  There  I  caught  sight  of  a 
small  boy  who,  as  he  walked  down  the  chief  street, 
affixed  here  and  there  upon  the  walls  a  brief  announce- 
ment printed  upon  note-paper  with  a  mourning  edge. 
Upon  inspection,  I  gathered  that  it  referred  to  the 
funeral  of  an  old  lady,  which  took  place  a  few  hours 
later.  Her  body,  clothed  in  a  dress  which  most 
likely  meant  the  savings  of  her  long  life,  and  with 
the  face  horribly  rouged,  was  carried  forth  by  sailors 
upon  an  open  bier ;  as  it  passed,  some  people  came 
out  upon  the  house-tops  and  cast  vessels  of  water  on 
the  ground  between  the  corpse  and  those  who  followed 
it  to  the  grave — a  proceeding  supposed,  by  an  old 
Eastern  superstition,  to  keep  death  from  the  survivors. 

One  amusing  incident  of  my  voyage  I  recall.  It 
seemed  that  who  and  what  I  was  had  much  puzzled 
a  fellow-passenger,  a  Russian  gentleman,  who,  when 


186  OTHER  PLAYS 

I  had  left  the  ship,  was  told  my  calling.  He  held  up 
his  hands  in  sorrow  and  exclaimed,  "  An  actor ! 
What  we  have  missed !  There  was  a  piano  on 
board!'' 

In  our  production  of  T'he  Overland  Route,  the 
saloon  and  the  upper  deck  of  the  P.  &  O.  ship  were 
reproduced,  after  months  of  labour,  by  Walter  Hann 
— thanks  to  the  opportunities  so  kindly  placed  at  our 
disposal  by  an  old  friend,  Sir  Thomas  Sutherland, 
the  Chairman  of  the  P.  &  O.  Company.  His  name 
always  reminds  me  of  some  brief,  but  perfect,  holidays 
enjoyed  on  "  trial  trips  "  of  the  P.  <k  O.  vessels,  in 
company  eminent  in  the  various  careers  of  life — 
trips  which  remain  among  my  most  cherished  recol- 
lections. 

In  our  production  we  were  fortunate  in  securing 
real  coolies,  lascars,  seedie  boys,  and  ayahs,  to  lend 
reality  to  the  picture.  The  scene  of  the  last  act, 
when  the  ship  had  run  aground  upon  a  coral  reef  in 
the  Red  Sea,  was  magnificently  painted  by  William 
Telbin,  whose  acquaintance  with  the  East  and  the 
Holy  Land  enabled  him  to  treat  the  subject  truth- 
fully. This  scene  was  particularly  admired.  One  of 
the  papers,  after  rightly  ascribing  to  me  the  credit 
of  inventing  and  arranging  the  stage-business  when 
the  steamer  is  supposed  to  strike  upon  the  reef,  went 
on  to  say  that  it  was  all  wonderfully  well  done.  The 
suddenness  of  the  thing,  the  sound  of  the  ship 
crashing  on  to  the  rocks,  the  hiss  of  the  escaping 
steam,  the  screaming  of  the  women,  the  lowering  of 
the  boats,  and  the  passing  of  frightened  children  in 
their  night-dresses  up  the  cabin  stairs,  all  contrived 
to  form  an  exciting  and  impressive  picture  which  was 
received  with  the  loudest  applause. 

Our  nightly  voyage  in  the  Simoon  was  in  the 
fairest  weather,  for  our  revival  of  the  old  comedy 
was  received  with  all  the  favour  given  to  a  new 
production.  In  the  cast  were  David  James,  Alfred 
Bishop,  Charles  Brookfield,  Frederick  Everill,  and 
Mrs.  John  Wood  ;  while  Mrs.  Bancroft  played  the 


**  LORDS   AND   COMMONS"  187 

fascinating  Mrs.  Sebright,  and  I  appeared  as  the 
ubiquitous  and  ingenious  ship's  doctor,  Dexter.  A 
small  part  in  the  comedy  was  acted  by  Percy 
Vernon,  the  present  Lord  Lyveden.  1  wonder  if  he 
recalled  his  mimic  adventures  on  the  Simoon  while 
undergoing  the  experience  of  a  real  shipwreck  on  the 
Argonaut. 

An  amusing  scene  between  Mrs.  John  Wood 
and  herself,  which  became  a  feature  of  the  evening, 
was  cleverly  written  by  Mrs.  Bancroft,  who  also 
supplied  an  admirable  addition  to  a  dialogue  between 
Mrs.  John  Wood  and  David  James,  who  naturally 
made  the  most  of  it.  The  comedy  justified  our  faith 
and  drew  a  large  sum  of  money. 

The  last  new  play  we  produced  during  our 
management  was  an  early  work  from  the  pen  of 
one  who  was  then  a  young  author  but  who  has  since 
earned,  by  the  strong  and  varied  fertility  of  the 
work  he  has  achieved  for  the  stage,  the  distinguished 
position  of  being  justly  regarded  as  the  leading 
English  dramatist,  Arthur  Pinero.  This  comedy, 
to  which  he  gave  the  attractive  title  Lords  and 
Commons,  was  written  with  amazing  speed,  being 
completed  in  three  weeks. 

The  author  read  and  rehearsed  his  play,  even  then, 
with  the  supreme  skill  of  which  he  is  master,  giving 
all  concerned  a  clear  insight  into  the  value  of  his 
characters — an  art  rarely  possessed  in  the  highest 
degree,  in  my  experience,  but  by  author-actors,  as, 
for  instance,  Boucicault  and  Robertson.  This  faculty 
is  shared,  doubtless  owing  to  a  long-since-acquired 
intimate  acquaintance  with  the  stage,  by  Gilbert. 
Strange  to  say,  Byron  was  devoid  of  the  power ;  on 
the  other  hand,  so  far  as  our  experience  goes,  it  is 
distinctly  owned  by  Burnand,  who  acted  a  good  deal 
en  amateur,  and  was  the  founder  of  the  A.D.C.  at 
Cambridge. 

The  author  diligently  directed  the  rehearsals,  and 
no   pains  were  spared  by  all  concerned  to  bring  his 


188  OTHER   PLAYS 

work  successfully  through  its  ordeal.  As  for  decor, 
perhaps  stage  illusion  went  as  far  as  need  be  in  the 
old  hall  and  the  terrace,  which  were  perfect  specimens 
of  Telbin's  art,  while  the  tapestry-room  was  made 
complete  to  the  smallest  detail  by  Walter  Johnstone. 
Caryl  Court,  both  in  its  decay  and  renovation,  was 
a  splendid  stage  specimen  of  an  old  English  mansion. 

Lords  and  Commons  allowed  us  the  great  pleasure 
of  again  numbering  Mrs.  Stirling  among  the  members 
of  our  company,  to  which  Forbes-Robertson  also 
returned,  to  remain  prominently  connected  with  us 
until  the  close  of  our  management. 

Other  members  of  the  cast,  besides  ourselves,  were 
Alfred  Bishop,  Charles  Brookfield,  "  Wilhe "  Elliot, 
Eleanor  Calhoun,  and  Mrs.  Bernard  Beere.  The 
construction  of  the  play  was  full  of  talent  and  in- 
genuity, the  type  of  characters  striking  and  original, 
and  much  of  the  dialogue  was  of  the  highest 
excellence  ;  but  unfortunately  the  sympathy  of  the 
audience  was  forfeited  early  in  the  story  by  the  fallen 
aristocrats,  and,  once  lost,  it  was  difficult  to  restore 
it  to  them,  in  spite  of  the  pathetic  beauty  of  the 
closing  scene,  which,  we  always  thought,  was  treated 
with  exceptional  skill  by  Forbes-Robertson.  That 
the  author  did  not  regard  Lords  and  Commons  as 
among  his  best  plays  may  be  presumed  from  his  not 
having  included  it  in  his  published  works. 

The  play,  which  was  produced  in  November  (a 
dangerous  month),  was  acted  for  eighty  nights,  and 
attracted  full  houses  for  the  first  seven  or  eight  weeks 
of  its  performance,  when  Christmas  hurt  its  run. 
Without  pretending  to  rank  as  a  great  success,  the 
career  of  the  play  was  by  no  means  without  profit  to 
author  and  manager,  although  it  did  not  answer  early 
hopes.  This  result  was  partly  owing,  it  may  be,  to 
the  high  standard  which  the  press  and  the  public  had 
grown  to  expect  from  us  ;  a  compliment — however 
gratifying  as  a  sort  of  medal  awarded  for  general 
excellence — by  no  means  without  what  most  medals 
possess,  a  reverse  side. 


-•^'•♦-•■♦^Je^        ^tx — -^i^-t,-*'**^^  ^     iJi-'t'O^     fvc^t^i,       tf**t«.-fc->         ^»**-*x*- 


A  PAGE  OF  THE  ORIGINAL  MS.   OF  "LORDS  AND  COMMONS" 


p.  188] 


I 


A   PEEP   BEHIND   THE   SCENES     189 

A  none  too  kindly  critic  in  a  well-known  paper 
wrote  that  whatever,  in  parts,  might  be  the  faults  of 
the  play,  there  could  be  but  one  opinion  respecting 
its  mounting  and  the  manner  in  which  it  was  acted. 
Nothing  could  be  more  perfect  than  both.  If  the 
parts  were  not  always  quite  worthy  of  their  exponents, 
the  latter  were  in  all  respects  w^orthy  of  their  parts. 
My  wife  and  myself,  he  continued,  with  loyal  devotion 
to  our  art,  had  contented  ourselves  once  more  with 
subordinate  characters.  My  part  was  that  of  an  ex- 
swell  of  Pall  Mall,  who  had  developed  into  a  Cali- 
fornian  miner,  and  was  altogether  an  amusing  person 
with  his  beard,  his  roUed-up  shirt-sleeves,  and  his  habit 
of  making  foot-stools  of  the  chairs  in  Caryl  Court, 
while  my  wife  was  the  bright,  clever  little  American 
flirt.  "  She  has  the  best  lines  in  the  play  to  speak, 
and  speaks  them  as  no  other  living  actress  could  do." 
Special  praise  was  accorded  to  the  beautiful  acting  of 
Mrs.  Stirling,  and  to  an  extremely  clever  character- 
sketch  by  Brookfield,  whose  make-up  was  so  remark- 
able that  he  was  positively  unrecognisable,  both  before 
and  behind  the  curtain. 

In  my  wife's  words :  It  would  sometimes  be  in- 
teresting to  an  audience  to  be  given  a  peep  behind 
the  scenes  and  in  the  green-room ;  they  would  often 
see  what  servants  of  the  public  the  actors  are, 
how  often,  when  suffering  acute  pain,  or  when  in 
profound  sorrow,  they  go  through  their  work,  and  so 
bravely  that  the  audience  does  not  detect  even  a  look 
of  it.  I  have  known  that  grand  old  actress  Mrs. 
Stirling,  when  suffering  from  severe  bronchitis,  go  to 
the  theatre  in  all  weathers  and  at  great  risk,  more 
especially  at  her  advanced  age,  when  she  should  have 
been  in  her  bed.  I  have  known  her  arrive  at  the 
theatre  scarcely  able  to  breathe,  but  insisting  upon 
going  through  her  duties.  This  was  often  an  anxiety, 
for,  while  admiring  her  courage,  I  feared  bad  results 
from  it.  Mrs.  Stirling's  sight  being  impaired,  she 
always  dreaded  stairs  ;  and,  unfortunately  for  her,  in 


100  OTHER  PLAYS 

the  hall  of  Caryl  Court  there  was  a  long  gallery  and 
then  a  flight  of  steps  leading  from  it  to  the  stage, 
while  behind  the  scenes  there  was  another  flight  to 
reach  this  gallery.  Luckily  she  did  not  enter  alone, 
but  had  the  kindly  help  of  Eleanor  Calhoun,  who 
played  her  daughter  in  the  play.  When  Mrs.  StirUng 
was  so  ill,  these  stairs  were  naturally  a  double  anxiety, 
but  she  would  not  hear  of  any  change  of  entrance  in 
the  scene  which  might  affect  others,  and  I  often  felt 
more  than  anxious  about  her.  One  would  imagine, 
to  see  her  slowly  and  cautiously  ascend  the  flight  of 
steps,  stopping  every  now  and  then  to  murmur,  "  Oh, 
these  stairs ! "  that  she  would  scarcely  be  able  to  get 
through  her  part ;  but  although  she  has  stood  gasping 
for  breath  and  terribly  ailing,  the  moment  her  cue 
came  to  go  on  the  stage  she  seemed  to  cast  her  skin, 
as  it  were,  and  to  become  twenty  years  younger  ; 
vigour  returned  to  her  limbs,  and  she  walked  with  a 
firm  and  stately  gait.  Her  wonderfully-preserved, 
beautiful  voice  was  alone  worth  a  long  journey  to  listen 
to,  and  her  performance  of  the  part  was  such  as  no 
one  else  could  have  given. 

My  husband  and  I  enjoyed  her  society  until  the 
close  of  her  long  life.  We  often  sat  and  gossiped 
with  the  grand  old  lady  at  her  house  in  Duchess 
Street  until  her  peaceful  end.  I  seem  still  to  see  her 
saddened  eyes  as,  in  answer  to  my  farewell  words, 
they  accompanied  her  lips,  which  said,  "  And  God 
bless  you,  my  dear  !  " 

No  regret  so  keen,  in  connection  with  our  early 
retirement  from  management,  has  been  felt  by  my 
wife  and  by  me  as  that  it  could  not  be  our  lot  to 
produce  some  of  the  mature  work  of  Pinero — a 
pride  and  privilege  which  fell  to  others,  a  great  gift. 
But  we  were  left  with  something  then,  that  has 
been  since,  and  always  will  be  to  us  both,  a  proud 
possession — his  friendship. 


CHAPTER  VII 

FOUR   FAILURES 


In  the  reproof  of  chance 

Lies  the  true  proof  of  men. 


The  word  "failure,"  in  this  instance,  is  taken  to 
mean  the  production  of  a  play  by  which  money  was 
lost.  In  the  course  of  our  twenty  years  of  manage- 
ment we  had  four  such  catastrophes :  How  She 
Loves  Him,  Tame  Cats,  Wrinkles,  and  The  Merchant 
of  Venice,  The  first  failure  we  considered  unde- 
served, and  were  sorry  for.  The  second  and  third 
we  thought  were  thoroughly  deserved.  The  fourth 
we  have  always  been  proud  of;  it  was,  in  fact, 
within  an  ace  of  proving  a  triumphant  success. 

After  the  first  run  of  Caste,  in  1867,  in  order 
to  relieve  Robertson  (who  was  on  the  eve  of  going  to 
Germany  to  be  married  to  his  charming  second  wife) 
from  following  it  at  once  with  another  play,  and  to 
avoid  offering  the  public  toujours  perdrioo,  we  fixed 
upon  How  She  Loves  Him,  a  cleverly  written  comedy 
by  Boucicault,  which  had  been  originally  acted  in 
America.  The  following  letter  has  reference  to  the 
author  sending  us  the  comedy  in  three  acts,  not  in 
five,  as  it  had  been  first  acted : 

My  dear  Marie, — 

Shall  I  tell  you  what  you  said  when  you  read 
the  piece  ?  "  Oh  dear  1  this  is  not  what  I  expected. 
I  don't  see  this  at  all  I " 

191 


192  FOUR   FAILURES 

Now,  show  me  how  good  you  think  me  by  saying 
outright  what  you  think,  and  don't  offend  me  by 
"  doing  the  nice,"  and  by  imagining  that  you  can 
ever  wound  my  vanity. 

The  piece  you  have  is  the  old  piece  cut  into  three 
instead  of  into  five  acts,  with  two  scenes  added  to 
bind  the  first  and  second  acts  into  one,  and  the  fourth 
and  fifth  into  one,  the  second  being  the  old  third. 
There  I  you  see  I  will  not  allow  you  any  escape  I 
The  comedy  is  one  of  "  character  and  conversation," 
sketchy  and  shght.  It  does  not  "  smack "  on  your 
palate,  and  you  are  disappointed  sadly.  There,  there, 
pout  it  out !  Push  the  glasses  away,  and  say,  "  Give 
me  something  else,"  and  don't  dare  to  imagine  that 
I  shall  be  the  less  sincerely  yours, 

Dion  Boucicault. 

It  was  eventually  settled  that  the  comedy  should 
be  produced  in  its  five-act  form,  and  the  rehearsals 
were  commenced  under  the  direction  of  the  author. 
H.  J.  Montague — a  young  actor  of  great  personal 
charm,  who  had  every  chance  of  at  once  growing 
into  public  favour — was  engaged,  and  also  William 
Blakeley,  who  was  known  well  to  both  of  us  in 
Liverpool,  and  who  in  this  play  made  his  first  appear- 
ance in  London,  and  in  a  bath -chair.  Boucicault's 
power  as  a  stage-manager  was  a  lesson  to  young 
managers.  Sometimes,  however,  he  would  change  a 
fragment  of  the  stage  business,  previously  arranged, 
for  the  worse — not  perhaps  an  altogether  unknown 
weakness  with  dramatic  authors.  There  was,  we 
thought,  a  distinct  instance  of  this  at  the  end  of  the 
first  act  of  How  She  Loves  Him,  which  at  last  got 
very  muddled.  A  rather  good  idea  struck  me, 
which  was  a  distinct  improvement  on  what  had  been 
rehearsed  ;  but  we  hardly,  in  those  early  days,  liked 
to  interfere  with  such  an  autocrat,  kind  as  we  had 
always  found  him.  Our  old  friend  long  since  forgave 
and  laughed  at  the  disclosure  of  the  stratagem  by 
which  we  brought  about  the  wished-for  alteration. 


"HOW   SHE   LOVES   HIM"  193 

It  was  done  by  attributing  the  notion  to  himself,  as 
one  which  he  had,  we  ventured  to  tell  him,  discarded 
too  hastily  at  a  previous  rehearsal.  Whether  he 
really,  at  the  time,  saw  through  the  trick  or  not,  he 
never  divulged  ;  but  he  rewarded  the  stratagem  by 
adopting  the  suggestion. 

While  these  rehearsals  were  in  progress,  it  was 
my  lot  to  see  the  burning  of  Her  Majesty's  Theatre 
and  Opera  House  in  the  Haymarket,  where  Tree's 
beautiful  theatre  now  stands.  I  happened  to  be  on 
my  way  to  join  a  supper-party  in  the  old  coffee-room 
of  the  Cafe  de  I'Europe,  then  partitioned  off  into  the 
old-fashioned  "  boxes "  of  the  time,  and  much  fre- 
quented by  Keeley,  Buckstone,  Walter  Montgomery, 
Sothern,  Kendal  (already  a  young  Haymarket  recruit), 
Walter  Lacy,  and  other  kindred  souls.  There  was 
no  possible  chance  of  reaching  my  destination,  so  I 
stood  among  the  enormous  crowd,  rooted  to  the  spot 
by  the  fascination  of  the  flames,  which  quickly  enough 
worked  their  will.  It  was  the  fiercest  fire  I  ever 
saw,  and  nothing  could  be  done  by  our  late  intrepid 
friend.  Eyre  Massey  Shaw,  and  his  firemen  beyond 
saving  the  adjoining  hotel — which  was  not  where  the 
Carlton  now  stands,  but  in  Charles  Street — and  other 
buildings.  Thus  the  old  home  of  Jenny  Lind,  of 
Malibran,  of  Grisi,  of  Titiens,  of  the  immortal  pas  de 
quatre,  became,  as  they  all  now  are,  a  memory. 

How  She  Loves  Him  was  produced  in  December 
1867,  the  cast  including,  besides  our  two  selves, 
Hare,  Montague,  Blakeley,  Mrs.  Leigh  Murray,  and 
Lydia  Foote. 

Nothing  could  have  been  more  cordial  than  the 
applause  which  greeted  the  first  and  second  acts,  and 
the  good  news  was  sent  to  the  author  at  the  Princess's 
Theatre,  where  he  was  acting  in  one  of  his  celebrated 
Irish  dramas.  An  immensely  amusing  scene  in  the 
next  act  between  a  patient  and  doctors  of  every 
possible  belief — allopathic,  homoeopathic,  hydropathic, 
and  electropathic  (an  episode  of  which  we  were 
strongly    reminded    in    Bernard    Shaw's    delightful 

13 


194  FOUR   FAILURES 

Doctor's  Dilemma) — was  received  with  hearty  laughter, 
until,  unfortunately,  a  situation  at  the  end  of  it,  about 
which  Boucicault  had  been  very  obstinate  at  the 
rehearsals,  went  all  wrong,  and  the  audience,  once 
made  angry,  would  not  allow  the  rest  of  the  play  to 
redeem  the  mistake.  It  was  a  great  pity,  for,  like  all 
work  from  that  gifted  pen,  it  contained  great  charac- 
terisation and  charm  of  writing,  much  in  this  comedy 
being  described  as  *'  worthy  of  Congreve  and  Douglas 
Jerrold." 

Individually,  the  failure  of  the  play  was  a  great 
loss  to  me,  as  I  made  a  personal  hit  in  a  part  which 
otherwise  might  have  grown  popular — Beecher 
Sprawley — a  character  in  which  I  built  up  some 
eccentricities  founded  on  the  peculiarities  of  two 
friends,  neither  of  whom  detected  me,  and  both  of 
whom  were  among  the  warmest  in  their  praise.  I 
afterwards  revived  some  of  the  idea  when  I  acted  in 
Money, 

Edmund  Yates,  with  whom  at  that  time  I  had 
the  barest  acquaintance,  thus  wrote  of  my  perform- 
ance :  **  The  parts  I  have  seen  Mr.  Bancroft  fill  in 
Ours,  Caste,  and  the  comedy  now  under  notice, 
could  not  possibly  have  been  better  played."  The 
characters,  he  went  on  to  point  out,  were  of  the 
genus  "  dandy  "  ;  in  former  years,  the  actor  person- 
ating them  would  have  put  on  a  palpably  false 
moustache,  would  have  worn  spurs,  carried  a  riding- 
whip  everywhere — the  whole  personation  representing 
a  creature  such  as  had  never  been  seen  by  mortal 
man  off  the  stage.  On  the  other  hand,  in  voice, 
costume,  bearing,  and  manner,  he  declared  me  to 
be  an  exact  type  of  the  class  I  was  intended  to 
represent,  with  a  very  slight  exaggeration,  which  was 
as  necessary  for  stage  purposes  as  rouge  itself.  "  I 
am  told,"  he  added,  "  that  members  of  the  class 
depicted  object  to  Mr.  Bancroft's  delineation  as  a 
charge-,  but  they  forget  that  they  are  really  the 
charges  of  society." 

Boucicault's  kindness  about  How  She  Loves  Him 


DION   BOUCICAULT  195 

continued  till  the  end  of  its  run,  and  was  never  in 
the  faintest  degree  interfered  with  by  the  disappoint- 
ment resulting  from  its  failure  to  draw  large  houses. 
He  even  carried  his  good-nature  so  far  as  to  decline 
to  accept  any  fees  throughout  its  career  of  forty- 
seven  nights.  When  it  was  withdrawn  he  wrote  in  a 
charming  letter  to  my  wife  : 

"  I  regret  that  my  comedy  was  caviare  to  the 
public.  I  doubted  its  agreement  with  their  taste  and 
stomach,  and  so  told  you  before  it  was  played. 

"  It  has  profited  you  little  in  money :  lay  by  its 
experience. 

"  The  public  pretend  they  want  pure  comedy ; 
this  is  not  so.  What  they  want  is  domestic  drama, 
treated  with  broad,  comic  character.  A  sentimental, 
pathetic  play,  comically  rendered,  such  as  Ours, 
Caste,   The  Colleen  Bawn,  Arrah-na-Pogue. 

"  Robertson  differs  from  me,  not  fundamentally, 
but  scenically  ;  his  action  takes  place  in  lodgings  or 
drawing-rooms — mine  has  a  more  romantic  scope. 

"  Be  advised,  then,  refuse  dramas  which  are  wholly 
serious,  wholly  comic — seek  those  which  blend  the 
two.  You  have  solved  this  very  important  question 
for  yourself.  Comedy,  pure  and  simple,  is  rejected 
of  1868." 

The  story  of  our  production  of  his  brilliant 
comedy,  London  Assurance,  written  when  he  was 
twenty-one,  is  told  in  a  previous  chapter.  Later, 
when  he  was  slowly  recovering  from  a  serious  illness, 
he  wrote  me  a  characteristic  letter,  which  contained 
these  sentences : 

"  I  doubt  whether  I  shall  ever  cross  the  ocean 
again.  I  am  rusticating  at  Washington  for  a  month 
or  two,  having  recovered  some  strength,  and  am 
waiting  now  to  know  if  my  lease  of  life  is  out,  or  is 
to  be  renewed  for  another  term.  I  have  had  notice 
to  quit,  but  am  arguing  the  point  (*  just  like  you,'  I 
think  I  hear  you  say),  and  nothing  yet  is  settled 
between  Nature  and  me.  I  send  my  kind  love  to 
Mrs.  Bancroft,  and  true  wishes  for  your  success." 


196  FOUR   FAILURES 

That  he  "  argued  the  point  "  to  good  purpose  will 
be  within  the  memory  of  many.  Happily  he  lived  to 
visit  England  once  more,  and  three  years  later  he 
wrote  to  me  from  Park  Street  as  follows  : 

My  dear  B., — 

I  send  you  the  promised  sun-picture,  or 
photograph,  with  inscription.  Now,  my  dear  friend, 
will  you  feel  offended  with  an  old  soldier  if  he 
intrudes  on  your  plan  of  battle  by  a  remark  ? 

Why  are  the  Bancrofts  taking  a  back  seat  in 
their  own  theatre  ?  They  efface  themselves  !  Who 
made  the  establishment  ?  with  whom  is  it  wholly 
identified  ?  of  what  materials  is  it  built  ?  There — 
it's  out! 

Tell  Marie,  with  my  love,  that  there  is  nothing  so 
destructive  as  rest,  if  persisted  in  ;  you  must  alter  the 
vowel — it  becomes  rust,  and  eats  into  life.  Hers  is 
too  precious  to  let  her  fool  it  away ;  she  is  looking 
splendid,  and  as  fresh  as  a  pat  of  butter.  Why 
don't  you  get  up  a  version  of  2'he  Country  GirP. 
Let  her  play  Hoyden,  and  you  play  Lord 
Foppington. 

I  daresay  you  will  ask  me  to  mind  my  own 
business.  Well,  if  you  do,  I  shall  say  that  the 
leading  interests  of  the  drama,  which  you  and  she  now 
represent,  are  my  business,  that  the  regard  and 
affection  I  have  personally  entertained  for  your  wife 
since  she  was  a  child — pray  excuse  me — and  the 
friendship  I  have  long  felt  for  you,  induced  me  to 
repeat  what  I  have  heard  from  more  than  one  person 
on  both  sides  of  the  Atlantic. 

Ever  yours  sincerely, 

Dion  Boucicault. 

Much  of  this  advice  was  as  kind  and  as  true  as 
the  writer  of  it,  but  we  had  too  long  "gone  our 
ways  "  to  follow  it,  too  long  been  contented  merely 
to  support  a  good  ensemble  when  occasion  demanded 
it.  rather  than  thrust  ourselves  into  all   the  leading 


EDMUND   YATES  197 

parts  which  often  we   could  aid  others  to  represent 
better. 

The  portrait  of  himself  as  Shaun,  the  Post,  in 
his  typical  Irish  drama,  Arrah-na-Pogue,  hangs  on 
our  walls,  in  cherished  remembrance  of  a  long  and 
happy  friendship. 

It  was  on  "The  Hill"  at  Epsom,  in  1867,  the 
year  memorable  on  the  Turf  through  the  snowstorm 
in  which  Hermit  won  the  Derby,  that  I  was  in- 
troduced to  Edmund  Yates,  whose  friendship  and 
pleasant  company  I  enjoyed  without  a  break,  rough 
fighter  and  fierce  opponent  as  he  could  be,  until  it 
was  cut  short  by  the  fatal  seizure  with  which  he  was 
stricken  in  the  stalls  of  the  Garrick  Theatre  on  the 
first  night  of  Hare's  revival  of  Money  in  1894. 
The  first  fact  reminds  me  that,  many  years  after- 
wards, I  came  across,  at  a  public  sale,  among  some 
effects  which  had  belonged  to  Mr.  Baird — famous  on 
the  Turf  as  "  Mr.  Abingdon " — a  letter-case  made 
from  the  coat  of  Hermit,  and  so  inscribed  on  a  silver 
shield.  I  bought  it,  that  I  might  have  the  pleasure 
to  offer  it  to  one  who  seemed  to  me  its  proper 
owner,  and  on  the  thirtieth  anniversary  of  the  never- 
to-be-forgotten  race  I  gave  the  pocket-book  to 
Mr.  Henry  Chaplin. 

About  a  year  after  that  first  meeting  with  Yates 
came  a  letter  from  the  General  Post  Office,  where 
he  was  head  of  a  department,  which  was  very 
welcome,  for  we  were  ever  on  the  look-out  for  new 
plays. 

My  dear  Mrs.  Bancroft,— 

Is  there  any  use  in  my  finishing  a  comedy 
which  I  have  on  hand,  and  submitting  it  to  you  ? 
Of  course,  it  should  stand  on  its  merits,  but  I  have 
so  much  work  that  I  would  not  go  on  with  it  if  you 
were  engaged,  say,  too-deep. 

Sincerely  yours, 

Edmund  Yates. 


198  FOUR   FAILURES 

We  heard  the  first  act  read,  and  then  decided  to 
produce  the  play.  Unhappily,  it  fell  off  in  the  later 
acts,  and  at  rehearsal  Tame  Cats,  as  the  comedy  was 
called,  did  not  come  out  well,  as  is  by  no  means 
unusual.  The  play  was  produced.  The  cast  was 
good,  including  my  wife  and  myself.  Hare,  Montague, 
Blakeley,  Montgomery,  Carlotta  Addison,  and  Mrs. 
Buckingham  White.  The  evening  was  not  a  cheerful 
one.  My  own  part  of  a  mock  poet  and  one  of  the 
"  Tame  Cats  "  of  the  house  represented  was  resented 
by  the  audience  and  critics,  some  of  whom  mistook 
it  for  the  caricature  of  one  far  above  such  ridicule — 
Algernon  Charles  Swinburne — no  such  impertinent 
idea  having  entered  the  head  of  either  author  or 
actor.  Tame  Cats,  sl  work  of  very  second  rank,  was 
harshly  received,  and  the  play  was  doomed.  It  was 
acted  for  eleven  nights. 

It  was  on  that  evening  that  Charles  Collette 
made  his  first  appearance  as  a  professional  actor.  He 
had  for  some  time  been  the  life  and  soul  of  his  old 
regiment  (3rd  Dragoon  Guards)  en  amateur,  and  his 
brother-officers  rallied  round  him  with  too  much 
fervour  on  the  evening  of  this  new  departure.  They 
did  their  old  comrade  more  harm  than  good  by  the 
vehemence  of  their  reception  of  all  he  said  and  did 
in  the  small  part  of  a  Government  clerk.  The  first 
words  spoken  by  him  were,  accidentally,  a  propos 
enough,  "  There's  nobody  about ;  I  wonder  what 
they're  saying  of  me  at  the  War  Office  ?  "  To  the 
amazement  of  the  rest  of  the  audience,  the  friendly 
dragoons  received  this  simple  speech  as  the  finest 
joke  ever  penned. 

Another  cause  of  un desired  laughter  was  the 
behaviour  of  a  magnificent  macaw,  which  we  had 
secured  to  give  colour  with  his  splendid  plumage  to 
the  scene  of  a  garden  by  the  river.  At  rehearsals  the 
beautiful  creature  behaved  well  enough,  but  on 
the  first  night,  no  sooner  was  the  curtain  up,  than 
the  crowded  house  and  glare  of  gas  so  alarmed  the 
bird  that,  with  his  huge  wings  spread  out,  he  sprang 


"  WRINKLES  "  199 

to  the  ground,  waddled  round  and  round  the  stage 
with  deafening  shrieks,  dragging  his  stand,  which 
made  as  much  noise  as  a  hansom  cab,  after  him.  The 
louder  the  audience  laughed,  the  louder  the  bird 
screamed,  until  he  made  an  ignominious  exit,  being 
seized  and  dragged  away,  and  was  heard  no  more. 
He  was  presented  to  the  "  Zoo,"  where,  for  all  I 
know,  he  may  be  still,  profoundly  meditating  on  his 
brief  but  eventful  stage  career. 

Some  years  afterwards,  while  we  were  on  a  visit  to 
The  Temple  at  Goring,  a  charming  riverside  residence 
he  had  taken  for  the  summer,  Edmund  Yates  asked 
us  if  we  still  had  the  prompt  copy  of  his  comedy, 
adding  that  he  should  greatly  like  to  read  it.  The 
book  was  hunted  up  and  sent  to  him.  In  a  few 
days  it  came  back  with  this  verdict :  "  My  dear  B., 
it's  poor  stuff,  and  well  deserved  its  fate." 

Once  more  it  was  in  our  search  after  new  plays — 
a  search  which  never  ceased — that  we  were  destined 
to  meet  with  failure.  Among  the  wilderness  of 
manuscripts  that  we  read  after  Robertson's  death 
was  a  new  play  by  Byron.  We  felt  bound  to  decline 
it,  and  it  failed  entirely  when  produced  elsewhere. 
In  its  place  we  gave  him  a  commission  to  write 
another,  which  we  guaranteed  to  produce  by  a  certain 
date — a  dearly-earned  lesson  in  what  to  avoid  in 
management. 

The  outline  of  the  plot  we  gave  him  ;  it  was, 
roughly,  in  this  wise,  the  suggestion  growing  from 
the  idea  of  an  amplification  of  the  young  people  and 
the  old  people  in  Gilbert's  Sweethearts,  There  were 
to  be  contrasts  of  age  throughout.  In  the  early  part 
of  the  play  young  folk  were  to  injure  old  folk,  and 
in  the  end,  when  they  had  grown  quite  old  themselves, 
were  to  redeem  their  error  and  repair  their  wrong 
by  atoning  for  it  to  the  youthful  descendants — to  be 
acted  by  the  same  people — of  the  old  couple  whom 
they  had  wronged  in  their  youth.  This  was  accom- 
panied  by   a   strict   injunction    that    the    parts    for 


200  FOUR   FAILURES 

Coghlan  and  Ellen  Terry — who,  at  the  time,  were 
such  valued  members  of  our  company — were  to  be 
of  the  first  importance,  while  he  might  write  quite 
secondary  characters  for  our  two  selves. 

Byron  read  to  us  two  acts  of  what  was  to  be  a 
three-act  comedy,  and  bitter  was  our  disappointment. 
The  only  parts  of  any  value  were  those  destined  for 
ourselves,  while  the  plot  quite  departed  from  the 
intended  story  and  drifted  into  other  channels.  We 
determined  to  face  our  obligation,  and  to  hope  for 
something  better  from  the  last  act.  Unfortunately, 
this  did  not  mend  matters,  for  we  found  it  impossible 
even  to  ask  Miss  Terry  to  take  the  part  designed  for 
her ;  and  Coghlan  refused  (with  every  justice)  to 
accept  the  character  intended  for  him. 

With  the  firm  resolve  never  again  blindly  to 
accept  an  unwritten  play  from  any  dramatist,  we 
went  bravely  to  work  upon  WmiMes,  sparing  neither 
money  nor  pains  over  it.  On  the  morning  before 
its  production,  I  met  dear  Corney  Grain  in  Bond 
Street,  who  asked  me  if  we  were  going  to  have  what 
he  called  "  our  usual  success."  I  at  once  said 
"  No,"  and  that  its  fate  was  sealed,  for  we  were  never 
blinded  to  the  faults  of  the  play  by  the  excellence  of 
our  own  parts,  which  contained  some  of  the  most 
amusing  things  its  gifted  author  ever  wrote.  On  the 
first  night  they  provoked  such  laughter  that  they 
almost  saved  the  play ;  but  the  story  was  so  feebly 
treated,  and  Byron  had  been  so  obstinate  about 
proposed  changes  at  the  end  of  it,  that  our  fears  were 
prophetic,  and  the  curtain  fell  to  a  chorus  of  ominous 
sounds  which  pronounced  a  verdict  of  flat  failure. 

On  the  following  morning  Byron  came  to  us 
very  contrite,  and,  when  too  late,  agreed  to  the 
alterations  we  had  wanted  made  in  time.  He  deeply 
regretted  the  failure  for  our  sakes,  as  well  as  his  own, 
and  wished  to  forego  all  fees.  This,  of  course,  we 
could  not  listen  to,  and  resolved  to  turn  the  tide  as 
best  we  could.  We  announced  the  failure  of  the 
play   and  then  withdrew   it — a  fate  which   forcibly 


MARIE    BANCROFT 


\\  200] 


"THE   MERCHANT   OF   VENICE"    201 

reminds  me  of  the  answer  given  by  Gilbert  in  reply 
to  a  question  about  one  of  his  own  plays  which, 
although  it  certainly  ranked  among  his  highest 
literary  achievements,  had  not  proved  attractive. 
Questio7i :  "  How  did  it  end  ?  "  Answer  :  "  Oh,  it 
ended  in  a  fortnight  1  " 

We  approach  now  the  most  marked  of  the  few 
failures  our  management  knew — a  failure  of  which, 
as  1  have  said,  we  shall  continue  to  be  proud. 

Persistent  attacks  of  hay-fever  had  so  distressed 
and  pained  Mrs.  Bancroft  for  some  summers,  that  I 
determined,  at  all  hazards,  to  arrange  a  programme 
without  her  for  the  time  of  year  which  proved  so 
trying.  This  was  no  easy  task,  and  led  me  naturally 
to  anxious  thought  for  some  attractive  stop-gap. 
As  I  have  before  said,  it  was  I  who  was  mainly 
responsible  for  the  choice  of  plays  during  our  manage- 
ment ;  and  let  me  at  once  admit  that  it  was  I  whose 
anxious  thoughts  were  led  by  a  variety  of  circum- 
stances— amazing  as  the  revelation  seemed  to  be 
when  subsequently  made  public — towards  Shake- 
speare's Merchant  of  Venice.  To  show  how  far 
our  work  was  always  in  advance — no  success  ever 
blinding  us  to  the  necessity  of  forethought — I  men- 
tion that  the  formation  of  this  plan  preceded  its 
execution  by  full  twelve  months.  Our  failures 
received  the  same  amount  of  forethought  as  did 
our  triumphs. 

With  the  notion  of  this  production  in  our  minds, 
we  chose  Venice  as  the  scene  of  our  holiday  in  the 
summer  of  1874,  and  travelled  thither  after  a  stay 
in  Switzerland,  arriving  in  the  great  heat  of  the 
early  days  of  September. 

There,  as  arranged  beforehand,  we  met  George 
Gordon,  our  chief  scene-painter,  whom  we  found 
brimful  of  the  delights  his  few  days'  stay  had  given 
him.  Every  hour  seemed  occupied  in  settling  to 
what  purpose  we  best  could  put  it,  and  very  careftiUy 
we   chose  picturesque  corners  and  places  from  the 


202  FOUR   FAILURES 

lovely  city  to  make  good  pictures  for  our  narrow 
frame.  In  the  Palace  of  the  Doges  we  saw  at  once 
that  the  Sala  della  Bussola,  with  its  grim  letter-box, 
the  Bocca  de  Leone — which  had  received  the  secret 
accusation  of  many  an  unfortunate  suspect — was  the 
only  one  capable  of  realisation  within  our  limited 
space  ;  and  this  room  we  resolved  should  be  accu- 
rately reproduced  for  the  trial  of  Antonio  and  Portia's 
pleading  on  his  behalf.  We  also  arranged  to  show 
different  views  of  Venice  in  the  form  of  curtains 
between  the  acts  of  the  play.  We  bought  many 
books,  we  made  many  drawings,  we  were  satiated 
with  Titian  and  Veronese,  we  bought  many  photo- 
graphs and  copies  of  their  gorgeous  pictures  to  guide 
our  costumes.  When  all  was  settled,  after  entrancing 
days  and  evenings  spent  in  seeing  and  doing  all  we 
could  in  the  time  at  our  disposal,  we  went  away 
reluctantly,  leaving  George  Gordon  to  complete  his 
sketches,  he  being  only  too  happy  to  linger  among 
the  beauties  of  Venice. 

Having  decided  to  take  the  great  risk  of  casting 
Coghlan  for  Shylock,  the  first  attempt  we  made 
towards  special  engagements — a  proposal  to  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Kendal — having  broken  down,  the  thought  of 
Ellen  Terry,  who  then  had  not  acted  for  some  time, 
came  to  us,  and  resulted  in  her  engagement  for 
Portia.  The  following  characteristic  letters  from 
that  gifted  actress,  who  then  was  twenty-seven,  and 
whose  art  so  completely  conveys  the  power  of 
"charm,"  will  be  the  best  comment  on  the  subject 
we  can  offer. 

Dear  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Bancroft, — 

I  received  the  form  of  engagement  this 
morning,  together  with  the  kind  little  letters. 
Accept  my  best  thanks  for  your  expressions  of  good- 
will towards  me.  1  cannot  tell  you  how  pleased  I 
am  that  I  seem  to  see  in  you  a  reflection  of  my  own 
feelings  with  regard  to  this  engagement. 

My  work  will,  I  feel  certain,,  be  joyjul  work,  and. 


ELLEN   TERRY  208 

joyful  work  should  turn  out  good  work.  You  will 
be  pleased,  and  /  shall  be  pleased  at  your  pleasure, 
and  it  would  be  hard,  then,  if  the  good  folk  "in 
front  "  are  not  pleased. 

Believe  me,  I  am  in  all  ways,  sincerely  yours, 

Ellen  Terry. 

48,  London  Road,  Tunbridge  Wells, 
Friday. 

Dear  Mrs.  Bancroft, — 

It  is  delightful  in  this  place  just  now.  The 
grass  so  green,  and  everything  so  clean.  I  feel  years 
younger  since  yesterday  morning,  and  look  much 
better.  Thanks  for  letting  me  have  a  box  at  all  the 
other  night — sending  so  late  I  did  not  deserve  to  get 
it.  A  bird's-eye  view  is  not  becoming  to  the  party 
viewed,  aber  **  Besser  Etwas  als  Nichts." 

What  was  the  matter  with  Mr.  Bancroft  ?  He 
acted  SPLENDIDLY — and  did  the  morning  shiveryness 
better  than  ever. 

Do  let  me  know  about  Bassanio  soon.  You 
don't  know  how  anxious  I  am  that  it  may  not 
be !     ("No  matter.") 

Have  you  ever  seen  Mr,  Kelly  act  ?  I  don't 
know  if  he  could  look  the  part,  but  his  acting  would 
be  perfect.  He  can  show  gradation  of  feeling — and 
has  the  tenderest  voice  Fve  ever  heard.  Kelly  in  a 
small  theatre  would  be  the  "  right  man  in  the  right 
place." 

ril  not  bore  you  any  longer,  but  oh  1  I  am  so 
anxious  (about  my  Bassanio,  I  mean). 

Are  you  quite  well,  I  wonder  ?  How  I  wish  you 
were  here  this  beautiful  brisk  day.  Am  just  going 
for  a  drive,  so  farewell. 

With  kind  regards  to  Mr.  Bancroft, 

Yours  very  sincerely, 

Ellen  Terry. 

1  took  upon  myself  the  great  responsibility  of 
rearranging  the  text  of  the  play,  so  as  to  avoid  change 
of  scene  in  sight  of  the  audience,  and  to  adapt  th^ 


204  FOUR   FAILURES 

work,  as  far  as  possible,  to  its  miniature  frame  ;  being 
greatly  fortified  in  my  researches  by  the  discovery  of 
the  following  passage,  by  such  an  authority  as  Dr. 
Johnson,  which  I  came  across  in  an  edition  of  the 
play  that  had  been  my  father's,  and  which  I  had 
often  read  when  I  was  a  boy,  for  The  Merchant  of 
Venice  was  always  high  up  among  my  favourites  of 
Shakespeare's  plays : 

"  The  old  quarto  editions  of  1600  have  no  distri- 
bution of  acts,  but  proceed  from  the  beginning  to  the 
end  in  an  unbroken  tenour.  This  play,  therefore, 
having  been  probably  divided  without  authority  by 
the  publishers  of  the  first  folio,  lies  open  to  a  new 
regulation,  if  any  more  commodious  division  can  be 
proposed.  The  story  in  itself  is  so  wildly  incredible, 
and  the  changes  of  the  scene  so  frequent  and  cap- 
ricious, that  the  probability  of  action  does  not  deserve 
much  care." 

Here  was  a  discovery,  indeed,  in  so  eminent  an 
opinion,  and  I  resolved  to  make  use  of  it  in  our  play- 
bill. Perhaps  there  will  be  no  better  opportunity  to 
describe  the  sequence  of  scenes  I  eventually  decided 
on,  for  I  often  have  regretted  that  1  did  not  print 
the  play  as  we  produced  it.  The  first  tableau, 
"  Under  the  Arches  of  the  Doge's  Palace,"  with  a 
lovely  view  of  Santa  Maria  della  Salute,  contained 
the  text  of  the  opening  scene  and  the  third  scene  of 
Act  I.,  the  dialogue  being  welded  together  by  care- 
fully arranged  processions  and  appropriate  pantomimic 
action  from  the  crowd  of  merchants,  sailors,  beggars, 
Jews,  who  were  throughout  passing  and  re-passing. 
The  second  tableau  was  in  Portia's  house  at  Belmont, 
and  opened  with  a  stately  entrance  of  Portia  and  her 
court  to  the  strains  of  barbaric  music,  which  an- 
nounced the  arrival  and  choice  of  the  golden  casket 
by  the  Prince  of  Morocco.  After  his  disconsolate 
departure  came  the  dialogues  between  Portia  and 
Nerissa  from  Act  I.  scene  ii.,  followed  by  the 
announcement  of  the  Prince  of  Arragon,  and  his 
choice  of  the  silver  casket.     In  the  third  tableau  we 


MY  ARRANGEMENT   OF  THE   PLAY    205 

returned  to  Venice,  a  most  quaint  spot  of  the  old 
city  being  chosen  for  the  outside  of  Shylock's  house, 
which,  without  exception,  was  the  most  extraordinary 
scenic  achievement  in  so  small  a  theatre,  the  close  of 
the  scene  being  the  elopement  by  moonlight  of  his 
daughter.  This  tableau  was  then  repeated  by  day- 
light for  the  scene  of  *'  the  Jew's  rage  "  with  Salanio 
and  Salarino,  and  his  subsequent  frenzied  interview 
with  Tubal.  The  fourth  view  was  a  repetition,  with 
some  changed  effects,  of  the  hall  in  Portia's  palace, 
where  Bassanio  chose  wisely  from  the  three  caskets, 
and  heard  afterwards  of  Antonio's  arrest.  The  next 
tableau  was  the  "  Trial  Scene,"  and  the  last,  ''  Portia's 
Garden  at  Belmont." 

The  words  of  songs  from  some  of  Shakespeare's 
other  comedies  were  introduced  and  sung  by  boys 
as  Portia's  pages,  but  no  syllable  of  the  text  was 
altered,  transpositions  of  the  dialogue  alone  being 
necessary  for  my  arrangement  of  the  play. 

As  Coghlan  was  to  have  the  responsibility  of 
acting  Shylock,  it  was  right  that  he  should  have  a 
share  in  the  stage  management  of  the  play,  and  this 
I  gave  him.  Much  charming  music  was  specially 
composed  by  Meredith  Ball,  which  should  not  be 
allowed  to  perish.  The  views  of  Venice  shown 
between  the  acts — comprising  the  Campanile  and 
column  of  St.  Mark,  the  Rialto,  and  a  view  of  the 
Grand  Canal — were  beautiful  pictures  by  George 
Gordon,  who,  with  his  friend  and  fellow-worker, 
William  Harford,  devoted  months  of  labour  to  the 
scenery.  The  utmost  realism  was  attained.  Elabo- 
rate capitals  of  enormous  weight,  absolute  reproduc- 
tions of  those  which  crown  the  pillars  of  the  colonnade 
of  the  Doge's  Palace,  were  cast  in  plaster,  and  part  of 
a  wall  of  the  theatre  had  to  be  cut  away  to  find  room 
for  them  to  be  moved,  by  means  of  trucks,  on  and  off 
the  small  stage,  which,  although  narrow,  fortunately 
had  a  depth  of  thirty-eight  feet.  The  scenic  artists 
also  consulted  a  great  authority,  E.  W.  Godwin,  who 
kindly  gave  them  valuable  archaeological  help,  which 


206  FOUR   FAILURES 

was  acknowledged,  at  Gordon's  wish,  in  all  pro- 
grammes. To  attribute  further  assistance  in  the 
production  to  Mr.  Godwin  is  an  error. 

The  preparations  throughout  involved  so  much 
labour  and  anxiety,  that,  as  time  went  on,  the  success 
or  failure  of  our  dangerous  experiment  began  to  seem 
as  nothing  to  the  longing  to  get  rid  of  its  heavy 
weight.  After  the  final  rehearsal  it  was  revealed  to 
us,  and  plainly,  that — radiant  and  exquisite  as  we 
could  see  the  Portia  would  be,  beautiful  beyond  our 
hopes  as  were  the  scenery  and  appointments — the 
version  of  Shylock  which  Coghlan  proposed  to  offer 
would  fail  to  be  acceptable ;  so  it  may  be  believed 
j  our  hearts  were  heavy  on  the  evening  of  April   17, 

H  '        _18y5,  when  the  curtain  rose  upon  the  costly  venture. 
^    y       ^        Of  course  there  was  a  brilliant  audience,  including 
y"^  quite  a  remarkable  number  of  Royal  Academicians. 

The  play  throughout  was  well  received,  but  never 
with  enthusiasm.  With  this,  I  think  surprise  had 
much  to  do ;  it  all  looked  so  unlike  a  theatre,  and  so 
much  more  like  old  Italian  pictures  than  anything 
that  had  been  previously  shown  upon  any  stage  in  all 
the  world — a  bold  statement,  perhaps,  but  I  make  it 
without  hesitation.  Some  of  the  dresses  seemed  to 
puzzle  many  among  the  audience,  notably  those  worn 
by  Bassanio  and  by  the  Venetian  nobles  who  accom- 
panied him  to  Belmont  in  their  beautiful  velvet  robes 
of  State  reaching  to  the  ground,  the  striking  and 
correct  costume  of  the  Prince  of  Morocco  and  his 
gorgeous  attendants,  and  that  of  the  equally  pic- 
turesque Spanish  nobles  who  accompanied  the  Prince 
of  Arragon.  I  need  not  add  that  the  painters  were 
loud  in  praise  of  all  this. 

It  may  be  that  it  all  came  a  little  before  the 
proper  time,  and  that  we  saw  things  too  far  in 
advance ;  for  the  play,  in  our  opinion,  only  just 
missed  being  a  great  success.  We  have  heard  of 
"  Hamlet  without  the  Prince  of  Denmark  " ;  I  fear 
our  production  was  equally  wanting — there  was  no 
Shylock.      Nor    should   it    be    forgotten    that    the 


COGHLAN   AS   SHYLOCK  207 

absence  of  Mrs.  Bancroft  was  another  serious  draw- 
back, for  Miss  Terry  was  then,  comparatively,  un- 
known, and  had  still  to  earn  the  brilliant  position 
she  soon  won,  and  of  which  her  superb  acting  in 
this  production  was,  without  doubt,  the  foundation- 
stone.  As  I,  and  I  alone,  was  responsible  for  the 
mistake  in  giving  Coghlan  the  part  of  Shylock,  I 
held  it  to  be  but  right  to  stand  by  him,  and  so 
turned  a  deaf  ear  to  the  suggestions  that  poured  in 
on  every  side  as  to  what  we  ought  to  do,  and  was 
dumb  to  the  remarkable  applications  from  many  a 
decayed  tragedian,  who  vowed  that  if  the  part  were 
but  given  over  to  him  the  fortune  of  the  production 
would  still  be  assured.  Coghlan  was  then  a  young 
man,  three  or  four-and-thirty,  and  his  brilliant  successes 
under  our  management  far  more  than  excused  this 
solitary  instance,  among  the  varied  claims  we  made 
upon  his  great  ability,  in  which  he  failed  to  reach 
our  expectations ;  while  my  error,  after  all,  was  not 
much  greater  than  asking  a  tenor  to  sing  a  bass 
song.  The  extent  of  his  failure,  I  confess,  has  always 
been  a  mystery  to  me  :  so  vague  and  undecided  was 
he  that,  positively,  on  the  night  of  the  first  perform- 
ance, when  "  called "  for  his  opening  scene,  after 
lingering  on  the  staircase  he  returned  to  the  dressing- 
room  and  tore  off  his  wig  and  "  make-up,"  which 
was  good. 

In  a  recently  published  book  by  a  Shakespearian 
student  I  found  the  following  appropriate  remarks  : 

"  In  1872  the  Bancrofts,  greatly  daring,  had 
produced  Lord  Lytton's  Money,  in  1873  Wilkie 
CoUins's  Man  and  Wife,  and  in  1874  The  School 
for  Scandal  All  of  these  had  succeeded,  and  in 
each  Coghlan  had  scored  a  triumph.  His  Alfred 
Evelyn  and  Charles  Surface  were  both  the  acme 
of  polished  acting,  and  his  Geoffrey  Delamayn  was 
a  revelation  in  its  brutal  strength.  In  the  spring 
of  1875  excitement  ran  high  in  the  theatrical  world 
when  it  was  announced  that  the  management  pro- 
posed to  produce  The  Merchant  of  Venice,  and  the 


208  FOUR  FAILURES 

opinion  was  generally  expressed  that  the  Bancrofts 
were  '  riding  for  a  fall.'  The  production  took  place, 
and  was  damned — the  gallery  jeered  and  the  press 
condemned. 

"  I  went  to  the  old  Prince  of  Wales's  Theatre 
to  experience  one  of  the  greatest  surprises  of  my 
theatrical  life,  and  to  have  my  confidence  in  press 
criticism  shattered  for  ever.  At  that  time  I  had 
seen  nothing  to  approach  the  beauty  of  this  pro- 
duction of  The  Merchant  of  Venice,  and  even  now 
I  have  only  twice  seen  it  surpassed — viz.  by  the 
Lyceum  productions  of  The  Cup  and  Romeo  and 
Juliet.  The  play  was  skilfully  arranged  in  seven 
scenes  by  Bancroft,  and  each  scene  was  lovely.  The 
Prince  of  Arragon  was  retained  and  also  the  con- 
cluding scene  in  Portia's  garden.  The  characters 
talked  and  moved  like  human  beings,  and  above  and 
beyond  all  else  there  was  the  Portia  of  Ellen  Terry. 
Imagine  never  having  seen  Ellen  Terry,  expecting 
nothing,  and  having  her  sprung  upon  you  in  the 
heyday  of  her  youth  and  beauty  and  exquisite  art  I 
Frank  Archer's  Antonio  was  a  perfect  performance, 
and  Lin  Rayne's  Gratiano  was  the  best  thing  he 
ever  did.  The  support  generally  was  good,  though 
in  one  or  two  cases  a  trifle  modern,  but  undoubtedly 
the  venture  was  wrecked  by  Coghlan.  Coghlan  was 
far  too  skilful  an  actor  not  to  have  been  able  to  give 
his  audience  the  generally  accepted  Shylock,  had  he 
wished  to  do  so.  He  had  clearly  thought  out  the 
character  for  himself,  and  his  performance  was  the 
result.  It  was  very  clever,  very  natural,  exactly 
the  Jew  you  might  meet  in  Whitechapel,  but  it 
was  grey  instead  of  being  lurid,  and  quite  ineffective. 
He  did  not  spoil  the  picture  at  all,  but  instead  of 
standing  out,  the  character  fell  back  among  the 
others,  was  not  more  important  than  the  Venetian 
gentlemen  ;  the  dramatis  personce  consisted  of  *  Portia 
and  others ! '  I  have  never  since,  not  even  at  the 
Lyceum,  seen  Portia's  opening  scene  so  effective 
and  so  perfectly  stage-managed. 


SHYLOCK  209 

"It  is  a  curious  fact  that  the  productions  in 
which  Ellen  Terry  first  appeared  both  as  Portia 
and  Viola — both  productions  exquisite,  and  both 
parts  amongst  the  most  beautiful  things  she  has 
given  us — should  have  been  failures. 

"  The  lot  of  the  imaginative  manager  who  has 
to  depend  upon  the  artistic  instincts  of  the  British 
critics  and  British  pubhc  is  indeed  not  a  happy 
one." 

Had  I  been  less  ambitious,  and  chosen  either 
As  You  Like  It  or  Much  Ado  About  Nothing,  I 
think  success  would  have  rewarded  the  attempt. 
With  what  charm  Ellen  Terry  played  Beatrice  all 
the  world  now  knows,  and  how  supreme  she  would 
have  been  as  Rosalind  all  the  world  may  guess  ; 
while  Coghlan,  either  as  Benedick  or  Orlando,  would 
have  been  a  perfect  companion  picture. 

I  doubt  if  there  is  a  more  difficult  character  in 
some  respects  than  Shylock  to  excel  in,  especially 
in  the  powerful  scene  where  the  Jew  upbraids  Salanio 
and  Salarino,  followed  at  once  by  the  tremendous 
interview  between  Tubal  and  himself.  The  fact 
of  rushing  on  the  stage  in  a  white-hot  frenzy,  with 
nothing  to  lead  up  to  its  gamut  of  passions,  is  the 
main  difficulty.  Of  the  many  Shylocks  1  can  re- 
member, Charles  Kean  did  most  with  this  particular 
scene,  his  performance  being,  I  have  no  doubt,  as 
far  as  he  could  make  it  so,  a  reproduction  of  his 
father's.  A  propos  of  which,  my  wife's  father  has 
often  told  me,  among  many  interesting  stage  episodes 
of  his  early  career,  of  his  having,  when  a  country 
actor,  played  Tubal  with  Edmund  Kean,  who  did 
not  appear  at  rehearsal,  but  sent  word  to  the  theatre 
that  "  he  should  like  to  see  the  gentleman  who  was 
to  act  the  part  of  Tubal,  at  his  hotel."  Mr.  Wilton 
obeyed  the  summons,  and  dwelt  always  on  the 
kindness  with  which  Kean  received  and  instructed 
him,  after  saying,  "  We'll  run  through  the  scene, 
Mr.  Wilton,  because  1  am  told  that  if  you  don't 
know,  beforehand,  what  I'm  going  to  do,  I  might 

14 


210  FOUR  FAILURES 

frighten  you  I  "  Mr.  Wilton  described  the  perform- 
ance at  night  as  stupendous  I  and  said  that,  although 
so  prepared,  Kean  really  frightened  him  out  of  his 
wits. 

I  think  it  was  Douglas  Jerrold  who  said  of 
Edmund  Kean's  wonderful  acting  as  Shylock  that 
it  never  failed  to  remind  him  of  a  chapter  from 
the  book  of  Genesis.  George  Frederick  Cooke, 
who  had  seen  Macklin,  must  also  have  been  a  fine 
representative  of  the  part :  John  Philip  Kemble,  I 
think,  left  it  alone.  When  I  was  a  boy  I  knew 
an  old  gentleman  who  adored  the  stage,  and  pos- 
sessed the  imitative  faculty  strongly :  I  remember 
the  idea  he  gave  me  of  John  Kemble  and  Charles 
Young  as  Othello  and  lago  ;  and  better  still,  the 
powerful  contrast  to  it  in  his  descriptive  rendering 
of  Edmund  Kean  as  Shylock,  which  told  me  what 
Mr.  Wilton  meant. 

Macready  writes  of  the  difficulties  the  part  pre- 
sented to  him,  and  of  his  dissatisfaction  with  the 
attempts  he  made  to  act  it.  It  is  said  of  him,  and 
I  believe  with  greater  truth  than  attaches  itself  to 
many  theatrical  anecdotes,  that  he  never  went  on 
the  stage  for  the  scene  with  Tubal  without  hanging 
on  to  the  rungs  of  a  ladder,  and  trying  to  lash 
himself  into  the  required  condition  by  snarling  and 
cursing  at  some  imaginary  foe,  or,  failing  the  ladder, 
he  would  seize  and  shake  an  unoffending  super 
until  his  cue  came. 

I  have  seen  a  good  many  representatives  of 
Shylock  belonging  to  the  old  school — Charles  Kean, 
Phelps,  G.  V.  Brooke,  and  James  Wallack,  with  a 
link  between  it  and  the  new  in  Edwin  Booth,  fol- 
lowed by  Irving,  Wigan,  Novelli,  Tree,  and  Bour- 
chier.  On  an  occasion,  a  few  years  ago,  when  the 
most  eminent  English  actor  was  attacked  in  print 
by  the  most  eminent  actor  of  France,  the  former 
wrote  in  the  Nineteenth  Century :  "  Criticism  is 
generally  sufficient  in  the  hands  of  the  professors 
of  the  art.     If  every  artist  were  to  rush  into  print 


BUTTON   COOK  211 

with  his  opinions  of  his  compeers,  there  would  be 
a  disagreeable  rise  in  the  social  temperature."  What 
sound  advice  !     I  will  follow  it. 

My  arrangement  of  the  text  and  scenes  of  The 
Merchant  of  Venice  was  highly  praised  by  Dutton 
Cook,  whom  we  regarded  as  one  of  the  ablest,  as  he 
was  certainly  one  of  the  most  difficult  to  please,  of 
the  dramatic  critics  of  the  time.  Personally  I  always 
worked  my  hardest,  often  with  scant  success,  to 
wring  praise  from  his  cold  but  honest  pen.  He, 
subsequently,  regretted  that  Irving  did  not  adopt  my 
arrangement  when  he  revived  the  play  at  the  Lyceum 
some  four  years  later,  and  made  so  great  a  success 
as  Shylock  himself,  and  when  a  larger  public  endorsed 
the  verdict  on  our  entrancing  Portia — a  performance 
which  hves  in  the  hearts  of  playgoers  who  were  so 
fortunate  as  to  see  it. 

In  our  production  we  raised  Portia  and  her 
caskets  to  their  proper  place,  the  beautiful  comedy, 
with  its  sweet  love  scenes,  having  previously  been 
mutilated  for  the  glorification  of  a  "  star  "  Shylock, 
who  would  order  the  play  to  finish,  with  his  part, 
in  the  fourth  act.  Miss  Terry,  it  will  be  interesting 
to  state,  was  then  content  with  the  modest  sum  of 
twenty  pounds  a  week — which  ranked  as  a  high 
salary  in  those  days.  Our  restoring  her  to  the  poetic 
stage  is  the  bright  achievement  connected  with  the 
enterprise. 

The  signature  of  the  accomplished  writer  of  the 
following  letter  would  alone  justify  its  insertion 
here,  without  the  appropriate  references  it  con- 
tains : 

Please,  Mrs.  Bancroft,  may  I  see  The  Merchant 
of  Venice  ?  I  only  returned  from  the  "  Rialto " 
last  Tuesday,  and  am  very  anxious  to  behold  the 
much-talked-of  mise  en  seme  at  the  Prince  of  Wales's. 
It  may  content  Mr.  Coghlan  to  know  that  I  bought 
two  and  a  half  yards  oi  smanigUo,  or  Venice  gold  chain, 
from  Shylock  himself,  and  that  he  was  the  quietest 


f-.-— 


212  FOUR   FAILURES 

and  most  gentlemanly  Jew  I  have  ever  met,  but 
a  desperate  "  do."  If  you  can  spare  seats  for 
Monday  next,  you  will  inspire  gratitude  in  the  heart 
of  your  most  faithful  servant, 

George  Augustus  Sala. 

This  letter  was  by  no  means  an  isolated  example. 
During  its  brief  career  there  seemed  to  be  a  wide- 
spread curiosity  among  artists  of  all  kinds,  especially 
actors — including    Salvini — and  men   of    letters,   to 
see  our  Merchant  of  Venice.     They  were  all  delighted 
with  it,  and  many  of  them  delighted  us  by  coming 
again     and     again.       Ellen    Terry     wrote     justly, 
"  The   audiences   may   have   been  scanty,   but  they 
were   wonderful.     A  poetic  and  artistic  atmosphere 
pervaded  the  front  of  the  house  as  well  as  the  stage 
itself."     In  spite  of  all  this,  the  revival,  from  its  start, 
barely  paid  its  way,  and  we  soon  put  another  play  in  re- 
hearsal.    Directly  this  was  settled,  I  advertised  in  the 
newspapers  that  "  the  performance  of  The  Merchant 
of  Venice  having  failed  to  attract  large  audiences,  the 
play   would    be   withdrawn,"  which   seemed   to   me 
a  more  dignified  course  than  some  ridiculous  evasion 
such  as  "  owing  to  prior  arrangements."     Strange  as 
it  may  seem,  directly  the  announcement   appeared, 
the   audience  improved  nightly — the  many  beauties 
of  the  production  having,  I    suppose,  begun  to   be 
talked  about — and  for  the  last  few  performances  the 
theatre  was   quite   three-parts  full.     The  Prince  of 
Wales,  when   he  came  to  see  it,  was   as  warm   in 
praise  of  the  production  as  in  regrets  for  its  failure  to 
attract ;   and  we  received  a  petition  as  influential  as 
it  was  flattering,  signed  by  many  leaders,  not  only 
in  the   world   of  art  and   literature,  but   in  almost 
every  thoughtful  branch  of  society,  imploring  us  to 
act  The  Merchant  of  Venice  a   little   while  longer, 
in   the  hope  and  conviction  that   our  reward  must 
surely  come.     Whether  it  might  have  grown  to  be 
one  of  the  few  productions  that  outlived  failure  and 
eventually   achieved    success    is   now   impossible  to 


A  FAILURE   FRANKLY  OWNED      213 

say,  for  we  stood  by  our  advertisement  and  withdrew 
the  play  after  thirty-six  representations.  !^ 

As  one  of  the  leading  critics  said,  "  Its  failure 
was  frankly  owned,  and  bravely  met." 

The  result  of  the  brief  run,  when  the  receipts  were 
averaged,  was  just  sufficient  to  pay  its  nightly 
expenses,  leaving  us  minus  the  cost  of  the  production, 
some  three  thousand  pounds — a  large  sum  to  spend 
upon  a  play  in  so  small  a  theatre. 

Although  our  poor  Merchant  of  Venice  was  what 
the  French  actors  know  as  a  "  baking,"  and  we 
English  describe  as  a  "  frost " — indeed,  it  might  be 
called  our  "  Moscow " — some  defeats  are  so  near 
the  verge  of  victory  to  bring  consolation  for 
disaster. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

SARDOU   AND    HIS    PLAYS 

''An  eminent  monsieur." 

Although  often  strongly  tempted  to  turn  for  a 
play  to  the  prolific  French  stage,  for  many  years  we 
abstained  from  drawing  on  that  fruitful  source,  and 
it  was  not  until  early  in  1876,  when  we  saw  staring 
us  in  the  face  the  more  than  threatened  failure  of  a 
play  of  Byron's,  that  we  did  so.  My  wife  had  often 
hankered  after  the  principal  part  in  Sardou's  Pattes 
de  Mouche,  and  we  now  decided  that  it  should  be 
at  once  got  ready.  I  saw  Tom  Taylor,  who  had  a 
peculiar  faculty  for  Anglicising  French  plays,  and 
arranged  with  him  for  a  new  version  of  this  brilliant 
comedy  on  lines  that  were  fresh,  which  he  quite 
agreed  with  and  was  pleased  to  have  suggested 
to  him. 

An  announcement  that  Taylor  was  engaged  upon 
this  work  for  us  appeared  in  the  press,  and  soon 
afterwards  was  followed  by  a  letter  to  me  from 
Hare,  to  say  that  the  idea  of  Les  Pattes  de  Mouche 
had  also  occurred  to  him,  and  that  he  wished  to 
revive  the  existing  English  version  of  the  play,  called 
A  Scrap  of  Paper,  for  the  Kendals,  also  to  replace 
a  programme  which  had  failed  to  attract.  Our 
emotions  were  very  conflicting,  between  a  strong 
desire  to  produce  the  comedy  ourselves  and  an 
equally  strong  desire  not  to  thwart  the  wishes  of 
a  friend  towards   whom   we  were  anxious  to  show 

214 


*'  PERIL  "  215 

good  feeling.  This  desire  proved  to  be  the  stronger 
of  the  two ;  so  with  deep  regret  we  stopped  Tom 
Taylor's  work  and  gave  up  two  parts  which  we  had 
long  wished  to  play,  and  which  for  many  subsequent 
years  might  have  proved  a  powerful  addition  to  our 
repertoire.  Wiser  conduct  on  our  part  would  have 
been  to  proceed  with  and  produce  our  intended  play 
in  amicable  and  interesting  rivalry. 

Maintaining  our  faith  in  Sardou,  I  applied  to 
his  works  again  later  on — the  result  being  a  decision 
to  have  a  version  of  Nos  Intimes  prepared,  with  the 
great  loss  that  there  would  be  no  part  for  Mrs.  Ban- 
croft in  it.  B.  C.  Stephenson,  who  then  had  always 
written  as  "  Bolton  Rowe,"  had  been  anxious  to  do 
some  work  for  us,  and  he,  in  the  first  place,  was 
commissioned  to  commence  the  adaptation,  which 
was  completed  by  myself  and  Clement  Scott,  who, 
wishing  to  preserve  his  iricognito,  chose  the  nom  de 
guerre  of  "  Savile  Rowe."  Scott  was  elected  as  col- 
lahorateur  on  account  of  his  power  of  speed ;  and, 
accepting  my  alterations  and  suggestions,  he  quickly 
revised  and  much  improved  the  adaptation. 

The  play,  under  its  English  title  of  Feril,  was 
produced  early  in  the  autumn  of  1876,  when  the 
theatre  had  just  been  refurnished  and  redecorated. 

As  my  wife  did  not  appear  in  the  cast,  strong 
measures  had  to  be  taken.  Happily,  we  were  able  to 
secure  the  services  not  only  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Kendal — 
a  previous  suggested  engagement  with  whom  had, 
unfortunately,  fallen  through — who  played  Dr.  Thorn- 
ton and  Lady  Ormond,  but  also  of  Arthur  Cecil, 
another  first-class  recruit,  who  appeared  as  Sir  Wood- 
bine Grafton.  Henry  Kemble  then  commenced  his 
long  association  and  affectionate  friendship  with  us, 
joining  our  company  to  play  Crossley  Beck ;  Charles 
Sugden  was  the  Captain  Bradford ;  and  the  sweet 
girlish  beauty  of  Lucy  Buckstone  adorned  the  ingenue. 

When  I  first  thought  of  doing  the  play  I  had  a 
great  wish  to  act  the  doctor,  but,  following  a  warm 
desire  to  make  Kendal's  advent  pleasant  to  him,  I 


216  SARDOU   AND   HIS   PLAYS 

resigned  the  part  in  his  favour.  I  grew,  however,  to 
like  the  character  of  the  husband  very  much.  His 
tender  vein  of  manly  pathos  in  the  third  act  became 
quite  a  compensation,  and  the  performance  advanced 
my  reputation.  In  reviewing  the  play,  a  critical 
authority  in  The  Times  said  that  my  representation 
of  the  character  was  without  fault ;  in  the  display  of 
feeling  exhibited  by  Ormond,  when  a  doubt  of  his 
wife's  honesty  takes  momentary  possession  of  his 
mind,  I  had  acted  as  assuredly  I  had  never  acted 
before.  "  The  tears  of  a  strong  man  are  said  to  be 
as  grievous  a  sight  as  it  is  possible  to  see ;  and  such 
intense  anguish  as  that  thrown  by  Mr.  Bancroft  into 
his  voice  and  his  manner  is  touching  in  its  utter 
simplicity." 

A  writer  thoroughly  acquainted  with  the  French 
stage  said  "  that  the  most  perfect  theatre  in  London  " 
had  ventured  to  give,  for  the  first  time  since  its 
existence,  an  English  version  of  a  French  comedy. 
"  What  is  worth  doing,  is  worth  doing  well,"  had 
been  the  Bancroft  motto  all  along,  and  had  not  been 
deviated  from.  He  had  nothing  but  praise  for  the 
appointments  of  the  piece,  and  unmixed  pleasure  in 
the  admirable  work  of  the  performers.  The  writer 
had  seen  the  piece  in  Paris  almost  the  first  night 
it  was  played.  There  were  F^lix,  Numa,  Parade, 
Madame  Fargueil,  and  Blanche  Pierson,  luminaries 
in  the  histrionic  firmament ;  but  they  shone  not 
brighter  than  their  English  confreres.  To  follow 
step  by  step  my  acting  as  Sir  George  Ormond,  to 
enter  into  every  detail  as  it  was  conceived  and 
executed,  would  be  simply  to  pen  long  strings  of 
verbal  applause.  If  Parade,  as  the  simple-minded, 
vulgar  bourgeois,  was  admirable,  I,  as  the  educated, 
refined  aristocrat,  was  no  less  so.  Where  the  former 
was  the  anvil  on  which  every  malicious  sally  of  his 
so-called  friends  produced  a  dull  thud,  leaving  the 
mark  of  the  stroke  on  his  mobile  face,  the  latter  was 
the  elastic  surface  on  which  every  beat  produced  a 
rebound   of    equally   sharp-pointed    satire,   delivered 


THE   DEARTH   OF  ENGLISH   PLAYS     217 

with  consummate  art,  and  yet  true  to  nature.  If 
the  Mar^cat  of  Numa  was  as  dry,  sparkling  cham- 
pagne, the  Sir  Woodbine  Grafton  of  Arthur  Cecil 
was  as  full-bodied,  flavoured  port,  not  so  effervescent, 
perhaps,  but  more  nourishing.  The  Dr.  Tholosan 
of  Felix  was  not  a  better  performance  than  the 
Dr.  Thornton  of  Kendal — a  trifle  less  didactic,  per- 
haps, but  more  consistent  with  the  supposed  age  of 
the  character.  Tholosan  often  drifted  into  priggism, 
Thornton  never  did.  The  sweets  came  at  the  end 
of  the  repast.  The  Lady  Ormond  of  Mrs.  Kendal, 
he  declared,  was  charming,  thoroughly  refined  and 
artistic,  adding  that  the  scene  in  the  second  and  that 
in  the  third  acts  were  masterly  and  above  criticism. 

Though  the  press  was  almost  unanimous  in  praising 
the  skill  with  which  a  French  play  had  been  trans- 
formed into  an  English  one,  there  was  naturally  some 
repining  that  we  had  not  been  able  to  find  an  original 
English  comedy  to  our  liking.  Of  course  it  was  a 
matter  for  serious  concern  that  while  a  management 
existed  which  was  on  the  look-out  for  novelty,  and 
prepared  to  pay  a  price  for  it  which  a  few  years  before 
would  have  been  pronounced  fabulous,  no  dramatist 
had  arisen  to  supply  work  of  a  kind  that  justified  the 
speculators  in  the  preliminary  outlay.  But  so  it  was. 
I  The  play  was  very  elaborately  placed  upon  the 
stage.  The  old  hall  of  Ormond  Court  took  days  to 
erect,  and  was  so  strongly  built  with  its  massive  stair- 
case and  gallery  as  to  make  it  impossible  to  remove  it 
entirely  for  change  of  scene.  We  so  arranged  the 
play  as  to  allow  the  hall  to  remain  almost  intact 
during  three  acts,  the  boudoir  being  constructed  to 
be  "  set "  inside  the  walls  of  it ;  in  fact,  from  Sep- 
tember to  the  following  April  the  stage  wore  the 
aspect,  day  and  night,  of  an  Elizabethan  interior, 
furnished  with  a  wealth  of  oak  and  armour,  so  mixed 
with  decorative  china  and  modern  luxuries  as  to  make 
it  often  worth  a  visit  apart  from  its  stage  aspect.  We 
might,  had  we  so  chosen,  have  given  banquets  there. 
The  success  of  the  production  maintained  receipts 


218  SARDOU   AND   HIS   PLAYS 

as  high  as  any  of  its  predecessors  in  the  little  theatre, 
excepting  only  School.  It  was  the  one  solitary 
occasion  on  which  we  achieved  this  happy  result 
without  the  aid  of  my  wife's  services ;  and  the 
thought  made  her  rest  more  pleasant  than  usual. 

Peril  was  the  first  play  of  which  we  gave  a  series 
of    afternoon   performances,   and   so    opened   out  a 
distinct  source  of  income  from  future  successes. 

It  was  during  this  successful  run  that  I  heard 
Sardou  was  about  to  produce  a  new  play  at  the 
Theatre  du  Vaudeville  called  Dora,  and  made  plans 
to  be  en  rapport  with  the  premiere.  My  part  in 
Peril  was  too  important  to  allow  me  to  give  it  up  so 
early  in  the  run,  but  I  was  represented  in  Paris  by 
B.  C.  Stephenson.  He  returned  extremely  nervous 
as  to  the  new  play's  chance  of  success  in  England, 
although  much  impressed  by  one  or  two  of  its  scenes, 
an  incomprehensible  timidity  which  in  these  days 
would  have  cost  me  the  play.  I  pursued  the  matter 
further,  on  the  strength  of  a  criticism  I  read  in  a 
French  newspaper,  and  found  that  the  author  had 
already  sold  the  English  and  American  rights  to  a 
theatrical  agent.  With  him  I  proceeded  to  treat, 
inducing  him  to  give  me  the  refusal  of  the  play  until 
the  approaching  Ash  Wednesday — a  day  on  which 
London  theatres  were  then  closed  by  order  of  the  Lord 
Chamberlain.  This  was  arranged.  I  went  over  on 
Ash  Wednesday  and  saw  the  play.  At  the  end  of 
the  famous  scene  des  trois  homvies  I  told  the  agent  I 
had  seen  quite  enough,  whatever  the  rest  of  the  play 
might  prove  to  be,  to  determine  me  to  write  him  a 
cheque  at  the  end  of  the  performance. 

Another  fine  scene  followed  in  a  subsequent  act, 
and  I  felt  assured  there  was  ample  material  for  a  play 
in  England,  whatever  the  difficulties  of  transplanting 
it  from  Gallic  soil  might  be.  I  gladly  gave  him 
fifteen  hundred  pounds,  then  by  far  the  largest  sum 
ever  paid  for  a  foreign  work,  for  his  rights,  and  was 
quite  content  with  my  bargain. 


"  DIPLOMACY  "  219 

Soon  afterwards  we  placed  the  manuscript  in  the 
hands  of  Clement  Scott  and  B.  C.  Stephenson  for 
consideration  as  to  the  line  to  be  taken  in  its  adapta- 
tion ;  with  them,  as  was  our  custom  with  all  French 
plays,  we  worked  in  concert.  A  long  time  was  spent 
in  considering  the  plan  of  action  before  the  work  was 
begun.  Happily  the  chief  solution  of  many  difficulties 
came  to  me  in  suggesting  the  diplomatic  world  as  the 
main  scheme  ;  I  took  the  adaptors  again  to  Paris,  and 
on  the  return  journey,  in  a  coupe  to  Calais,  the  whole 
subject  of  the  new  play  was  well  threshed  out  between 
myself  and  my  fellow- workers,  and  we  saw  our  way 
to  what  eventually  became  Diplomacy, 

The  play  occupied  both  us  and  the  "  Brothers 
Rowe,"  as  they  were  called,  for  some  months ;  it  was 
revised  and  revised,  but  at  last  approached  completion. 
Only  a  careful  comparison  between  the  original 
manuscript  and  the  English  version  would  prove  the 
labour  it  involved,  and  the  tact  and  skill  it  required 
to  retain  just  what  was  necessary  from  the  French 
second  act  and  incorporate  it  with  the  first.  In 
Clement  Scott's  own  words  : 

"  The  sheets  of  manuscript  were  taken  to  Bancroft 
for  his  careful  revision  and  judgment  before  they  were 
sent  on  to  the  printer  ;  the  names  of  Savile  and  Bolton 
Rowe  were  on  the  programmes,  but  Bancroft  deserved 
to  share  fairly  in  any  credit  that  fell  to  the  adaptation 
of  a  very  difficult  work.  He  did  not  actually  write 
the  dialogue,  but  his  judgment  and  suggestions  were 
invaluable.  I  have  never  met  so  careful,  experienced, 
and  diplomatic  an  editor  of  dramatic  work  as  Bancroft, 
and  Diphmacy  is  not  my  only  experience  of  the  value 
of  his  assistance,  equally  with  that  of  his  gifted  wife, 
on  any  play  submitted  to  them.  ...  I  think  Bancroft 
would  make  a  model  editor,  for  he  has  such  con- 
summate tact,  such  patience,  such  knowledge  of  men 
and  things.  He  is  so  thoroughly  a  man  of  the 
world." 

When  the  play  was  read  to  the  company,  it  pro- 
duced a  profound   impression.     Then  there  arose  a 


220  SARDOU   AND   HIS   PLAYS 

tantalising  difficulty  as  to  its  title.  Our  dear  old 
friend  Charles  Reade  reminded  us  of  the  existence 
of  his  play  Dora,  founded  on  Tennyson's  poem. 
Several  other  suggested  titles  were  found  to  be  liable 
to  the  same  objection.  Eventually  all  the  titles 
thought  of  were,  one  night  at  home,  written  on  slips 
of  paper  and  put  into  a  hat.  We  decided  that  the 
one  drawn  oftenest  in  a  given  time  should  be  resolved 
on.  This  chanced  to  be  Diplomacy,  which  came  out 
a  long  way  ahead,  and  was  best  of  all,  perhaps,  fitted 
to  the  line  we  adopted  in  the  play.  The  hero,  a 
young  sailor  in  the  French,  had  become  our  military 
attache  at  Vienna,  while  his  brother  was  to  be  First 
Secretary  in  our  Embassy  at  Paris.  There  was  no 
kinship  between  these  two  important  characters,  as 
Sardou  wrote  them,  and  the  change  was  a  happy 
thought  which  was  of  great  value  to  the  play.  Acci- 
dent served  us  in  regard  to  the  stolen  document ; 
England  was  in  the  thick  of  the  Eastern  question, 
owing  to  the  political  relations  then  existing  between 
Russia  and  Turkey,  and  discussion  of  the  Constanti- 
nople defences  was  prominent  at  the  time. 

Nothing  in  our  career,  we  thought,  more  clearly 
foreshadowed  success  than  this  production,  and  our 
view  was  evidently  shared  by  a  leading  librarian  in 
Bond  Street,  who  called  upon  me  a  week  before  the 
play  came  out,  offering  to  buy  up  every  stall  in  the 
theatre  at  its  full  price  for  six  months,  and  to  write 
a  cheque  in  full  on  the  spot.  I  asked  Mr.  Oilier  why 
he  ventured  upon  such  a  proposal ;  he  replied  that  in 
a  long  experience  he  could  not  recall  such  a  powerful 
cast  as  we  were  about  to  give  the  public,  which, 
with  some  flattering  remarks  on  our  management,  he 
declared  must  mean  a  gigantic  success.  I  thanked 
him  heartily  for  his  offer,  which  amounted  to  some 
sixteen  or  eighteen  thousand  pounds,  and  then — to 
his  amazement,  it  is  needless  to  say — declined  it.  I 
did  not  fall  into  a  trap  which  would  have  surely 
turned  our  true  friends  the  public  into  angry  foes. 

Diplomacy  was  produced  on  January  12,  1878 — 


A   TRIUMPH  221 

a  date  which  was  chosen  "for  luck,"  as  being  my 
wife's  birthday — with  a  cast  which  was  one  of  the 
strongest  of  modern  times.  My  wife  and  I  took 
the  parts  of  Countess  Zicka  and  Count  Orloff;  the 
Kendals  played  the  hero  and  heroine ;  John  Clayton 
was  the  Henry  Beauclerc ;  the  Baron  Stein  was 
Arthur  Cecil,  who  had  been  pursued  up  till  the  last 
moment  by  his  second  self,  the  Demon  of  Indecision, 
and  even  at  the  dress  rehearsal  had,  to  our  intense 
amusement,  presented  himself  in  a  totally  different 
**  make-up  "  for  each  act ;  Charles  Sugden  appeared 
as  Algie  Fairfax  ;  Miss  Le  Thiere  as  the  Marquise 
de  Rio-Zares  ;  and  Miss  Lamartine  as  Lady  Henry 
Fairfax. 

The  scenes  at  Monte  Carlo  and  Paris  were 
elaborately  prepared  and  decorated,  although,  we 
frankly  admit,  not  so  elaborately  as  to  allow  truth 
in  a  rumour  current  at  the  time  that  one  suite  of 
furniture  had  in  the  days  of  the  Empress  Eugenie 
formerly  graced  her  boudoir  in  the  Tuileries.  Our 
desire  for  realism  in  the  last  act,  which  we  laid  in 
the  British  Embassy,  induced  a  special  visit  to  Paris 
for  final  details,  for  which  every  opportunity  was 
given  to  us  through  the  kindness  of  Sir  Francis 
Adams,  who  was  then  First  Secretary,  and  another 
friend,  now  Sir  George  Greville,  who,  since  we  knew 
him  in  his  youth,  had  entered  the  diplomatic  service 
and  become  an  attache  under  Lord  Lyons. 

The  play,  from  start  to  finish,  was  a  triumph. 
Before  I  went  upon  the  stage  for  the  famous  "  three- 
men  "  scene,  I  told  the  prompter  I  was  sure  the 
applause  would  be  tremendous  at  the  end  of  it,  and 
asked  him  to  keep  the  curtain  up  a  longer  time  than 
usual  when  we  answered  the  call.  He  more  than 
obeyed  me  in  his  zeal,  and  I  thought  would  never 
ring  the  curtain  down  again.  Nothing,  however, 
checked  the  salvos  of  applause  and  the  roar  of 
approving  voices,  for,  again  and  again,  the  curtain 
had  to  be  raised  in  answer  to  the  enthusiasm,  which, 
at  the  close  of  the  fine  scene,  splendidly  acted  by  the 


222  SARDOU   AND    HIS   PLAYS 

Kendals,  in  the  third  act,  was  repeated.  At  the  end 
of  the  play,  in  answer  to  an  extraordinary  ovation 
and  enthusiastic  calls  for  the  author,  I  announced 
that  the  news  of  the  reception  of  his  play  should  be 
at  once  telegraphed  to  Monsieur  Sardou,  to  whom 
the  adaptors  of  his  work  wished  all  the  praise  to  go. 

It  was  only  with  great  difficulty  that  Mrs.  Ban- 
croft was  persuaded  to  take  the  part  of  Countess 
Zicka.  She  felt  herself  to  be  physically  unsuited 
for  it,  a  feeling  which  even  the  warm  praise  of  the 
critics  did  not  help  her  to  overcome.  It  was  said 
by  T'he  Saturday  Review  that  her  performance  sur- 
passed in  mastery  and  finish  that  of  Mile.  Bartet. 

Speaking  for  myself,  my  wife's  acting  forcibly 
brought  to  my  mind  an  interesting  talk  I  once  had 
with  Irving,  who  considered  she  could  act  any  part 
she  chose ;  that  she  would  succeed  in  many  which 
her  physique  debarred  her  from  realising  in  appear- 
ance, and  would  earn  a  triumph  in  all  of  them  that 
it  was  suited  to. 

I  myself  chose  to  act  OrlofF.  The  part  perhaps 
gave  me  as  great  pleasure  as  any  character  I  have 
ever  played — even  as  Tom  Stylus  in  Society  and  as 
Triplet  in  Masks  and  Faces ;  all  three  were  delightful 
to  act.  Although  the  part  of  OrlofF  is  confined 
mainly  to  the  one  great  scene — he  hardly  appears  in 
the  first  act  of  the  play,  and  is  not  seen  at  all  after 
the  second— the  character  makes  great  demands  upon 
the  actor.  When  I  saw  Dora  originally,  I  felt  the 
cast  in  regard  to  the  OrlofF  to  be  faulty,  and  that 
the  scene  between  the  three  men  would  gain  if  the 
part  were  given  to  an  actor  in  whom  the  audience 
placed  equal  confidence  with  the  representatives  of 
the  other  two  characters,  called  by  us  Henry  and 
Julian  Beauclerc.  To  my  thinking,  in  the  big  scene 
OrlofF  is  the  most  striking  part  of  the  three,  and 
demands  the  greatest  judgment  in  the  acting.  Apropos 
of  this  feeling  towards  the  part  of  OrlofF,  it  was 
pleasant  to  read  in  The  Saturday  Review  that  some 
time  previously,  when   writing   of  the   performance 


SOME   CRITICISMS  223 

of  Dora  in  Paris,  their  critic  had  expressed  a  doubt 
whether  adequate  interpreters  could  be  found  in 
luondon  for  the  great  scene  between  the  three  men. 
The  writer  admitted  at  once  that  he  was  dehghted 
to  find  this  misgiving  need  not  have  been  entertained. 
The  scene,  which  unquestionably  was  the  one  upon 
which  the  play  depended,  was  played  as  admirably 
in  London  as  it  had  been  at  the  Vaudeville  in  Paris. 
My  performance  in  the  scene  as  Count  OrlofF  was 
held  to  give  "  a  fresh  proof  of  a  fine  power  of  im- 
personation, a  thing  somewhat  different  from  acting 
in  the  loose  sense  which  was  too  commonly  attached 
to  the  word."  The  character  demanded  an  unusual 
capacity  for  indicating  rather  than  expressing  a 
passionate  emotion,  and  with  my  rendering  of  it  the 
critic  added  that  he  could  find  no  fault. 

Equally  welcome  was  the  valued  criticism  of  our 
ever-sympathetic  friend  Wilkie  Collins,  who  wrote 
that  he  had  never  seen  me  do  anything  on  the  stage 
in  such  a  thoroughly  masterly  manner  as  the  perform- 
ance of  my  share  in  the  great  scene.  "  Your  Triplet 
was  an  admirable  piece  of  acting,  most  pathetic  and 
true,  but  the  Russian  (a  far  more  difficult  part  to 
play)  has  beaten  the  Triplet." 

It  was  an  especial  pleasure,  also,  to  find  a  dis- 
tinguished French  critic  writing  of  my  performance 
that  "  M.  Bancroft  a  toute  la  distinction  qu'exige  le 
role  du  Comte  Orlofi*  et  dans  la  fameuse  scene  de 
trois  hommes,  ou  le  Comte  devoile  aux  deux  Beau- 
clerc  ce  qu'il  pense  etre  Tinfamie  de  Dora,  M.  Ban- 
croft a  ete  completement  remarquable." 

From  a  grateful  but  too  laudatory  letter  written 
by  Mr.  "  Savile  Rowe  "  I  make  an  extract : 

"  It  was  your  strong  intelligence  and  perception 
of  dramatic  effect,  my  dear  Bancroft,  that  secured 
for  playgoers  such  a  work  as  this.  Your  assistance 
has  made  the  *  grand  trio  '  the  talk  of  the  town,  and 
your  consummate  judgment  and  stage  management 
are  found  in  every  scene  and  every  group. 

"  My  own  pen,  necessarily  forced  to  silence,  longs 


224  SARDOU   AND   HIS   PLAYS 

to  enter  the  literary  arena  to  proclaim  what  I  so 
sincerely  feel.  ...  As  to  Mrs.  Bancroft,  what  higher 
compliment  can  any  critic  pay  than  those  tears  she 
commands  at  will  ?  What  higher  artistic  triumph  can 
there  be  than  to  play  such  a  character  and  wring 
from  it  every  possible  drop  of  sympathy  ?  .  .  .  One 
false  note  in  such  a  harmony  would  have  produced 
discord." 

The  success  of  the  play,  which  owed  much  to  the 
fine  acting  it  received,  passed  all  our  experience. 
The  crowds  that  congregated  outside  the  doors  every 
night  were  large  enough  to  make  several  audiences, 
and,  had  the  theatre  been  twice  its  size,  would  have 
brought  us  quickly  quite  a  fortune.  The  house  was 
crowded  to  its  utmost  capacity  in  every  part,  and 
that  not  six,  but  seven  times  a  week,  for  we  gave 
an  unbroken  series  of  morning  performances.  This 
continued  for  more  than  six  months,  and  the  seats 
were  secured  for  a  longer  time  in  advance  than  I 
had  ever  heard  of — months,  not  weeks. 

The  first  time  the  late  Prince  Imperial  saw  the 
play  was  from  the  dress  circle — an  example  which 
many  distinguished  people  followed  rather  than  wait 
for  stalls  and  boxes.  Lord  Beaconsfield,  who  rarely 
went  to  the  play — his  only  previous  visit  to  our 
theatre,  when  we  were  acting  School,  being  recorded 
by  himself  in  his  last  novel — came  one  night  to  see 
JDiplomacy.  On  entering  the  stalls,  he  was  recognised 
by  the  audience,  and  received  an  immense  ovation, 
he  being  then  at  the  height  of  public  favour.  It 
was  during  this  extraordinary  career  of  success  that 
an  idea,  which  a  year  before  had  dawned  upon 
us,  became  confirmed — that  theatrical  management 
might  result  in  the  means  of  retiring  early  from 
its  cares. 

One  penalty  we  had  to  pay  for  the  craze  the 
success  had  grown  to  be.  Burnand  saw  the  play 
one  night ;  when  the  curtain  fell  he  went  straight 
home  to  his  desk,  and  did  not  leave  it  until  he 
finished  a  masterpiece   of  parody,  which   he   called 


"DIPLUNACY"  225 

Diplunacy  and  produced  with  all  speed  at  the  Strand 
Theatre. 

The  travesty  was  as  funny  as  it  was  well  played, 
the  mannerisms  and  peculiarities  of  the  actors  being 
seized  by  the  burlesque  company,  whose  members 
paid  visits  to  our  matinees  while  their  rehearsals  were 
in  progress.  For  our  own  part,  it  was  very  amusing 
to  "  see  ourselves  as  others  see  us,"  and  we  all  went 
to  laugh  heartily  at  the  good-natured  caricatures. 
At  the  same  time,  the  skit  had  for  us  certain  dis- 
advantages. It  being  easier  to  get  seats  for  the 
burlesque  than  for  the  original,  people,  tired  of 
waiting,  would  sometimes  go  to  the  Strand  before 
seeing  our  play — a  fatal  thing  to  do — and  try  after- 
wards to  take  things  au  serieuoc.  Diplunacy  had  a 
great  and  deserved  success,  and  ran  by  our  sides  for 
many  months. 

When  August  came  we  could  not,  whatever  the 
cost,  forego  our  holiday  abroad,  and  so  we  resigned 
our  parts  to  Sophie  Young  and  Forbes-Robertson. 
The  Kendals,  too,  had  arranged  with  us  to  take  the 
play  to  the  leading  provincial  theatres,  and  they  had 
to  be  replaced  in  London  by  Amy  Roselle  and 
Conway.  In  spite  of  such  a  heavy  blow,  still  the 
success  continued — of  course  in  a  minor  degree — 
until  the  following  January,  when  we  decided,  with 
a  view  to  a  subsequent  revival,  to  withdraw  the 
play  while  it  was  full  of  vigour. 

During  its  triumph,  in  acknowledgment  of  a  little 
gift  we  ventured  to  send  the  distinguished  dramatist, 
came  this  letter : 

Cher  Monsieur, — 

Pardonnez-moi  le  retard  que  j'ai  mis  a  vous 
^crire.  Je  suis  en  ce  moment  accabl^  de  travail ; 
r^p^tant  chaque  jour  de  midi  k  cinq  heures,  ^crivant 
toute  la  matinee,  et  le  soir  trop  fatigue  pour  reprendre 
la  plume. 

J'ai  recju  avec  un  bien  vif  plaisir  le  charmant  objet 
que  vous  voulez  bien  m'envoyer  a  titre  de  souvenir 

15 


226  SARDOU   AND   HIS   PLAYS 

de  la  part  de  Madame  Bancroft,  et  de  la  votre.  Je 
suis  on  ne  peut  plus  sensible  a  I'amicale  pensee  qui 
vous  a  conseille  le  gracieux  envoi,  et  vous  a  fait 
choisir  I'objet  de  tous  le  plus  propre  a  me  rappeler 
sans  cesse  et  le  succes  de  ma  piece  a  Londres  et  la 
charmante  urbanite  de  son  directeur.  Je  ne  fumerai 
plus  desormais  une  cigarette,  sans  penser  a  tout  cela, 
et  le  souvenir  ne  s'envolera  pas  avec  la  fumee. 

Priez  Madame  Bancroft  de  vouloir  bien  agr^er  mes 
salutations  les  plus  empressees,  et  permettez-moi  de 
vous  serrer  la  main  cordialement  a  I'anglaise. 

ViCTOiiiEN  Sardou. 

When  in  Paris,  on  our  way  back  from  the  En- 
gadine,  I  accepted  an  invitation  which  had  reached 
me  through  Pierre  Berton,  then  the  jeune  premier 
of  the  Vaudeville  and  the  original  representative  of 
the  lover  in  Dora,  and  had  the  pleasure  of  going 
with  him  to  see  Sardou  at  Marly-le-Roi.  We  had 
a  charming  day,  passing  on  our  road  from  St.  Germain 
the  chateau  of  the  great  rival  dramatist,  Alexandre 
Dumas.  The  old  house,  standing  in  a  forest  of  well- 
kept  grounds,  where  Sardou  passed  much  of  his  long 
and  busy  life,  looking  down  upon  the  distant  city 
where  he  had  known  the  miseries  of  a  strugghng 
author  and  had  basked  in  the  adulation  of  the 
theatre-going  world,  is  itself,  with  its  enormous 
sphinxes,  which  guard  the  massive  iron  gates,  its 
tapestries,  old  furniture,  and  "  black-letter "  folios, 
alone  well  worth  a  visit,  even  without  the  privilege 
I  enjoyed  of  a  long  talk  with  their  distinguished 
collector.  Sardou  was  a  small,  nervous,  lean,  and 
wiry  man,  shabbily  dressed,  wearing  an  old  smoking- 
cap,  his  throat  enveloped  in  a  white  silk  muffler — 
et  toujours  souffrant,  he  being  a  martyr  to  neuralgia. 
His  head  in  those  days,  when  he  was  only  forty- 
seven,  struck  me  as  a  mixture  of  familiar  points  in 
pictures  of  Napoleon,  Voltaire,  and  a  typical  Jesuit 
father,  while  his  smile  was  almost  as  telling  as  Henry 
Irving's. 


r 


r 


r- 


4 


Y 


A    VISIT   TO   SARDOU  227 

He  talked  with  nervous  speed,  and  then,  with  a 
charming  manner,  would  check  himself  politely  for 
my  foreign  ear.  He  deeply  regretted  knowing  no 
English  ;  but  said  that  his  children,  to  whom  he 
pointed  as  they  played  under  the  shade  of  the  big 
trees,  were  learning  our  language.  Even  in  a  single 
visit  it  was  easy  to  feel  that  he  had  read  and  studied 
much.  He  was  known  to  have  rather  a  mania  for 
building  and  reconstructing.  He  was  a  hard  worker, 
a  great  reader,  and  loved  to  be  surrounded  by  beau- 
tiful things.  He  talked  for  a  long  while  about  Dora 
{Diplomacy),  and  dwelt  with  glee  on  being  abused 
for  the  perfume  incident  by  which  Zicka's  theft  is 
detected,  which  he  proved  to  have  been  a  bit  of  real 
life.  The  accomplished  Director  of  the  Theatre 
Fran9ais,  Jules  Claretie,  thus  speaks  of  him :  "  II  sait 
tout,  Sardou,  il  a  tout  lu,  il  cause  comme  personne. 
L'auteur  dramatique  est  ^gal^  en  lui — et  ce  n'est  pas 
peu  dire — par  le  merveilleux  causeur,  ^rudit,  alerte, 
leger,  profond,  incomparable.  C'est  un  conteur  exquis 
et  un  diseur  parfait."  I  found  that,  like  the  great 
majority  of  his  countrymen,  he  had  never  left  his 
native  land  !  At  our  parting  he  gave  me  a  portrait 
of  himself,  inscribed,  "  Souvenir  bien  cordial  au 
Directeur  et  aux  Artistes  du  Theatre  du  Prince  de 
Galles.     Septembre,  1878.     V.  Sardou." 

When,  some  six  years  later,  we  revived  Diplomacy 
at  the  Haymarket  during  our  last  season  of  manage- 
ment, no  less  than  four  members  of  the  original  cast 
were  engaged  in  management  for  themselves.  The 
Kendals,  as  partners  with  Hare,  were  in  the  full  tide 
of  success  at  the  St.  James's  ;  John  Clayton  and 
Arthur  Cecil  were  similarly  situated  at  the  Court, 
where  they  started  the  memorable  series  of  Pinero's 
farcical  comedies ;  so  that  the  new  cast,  good  as 
it  was,  could  not  hope  to  vie  with  the  old  one.  The 
lovers  now  were  played  by  Forbes-Robertson  and 
Eleanor  Calhoun,  and  Brookfield  was  the  Baron  Stein. 
Neither  of  ourselves  retained  our  former  characters. 


228  SARDOU   AND   HIS   PLAYS 

My  wife  was  glad  to  resign  Zicka  to  the  capable 
hands  of  Mrs.  Bernard  Beere  and  to  "  write  up  "  for 
herself  the  smaller  part  of  Lady  Henry  Fairfax, 
which  thus  became  an  important  and  enjoyable 
character,  and  in  which  she  showed,  according  to  a 
distinguished  French  critic,  "  un  talent  exquis  de 
comedienne."  For  my  own  part,  I  resigned,  with 
many  a  sigh,  my  favourite  OrlofF  to  Maurice  Barry- 
more,  thinking  that,  on  the  whole,  I  should  best  serve 
the  general  effect  as  Henry  Beauclerc.  The  play 
was  again  received  with  the  greatest  enthusiasm. 
One  incident  during  its  second  run  might  have  brought 
it,  and  the  theatre,  to  a  sad  end.  We  narrowly 
escaped  a  serious  catastrophe. 

A  piece  of  scenery  in  the  garden  outside  the  villa 
at  Monte  Carlo  caught  fire,  which  at  once  alarmed  the 
audience.  My  wife  and  I  chanced  to  be  at  the  wing 
waiting  for  our  cue.  I  saw  the  accident  happen,  and 
immediately  took  Mrs.  Bancroft  by  the  arm,  walked 
with  her  on  to  the  stage,  and  stood  close  to  the 
flame.  This  presence  of  mind  calmed  those  who  were 
agitated,  and  meanwhile  a  fireman  extinguished  the 
blaze.  Those  of  the  audience  who  had  risen  from 
their  seats  paused  and  behaved  with  remarkable 
composure,  so  happily  all  was  soon  well. 

Les  Bourgeois  de  Pont-Arcy,  Sardou's  next  pro- 
duction, which  was  first  acted  in  Paris  during  the 
run  of  Diplomacy,  was  not  such  a  prize  as  its  pre- 
decessor ;  indeed,  it  was  with  grave  hesitation  that 
we  accepted  it,  having,  in  fact,  first  refused  the  play, 
as  Hare  had  done.  Although  effective  in  parts,  there 
remained  the  painful  defect  of  unlocking  a  skeleton 
from  a  dead  man's  cupboard,  and  shattering  his 
widow  s  belief  in  his  nobility  and  goodness.  "  The  evil 
that  men  do  lives  after  them." 

The  play,  which  was  cleverly  adapted  by  James 
Albery  and  called  Duty,  was  produced  at  the  Prince 
of  Wales's  Theatre  after  the  announcement  had  been 
made  of  our  intended  move  to  the  Hay  market ;  and, 


"  ODETTE  "  229 

in  spite  of  its  being  acted  by  Forbes-Robertson, 
Arthur  Cecil,  Conway,  Mrs.  Hermann  Vezin,  Marion 
Terry,  Linda  Dietz,  and  Mrs.  John  Wood,  failed  on 
its  own  merits  to  attract  large  audiences.  It  was 
played  only  for  fifty  nights,  and  narrowly  escaped 
being  an  addition  to  our  "four  failures." 

Meanwhile,  the  great  Frenchman  had  written  to 
me  on  the  subject  of  a  new  work  he  was  engaged 
upon  for  the  Theatre  Fran^ais ;  and,  while  our 
workmen  were  busy  over  the  transformation  of  the 
Haymarket,  1  went  to  Paris,  and  again  had  a  pleasant 
reception  at  Marly-le-Roi.  Of  course  I  found  Sardou 
wrapped  in  the  inevitable  white  muffler,  and  of 
course  as  inevitably  souffrant,  A  long  and  cheerful 
talk  confirmed  my  hopes  about  the  play,  and  sent 
me  home  in  high  spirits. 

Perhaps  the  enthusiastic  author  placed  too  much 
reliance  on  a  remark  he  then  made,  "II  y  a  dans  la 
piece  un  tres  beau  role  de  femme,  dans  le  genre  de 
Dora,  et  pas  V ombre  d' adulter e''  At  any  rate,  when 
Daniel  Rochet  was  produced,  it  proved  to  be  rather 
a  theological  discussion  than  a  drama,  and  certainly 
would  not  then  have  been  acceptable  on  the  English 
stage,  even  had  the  difficulty  as  to  its  licence  been 
overcome.  Sardou,  however,  was  very  angry  at  my 
refusal  of  the  play,  and  never  really  forgave  me  for 
so  firmly  disputing  his  belief  in  it,  although  my 
judgment  was  confirmed  in  Paris  when  it  was  acted 
at  the  Fran^ais,  with  the  accomplished  Delaunay  as 
the  hero. 

Nothing  daunted,  a  year  afterwards  I  crossed  the 
Channel  again,  in  a  storm  which  I  shall  not  readily 
forget,  to  be  present  at  the  premiere  of  Odette,  The 
play  proved  greatly  successful,  the  opening  and 
closing  acts  especially  so.  The  first  act,  indeed,  is  a 
play  complete  in  itself,  and  one  of  the  most  powerful 
the  great  dramatist  ever  wrote.  When  the  curtain 
fell  on  it  there  was  a  spontaneous  chorus  of  voices  in 
the  couloirs — "  La  piece   est  finie  !     Qu'est-ce  qu'on 


280  SARDOU   AND   HIS   PLAYS 

peut  faire  ?  "  In  spite  of  this,  and  of  many  apparent 
difficulties  in  adapting  it  to  the  Enghsh  stage,  I 
bought  the  rights,  intending  to  do  our  best  with  it. 

We  entrusted  the  adaptation  to  Clement  Scott, 
with  whom,  as  usual,  we  worked  in  concert ;  though 
he  modestly  preferred  that  his  name  should  not 
appear,  the  play  being  simply  announced  as  written 
by  Victorien  Sardou. 

It  was  a  difficult  play  to  manipulate,  Sardou 
having  conceived  it  as  a  strong  protest  against  the 
condition  of  the  law  of  divorce  in  France,  of  which 
an  outraged  husband  could  not  then  avail  himself. 
So  warm  were  the  author's  feelings  on  the  subject 
of  this  law,  that  he  also  attacked  it  from  a  comical 
point  of  view  in  his  Palais-Royal  comedy  Divoiyons, 
This  state  of  affairs  diffisred  so  materially  from  the 
English  experience,  that  it  was  found  necessary  in 
Anglicising  the  work  to  make  the  husband  a  man 
who  shunned  such  exposes,  and  chose  rather  to 
punish  his  wife  by  leaving  her  as  such,  and  so 
preventing  her  marriage  with  her  lover.  With  a 
view  to  adapting  the  part  perfectly  to  the  slight 
accent  of  that  remarkable  and  touching  actress 
Modjeska,  whom  we  had  been  so  fortunate  as  to 
engage  to  play  it,  we  left  the  erring  woman  a 
foreigner.  In  like  manner,  we  increased  the  im- 
portance of  the  major-domo  at  the  gambling-hell,  so 
admirably  acted  by  Brookfield ;  while  the  part  of 
Lady  Walker — suggested  and  in  a  great  measure 
written  by  my  wife — was  of  infinite  value  in  her 
hands  to  the  lighter  scenes,  acted  in  concert  with 
Pinero,  who  was  still  a  member  of  our  company. 

The  rehearsals  were  very  prolonged  and  pains- 
taking, but  it  was  impossible  to  escape  the  radical 
fault  of  the  play — the  overwhelming  strength  of  the 
first  act.  The  long  absence  of  the  heroine  from  the 
stage  which  followed — until,  in  fact,  the  middle  of 
the  third  act — was  another  blemish,  and  recalls  a 
little  incident  that  happened  when  I  saw  the  play 
again  in  Paris.     A  couple  came  into  the  stalls  directly 


"OU   EST    PIERSON?"  231 

the  first  act  had  ended,  and  sat  in  front  of  me.  By 
their  chatter,  it  was  evident  that  Blanche  Pierson, 
who  played  Odette,  was  the  great  object  of  their 
visit  and  the  idol  especially  of  the  lady.  The  curtain 
having  just  fallen  upon  the  opening  scene,  fully  an  hour 
and  a  half,  allowing  for  two  long  French  entractes, 
had  to  elapse  before  Pierson  appeared  again.  When 
the  second  act  was  about  a  third  over,  the  lady  said 
to  her  companion,  "  Mais,  ou  est  Pierson  ?  "  Then, 
at  each  fresh  entrance  of  a  female  character,  she  cried, 
"  Ah,  la  voila  I  Mais-ce  n'est  pas  Pierson."  Further 
and  further  proceeded  the  play,  which  was  constantly 
interrupted  by  the  plaintive  question,  '*  Mais  done, 
ou  est  Pierson  ?  "  and  the  querulous  reply,  *'  Tais-toi, 
ma  ch^re."  At  the  end  of  Act  II.  and  till  the 
curtain  rose  again,  little  more  was  heard  but  "  Ou  est 
Pierson?"  The  third  act  commenced  with  a  long 
scene  between  two  men ;  the  little  lady  grew  more 
and  more  exasperated,  when  at  last,  to  her  evident 
relief,  quite  a  crowd  of  women  in  evening  toilettes 
entered.  With  a  sigh  of  forgiveness  she  eagerly 
scanned  the  features  of  each  one  of  them  in  turn, 
only  to  find  the  object  of  her  adoration  still  absent. 
No  words  can  paint  the  expression  of  anguish  she 
then  threw  into  her  inquiry,  *'  Mais,  mon  Dieu,  mon 
ami,  ou  done  est  Pierson  ? "  When,  at  length,  the 
charming  actress  really  entered,  and  her  long-suiFering 
companion  whispered  triumphantly,  "  La  voila,  c'est 
elle  ;  c'est  Pierson  !  "  the  poor  little  woman  answered, 
"  Oui,  mais  allons-nous-en,  il  est  temps  de  se  coucher 
maintenant !  " 

Actors  often  have  the  reputation — it  may  be  as 
ill-deserved  as  many  other  charges  brought  against 
them —of  gauging  the  worth  of  a  play  by  the  value 
they  set  upon  their  individual  parts ;  certainly  the 
foible  held  good  in  the  case  of  Odette,  so  far  as  the 
original  representatives  of  the  husband  and  wife  were 
concerned.  The  former  is  all-important  until  the 
middle  of  the  play,  while  the  little  anecdote  just 
related  explains  how  the  wife  disappears  for  a  long 


232  SARDOU   AND   HIS   PLAYS 

time  and  then  is  paramount  in  the  closing  scenes. 
Adolphe  Dupuis,  when  asked  what  the  new  play- 
would  do,  replied  that  if  the  end  were  only  as  good 
as  the  beginning,  he  should  have  little  doubt  of  its 
success ;  but  he  greatly  feared  the  catastrophe  (in 
which  he  was  but  little  concerned)  would  prove  too 
weak  ;  while  Blanche  Pierson's  answer  to  the  same 
question  was  that,  after  so  strong  a  beginning,  she 
dreaded  the  dulness  of  the  following  act  (in  which 
she  had  nothing  to  do),  and  which  she  feared  the 
pathetic  ending  could  hardly  save  !  Little  plays  are 
acted  on  both  sides  of  the  curtain. 

Our  English  version  was  more  sumptuously 
placed  upon  the  stage  than  any  play  of  its  genre  had 
ever  been  before ;  and  it  was  then  that  we  first 
had  the  advantage  of  the  services  of  William  Telbin, 
to  whose  brush  we  owed  the  splendid  scene  of  the 
villa  at  Nice,  with  its  exquisitely  painted  view  of  its 
harbour  and  the  Mediterranean.  My  wife  and  I  were 
always  amongst  the  greatest  admirers  of  Modjeska. 
When  she  spoke  certain  words,  her  lips,  as  they 
passed,  seemed  to  give  them  a  sort  of  tremulous 
caress.  She  was,  in  a  version  of  La  Dame  aux 
Camelias,  the  supreme  type  of  a  Magdalen ;  you 
almost  had  your  doubts  if  she  could  have  so  sinned, 
but  none  as  to  her  salvation. 

Madame  Modjeska  received  the  warmest  of 
welcomes  on  her  return  to  the  London  stage  in 
Odette,  and  rendered  infinite  service  to  the  play  by 
her  superb  acting.  The  close  of  the  first  act  created 
the  same  furore  as  in  Paris,  the  curtain  being  raised 
again  and  again  in  answer  to  the  tumult  of  applause, 
and  made  us  fear  the  like  excitement  could  not  be 
re-kindled.  The  second  act  (which  was  greatly  im- 
proved by  subsequent  cutting)  was  too  long  ;  but  the 
powerful  interview  at  the  end  of  the  third  between 
the  long-parted  husband  and  wife  was  loudly  cheered, 
chiefly  owing  to  Modjeska's  fine  acting.  The  effect 
of  the  end  left  us  in  doubt  as  to  the  ultimate  fate 
of  the  play.     It  proved,  however,  to  be  a  success, 


"  FEDORA  "  238 

best  described,  perhaps,  by  the  word  aggravating,  as 
from  week  to  week,  through  the  comparatively  feeble 
demand  for  seats  in  advance,  we  were  kept  in  doubt 
as  to  its  real  hold  upon  the  public,  and  as  to  whether 
the  play  would  last  through  the  season — for  which 
period  we  had  guaranteed  a  costly  engagement  to 
Modjeska.  All,  however,  went  well ;  the  stalls  and 
best  places  were  occupied  nightly,  but  the  play  never 
appealed  greatly  to  the  cheaper  parts  of  the  house. 
The  result  of  the  production  and  its  run  of  eighty 
nights — three  months  being  all  we  asked  from  it — 
was  largely  profitable,  in  spite  of  the  early  feeling  of 
insecurity  concerning  it. 

Of  the  play  that  was  to  be  our  next  and  last 
Sardou  production  we  had  news  long  before  it  saw 
the  light  at  the  Haymarket  Theatre.  We  knew  that 
Sardou  had  devoted  some  months  to  the  writing  of  a 
new  play  and  that  Sarah  Bernhardt  was  to  create  a 
great  part,  but  all  he  had  divulged  so  far  about  the 
plot  was  that  it  dealt  with  the  modern  terror — 
Nihilism  I  When  the  play  was  put  into  rehearsal, 
I  received  news  that  Sardou's  reading  of  it  had,  as 
usual,  been  masterly,  and  had  wrung  floods  of  tears 
from  the  great  Sarah.  Her  part  was  said  to  be 
magnificent  and  specially  adapted  to  her  genius ; 
there  was  a  good  part  for  Berton  also,  but  nothing 
else  of  importance,  except  a  small  part  which,  my 
informant  told  me,  "if  she  would  condescend  to  it, 
Mrs.  Bancroft  could  play  divinely." 

Fedora  was  produced  at  the  Vaudeville  in 
December  in  1882,  and  I  felt  the  importance  of 
witnessing  the  repetition  generale,  which  in  Paris 
has  all  the  force  and  effect  of  a  premiere,  excepting 
only  that  the  audience  is  restricted  to  the  privileged. 
On  the  eve  of  the  big  rehearsal  I  dined  with  Pierre 
Berton,  when  he  told  me  the  story  of  the  play.  I 
confess,  from  its  bald  relation,  I  reluctantly  arrived 
at  the  conviction  that  my  journey  was  in  vain,  and 
that  the  eagerly  expected  work,  which  was  keeping  all 


234  SARDOU   AND   HIS   PLAYS 

Paris  in  a  fever  of  expectation,  and  formed  the  main 
topic  of  the  Boulevardiers,  would  prove  to  be  a 
bloodthirsty  melodrama. 

On  the  following  day  I  found  myself  among  the 
favoured  occupants  of  the  stalls,  and  seated  next  to  a 
pleasant  Englishman  who  wrote  as  "  Theoc  "  for  a 
London  newspaper.  We  were  surrounded  by  literary 
and  artistic  celebrities :  in  a  baignoire  was  Alexandre 
Dumas,  the  dramatist's  equally  celebrated  rival ; 
above,  in  the  balcony,  sat  Blanche  Pierson  and  Maria 
Legault,  looking  down  on  the  scene  of  their  recent 
triumphs  in  Odette.  The  two  great  actors  Got  and 
Coquelin  came  from  the  classic  home  of  Moli^re; 
Alphonse  Daudet  and  Georges  Ohnet  were  in  close 
companionship ;  and  that  dreaded  critic  Francesque 
Sarcey,  Auguste  Vitu  of  the  Figaro,  and  Albert  Wolff 
— whose  strange  features  were  ably  reproduced  in  the 
Musee  Grevin,  the  Madame  Tussaud's  of  Paris — 
were  among  the  scores  of  names,  owned  by  those  of 
Boulevard  *'  light  and  leading,"  which  I  can  recall. 

After  some  delay,  Sardou  and  the  managers  came 
to  a  space  kept  for  them  in  the  stalls,  and  the  play 
began.  In  five  minutes  the  audience  was  under  a  spell 
which  did  not  once  abate  throughout  the  whole  four 
acts.  Never  was  treatment  of  a  dangerous  subject 
more  masterly  ;  never  was  acting  more  superb  than 
Sarah  showed  that  day  to  those  privileged  to  witness 
it.  Rachel  has  been  described  as  the  "panther  of 
the  stage  "  :  her  feline  mantle  certainly  descended  to 
Sarah  Bernhardt ;  though  years  afterwards,  when  I 
saw  that  great  actress  Eleanora  Duse  play  the  part 
of  Fedora,  she  showed  me  that  both  Sardou  and 
Sarah  had  left  some  things  unthought  of. 

At  the  repetition  generate,  however,  Sardou 's 
delighted  appreciation  of  the  magnificent  rendering 
of  his  heroine  was  only  equalled  by  his  pleased 
acceptance  of  the  congratulations  which  were 
showered  upon  him  at  the  end  of  every  act. 
Without  the  faintest  notion  then  as  to  who  would 
play  the  two  chief  parts  in  London,  there  was  not  a 


HERMAN    MERIVALE  285 

moment's  hesitation  from  me  in  writing  a  very 
heavy  cheque  to  buy  the  EngUsh  rights. 

The  enthusiasm  was  repeated  on  the  following 
night,  at  the  first  public  performance,  and  I  returned 
home  rejoicing. 

After  well  weighing  the  matter,  I  gave  the 
manuscript  to  an  old  friend  and  master  of  our 
language,  Herman  Merivale,  and  asked  him  if  he 
would  like  to  undertake  its  adaptation.  Without 
being  at  all  keen  upon  the  matter,  he  promised  to 
take  the  book  down  to  Eastbourne,  where  he  then 
lived,  and  to  see  what  he  thought  about  it.  The 
next  day  came  a  letter  to  say  that  he  had  put  off 
opening  the  parcel  until  quite  late  at  night,  when, 
after  carelessly  glancing  over  a  few  pages,  he  grew 
so  engrossed  in  its  story  that  he  found  it  impossible 
to  get  to  bed  until  the  last  sentence  of  the  fascinating 
play  was  devoured.  Naturally  we  were  delighted 
with  this  opinion,  and  arranged  for  the  work  to  be 
commenced  at  once ;  the  adaptation  was  admirably 
and  speedily  finished,  being  a  labour  of  pleasure. 
Great  aid  was  given  to  Merivale,  who  warmly 
acknowledged  it,  in  the  character  that  had  to  be 
written  up  for  herself — another  act  of  self-abnegation 
— by  my  wife. 

After  further  careful  thought,  we  decided  to 
entrust  the  splendid  part  of  Fedora  to  Mrs.  Bernard 
Beere,  and  engaged  Coghlan  to  play  the  hero.  As 
for  ourselves,  we  were  satisfied  to  take  two  characters 
which  the  French  describe  as  "side-dishes,"  and  to 
give  them  all  the  value  in  our  power. 

Loud  were  the  ominous  predictions  with  regard 
to  the  fate  of  Fedora  in  England.  Grave  head- 
shakings  emphasised  the  opinions  freely  urged  that 
the  subject  would  be  found  repugnant.  Outspoken 
were  the  thoughts  that  the  task  was  hopeless  without 
Sarah  Bernhardt. 

One  day,  when  the  long  rehearsals  were  drawing 
to  a  close,  and  when  I  had  never  felt  more  certain  of 
success,  Edmund   Yates   came   to   me   with   a  very 


286  SARDOU   AND    HIS   PLAYS 

long  face,  and  said  that  he  had  been  told  in  the 
morning  by  a  mutual  friend,  when  riding  in  the 
park,  that  so  great  was  our  alarm,  so  heavy  our 
apprehension,  that  he  knew  positively  we  had  com- 
menced secret  rehearsals  of  another  play,  binding  all 
concerned  to  profound  silence,  to  meet  the  failure 
which  we  were  assured  stared  us  in  the  face.  I 
laughed,  and  then  implored  Yates  on  no  account  to 
contradict  the  rumour,  but  rather  to  encourage  the 
sour  prognostications,  adding  that  nothing  in  the 
mysterious  world  of  the  theatre  was  more  valuable 
than  a  revulsion  of  feeling ;  an  audience  that  comes 
prepared  for  frost  and  failure  soon  thaws  and  warms 
to  fever  heat  in  its  reception  of  success. 

That  my  sanguine  expectations  were  verified  when 
the  play  was  produced  in  the  beginning  of  May 
1883  is  a  matter  of  stage  history.  Its  success  was 
never  in  doubt.  News  of  its  magnificent  reception 
was  telegraphed  to  Sardou,  who  was  staying  at 
Marly,  all  efforts  having  again  failed  to  induce  him 
to  cross  the  Channel  to  pay  his  first  visit  to  London 
and  assist  at  our  'premiere, 

Mrs.  Bernard  Beere  had  seen  Sarah  Bernhardt  in 
the  part,  but  was  soon  persuaded  during  rehearsals 
to  give  up  attempts  at  imitation,  and  allowed  me  to 
guide  her,  as  she  warmly  said,  to  the  great  success 
she  deservedly  enjoyed.  The  adaptation  had  been 
admirably  done.  We  modified  a  few  painful  details 
in  the  first  act,  and,  remembering  the  powerful  effect 
of  the  unseen  passing  of  the  troops  past  the  windows 
in  Ours,  resolved  to  leave  their  ftiU  import  to  the 
imagination  of  the  audience.  Soon  after  the  pro- 
duction I  received  a  striking  proof  that  we  had  acted 
wisely.  A  very  old  stager  said  to  me,  "  My  dear 
B.,  when  the  surgeon  went  into  the  bedroom  and 
the  doors  were  shut,  I  give  you  my  word  I  plainly 
saw  the  knife  and  heard  the  dying  man's  moans 
through  the  wall !  " 

Fedora  took  so  firm  a  hold  on  public  favour  that 
the  thermometer — which  often  rules  the  playhouses 


ROBERT   BUCHANAN  237 

with  an  iron  will — made  no  difference ;  and  it  was 
a  sad  misfortune  that  we  could  not  keep  the  theatre 
open  all  through  the  summer  ;  but  two  sad  calamities, 
the  burning  of  the  Ring  Theatre  in  Vienna  and  a 
similar  catastrophe  at  the  Alhambra,  led  the  old 
INIetropolitan  Board  of  Works  (the  predecessors  of 
the  London  County  Council  in  the  structural  control 
of  the  theatres)  to  require  certain  alterations  in  the 
theatre  which  compelled  us — quite  rightly,  I  think,  for 
the  protection  of  the  public — to  break  the  run  and 
close  for  some  weeks. 

My  experience,  however,  often  told  me  how  large  a 
sum  of  money  a  successful  play  can  make  in  less  than 
a  hundred  performances,  and  fairly  short  runs,  for  this 
reason,  formed  our  main  policy  at  the  Haymarket. 

During  a  portion  of  the  run  of  Fedora  I  replaced 
Coghlan  as  Loris  IpanofF — a  thankless  task,  and  one 
which  made  me  regret  I  had  not  played  the  part 
all  along  or  let  it  entirely  alone,  it  being  quite  out 
of  my  accepted  line.  With  no  wish  to  over-estimate  my 
own  work,  when  I  had  settled  down  to  it  I  regarded 
my  performance  of  the  powerful  scene  in  which  Loris 
relates  at  great  length,  in  an  impassioned  interview 
with  Fedora,  the  story  of  his  wrongs,  as  among  the 
best  of  my  serious  efforts  as  an  actor. 

Years  later  I  found  this  opinion  curiously  sub- 
stantiated. Allan  Field,  an  old  friend,  wrote  to  me 
to  say  that,  during  a  conversation  with  him,  that 
brilliant  but  weird  genius,  Robert  Buchanan,  had 
mentioned  my  Loris  Ipanoff  as  "  one  of  the  very  best 
bits  of  acting  he  had  ever  seen." 

It  seems  strange,  nowadays,  to  remember  that 
this  great  success — one  of  our  greatest — should  have 
been  produced  at  the  beginning  of  May,  a  time  of 
year  we  often  chose  ;  but,  were  I  still  engaged  in 
theatrical  enterprise,  I  should  not  dare  to  do  so  any 
more  in  the  face  of  such  deadly  modern  foes  to 
serious  plays  as  the  revived  fashion  of  the  opera, 
the  increase  of  week-end  country  visiting,  the  motor 
and  its  many  consequences,  the  open-air  exhibitions 


238  SARDOU   AND   HIS   PLAYS 

— all  attractions  which  have  more  than  once  sounded 
the  death-knell  of  a  fine  play  first  acted  at  that  time 
of  year.  Even  Pinero's  powerful  and  absorbing  work 
The  Thunderbolt — a  masterpiece  of  stage-craft  and 
construction,  and,  if  in  one  word  1  may  venture  to 
say  so,  admirably  played — could  not  withstand  them  ; 
a  small  blow  certainly  to  the  pride  of  the  author, 
and  to  the  manager  of  the  St.  James's  Theatre,  who 
had  done  the  stage  such  service  by  his  production  of 
The  Second  Mrs.  Tanqueray  and  His  House  in 
Order.  Indeed,  George  Alexander  may  well  and 
always  feel  proud  of  having  produced  the  former 
great  work,  in  the  teeth  of  its  several  refusals  by 
others  to  whom  the  play  had  been  previously 
offered.     A  veritable  panache  in  his  managerial  cap. 

It  was  during  a  revival  of  one  of  Sardou's  plays. 
Diplomacy,  that  a  paragraph  in  a  London  newspaper 
suggested  that  a  more  recent  work  of  his  owed 
something  of  its  story  to  an  English  comedy. 
Accusations  of  plagiarism  are  always  galling,  particu- 
larly to  a  playwright  at  once  so  inventive  and  so 
sensitive  as  the  great  French  dramatist,  although, 
indeed,  it  has  been  ruthlessly  said  that  play  writers 
have  been  noted  stealers :  in  France  they  stole  from 
Spain ;  in  Germany  and  Italy,  from  France ;  in 
England,  from  France,  Germany,  and  Italy ;  in 
America,  from  everything  and  everybody.  It  was 
only  natural,  of  course,  that  Sardou  should  reply  to 
the  charge  with  some  indignation.  Unfortunately, 
through  being,  I  can  only  presume,  very  irate,  he 
scattered  accusations  broadcast,  and  went  on  to 
declare,  in  no  measured  terms,  that  English  managers 
and  playwrights  had  long  been  in  the  habit  of 
**  stealing  "  his  plays — a  lamentable  outrage,  I  fear, 
from  which  all  French  dramatists  suffered  gravely 
before  the  birth  of  the  "  Berne  Convention."  On 
this  occasion,  however,  he  recklessly  declared,  as  an 
instance,  that  in  the  case  of  the  revival  of  Diplomacy, 
no  mention  had  been  made  of  the  name  of  the  original 
play  or  its  author.     On  learning  that  both  his  own 


A   PAPER    WAR  239 

name  and  that  of  Dora  had  their  honourable  place 
on  the  programme,  Sardou  shifted  his  ground  and 
declared,  to  my  amazement,  in  a  letter  to  the  Gaulois 
(a  copy  of  which  paper  fortunately  was  sent  to  me), 
that,  though  that  might  be  the  case,  yet  at  the  Prince 
of  AVales's  Theatre,  when  Diplomacy  was  first  acted 
there,  the  names  of  the  original  play  and  its  author 
were  ignored.  More  than  that,  he  complained  that 
we  had  "  imposed  upon  London  a  travesty  of  his 
play,"  and  that  though  he  had,  indeed,  been  paid  for 
it,  the  sum  he  received  was  no  more  than  £480,  while 
I  had  made  many  thousands. 

Knowing  the  facts  and  remembering  the  very 
different  spirit  in  which  Sardou  had  acknowledged 
the  triumphant  success  of  Diplomacy,  I  was  naturally 
astounded,  and,  the  statement  being  one  of  fact,  not 
of  opinion,  only  one  course  remained  open  to  me  : 
to  commence  a  paper  war  with  my  doughty  assailant. 
I  wrote  immediately  to  the  Gaulois  and  to  the 
London  papers  to  say  that  the  name  of  Dora  and 
of  its  author  had  been  fully  acknowledged  in  every 
announcement  and  programme  of  Diplomacy,  that 
the  title  was  only  changed  through  the  existence  of 
Tennyson's  Dora  and  its  adaptation  to  the  stage 
by  Charles  Reade,  that  I  had  telegraphed  news  of 
the  success  of  his  play  to  the  author  himself  and 
had  received  his  most  complimentary  reply  ;  also  that 
I  had  paid  for  the  play  not  £480  but  £1,500.  Still 
the  distinguished  dramatist  was  not  satisfied.  He 
held  to  it  that  the  names  of  Dora  and  its  author 
did  not  appear  on  the  programme  of  its  first  per- 
formance. In  reply  I  sent  to  the  Gaulois  a  sheaf 
of  documents :  the  preliminary  announcement  in 
The  Times,  the  playbill,  the  programme,  my  telegram 
to  Sardou  (announcing  the  success  of  his  play,  and 
that  its  adapters  refused  to  appear  at  the  fall  of  the 
curtain  when  I  informed  the  audience  that  I  could 
only  accept  the  compliment  of  the  applause  on  behalf 
of  M.  Victorien  Sardou,  who  was  the  author),  and 
his  own  warm  telegram  in  response. 


240  SARDOU   AND   HIS   PLAYS 

I  will  conclude  this  little  episode — which,  happily, 
took  place  before  the  bright  epoch  of  our  entente 
with  the  great  French  nation — by  reproducing  a 
sketch  from  Punch ;  and  may  also  add  that  when 
Sardou  revived  Dora  in  Paris  he  himself  put  the 
first  and  second  acts  into  one  exactly  as  I  had 
suggested.  English  players  and  playgoers  have  long 
forgotten  this  little  outburst  of  temper  in  their 
gratitude  for  the  enjoyment  they  have  for  many  years 
derived  from  the  writer's  genius.  Still,  the  misunder- 
standings might  have  been  pleasantly  obviated  if 
Monsieur  Sardou  had  only  seen  his  way  to  do  himself 
the  justice  and  other  lands  the  honour  sometimes 
to  quit  his  native  country.  Had  he,  as  we  often 
hoped  he  might,  accepted  the  warm  invitations  that 
were  made  to  him  to  come  and  see  for  himself  the 
regard  in  which  he  was  held  in  England,  he  might, 
perhaps,  have  learnt  to  admit  that  there  were  plays 
and  players,  playwrights  even,  in  other  cities  than 
in  Paris. 

Victorien  Sardou  died  full  of  years  and  honour. 
Latterly,  his  technique  may  have  lost  some  of  its  in- 
genuity ;  but,  at  his  best,  his  inventiveness  was  more 
than  enough  to  stock  the  pigeon-holes  of  half  a  dozen 
dramatists.  Of  him  it  may  be  said,  as  was  once  said 
of  a  celebrated  English  playwright,  that,  in  his  zenith, 
he  bestrode  the  theatrical  world  like  a  Colossus,  and 
it  is  certain  that  he  has  left  it  deeply  in  his  debt. 


CHAPTER   IX 

THE    HAYMARKET   THEATRE 

"  An  honest  tale  speeds  best  being  plainly  told." 

Why  did  we  abandon  the  Prince  of  Wales's  for  the 
Haymarket  Theatre  ?  Why  did  we  retire  from 
management  so  early  in  life?  Perhaps  no  two 
important  questions  during  the  last  quarter  of  a 
century  have  been  so  often  put  to  us.  I  will  make 
some  effort  to  answer  them. 

Although  we  suffered  very  much  at  times  from 
the  inconveniences  of  the  Prince  of  Wales's,  and 
were  annually  reminded  of  its  many  drawbacks  when 
the  house  was  inspected  by  the  Lord  Chamberlain's 
representatives,  we  were  loth  to  leave  a  home  so 
endeared  to  us  by  the  brightest  events  of  our  career. 
Nearly  every  theatre  in  London,  at  one  time  or 
other,  had  been  offered  to  us  ;  and  1  always,  half- 
jokingly,  replied,  "  No,  the  Haymarket  only  will 
tempt  us."  The  knowledge,  however,  of  the  ease 
with  which  we  could  fill  a  larger  house  with  a  good 
play,  and  some  remembrances  of  the  shoals  of  people 
who  had  never  been  able  to  see  Diplomacy,  for 
example,  led  to  serious  thoughts  upon  the  subject,  as 
well  as  to  schemes  of  building  a  new  theatre,  which 
we  more  than  once  contemplated.  Nor  must  it  be 
forgotten  that  a  dozen  rivals  had  sprung  up  since  the 
opening  of  the  Prince  of  Wales's  Theatre  in  1865, 
when  their  number  was  very  limited,  and  that  all 
these  new  houses  naturally  imitated,  and  sometimes 
improved  upon,  the  luxuries  we  had  started. 

241  16 


242       THE   HAYMARKET   THEATRE 

It  is  worth  noting  that  for  twenty-three  years 
before  the  opening  of  the  old  Prince  of  Wales's  not 
a  single  new  theatre  had  been  built  in  the  West  End 
of  London.  In  1866,  the  year  after  the  success  of 
Society,  the  Holborn  Theatre  was  opened ;  in  1 867, 
the  old  Queen's  in  Long  Acre  ;  in  1868,  the  Globe 
and  the  Gaiety  ;  in  1869,  the  Charing  Cross,  after- 
wards called  Toole's  Theatre  ;  in  1870,  the  Vaudeville 
and  the  Opera  Comique ;  in  1871,  the  old  Court 
Theatre;  in  1874,  the  Criterion;  in  1878,  the  Im- 
perial ;  in  1881,  the  Savoy  and  the  Comedy ;  in  1882, 
the  Avenue  (now  The  Playhouse)  and  the  Novelty 
(now  the  Kingsway) ;  and  in  1883  the  Prince's  (now 
the  Prince  of  Wales's  in  Coventry  Street). 

Fifteen  new  theatres  during  the  twenty  years 
we  remained  in  management,  and  many  of  them 
furnished  with  the  same  regard  for  the  comfort  of 
the  audience  as  had  marked  our  innovations  at  the 
Prince  of  Wales's  I  Of  those  fifteen  seven  have  now 
ceased  to  exist ;  but  their  places  have  been  more 
than  filled.  In  1887,  Edward  Terry  opened  his 
theatre  in  the  Strand,  and  subsequent  years  have  seen 
the  building  of  no  less  than  fifteen  others :  the  new 
Court,  the  Shaftesbury,  the  Lyric,  the  Garrick, 
Daly's,  the  Duke  of  York's  (originally  called  the 
Trafalgar  Square  Theatre),  the  Apollo,  His  Majesty's, 
Wyndham's,  the  New  Theatre,  the  Scala,  the 
Aldwych,  the  Waldorf,  Hicks's,  and  the  Queen's. 

This  was  our  state  of  mind  when,  one  day  in  the 
spring  of  1879,  a  friend  came  to  us  with  the  news 
that  the  St.  James's  Theatre,  which  in  those  days  was 
looked  upon  as  a  disastrous  house,  and  had  not  won 
the  high  reputation  it  has  since  achieved  and  still  so 
justly  enjoys,  was  in  the  market,  and  could  be  bought 
outright,  in  fact,  at  a  very  tempting  price.  We 
hesitated,  of  course,  and  weighed  the  position  care- 
fully ;  thinking  that,  if  we  removed  there,  our  title 
could  be  taken  with  us  and  the  theatre  re-christened. 
But  the  fortunes  of  the  Haymarket  Theatre  were 
then  also  at  a  low  ebb,  and  some  strange  presenti- 


"THE   RAT-HOLE!"  243 

ment  which  pursued  me  seemed  to  withhold  me  from 
even  entering  the  St.  James's,  lest  we  should  be 
tempted  by  all  the  possibilities  and  advantages  it 
offered  to  secure  the  property,  only  to  learn,  too  late, 
that  we  had  lost  the  Haymarket — which  was,  truth 
to  tell,  the  one  theatre  we  really  coveted.  Super- 
stition gained  the  day :  we  declined  the  offer  of  the 
St.  James's. 

A  week  later  we  received  another  visitor,  Lord 
Kilmorey,  who  came  with  the  news  that  he  had 
bought  the  St.  James's  Theatre  and  wished  us  to  be 
his  tenants,  a  proposition  which  he  submitted  in  the 
kindest  and  most  flattering  way.  He  found  us,  to 
his  surprise,  obdurate  in  declining  to  remove,  heartily 
as  we  appreciated  all  the  compliments  he  paid  us. 

We  did  not  often  go  to  parties  after  our  work, 
but  now  and  again  some  particular  invitation  tempted 
us  to  the  effort.  This  was  the  case  one  evening  not 
long  after  our  talk  with  Lord  Kilmorey.  There  was 
a  tremendous  crush,  and  my  wife  and  I  were  in 
different  rooms,  when  presently  a  man,  equally  well 
known  in  the  world  of  fashion  and  art,  came  up  to 
me  and  said  he  had  just  heard  something  uttered  so 
openly  that,  in  spite  of  an  intense  dishke  of  repeating 
things,  he  thought  he  ought  to  tell  me.  This  turned 
out  to  be  that  Lord  Kilmorey  had  bought  the  St. 
James's  Theatre,  and  that  Hare  and  Kendal,  jointly 
with  Mrs.  Kendal,  were  to  be  his  tenants.  I  did  not 
move  a  muscle,  and  merely  answered,  "  Why  not  ? 
A  week  ago  Lord  Kilmorey  paid  my  wife  and  me  the 
compliment  first,  and  what  could  be  more  natural 
than  his  second  step  ?  "  "  That  is  not  all  I  heard  so 
loudly  spoken,"  replied  my  friend  ;  "  it  was  also  said 
that  the  theatre  is  to  be  greatly  altered  and  beauti- 
fiilly  decorated  with  a  view  to  making  it  the  Comedie 
Francaise  of  England  and  of  shutting  up  the  rat- 
hole  in  the  TottenJiam  Court  Road  !  " 

I  laughed  and  thanked  him  for  his  information, 
adding  that  I  was  tired  and  obliged  to  leave  early. 
I  really  wished  to  think.     I  found  my  wife  and  asked 


244       THE   HAYMARKET   THEATRE 

her  if  she  would  mind  our  going  home.  I  was  rather 
silent  on  the  way  until  we  reached  our  house — when 
I  said,  suddenly,  that  I  must  write  a  short  letter,  which 
would  only  detain  me  a  moment.  Without  mentioning 
a  word  to  her  of  what  I  had  been  told,  I  had,  during 
our  drive  home,  made  up  my  mind  how  to  act.  The 
amicable  rivalry  of  our  old  friend  Hare  at  another 
small  outlying  theatre,  as  the  Court  was,  had  mattered 
little — indeed,  was  often  good  for  both  of  us — but 
this  news  mattered  much.  So  powerful  a  trio  as 
himself  with  the  Kendals,  in  a  new  and  better-placed 
house,  rendered  handsome  and  up-to-date,  "  gave  me 
pause."  It  was  a  supreme  moment  to  search  for  the 
possibility  of  saying  "  check !  "  I  sat  down  and  wrote 
a  short  note  to  J.  S.  Clarke,  who  was  then  the 
lessee  of  the  Haymarket  Theatre,  naming  an  hour 
when  I  would  call  there  in  the  morning  and  ex- 
pressing the  hope  that  I  might  be  so  fortunate  as 
to  see  him.  I  posted  the  letter  in  a  pillar-box 
close  by  and  then  joined  my  wife,  without  revealing 
anything. 

The  next  day  I  presented  myself  at  the  stage- 
door  of  the  Haymarket,  was  shown  in  to  Mr.  Clarke, 
whom  I  had  never  met,  and  after  a  brief  salutation 
said  to  him,  "  I  am  going  to  put  my  cards  at  once 
on  the  table.  I  want  the  Haymarket  Theatre  :  what 
do  you  want  for  it  ?  "  The  little  man  nearly  jumped 
from  his  chair,  with  an  expression  on  his  face  that 
would  have  done  credit  to  his  admirable  performance  of 
Dr.  Pangloss ;  my  frankness,  he  said,  took  his  breath 
away  from  sheer  admiration,  and  he  could  do  nothing 
but  deal  equally  frankly  with  me.  Suffice  it  to  say, 
that  the  result,  after  several  interviews,  was  the  pur- 
chasing by  me,  on  his  own  terms,  of  the  remnant  of 
Mr.  Clarke's  lease  and  the  granting  of  a  new  one  to 
me,  which  1  limited  to  a  period  of  ten  years,  as  I  felt 
that  if  I  could  not  achieve  my  object  in  that  space 
of  time  I  could  not  do  so  at  all,  having,  as  I  have 
already  hinted,  vague  ideas  of  some  day  retiring  from 
management. 


A    BOLD   VENTURE  245 

Our  annual  rental  of  the  Haymarket  Theatre, 
including  rates  and  insurance,  did  not  exceed  five 
thousand  pounds,  but  I  undertook  to  spend  a  large 
sum  of  money  on  the  theatre  by  entirely  remodelling 
and  rebuilding  its  old-fashioned  interior.  It  was  not 
until  the  matter  was  really  settled  that  I  breathed 
a  word  to  my  wife  of  the  negotiations  which  resulted 
in  our  becoming,  at  this  crisis,  the  lessees  of  the  first 
comedy  theatre  in  England.  I  remember,  when  the 
news  leaked  out,  Edmund  Yates  writing  of  it  as 
"  the  most  Napoleonic  stroke  of  theatrical  business 
in  his  long  experience." 

The  time  that  followed  was  a  very  busy  one,  for 
the  last  season's  work  at  the  little  old  theatre  had  to 
be  carried  on  while  the  rebuilding  of  our  new  house 
was  in  progress.  For  months  I  lived  a  sort  of 
anxious  Bocc  and  Cox  existence  between  the  two 
theatres,  as  the  following  words  in  a  letter  from 
J.  S.  Clarke  will  testify.  "  I  called  at  the  Haymarket 
yesterday,  to  learn  that  '  Mr.  Bancroft  has  just  left  by 
the  stage-door,' and  afterwards  at  the  Prince  of  Wales's, 
to  be  informed  that  '  Mr.  Bancroft  has  just  gone  by 
the  front  door.'  A  plague  o'  both  your  houses  ! " 
I  was  pledged  to  the  trustees  of  the  Haymarket 
to  spend  not  less  than  £10,000  on  their  property — ■ 
this  amounted,  in  fact,  to  £17,000  before  the  curtain 
was  raised  on  our  new  venture,  and  a  further  sum  of 
£3,000  was  added  a  little  later:  £20,000  in  all, 
drawn  from  the  savings  made  at  the  little  theatre — 
a  risky  venture  !  The  old  house  was  greatly  in  need 
of  rebuilding,  and  certainly  of  re-furnishing  ;  I  was 
amused  to  hear  a  man  describe  the  fleas  they  dis- 
turbed as  being  "  more  like  ponies  ! "  Although  the 
work  was  carried  on  both  by  night  and  by  day,  I 
was  surprised  to  find  how  long  a  time  it  took  to  pull 
down  the  old  structure.  Often  at  night  I  found  a 
dreadful  fascination  in  watching  the  work  of  demo- 
lition, peering  through  the  chinks  in  the  hoarding 
to  see  the  falling  masses  of  timber  which  were  hurled 
fix>m  the  upper  parts  into  the  once   classic   pit  by 


246       THE   HAYMARKET   THEATRE 

gangs  of  workmen  in  hideous  dust  and  uproar  ;  the 
effect  being  rather  that  of  demons  joyfully  engaged 
in  some  destructive  orgie. 

Strangely  enough,  at  the  very  time  when  his 
former  home  was  being  so  ruthlessly  destroyed,  poor 
old  Buckstone,  whose  health  had  for  some  years  been 
failing,  died  at  Sydenham.  I  confess  to  some  feeling, 
which  we  both  entertained  when  told  of  this,  that  at 
least  he  was  spared  seeing  the  house  that  had  for 
so  many  years  been  his — where  once  he  had  secured 
what  must  have  been  fortune  enough — demolished 
and  rebuilt  beyond  his  recognition.  Buckstone  I 
What  enjoyment  his  name  recalls !  What  an  eye 
he  had !  what  a  mouth  !  He  seemed  to  breathe 
joyousness  ;  his  work  gave  the  idea  of  being  a  delight 
to  him,  and  my  youth  owed  much  happiness  to  his 
ripe  and  over-brimming  humour. 

To  tell  an  unrecorded  anecdote  of  Buckstone  is 
nearly  impossible  ;  they  must  have  all  been  printed. 
One  night,  during  the  later  years  of  Buckstone' s  life, 
a  well-known  and  admirable  imitator  of  the  prominent 
actors  of  the  day  was  prevailed  on  by  Mrs.  Buckstone, 
at  an  evening  party,  to  give  an  imitation  of  her 
husband,  who,  she  urged,  was  in  another  room,  and 
really  had  grown  too  deaf,  in  any  case,  to  hear  the 
fun.  After  a  reluctant  consent,  the  reproduction  of 
the  favourite  actor's  peculiarities  was  most  ably  given. 
The  laughter  was  loud  enough  to  attract  Buckstone's 
attention,  and  he  entered  the  room  in  the  middle  of 
it,  and  stood  close  to  me.  Seeing  the  sort  of  amuse- 
ment going  on,  he  asked  me,  "  Who's  he  imitating 
now  ?  "  "  You,  sir,"  I  replied,  stifling  my  laughter. 
"  Eh  ? "  "  You,  sir,"  I  repeated.  "  Oh,  me  !  Ah  ! 
devilish  good,  I  dare  say  !  I  think  I  could  do  it 
better  myself !  " 

The  chief  features  in  my  scheme  of  the  new 
theatre  were  the  proscenium  in  the  form  of  a  large 
gold  frame,  with  all  four  sides  complete,  and  the 
abolition  of  the  pit.  Of  the  latter  more  must  be 
said  later  ;   the  idea  of  the  proscenium   was   quite 


THE   FIRST   NIGHT  247 

original.  No  theatre  in  Europe  had  the  complete 
gold  frame  before  it  was  seen  at  the  Haymarket, 
from  which  it  has  now  gone,  though  the  sincerest 
form  of  flattery  has  been  paid  to  my  notion  in  several 
theatres  since — notably  in  Brussels  and  at  Frankfort. 
The  scheme  was  for  a  time  involved  in  some  difficulty, 
and  gave  great  trouble  to  the  architect  and  his  sub- 
ordinates. My  intention  was  to  contrive  hidden  foot- 
lights, which,  when  the  curtain  fell,  and  was  within 
a  few  feet  of  them,  would  descend  to  make  room  for 
the  heavy  roller,  and  which  would,  when  the  curtain 
was  raised,  follow  it  immediately,  so  that  the  stage 
should  never  perceptibly  be  darkened  in  either  case. 
After  a  succession  of  experiments  and  much  worry, 
the  means  to  this  end  were  invented  by  a  simple 
workman,  and  carried  out  in  a  manner  that  acted 
successfully  until  we  left  the  theatre.  The  work,  of 
course,  grew  heavier  and  heavier  towards  the  end. 
The  Italians  who  were  laying  the  mosaic  flooring  in 
various  parts  of  the  theatre  even  remained  at  their 
posts  throughout  the  Christmas  holidays. 

At  last  all  was  ready,  the  finishing  touch  to  the 
beauty  of  the  decorations  being  given  by  my  wife's 
ivory-coloured  satin  curtains.  There  was  no  private 
view,  no  party,  no  "  interviews,"  no  assembly  of  any 
kind ;  this  had  been  our  custom  always.  But  just 
before  I  began  to  dress,  Irving  was  announced  to 
me,  on  the  way  to  his  own  work.  He  was  greatly 
struck  with  the  change  in  the  theatre,  and  especially 
admired  the  new  curtain  and  the  Shakespearian 
pictures,  the  latter  by  that  able  artist  J.  D.  Watson. 
We  two  stood  together  in  the  balcony,  where  he 
shook  my  hand  in  friendship  and  wished  us  "  luck  " — 
a  few  minutes  before  the  doors  were  opened  to  the 
public  in  the  densest,  cruellest  fog  that  perhaps 
even  London  ever  knew. 

This  was  on  the  last  night  of  January,  1880,  and 
we  had  the  pleasure  of  being  allowed  to  hand  the 
proceeds  of  the  first  performance  given  in  the  beauti- 
ful new  theatre  to  Buckstone's  widow,  who  had  been 


248       THE   HAYMARKET   THEATRE 

left,  unhappily,  in  straitened  circumstances.  The 
play  was  Money,  as  has  been  told  in  a  previous 
chapter. 

How  the  audience  ever  reached  their  seats,  and 
how  the  company  all  got  there  to  act,  was  really 
a  marvel. 

To  take  the  events  of  that  eventful  opening  night 
in  their  proper  sequence,  I  must  begin  with  the 
Pit  Question,  and  the  riot  that  occurred  when  the 
curtain  rose.  Anonymous  reports  had  reached  me 
that  there  would  be  an  organised  disturbance.  I  was 
sanguine  enough,  however,  to  hope  that  an  advertise- 
ment which  I  had  issued  beforehand,  and  the  nature 
of  the  accommodation  offered  in  place  of  the  old 
pit,  would  prevent  anything  of  the  kind.  Those 
hopes  were  vain.  It  was  no  doubt  a  bold  measure 
to  abolish  the  pit,  more  especially  from  the  Hay- 
market  Theatre,  which  had  been  long  known  to  boast 
the  best  and  most  comfortable  pit  in  London. 

In  the  old  days,  the  pit  in  every  theatre  occupied 
the  entire  floor,  extending  to  the  orchestra,  and,  as 
the  charge  for  admission  in  the  leading  houses  was 
three  shillings  and  sixpence,  the  pit  quite  earned  its 
title  of  being  the  "  backbone  of  the  theatre."  The 
dress  circle  and  private  boxes  were  the  resort  of 
the  wealthier  classes,  or  the  fastidious.  The  modern 
stall  was  then  unknown.  Gradually  this  luxury 
was  introduced.  Row  by  row,  very  insidiously, 
the  cushioned  chairs  encroached  upon  the  narrow 
benches,  which,  year  after  year,  were  removed  farther 
and  farther  from  the  stage,  until  at  last,  in  many 
theatres,  all  that  was  left  of  the  old-fashioned  pit  was 
a  dark,  low-ceilinged  cavern,  hidden  away  under  the 
dress  circle,  which,  by  contrast  with  its  former  proud 
state,  seemed  but  a  reminder  of  the  Black  Hole  of 
Calcutta. 

The  pit  had  long  lost,  in  most  West-end  theatres, 
the  possibility  of  being  the  support  it  used  to  prove  ; 
the  managers,  with  ourselves  as  their  leaders,  having, 
row  by  row,  robbed  it  of  its  power,  and  made  the 


A   MAUVJIS   QUART  HHEURE    249 

stalls  instead  their  "backbone."  This  grew  to  be 
pre-eminently  the  case  with  our  own  management,* 
which,  owing  to  the  large  salaries  paid  to  actors 
and  the  expenses  of  production,  could  not  have 
endured  without  the  high-priced  admission  which  I 
had  the  courage  to  inaugurate. 

The  rising  of  the  curtain  was  greeted  by  hooting 
and  howling  from  a  few  noisy  voices — it  takes  but 
small  lung-power  to  disturb  any  large  meeting — 
mingled  with  angry  cries  of  "  Where's  the  pit  ? " 
Eventually  1  walked  upon  the  stage  and  faced  the 
anger  of  the  few  who  made  the  noise,  which  quite 
drowned  the  friendly  greeting  of  the  many.  Utterly 
unprepared  with  a  speech,  for  I  had  disregarded  the 
anonymous  warnings  I  had  received,  I  owed,  I 
believe,  something  to  the  manner  in  which  I  spoke 
the  few  broken  sentences  I  was  allowed,  through 
the  tumult,  to  utter,  and  to  the  fact  that  I  never 
showed  during  that  mauvais  quart  dlieure  the  least 
sign  of  temper.  From  a  tiny  little  window  in  her 
dressing-room  my  wife,  as  she  told  me  afterwards, 
could  hear  everything  that  was  said  upon  the  stage  ; 
while  I  was  going  through  my  ordeal,  her  profile  was 
glued  to  the  aforesaid  aperture,  very  much  resembling 
a  postage  stamp.  At  length  she  resolved  that  if  the 
uproar  lasted  much  longer  she  would  address  the 
audience,  asking  them  to  listen  to  her  for  the  sake  of 
"  Auld  Lang  Syne."  Happily  the  noise  and  hooting 
wore  themselves  out,  and  her  speech  was  unnecessary. 
Her  dread  was  that  she  too  might  be  received  with 
groans  and  hisses,  and  she  was  cold  with  fear  ;  but 
when  she  made  her  appearance,  it  was  to  a  roar  of 
affectionate  welcome,  hearty  and  prolonged — as  was 
my  own,  I  may  add,  when  I  appeared  as  actor,  not 
as  manager. 

My  wife  was,  I  think,  the  only  member  of  the 
company  who  entirely  controlled  her  nervousness, 
and  the  eventual  success  of  the  opening  performance 
was  largely  due  to  her. 

Most  things  have  their  comic  side,  and  so  even 


250       THE   HAYMARKET   THEATRE 

had  this  little  riot.  In  remembrance  of  all  the 
circumstances  we  placed  a  private  box  at  the  disposal 
of  J.  S.  Clarke,  who  had  arranged  with  other 
members  of  his  family  to  meet  his  son  outside  the 
theatre,  but  was  late  in  arrival  through  the  dense  fog. 
When  his  son  reached  the  theatre  he  ran  to  the 
box,  and  saw,  through  the  little  window  in  the  door 
of  it,  that  it  was  still  unoccupied,  and  also  that  I  was 
standing  on  the  stage  and  facing  the  audience.  He 
went  back  to  the  portico,  hoping  every  instant  for  his 
father's  arrival.  After  a  while,  fearing  he  might  have 
missed  him  through  the  fog,  young  Clarke  again  went 
to  the  box,  to  find  it  unoccupied,  and  to  see  me, 
through  the  glass  window,  still  standing  in  front  of  the 
footlights  as  before.  Such  part  of  the  audience  as  he 
could  observe  was  applauding  violently.  In  this  way, 
for  a  long  while,  he  was  occupied ;  going  to  and  fro 
from  the  back  of  the  private  box  and  the  front  of 
theatre,  always  to  see  me  still  in  the  same  position. 
At  last  he  ran  against  his  people  emerging  from 
a  cab,  when,  half  an  hour  behind  their  time,  they 
reached  the  theatre.  Seizing  his  father's  arm,  he 
said,  "  Come  along,  come  along,  or  you'll  miss  the 
end  of  the  most  wonderful  ovation  !  Bancroft,  to  my 
certain  knowledge,  has  been  bowing  to  the  audience 
for  the  last  twenty  minutes.  JVo  actor  in  the  world 
ever  had  so  magnificent  a  reception/''  When  they 
entered  their  box  they  could  hear  as  well  as  see  my 
greeting. 

In  words  written  by  Clement  Scott  in  his  account 
of  the  proceedings  :  "  At  last  a  happy  compromise 
was  effected.  Three  cheers  were  given  for  the 
manager  who  for  fifteen  years  had  devoted  himself  to 
the  furtherance  of  art,  and  by  general  consent  it  was 
determined  that  '  The  play's  the  thing.'  "  As  to  the 
justice  of  the  complaint,  the  situation  was  well 
summed  up  by  The  Times :  which  pointed  out  that  it 
was  hardly  to  be  expected  that  a  manager  would 
rebuild  his  theatre  to  gratify  that  portion  of  his 
audience    from    which    he    expected    to    reap    the 


PRESS   OPINIONS  251 

smallest  amount  of  profit ;  and  that  the  translated 
playgoers  would  find — had  probably  found  already — 
that  they  were  quite  as  well  cared  for  under  the  new 
as  under  the  old  management ;  that  they  were  more 
comfortably  seated,  and  had  as  clear  and  compre- 
hensive a  view  of  the  action  of  the  stage.  "  We  do 
not  suppose,"  the  article  concluded,  "that  there 
will  be  any  repetition  of  such  a  scene."  Nor  was 
there. 

Another  voice  in  the  Chorus  was  good  enough  to 
ascribe  to  me  powers  of  management  "  as  unique  as 
my  histrionic  talent,"  and  to  find  me  "a  perfect 
master  of  the  difficult  art  of  organising,  cheerfully 
looked  up  to  by  his  subordinates  and  with  unbounded 
admiration  by  his  co -players  who  are  nearer  his  rank 
in  the  profession."  I  had  been  described,  it  appears, 
as  a  managerial  martinet,  but  without  foundation. 
The  writer  declared  me  to  be  kind  and  courteous 
to  a  degree,  though  very  properly  refusing  to  risk  the 
success  of  a  play  through  laxity  of  study  or  stage 
discipline.  "As  punctual  at  rehearsals  as  a  clerk 
in  his  attendance  at  the  Bank  of  England,"  I  was 
declared  to  have  set  "a  salutary  example,"  and  by 
my  career  to  have  proved  that  theatrical  success  may 
be  made  a  certainty  if  two  essential  gifts  are  possessed 
— sound  judgment  and  indomitable  industry. 
Whether  it  was  "  sound  judgment "  to  abolish  the 
pit  at  the  Haymarket  the  writer  thought  might  be 
questioned  by  some,  though  he  regarded  it  as  indica- 
tive of  my  fearless  originality. 

There  were  many  curious  incidents  connected  with 
that  evening.  A  party  of  four  from  Putney  managed 
to  reach  the  theatre,  but  when  the  performance  was 
over  were  persuaded  to  make  their  way  for  the  night 
to  a  friend's  house  in  Bayswater,  where  the  carriage 
and  horse  might  be  accommodated  in  the  mews. 
After  a  journey  of  some  hours  they  arrived  at  the 
house,  but  found  the  mews  more  than  full  of  other 
befogged  victims.  At  their  wits'  end,  they  were  at 
length  forced  to  this  expedient :  the  carriage  was  left 


252       THE   HAYMARKET   THEATRE 

outside  in  the  road,  and  the  horse,  a  valuable  animal 
just  recovered  from  a  long  sickness,  and  man  passed 
the  night  in  the  hall  of  the  house  ! 

A  strange  experience  also  happened  to  a  late  dear 
friend  of  many  years.  Dr.  George  Bird.  Living  in 
Welbeck  Street,  he  eventually  crossed  Oxford  Street 
safely,  and  then  felt  convinced  that  he  was  somewhere 
parallel  with  his  own  house,  but  whether  in  Harley 
Street,  Wimpole  Street,  or  Welbeck  Street,  he  felt 
unable  to  determine.  At  length  the  brilliant  idea 
occurred  to  him,  that  in  this  land  of  doctors,  if  he 
groped  his  way  to  some  door  which  bore  a  brass 
plate,  the  name  on  it  would  tell  him  where  he  was. 
He  carried  out  this  plan,  and  in  the  first  doorway  he 
entered  found  a  brass  plate.  Lighting  a  match,  he 
read  his  own  name  ! 

A  letter  written  by  a  cultured  and  travelled  and 
well-known  man  was  one  of  many  flattering  criticisms 
which  reached  us  about  the  theatre  : 

"  Having  seen  the  interiors  of  many  theatres  in 
Europe,  I  feel  convinced  that  there  is  nothing  either 
in  design,  decoration,  comfort,  or  tout  ensemble  to 
equal  the  Hay  market.  Viewing  it  as  a  house  of 
comedy,  it  has  not  a  rival. 

"  The  proscenium  and  drop-scene  are  simply 
perfection.  The  delicate  tints  of  the  panels,  the 
extreme  finish  of  the  paintings  in  them,  the  wealth  of 
gilding,  and  the  general  harmony  of  colouring,  display 
an  artistic  merit  of  rare  excellence. 

"  In  the  distribution  of  the  seats  there  is  a  boldness 
and  liberality  in  apportioning  the  space,  which  should 
be  an  example  to  others  for  all  time. 

*'  In  a  word,  it  would  be  difficult  for  professional 
cavillers  to  pick  a  hole  in  this,  the  most  tasteful 
theatre  in  Europe. 

"  Public  men  must  always  prepare  to  encounter 
opposition  when  they  innovate,  be  it  for  good  or  evil. 
Still,  the  heartfelt  applause  of  nineteen-twentieths  of 
a  brilliant  audience  must  have  been  token  enough  of 
the  superb  work  you  have  achieved,  and  of  the  ex- 


FRENCH   AND   ENGLISH   VERDICTS    253 

ceptional  reputation  you  and  Mrs.  Bancroft  have 
earned  as  the  inaugurators  and  chief  exponents 
of  a  new  school  of  dramatic  art  and  of  theatrical 
excellence." 

The  opinion  also  of  an  eminent  French  comedian 
may  be  interesting : 

"  Que  son  amenagement  est  bien  entendu  !  Ah, 
cette  fois-ci,  Bravo,  et  sans  restriction.  Cet  orchestre 
qu'on  ne  voit  pas,  cette  rampe  presque  imperceptible, 
cette  absence  du  manteau  d'Arlequin,  ce  cadre  con- 
tournant  la  scene  !  Le  spectateur  est  devant  un 
tableau  dont  les  personnages  parlent  et  agissent. 
C'est  parfait  pour  I'illusion  et  pour  le  plaisir 
artistique." 

I  was  inundated  with  communications  from  both 
sides  upon  this  vexed  Pit  Question,  many  of  the 
letters  being  from  occupants  of  the  upper  circle  on 
the  first  night  and,  nearly  all,  full  of  expressions  of 
sympathy,  whether  the  writers  agreed  with  me  or  not. 
1  will  dismiss  the  subject  with  one  important  letter — 
from  Sothern — which  came  a  little  later  on,  through 
the  distance  it  had  to  travel.  His  long  connection 
with  the  Haymarket  Theatre  alone  would  give  it 
weight : 

San  Francisco, 

March  5,  1880. 

My  dear  Bancroft, — 

I'm  a  poor  hand  at  letter- writing  ;  I've  such 
hundreds  to  answer  that  I  hurry-scurry  through  them 
as  best  I  can  ;  but  I  must  send  you  a  scrawl  to 
congratulate  you  on  the  admirable  way  in  which  you 
quelled  the  disgraceful  disturbance  on  your  first  night 
at  the  Haymarket.  Leaving  your  snug  little  theatre, 
where  you  had  done  so  much — so  very  much — to 
improve  our  art,  and  where  you  were  so  brilliantly 
successful,  seemed  to  me  a  most  dangerous  move,  but 
I  admire  your  pluck  in  taking  the  Haymarket,  and 
in  doing  precisely  what  I  advised  Buckstone  and  the 
trustees  to  do  ten  or  twelve  years  ago — i,e,  abolish 
the  pit.     There  was  no   other  way  of  making  the 


254       THE   HAYMARKET   THEATRE 

theatre  pay,  with  the  risk  and  heavy  expenses  of  first- 
class  management  and  first-class  artists. 

I  most  sincerely  hope  and  believe  that  your 
daring  experiment  will  be  crowned  with  the  success 
that  you  and  Mrs.  Bancroft  so  richly  deserve. 

Sincerely  yours, 

E.  A.  SOTHERN. 

Soon  after  writing  that  letter,  our  old  friend  re- 
turned to  England  and  paid  us  a  visit,  when  we  found 
him  sadly  changed.  Of  course  no  one  could  better 
understand  the  alterations  in  the  theatre  than  old 
Haymarket  actors,  who  always  failed  to  trace  how 
the  building  could  ever  have  borne  its  former  shape. 
Sothern  was  particularly  struck  vdth  all  he  saw  on 
either  side  the  curtain,  and  wished  that  in  his  bright 
days  the  house  had  been  as  we  made  it.  The  once 
far-famed  "  Dundreary "  never  acted  again ;  month 
by  month  he  seemed  to  lose  his  strength,  and  fade 
away  as  he  sought  for  health  at  different  seaside 
places.  We  visited  him  as  often  as  his  sad  state 
allowed,  for  we  both  were  fond  of  him,  and  I  was 
almost  the  last  of  his  old  friends  to  grasp  his  hand. 
A  few  went  with  his  remains  to  Southampton,  where, 
in  accordance  with  his  wdsh,  all  that  is  left  of  the 
once  courted  Edward  Askew  Sothern  lies,  leaving 
only,  as  Byron  says,  "  The  Glory  and  the  Nothing  of 
a  name." 

Not  until  some  time  after  he  had  passed  away 
did  the  following  extract  from  a  series  of  theatrical 
opinions  by  Sothern,  which  appeared  in  America 
under  the  title  of  Birds  of  a  Feather,  come  to  our 
knowledge : 

"  Mrs.  Bancroft  I  consider  the  best  actress  on  the 
English  stage.  She  commenced  her  profession  as  a 
burlesque  actress,  and  was  one  of  the  best  we  have 
ever  seen  in  England.  When  she  took  the  Prince  of 
Wales's  Theatre  she  discarded  burlesque,  and,  to  the 
amazement  of  every  one,  proved  herself  the  finest 
comedy  actress  in  London." 


WHY   DID   WE   RETIRE?  255 

So  much  for  the  first  question  asked  in  the  chapter. 
I  will  now  attack  the  second  :  "  Why  did  we  retire 
from  management  so  early  in  life  ? "  There  were 
many  reasons.  A  very  sordid  one  was  that  in  our 
opening  season  at  the  Haymarket  Theatre,  which 
lasted  just  six  months,  we  had  realised  a  profit  of 
£5,000  on  the  revival  of  Money  and  of  £10,000  on 
the  revival  of  School  These  facts  not  only  proved 
the  value  of  our  repertoire,  but  allowed  us  to  look 
with  some  ease,  in  a  financial  sense,  upon  the  future 
of  the  new  enterprise.  The  reason,  however,  we  felt 
the  most  was  the  difficulty,  through  keener,  ever- 
increasing  opposition,  of  keeping  together  what  for 
many  years  had  been  a  picked  company. 

I  should  not  like  to  be  misunderstood.  My  wife 
and  I  are  not  among  those  who  fail  to  see  talent  in 
the  young  and  have  praise  only  for  the  dead  : 

"They  that  revere  too  much  old  time, 
Are  but  a  scorn  to  the  new."" 

The  stage,  indeed,  abounds  with  talent ;  but, 
through  changed  conditions,  much  of  that  talent  is 
scattered  about,  both  at  home  and  in  other  lands,  and 
cannot  any  longer  be  concentrated  as  in  our  day. 
Although  I  agree  with  a  distinguished  man  of  letters 
that  "  the  stage  continues  to  grow  in  wealth,  power, 
and  public  consideration,"  I  feel  that,  in  the  main,  it 
must  be  injurious  to  the  welfare  of  the  drama,  and  to 
the  art  of  acting,  to  find  so  many  theatres,  both  here 
and  in  America,  controlled  by  powerful  and  wealthy 
syndicates.  The  owners  of  the  heavy  purses  which 
provide  the  large  capital  involved  are  not  expected  to 
look  beyond  their  pockets,  and,  with  every  apology 
to  my  clever  and  good-natured  friend  whose  name  is 
parodied,  I  ask  to  be  forgiven  for  saving  from  oblivion 
a  witty  remark  from  a  brilliant  tongue — that  "the 
stage  could  not  really  advance  until  we  saw  the 
'  Decline  and  Fall  of  the  {F)ro{h)man  Empire,' " 

To  return  to  the  Haymarket,  the  consequent 
difficulty,  almost  the  impossibility,  at   any  cost,  of 


250       THE   HAYMARKET   THEATRE 

continuing  to  cast  plays  as  strongly  as  we  had  done 
at  the  old  theatre,  touched  our  pride — not  our  pockets ; 
for,  financially,  the  success  of  the  revivals  at  the 
Haymarket,  although  they  were  less  ably  acted  in 
parts,  had  far  and  away  eclipsed  our  original  pro- 
ductions at  the  Prince  of  Wales's :  so  much  so,  I 
frankly  admit,  as  to  cripple  our  ambition.  We 
achieved  in  four  years  the  task  I  thought  might,  with 
strenuous  work  and  continued  good  fortune,  be  ac- 
complished in  ten.  Such  was  the  tide  of  prosperity 
which  had  followed  our  perilous  removal. 

The  strain  of  a  larger  theatre,  moreover,  with  its 
increased  anxieties  and  the  much  harder  work  neces- 
sitated by  shorter  runs,  began  to  tell  upon  us  both. 
I  had  not,  in  those  days,  enjoyed  the  pleasure  of 
meeting  Sir  John  Fisher,  or  I  might  have  laid  to 
heart,  at  a  time  when  it  would  have  served  me,  an 
axiom  he  has  uttered  to  me  since :  "If  you  keep  a 
dog,  don't  bark  yourself"  I  had,  for  years,  foohshly 
wasted  much  strength  in  doing  the  work  nowadays 
discharged  by  subordinates  ;  and  this,  unfortunately, 
before  the  helpful  advent  of  telephones  and  type- 
writers. Besides,  for  a  dog  to  be  worth  much,  he 
must  be  a  champion  or  a  prize-winner ;  and  such  are 
not  on  every  bench  !  This  sense  of  fatigue  brought 
with  it  perhaps  an  undue  dread  of  losing  even  an  iota 
of  the  high  public  favour  we  had  so  long  enjoyed. 
We  feared  that  our  distinctive  work  would  become 
confused  with  that  of  our  followers  ;  and  not  in  our 
day  of  management  did  we  wish  it  to  be  said,  "There 
is  no  longer  a  Haymarket  Theatre  ;  there  is  only  a 
theatre  in  the  Haymarket." 

Some  time,  however,  before  we  decided  upon  re- 
tirement, one  plan  suggested  itself  to  my  mind,  which 
would  have  lessened  our  work  and  at  the  same  time 
have  been,  we  thought,  largely  for  the  welfare  of  the 
English  stage.  With  this  feeling  uppermost  in  my 
mind,  I  submitted  the  outline  of  the  scheme  in  a 
letter  to  Hare,  who  was  still  joint  lessee  with  the 
Kendals  of  the  St.  James's  Theatre.     Roughly  the 


A   BOLD   PROPOSAL  257 

proposition  was  that  he  and  they  should  give  up  that 
theatre  and  join  forces  with  us — as  partners — at  the 
Haymarket,  my  idea  being  that  the  combined  strength 
of  our  five  names  would  be  unassailable ;  that  the 
theatre,  like  the  Comedie  Fran9aise,  should  rarely  be 
closed  ;  that  three  of  the  names  at  least  should  always 
be  in  the  programme,  and  the  whole  five  of  them  for 
a  considerable  part  of  the  year.  I  wished  also  to 
make  further  efforts  to  acquire  the  adjoining  pro- 
perty, now  occupied  as  the  "  Pall  Mall  Restaurant," 
to  be  used  as  a  splendid  foyer. 

The  project  did  not  proceed  far  enough  with  Hare 
for  me  to  go  into  figures  ;  and  those  dreadful  things, 
very  likely,  seemed  to  him  an  insurmountable  objec- 
tion. The  large  profits  made  by  us  at  the  Haymarket 
were,  I  think,  as  little  suspected  as  known  ;  and, 
naturally  enough,  at  the  first  glance  it  may  have 
seemed  impossible  that  they  could  have  borne  such 
division  as  I  proposed.  Or  it  may  be  that  what  was 
really  strength  looked  like  weakness.  At  any  rate, 
our  old  friend  decided  against  my  proposal,  and 
replied  that  he  thought  it  better  for  us  to  remain  in 
amicable  emulation,  so  carrying  out  Shakespeare's 
precept : 

"  And  do,  as  adversaries  do  in  law, 
Strive  mightily,  but  eat  and  drink  as  friends." 

After  dwelling  anxiously  on  the  subject  of  retire- 
ment, and  fortified  by  another  season  of  extraordinary 
success,  which  included  the  farewell  to  Caste  and 
the  production  of  Fedora,  we  went  so  far  as  to  fix 
the  date  in  our  own  minds,  thinking  the  end  of 
twenty  years'  management  would  be  a  suitable 
climax  to  set  upon  our  labours — a  period  which  I 
have  often  thought  is  long  enough  to  hold  the  reins 
in  any  calling.  But  we  kept  these  thoughts  to 
ourselves  until  we  felt  assured  they  were  not  transient. 
Only  those  closely  connected  with  the  control  of  a 
popular  theatre  can  know  the  strain  it  involves,  and 
they  alone  can  count  the  cost  which  buys  its  prizes. 

17 


258       THE   HAYMARKET   THEATRE 

In  considering  our  decision,  the  fact  must  not  be 
lost  sight  of  that  we  started  management  at  a  time 
of  life  very  exceptional  for  the  taking  on  of  serious 
responsibility.  Besides,  for  our  wants,  and  for  the 
claims  upon  us,  we  now  had  all  we  needed.  Great 
wealth,  I  fancy,  must  mean  considerable  anxiety : 
I  often  think  of  words  I  heard  spoken  by  a  well- 
known  man  of  vast  riches  when  asked  if  he  could 
mention  what  particular  advantages  he  derived  from 
the  possession :  "  Only  one  comes  to  my  mind,"  he 
replied — "  I  can  afford  to  be  robbed." 

When  we  were  quite  resolved,  we  wrote  to  our 
near  friends,  and  to  those  whom  we  thought  suffi- 
ciently interested  in  such  a  matter.  From  the  many 
replies  we  received,  perhaps  the  following  extracts 
will  not  be  without  interest,  even  after  so  long  a 
lapse  of  time.     Burnand  wrote  : 

Dear  B., — 

You  are  a  lucky  man,  and  a  wise  one.     A 
deservedly  fortunate  pair,  and  a  sagacious  couple. 

At  your  age  to  be  able  to  retire !  I  My  1 
Wouldn't  I  if  I  could  !  But  1  shall  never  be  able 
to  retire  ;  never  free,  never  out  of  harness,  until  I 
lie  down  in  the  loose-box  and  am  carried  off  to  the 
knackers,  unless  I  go  to  the  dogs  previously  by  some 
shorter  and  cheaper  route. 

Yours  ever, 

F.  C.  B. 


In  spite  of  severe  illness  these  sympathetic  lines 
were  penned  by  Wilkie  Collins :  "  With  all  my 
heart  I  congratulate  you  both  on  retirement  from 
the  toils  and  cares  of  a  career  of  management  which 
will  be  remembered  among  the  noblest  traditions  of 
the  English  stage." 

Gilbert  wrote  :  "  I  congratulate  you  heartily  upon 
what  I  am  sure  is  a  subject  of  congratulation  to 
Mrs.    Bancroft   and    yourself,   however   discomfiting 


LETTERS   FROM   FRIENDS  259 

your  retirement  from  management  must  necessarily 
be  to  all  playgoers." 

There  could  be  no  more  competent  critic  of  the 
circumstances  than  Hare,  who  wrote  :  "I  am  de- 
lighted, though  not  surprised,  to  learn  that  you  are 
in  the  proud  position  of  being  able  to  retire  in  the 
prime  of  your  life  from  our  harassing  and  wearying 
profession.  You  have  both  worked  well  and  loyally, 
have  done  the  stage  the  highest  service,  and  well 
deserve  your  rest." 

Pinero,  whose  last  experiences  as  an  actor  were 
acquired  under  our  management,  before  he  resolved 
to  abandon  the  stage  and,  happily  for  the  modern 
drama,  devote  himself  to  play  writing,  wrote :  "It 
is  my  opinion,  expressed  here  as  it  is  elsewhere, 
that  the  present  advanced  condition  of  the  English 
stage — throwing  as  it  does  a  clear,  natural  light  upon 
the  manners  of  life  and  people,  where  a  few  years 
ago  there  was  nothing  but  mouthing  and  tinsel — 
is  due  to  the  crusade  begun  by  Mrs.  Bancroft  and 
yourself  in  your  little  Prince  of  Wales's  Theatre. 
When  the  history  of  the  stage  and  its  progress  is 
adequately  and  faithfully  written,  Mrs.  Bancroft's 
name  and  your  own  must  be  recorded  with  honour 
and  gratitude."  These  were  valued  words  from  one 
who,  by  the  splendid  works  he  has  produced,  long 
since  earned  an  unchallenged  position  among  the 
great  dramatists  of  England. 

Our  intention  was  not  made  public  till  the 
autumn  of  1884,  when  we  just  briefly  announced 
in  the  advertisements  our  last  season  in  manage- 
ment. The  statement  caused  a  considerable  stir, 
and  drew  fortji  not  only  much  comment  but  even 
leading  articles  in  the  chief  newspapers — from  which 
our  Chorus  will  sing  a  few  bars.  In  allusion  to  a 
short  speech  extracted  from  me  on  the  first  night 
of  the  last  season.  The  Times  remarked  :  '*  The  effect 
of  Mr.  Bancroft's  words  was  magnetic.  Spoken 
from  the  heart,  they  went  straight  to  the  heart, 
and  manager  and   audience   felt   themselves   drawn 


260       THE   HAYMARKET   THEATRE 

to  each  other  by  the  bond  of  affection  that  hnks 
old  and  well-tried  friends." 

21ie  Daily  Telegraph  and  other  leading  journals 
paid  us  the  tribute  of  saying  that  we  were  equally 
eminent  as  managers  and  players,  and  even  if  our 
achievements  in  the  latter  capacity  could  be  for- 
gotten, we  should  continue  to  be  regarded  as  the 
great  reformers  of  the  stage.  .  .  .  Only  those  play- 
goers, it  was  said,  who  were  familiar  with  the  state 
of  the  stage  before  the  Prince  of  Wales's  Theatre 
revolutionised  our  English  dramatic  system  had  any 
idea  of  what  our  management  had  done  towards  the 
furthering  of  the  better  condition  of  things  that  was 
now  enjoyed.  .  .  .  Prior  to  the  realistic  effects  pro- 
duced at  the  Lyceum,  a  great  advance  in  stage 
decoration  had  been  introduced  and  achieved  at  the 
Prince  of  Wales's  Theatre  when  under  our  control. 
It  was  in  that  little  theatre  that  attention  was  first 
directed  to  the  naturalness  of  scenery  and  to  the 
soft  effect  and  comfort  of  set  scenes  representing 
interiors.  It  was  here,  too,  under  the  same  reign, 
that,  when  the  Robertson  comedies  were  introduced, 
men  and  women  were  represented  on  the  stage  as 
men  and  women  conduct  themselves  in  real  life. 
At  the  Haymarket  Theatre  the  same  poHcy  had 
been  continued.  This  was  declared  to  be  a  matter 
which  deserved  to  be  recorded  in  theatrical  history. 
Twenty  years  earlier,  it  was  recalled,  our  theatres 
had  fallen  almost  to  their  lowest  ebb ;  for  though 
there  were  some  good  actors  there  were  no  really 
good  companies,  while  stage  management  was  almost 
a  lost  art.  Thanks,  however,  to  our  example,  a 
vast  improvement  had  been  effected.  There  were 
now  many  houses  where  performances  of  a  high 
order  were  to  be  seen.  But  between  originating 
and  following  there  was  all  the  difference  in  the 
world.  As  Tennyson  had  said :  **  Most  can  raise 
the  flower  now,  for  all  have  got  the  seed."  Future 
historians  of  the  stage  were  bidden  to  note  that  in 
the   remarkable    revival   of    the    stage    which    that 


TRIBUTES  261 

generation  had  witnessed  "  the  Bancroft  manage- 
ment "  had  led  the  way.  ..."  By  those  whose 
experience  does  not  go  far  enough  back,  the  revolu- 
tion in  dress  and  scenery  is  dated  from  the  Irving 
management  at  the  Lyceum ;  but  it  was  at  the 
Prince  of  Wales's  Theatre  that  it  was  first  started." 
And  the  writer  put  his  finger  on  the  source  of  our 
great  pride  and  pleasure  when  he  spoke  of  the 
satisfaction  we  should  receive  from  the  public  ac- 
knowledgment that  we  had  inaugurated  the  brighter 
era  which  had  opened  over  the  English  stage,  and 
should  leave  behind  us  followers  in  our  footprints. 
"  Retiring  as  they  will  do  in  the  fulness  of  their 
fame,  and  with  their  laurels  still  green,  thej^  will  carry 
with  them  into  private  life  the  proud  consciousness 
of  having  unfalteringly  upheld  the  best  traditions 
of  the  English  stage,  and  of  having  won  the  uni- 
versal esteem  and  acclaim  to  which  their  artistic 
talents  and  their  personal  worth  entitle  them." 

The  following  extract  is  chosen  with  some 
hesitation  from  a  "fighting"  article,  written  at  this 
time,  1885,  by  a  well-known  playwright,  who  is 
renowned  for  his  warm  sympathies  and  outspoken 
expressions  of  opinion: 

"  The  movement  which  lifted  the  stage  out  of 
the  Slough  of  Despond,  and  ultimately  set  it  on 
its  present  pinnacle  of  popularity  and  consequent 
prosperity,  originated  at  a  time  when  Henry  Irving 
was  an  almost  unknown  actor.  Irving  did  not 
initiate  this  great  reform ;  the  reform  initiated  Irving. 
The  tide  was  turned  by  others,  and  on  its  billows 
Irving  floated  into  fame.  Before  Irving  was  a  manager, 
the  comedy  theatres  had  carried  stage  management 
to  a  high  pitch  of  excellence,  and  the  public  had 
already  begun  to  flock  towards  the  stage,  attracted 
not  simply  by  the  beauty  of  the  mounting,  but  by 
artistic  acting  and  a  genuine  interest  in  the  play. 
We  must  go  farther  back  than  Irving  ;  we  must  go 
farther  back  than  the  comedy  theatres  ;  we  must  go 
back  to  the  parent   comedy  theatre  in   Tottenham 


262       THE   HAYMARKET   THEATRE 

Street.  The  Kendals,  John  Hare,  and  the  excellent 
St.  James's  company,  John  Clayton,  Arthm-  Cecil, 
and  the  admirable  Court,  are  simply  reproductions 
and  developments  of  the  Bancrofts  and  the  old 
Prince  of  Wales's  Theatre." 

Our  farewell  season,  I  fear,  added  but  little  to 
our  fame,  being  devoted  mainly  to  short  revivals  of 
familiar  plays  already  dealt  with  in  this  book.  The 
date  of  our  very  last  appearance  in  management  was 
fixed  upon  and  made  known:  July  20,  1885.  What 
the  performance  should  comprise  caused  us  much 
anxious  thought.  It  was  finally  composed  of  selec- 
tions from  Money  and  London  Assurance,  to  be 
acted  by  former  members  of  our  companies,  and  part 
of  Masks  and  Faces,  with  the  leading  members  of 
that  season's  company  in  the  cast,  and  with  our- 
selves as  Peg  Woffington  and  Triplet.  Irving  had 
expressed  his  earnest  wish  to  have  a  share  in  the 
proceedings,  an  offer  we  gratefully  accepted,  it  being 
agreed  that  he  should  speak  some  lines  written  by 
Clement  Scott.  His  acknowledgment  of  our  invita- 
tion came  in  these  words : 

My  dear  Friends, 

If  this  were  not  indeed  a  "  labour  of  love," 
I  should  not  put  pen  to  paper  any  more,  or  cudgel 
my  brains  in  any  delightful  cause  again.  I  take  it 
as  an  act  of  extreme  friendship  to  endow  me  with 
this  "office  of  love."  This  compliment  to  me  shows 
me  that  you  two,  who  are  about  my  oldest  friends, 
recognise  that  I  have  some  place  in  the  revivalism 
that  you  instituted.  My  sole  fear  is  that,  with  all 
my  earnest  endeavours,  I  shall  not  be  able  to  do 
full  justice  to  a  theme  that  is  so  dear  to  my  heart, 
or  express  with  adequate  enthusiasm  what  I  really 
feel. 

Yours  affectionately, 

Henry  Irving. 

We  also  received  a  characteristic  letter  from  dear 
Toole,  offering  to  "  play  the  audience  in  or  out ;  as 


THE   FAREWELL   PERFORMANCE   263 

early  as  you  choose,  or  as  late ;  or  even,  on  such  an 
interesting  evening,  turn  up  the  gas,  go  round  with 
apples,  oranges,  etc.,  ring  up  the  curtain,  clear  the 
stage,  or  anything  !  " 

And  William  Terriss  wrote  ; 

"  It  scarcely  needs  a  letter  from  me  to  tell  you 
how  more  than  pleased  and  complimented  I  shall  feel 
at  being  able  (if  you  will  permit  me)  to  participate  in 
your  farewell  performance.  The  more  so  as  it  was 
your  kindly  aid  in  my  early  days  which  did  so  much 
to  give  me  what  poor  position  I  now  hold.  Our 
profession  will  lose  in  you  a  consummate  artist  and  a 
kind,  generous  gentleman — and  we  shall  experience 
equal  loss  in  your  gifted  wife." 

From  the  day  that  our  farewell  performance  was 
announced,  the  booking-office  was  besieged  by  ap- 
plications, made  in  every  possible  way,  to  secure 
seats,  and  it  became  a  very  difficult  matter  to  deal 
with  them,  as  no  building  that  I  know  anything 
about  would  have  held  the  many  thousands  who 
honoured  us  with  a  wish  to  be  present.  On  all  im- 
portant occasions  the  task  of  the  management  is  very 
onerous  in  apportioning  the  seats,  but  for  so  special 
a  night  the  difficulties  w^ere  a  hundredfold  increased. 
To  accommodate  as  large  a  number  as  w^as  possible, 
the  capacious  stall  and  balcony  arm-chairs  were  taken 
away,  and  smaller  ones  placed  in  their  stead.  We 
had  another  difficulty  to  contend  with  in  the  efforts 
made  to  obtain  admission,  at  almost  any  cost,  by 
bribery ;  and  only  owing  to  the  perfect  loyalty  of  all 
concerned  was  it  possible  to  carry  out  our  intention 
that  every  place  in  the  theatre  should  be  either  sold 
at  the  ordinary  charge  or  given  away.  This,  so  far 
as  we  were  concerned,  was  accomplished,  though 
twenty  guineas  were  freely  offered  by  enthusiasts  for 
a  corner  in  any  part  of  the  theatre. 

We  were  much  honoured  bylthe  King  (then,  of 
course.  Prince  of  Wales)  suggesting  the  date,  in 
order  that  he  might,  with  the  Princess  of  Wales, 
be  present ;  while  the  Prince  and  Princess  Christian 


264       THE   HAYMARKET   THEATRE 

also  signified  their  intention  to  occupy  a  private 
box.  Great  compliments  were  also  paid  us  by  "  all 
sorts  and  conditions  of  men  "  in  the  personal  letters 
we  received  wishing  seats  to  be  reserved. 

In  answer  to  the  following  little  note,  a  seat  was 
of  course  found  for  so  distinguished  a  member  of 
our  calling  as  Mrs.  Keeley,  who  before  she  died,  at  a 
very  advanced  age,  had  the  honour  of  being  sent  for 
by  Queen  Victoria  : 

My  dear  Mrs.  Bancroft, — 

Will  you  allow  me  to  be  one  of  the  crowd 
who  will  assemble  on  the  night  of  the  20th,  to  ex- 
press their  regret  at  your  retirement  from  manage- 
ment, for  regret  will  be  the  general  feeling  ? 
My  career  was  ended  when  yours  began. 
With  kindest  regards  to  Mr.  Bancroft  and  your- 
self, 

Believe  me,  yours  sincerely, 

Mary  Anne  Keeley. 


I  select  the  following  letter  from  a  cherished  little 
bundle  of  them  received  at  this  time : 


29,  Carlyle  Square,  Chelsea, 
July  IQth,  1885. 

My  dear  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Bancroft, — 

The  sadness  I  feel  at  the  prospect  of  never 
again  working  under  your  management  is  far  too 
genuine  for  me  to  endeavour  to  convey  it  by  any 
conventional  expressions  of  regret.  Although  I  have 
always  appreciated  your  unvarying  goodness  to  me, 
it  is  only  by  the  depression  of  spirits  and  general 
apathy  which  I  now  experience,  that  I  recognise  how 
much  my  enjoyment  of  my  profession  was  affected 
by  the  kind  auspices  under  which  I  had  the  good 
fortune  to  practise  it. 

Yours  affectionately, 

Charles  H.  E.  Brookfield. 


AN   EVENTFUL   NIGHT  265 

Very  early  on  the  eventful  day  earnest  knots  of 
playgoers  began  to  assemble  round  the  doors  leading 
to  the  unreserved  seats,  which  we  would  not  allow 
to  be  secured  in  advance.  I  have  heard  of  the  most 
enthusiastic  among  those  present  at  Macready's  fare- 
well of  the  stage,  when  plays  began  much  earlier 
than  now,  being  at  the  pit  entrance  of  Drury  Lane 
by  one  o'clock  ;  and  when  Charles  Kean  retired  from 
the  Princess's,  I  was  myself  in  the  crowd  at  an  early 
hour  ;  but  our  admirers  seemed  even  more  devoted. 
Hour  by  hour  the  number  swelled.  It  grew  so  large 
at  last,  and  so  utterly  beyond  all  chance  of  more  than 
a  fraction  of  it  ever  fighting  its  way  into  the  theatre, 
that  the  traffic  had  to  be  turned  aside  by  the  police, 
and  sent,  to  the  amazement  of  many  occupants  of  cabs 
and  other  vehicles,  by  neighbouring  thoroughfares. 

Several  managers  of  leading  theatres  changed 
their  programmes,  or  altered  the  hours  of  commence- 
ment, in  order  to  be  present ;  while  other  friends 
sacrificed  some  days  of  hard-earned  holiday  purposely 
to  remain  in  England  for  the  occasion,  and  more  than 
one  returned  from  the  Continent  to  do  us  honour. 

In  addition  to  our  own  names,  and  those  of  Irving 
and  Toole,  the  playbill  contained  the  following  names 
of  past  and  present  members  of  our  companies  : — 
F.  Archer,  Maurice  Barrymore,  Kyrle  Belle w,  Alfred 
Bishop,  W.  S.  Blakeley,  Charles  Brookfield,  Arthur 
Cecil,  John  Clayton,  Charles  Coghlan,  Charles 
CoUette,  W.  G.  Elliot,  John  Hare,  David  James, 
Henry  Kemble,  W.  H.  Kendal,  Edmund  Maurice, 
A.  W.  Pinero,  J.  Forbes-Robertson,  Charles  Sugden, 
William  Terriss,  and  Charles  Wyndham  ;  Carlotta 
Addison,  Eleanor  Calhoun,  Mrs.  Canninge,  Mrs. 
Kendal,  Mrs.  Langtry,  Mrs.  Stirling,  Ellen  Terry, 
and  Mrs.  John  Wood. 

It  was  a  tribute  never  to  be  forgotten.  My  wife 
had  much  difficulty  in  controlling  her  emotions,  and 
her  own  words  best  describe  her  state  of  mind. 

No    written   description    can   give   an    adequate 


266       THE   HAYMARKET   THEATRE 

idea  of  the  whole  scene  from  the  rise  of  the  curtain 
until  its  final  fall.  For  many  weeks  I  had  felt  as 
though  a  heavy  weight  were  tugging  at  my  heart. 
Those  two  relentless  words  ''  Good-bye  "  haunted  me, 
wherever  I  went,  whatever  I  did.  They  were  the 
last  visions  in  my  mind  when  going  to  sleep,  and 
they  rose  up  in  big  letters  on  my  awakening.  The 
beautiful  theatre  presented  a  striking  appearance. 
The  Royal  box  was  occupied  by  the  Prince  and 
Princess  of  Wales,  accompanied  by  the  three  young 
princesses  ;  the  box  on  the  opposite  side  by  the  Prince 
and  Princess  Christian,  with  whom  were  Lord  and 
Lady  St.  Helier  (then  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Jeune).  During 
the  evening  I  found  an  opportunity  of  glancing  at 
that  remarkable  audience.  I  saw  the  late  Lady 
Salisbury  by  the  side,  I  remember,  of  Lord  Lytton 
("Owen  Meredith")  and  the  Rev.  Henry  White  of 
the  Savoy  Chapel.  Close  by  were  Lord  Granville 
and  Frederic  Leighton.  Among  others,  I  caught 
sight  of  Lady  Dorothy  Nevill,  looking  like  a  charm- 
ing portrait  of  one  of  her  own  ancestors ;  and  1  saw 
also  Henry  Thompson,  Edmund  Yates,  and  a  face 
rarely  seen  at  a  play— that  of  Robert  Browning. 

How  I  managed  to  dress  for  my  part  I  know 
not.  I  can  only  remember  floral  offerings  of  every 
conceivable  design  being  brought  to  me,  until  there 
were  so  many  that  they  had  to  be  taken  to  a  larger 
room.  When  I  walked  on  to  the  stage  in  Masks  and 
Faces,  my  reception  was  so  overpowering,  and  the 
"  good-bye  "  in  my  throat  so  big,  that  it  was  with 
the  greatest  difficulty  I  managed  to  keep  up  until 
the  end,  and  to  speak  the  touching  final  words  of 
the  play :  "  Good-bye.  When  hereafter  you  hear 
harsh  sentence  passed  on  us — whose  lot  was  admira- 
tion, rarely  love  ;  triumph,  but  seldom  tranquillity — 
think  sometimes  of  Margaret  Woffington  and  say, 
*  Stage  Masks  may  cover  honest  Faces  and  hearts 
beat  true  beneath  a  tinselled  robe.' " 

The  "  Valedictory  Ode,"  composed  by  Clement 


A   VALEDICTORY   ODE  267 

Scott,  was  then  spoken  by  Henry  Irving.     Among 
its  stanzas  were  the  following : 

"  Not  to  all  artists,  earnest  though  their  aim, 
As  retrospective  vision  there  appears 
The  priceless  gift  of  an  untarnished  name. 
The  blameless  history  of  twenty  years. 

"  Fired  by  the  flush  of  youth,  they  found  a  way 
To  give  the  fading  art  a  healthy  cure ; 
The  stage  they  loved  revived  beneath  their  sway, 
They  made  art  earnest,  and  they  kept  it  pure. 

"Such  an  example  in  the  after-age 

Will  throw  a  softening  haze  o^er  bygone  care ; 
We  close  the  volume  at  its  brightest  page. 
But  leave  a  blossom  of  remembrance  there. 

"  Good-bye,  old  friends  !    it  shall  not  be  farewell ; 
Love  is  of  art  the  birth  and  after-growth ; 
'  Heaven  prosper  you,"  shall  be  our  only  knell, 
Our  parting  prayer  be  this — '  God  bless  you  both  ! '  **' 

Irving  was  followed  by  Toole,  who  set  the 
audience  laughing  loudly  with  his  humorous  and 
affectionate  speech,  which  concluded  with  the  hope 
that  the  brief  engagement  of  Irving  and  himself 
under  our  management,  which  was  limited,  in  fact, 
to  one  night,  would  not  be  reported  as  having  been 
the  means  of  closing  the  theatre  ! 

The  stage  was  strewn  with  the  beautiful  flowers 
that  had  been  arriving  throughout  the  evening  for 
Mrs.  Bancroft ;  and  in  their  midst — full  of  thought 
of  how  serious  the  moment  really  was  to  us — I  made 
a  farewell  speech  ;  in  which,  addressing  the  Prince 
and  Princess  of  Wales  and  the  audience,  I  told  them 
how  for  a  long  time  I  had  dreaded  that  moment,  and 
had  often  wondered  if,  when  it  came,  I  should  be 
able  to  speak  at  all.  But  my  best  hope  of  doing  so 
was  in  the  remembrance  that  I  had  to  offer,  as  well 
as  my  own  thanks,  the  thanks  of  my  wife,  whose 
life,  from  her  early  childhood,  had  been  passed  in  the 
service  of  the  public,  for  the  many  years  of  constant 
kindness  shown  to  us,  not  only  by  the  brilliant  and 


268       THE   HAYMARKET   THEATRE 

representative  audience  then  before  us,  but  by  that 
great  world  of  friends  unknown,  yet  known  so  well — 
the  public.  I  assured  them  that  we  had  not  taken 
this,  to  us,  important  step  without  full  reflection — 
we  knew  how  much,  in  resigning  management,  we 
gave  up ;  but  release  from  the  sordid  side  of  life, 
which  must  have  its  share  in  every  profession,  made 
some  amends — while  that  which  for  so  long  a  time 
had  been  our  pride  was  also  a  great  responsibility  ;  and 
we  asked  them  to  believe  that  we  valued  their  regard 
too  highly  to  risk  for  a  moment  a  fraction  of  its  decay. 

We  felt,  the  speech  went  on,  how  far  beyond  our 
merits  were  the  honours  and  compliments  which  had 
been  showered  upon  us  from  every  side,  and  how 
deeply  conscious  I  was  of  the  poverty  of  my  attempt 
to  acknowledge  them.  Robbed  now  of  the  actor's 
art,  I  must  ask  them  to  clothe  my  words  with  all 
the  eloquence  and  wealth  of  thanks  I  meant  them 
to  convey. 

If  it  had  been  my  privilege,  I  said,  to  spare 
Mrs.  Bancroft  such  labour  and  anxieties  as  should 
not  fall  to  a  woman's  lot,  how  amply  had  I  been 
repaid  !  Most  of  us,  I  thought,  owed  Mrs.  Bancroft 
something,  but  I  was  by  far  the  heaviest  in  her  debt. 
I  alone  knew  how  she  had  supported  me  in  trouble, 
saved  me  from  many  errors,  helped  me  to  many 
victories  ;  and  it  was  she  who  had  given  to  our  work 
those  finishing  touches,  those  last  strokes  of  genius, 
which,  in  all  art,  are  priceless. 

It  would  ill  become  me,  I  went  on,  to  talk  of 
what  we  had  tried  to  do ;  but,  should  we  be  re- 
membered as  the  humble  pioneers  of  anything  that 
might  have  advanced  the  art  we  loved — if  we  should 
be  thought,  in  some  way,  to  have  made  its  position 
better  than  we  found  it — it  would  be  a  high  distinc- 
tion. No  one  could  succeed  without  a  staif  and  an 
army.  In  every  branch  our  fellow- workers — from 
those  distinguished  authors  and  actors,  those  masters 
of  the  craft  whose  names  would  spring  at  once  to 
the  memory  of  my  hearers,  to  the  humblest  members 


FAREWELL   SPEECH  269 

of  our  ranks — had  been  so  loyal  and  forbearing  to 
us  that  we  should  feel  for  ever  in  their  debt.  Indeed, 
I  declared,  it  was  but  the  simple  truth  to  say  that 
all  we  had  earned  of  fame  and  fortune  we  owed  to 
the  calling  we  had  followed,  and  it  would  be  a  poor 
return  not  to  give  it  back  the  brightest  feelings  of 
our  natures. 

Our  thanks  were  not  yet  exhausted.  How 
cordially,  I  said,  were  they  due  to  those  old  comrades 
who  had  come  that  night  to  give  us  so  strong  a  sign 
of  their  good- will,  joined  by  those  valued  friends, 
John  Toole  and  Henry  Irving !  The  distinction 
given  to  our  retirement  by  such  proofs  of  friendship, 
and  by  Irving's  recital  of  Scott's  generous  poem, 
were,  to  us,  beyond  value ;  and  I  asked  the  audience 
to  believe  that  our  remembrance  of  such  kindness — 
like  our  remembrance  of  the  scene  before  our  eyes — 
would  never  pass  away. 

"  Ladies  and  gentlemen,"  I  concluded,  "  I  have 
detained  you  too  long.  .  .  .  To  say  how  much  we 
thank  you  is  but  little,  to  feel  how  much  we  thank 
you  is  a  great  deal.  As  managers,  I  have  now,  in 
my  wife's  name  and  my  own,  to  bid  you  good-bye. 
We  do  so  with  feelings  of  thankfulness,  of  great 
respect,  and,  if  you  will  permit  us  to  approach  you 
so  nearly,  with  feelings  of  deep  affection." 

I  add  a  few  words  from  a  letter  written  at  the 
time  by  my  wife : 

"How  my  husband  got  through  his  farewell 
speech  is  a  marvel  to  me,  for  he  was  painfully 
agitated.  The  stage  was  beautifully  decorated  with 
masses  of  flowers  by  several  ladies,  who  kindly  offered 
to  do  the  duty,  and  a  path  was  formed  right  down 
to  the  footlights,  with  a  border  of  bouquets  on  either 
side,  through  which  we  walked  when  we  went  on  to 
make  our  final  bow.  The  curtain  was  raised  many 
times,  and  the  sight  of  the  upstanding  audience 
cheering  and  waving  their  handkerchiefs  was  some- 
thing to  remember.     The  sound  of  their  voices,  the 


270       THE   HAYMARKET   THEATRE 

enthusiasm,  the  deafening  applause,  and  the  strains 
of '  Auld  Lang  Syne '  played  by  the  band  were  all 
so  bewildering  to  my  senses  that  I  felt  dazed  and 
as  if  in  a  dream. 

"  When  all  this  was  over  the  Princess  of  Wales 
sent  for  me,  and,  after  gracious  words  of  sympathy, 
presented  me  with  the  bouquet  which  she  was  carry- 
ing. You  may  imagine  how  deeply  all  this  affected 
me.  Many  dear  friends  came  round  to  speak  pleasant 
words  to  me  afterwards.  We  remained  in  the  theatre 
some  time  before  leaving,  but  the  crowd  which  had 
assembled  in  order  to  see  us  depart,  completely  block- 
ing the  whole  street,  still  waited,  and  as  we  passed 
through  to  the  carriage,  those  who  were  near  enough 
pressed  forward  to  shake  hands  with  us,  while  expres- 
sions of  regret  and  good  wishes  were  called  out  on 
every  side.  As  the  carriage  went  slowly  through  the 
crowd,  hands  were  thrust  in,  and,  grasping  mine,  the 
people  shouted,  *  It  mustn't  be  good-bye  ! '  '  Don't 
go  away  ! '     *  Stay  with  your  friends  ! ' 

"  In  the  silence  of  the  night  I  reflected  on  the 
past — on  my  early  struggles  and  its  hard  work,  on 
many  triumphs,  on  bold  achievements.  ...  I  had  a 
long  think  and  a  good  cry." 

My  wife's  reflections  will  be  understood. 

I  will  now  turn  to  the  weighty  words  of  influential 
writers  from  whom,  throughout  our  career,  we  re- 
ceived encouragement  and  support — so  valuable  in 
early  days,  so  great  an  honour  later,  when  maturer 
work  was  judged  by  the  highest  standard.  Such 
writers  have  done  much  to  aid  the  actor  and  his  art 
to  reach  the  position  they  now  enjoy. 

In  the  morning  after  the  performance  on  which 
I  have  dwelt  so  long,  we  were  equally  surprised  and 
flattered  to  find  that  all  the  principal  papers  con- 
tained leading  articles  on  the  subject  of  our  career. 
We  read  in  The  Times,  that  on  the  side  of  acting, 
as  on  that  of  staging  plays,  we  had  led  the  way  in 
beneficent  reform.     We  had  aimed,  and  with  success, 


LEADING   ARTICLES  271 

at  forming  a  cast  of  equal  strength  throughout,  and 
thus  giving  a  finished  performance  in  place  of  the 
scrappy,  uneven  representations  with  which  most 
managers  had  previously  been  content.  London  now 
had  several  companies  trained  to  work  together,  and 
capable  of  doing  justice  to  all  the  characters  in  a 
play ;  but,  though  playgoers  were  now  learning  to 
look  upon  this  as  a  matter  of  course,  it  must  be 
remembered  that  things  had  been  very  different 
twenty  years  before.  The  idea  was  by  no  means 
widely  held  when  our  management  began.  The 
benefits  of  the  change  were  felt  in  all  ranks  of  the 
profession ;  for  a  higher  standard  of  attainment  had 
been  set  up,  and  with  it  had  come  a  more  liberal 
remuneration  and  greater  social  consideration  for 
the  actor. 

"  They  are  equally  eminent,"  said  The  Daily  Tele- 
graph, "  as  managers  and  as  players " ;  and  even  if 
our  achievements  in  the  latter  capacity  could  be 
forgotten,  we  should  continue  to  be  regarded  as  the 
great  reformers  of  the  stage,  and  the  introducers  of 
naturalness  into  what,  before  our  time,  was  often 
strangely  unnatural.  Before  the  era  of  our  manage- 
ment truthfulness  of  theatrical  representation  had 
been  almost  unknown  in  England.  It  was  owing  to 
us  that  the  principle  had  now  been  adopted  by  all 
English  managers ;  and  we  should  be  remembered, 
not  only  for  our  histrionic  talents,  but  because  our 
influence  on  the  English  stage  would,  beyond  doubt, 
prove  permanent. 

The  Morning  Post  pointed  out  that,  for  sensa- 
tional impossibilities  and  situations  of  the  conventional 
type,  we  had  substituted  material  less  highly  spiced 
perhaps,  but  far  more  wholesome  in  every  way,  and 
while  trusting  in  one  sense  far  less  to  the  accessories 
of  a  play,  in  another  we  had  utilised  them  in  a 
subordinate  manner  to  the  fullest  advantage.  In  a 
word,  the  great  gulf  which  had  for  so  long  yawned 
between  the  people  of  actual  life  and  the  typical 
characters  of  the  stage  was  completely  bridged  over. 


272       THE   HAYMARKET   THEATRE 

The  stage  had  been  rescued  from  the  dislocation 
between  the  drama  and  all  that  is  best  in  our  social 
life.     And  the  task  had  been  far  from  easy. 

"  Only  actors  and  actresses  who  have  mastered 
their  art  know  precisely  how  much  and  how  little 
exaggeration  is  required  to  make  Art  and  acting  look 
like  Nature."  This  just  observation  in  The  Standard 
was  followed  by  the  statement  that  I  had  solved  this 
problem  many  years  ago  and  had  never  lost  the 
secret,  and  my  wife  "  would  not  have  made  prisoners 
of  us  all  if  she  had  not  given  herself  the  trouble  to 
learn  the  art  of  acting."  Gifted  with  rare  quickness 
of  apprehension,  and  a  lightness  of  touch  that  could 
not  be  excelled,  she  had  yet  always  remained  a 
careful  and  conscientious  student,  whose  work  would 
be  vainly  searched  for  traces  of  crudity  in  anything 
she  did. 

The  Daily  News  recalled  how  twenty  years  before 
it  had  been  the  common  canon  of  theatrical  manage- 
ment that  there  could  not  again  be  any  original 
English  plays.  They  had  gone  out  with  the  days 
of  Sheridan.  ''  The  Bancrofts  had  the  courage  to 
break  away  from  the  bondage  of  this  absurd  super- 
stition." We  had  attained  our  celebrity  by  the 
production  of  pieces  which  were  genuinely  English 
and  came  straight  out  of  the  ways  of  English  life. 
We  had  made  their  people  move  and  talk  and  demean 
themselves  just  as  English  people  of  the  class 
represented  would  do  in  English  homes.  We  had 
reasserted  the  claims  of  English  life  in  two  ways — in 
the  story  of  the  play  and  in  the  manner  of  its  acting. 

The  Daily  Chronicle  entitled  us  the  pioneers  of 
truth  in  art  and  of  excellence  in  everything  pertaining 
to  what  we  essayed.  We  had  begun  our  campaign 
at  a  period  when  sweeping  reforms  in  regard  to 
stage  mounting  were  sorely  needed.  Our  manage- 
ment stood  alone  in  the  endeavour  to  improve  stage 
details,  and  in  the  keener  competition  that  had  ensued 
we  had  never  been  found  in  the  rear.  That  English 
dramatic  art  had  reached  its  present  pitch  of  excellence 


JUSTIN  McCarthy  273 

was  owing  to  ourselves.  "By  their  influence,  and 
under  their  control,  the  domain  of  the  stage  with 
which  they  have  been  associated,  the  comedy  of 
manners,  has  made  gigantic  strides  ;  their  wise  and 
liberal  patronage  of  the  modern  school  of  drama  has 
produced  most  salutarj^  and  beneficent  effects."  We 
had  aimed  religiously  at  the  highest  attainable  forms 
of  art  in  every  direction.  The  great  and  healthy 
reform  which  had  marked  English  stage  work  during 
the  last  twenty  years  was  due  to  our  united  influence, 
our  earnest  labour,  and  to  our  genuine  talent  and 
sterling  good-will.  Not  only  had  we  been  generally 
wise  in  the  choice  of  plays ;  to  us,  more  than  to 
any  living  member  of  the  profession,  was  due  the 
improvement  in  scenery,  in  costumes  and  matters 
of  detail  which  had  been  a  distinct  gain  to  art.  We 
had  encouraged  rising  talent ;  we  had  adequately 
recognised  the  assistance  of  our  colleagues ;  we  had 
never  adopted  the  star  system. 

And  The  Saturday  Review  declared :  "  It  is  not  too 
much  to  say  that  the  majority  of  the  leading  players 
of  the  day  have  kept  their  terms  and  graduated 
under  this  master  and  mistress." 

Justin  McCarthy,  in  Portr^aits  of  the  Sixties, 
written  some  years  later,  devotes  a  whole  chapter 
to  our  work,  from  which  we  cull  the  following: 

"  Marie  Wilton  was  realistic  in  the  higher  and 
better  sense  of  the  word — she  could  express  human 
emotion  exactly  as  it  might  express  itself  in  the  life 
of  an  EngUsh  home,  but  at  the  same  time  she  had 
that  true  dramatic  instinct  which  enabled  her  to 
divine  the  deeper  feelings  that  might  never  reveal 
themselves  to  the  ordinary  observer.  ...  I  must 
therefore  always  regard  -her  as  having  created  a  new 
epoch  in  the  development  of  modern  English  drama, 
and  we  can  see  the  effect  of  her  work  on  the  English 
stage  of  to-day  as  distinctly  as  we  could  have  seen 
it  when  she  was  still  moving  enthusiastic  audiences 
in  her  London  theatre.  .  .  .  Marie  Wilton  was  as 
fortunate  in  the   artistic   companionship  which   her 

18 


274       THE   HAYMARKET   THEATRE 

marriage  created  for  her  as  in  the  other  conditions 
of  her  hfe.  In  Sir  Squire  Bancroft  she  found  a 
master  of  her  own  dramatic  art,  and  a  man  pecuharly 
gifted  with  the  quahties  which  make  a  successful 
theatrical  manager.  Bancroft  was  a  consummate 
actor  in  the  parts  which  he  believed  suited  to  him.  .  .  . 
In  such  comedies  as  those  of  Robertson,  Bancroft's 
successes  came  upon  a  level  with  the  successes  won 
by  his  brilliant  wife.  His  acting  was  always  natural, 
always  in  the  true  sense  dramatic,  but  it  was  never 
melodramatic ;  he  never  sought  to  produce  effects 
which  might  not  be  associated  with  the  incidents  of 
ordinary  human  life.  I  do  not  mean  to  convey  the 
idea  that  Bancroft  limited  his  art  to  such  plays  as 
those  of  Robertson,  or  to  the  representation  of 
English  life  as  it  then  appeared,  for  he  made  a  great 
success  as  Joseph  Surface  and  as  Triplet.  .  .  .  Any 
intelligent  spectator  could  see  that  he  had  a  capacity 
for  acting  which  was  not  limited  to  the  faithful 
reproduction  of  modern  manners.  Every  now  and 
then  would  come  from  his  lips  some  sentence  delivered 
with  perfect  colloquial  ease,  and  in  the  tone  of 
society,  and  showing  that  the  actor  had  an  amount 
of  dramatic  intensity  and  a  depth  of  expression  which 
had  in  other  plays  found  their  full  effect  in  scenes  of 
more  passionate  emotion.  .  .  .  The  career  of  the 
Bancrofts  will  always  have  a  chapter  to  itself  in 
the  history  of  the  British  stage.  The  husband  and 
the  wife  were  very  different  in  their  styles  of  art, 
and  each  had  a  marked  and  distinct  individuality. 
They  were  much  alike  in  one  valuable  quality — they 
could  both  accomplish  the  greatest  successes  in 
comedy  without  calling  in  the  spurious  aid  of  farcical 
exaggeration.  In  this  happy  gift  they  are  both  entitled 
to  rank  with  the  best  actors  of  the  Parisian  school." 
From  a  valued  source  also  came  these  words  : 
"  Let  me  congratulate  you  both  most  warmly  on 
the  demonstration  of  last  night.  I  am  a  pretty  old 
playgoer,  dating  from  1840,  and  in  bygone  days 
never  missed  any  event  of  genuine  interest.     Among 


FACTS   AND   FIGURES  275 

the  most  prominent  of  such  occasions  was  the  fare- 
well of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Charles  Kean,  on  Monday, 
August  29,  1859.  The  Times  spoke  of  it  as  '  one  of 
the  most  imposing  ovations  ever  seen  within  the 
walls  of  a  theatre,'  and  it  was ;  last  evening  was 
another,  but  there  was  this  difference — the  thoroughly 
representative  character  of  last  night's  audience  was 
never,  in  my  experience,  equalled.  Therein  shines 
the  true  public  feeMng,  all  up  and  down  the  ladder, 
towards  you  both." 

The  following  letter,  addressed  to  my  wife  by  a 
complete  stranger,  is  only  a  single  instance  out  of 
a  very  large  number  of  similar  tributes  : 

"  How  many  of  your  most  respectful  admirers 
were  unable  to  be  present  at  your  farewell  last  night 
you  will  never  know  ;  but  many  of  us  absent  in  body 
were  present  in  spirit.  You  have  helped  the  writer 
of  this  letter  in  many  ways,  and  not  least  in  having 
cleared  away  the  mists  of  prejudice  and  ignorance 
which  a  puritanical  education  had  raised  up. 

"  It  has  been  by  such  good  work  as  yours  and  your 
husband's  that  the  Drama  has  risen  to  its  proper 
position,  and  been  ennobled  even  in  the  eyes  of  those 
brought  up  to  despise  and  condemn  it."  -^  ' 

Here  are  a  few  final  financial  statements  which 
will  help  to  make  theatrical  history.  The  nightly 
expenses  at  the  old  Prince  of  Wales's  Theatre  never 
exceeded  £70 ;  at  the  Haymarket,  when  we  began 
there,  they  reached  £100  ;  and  had  increased  by  the 
end  of  our  stay  to  £120.  £10,000  was  spent  at 
various  times  in  altering  and  decorating  the  little 
old  theatre ;  £20,000  in  the  same  way  at  the 
Haymarket.  The  net  profit  on  the  twenty  years' 
management  exceeded  the  sum  of  £180,000. 

Although  we  finally  abandoned  managerial  cares, 
we  had  not  left  the  stage,  but  of  course  had  given  up 
much  of  its  glory,  and  at  the  best  could  only  re- 
appear now  and  then. 

It  may  be  that  for  my  share  in  the  too  early 
withdrawal  from  continuous   and   triumphant  work 


276       THE   HAYMARKET  THEATRE 

of  the  famous  actress  who  joined  her  lot  in  hfe 
with  mine  I  was  to  blame.  If  blame  there  was,  I 
must  plead  excuse  in  a  vivid,  it  may  be  an  ex- 
aggerated, remembrance  of  pitiful  words,  written  by 
a  powerful  pen,  on  the  subject  of  lingering  too  long 
upon  the  stage.  These  were  words  which  drew  the 
painful  picture  of  a  much-loved  servant  of  the  public 
clinging  to  the  faded  chaplet  won  as  its  idol  in  earher 
days  ;  clutching  at  the  withered  trophy  after  the  time 
had  arrived  for  its  graceful  surrender  to  youth  and 
promise  before  the  admiration  once  so  showered 
upon  her  should  be  replaced  by  indulgence  ;  indul- 
gence to  be  followed  by  the  bitterness  of  compassion  ; 
compassion  in  its  turn  by  the  anguish  of  what  is 
worse  than  all,  indifference.  Indulgence — compassion 
— indifference.  The  mere  writing  of  such  words 
causes  one  pain.  The  clever  woman  was  right  who 
compared  glory  to  wine — as  it  could  provoke  both 
intoxication  and  thirst.  Even  of  the  illustrious  Sarah 
Siddons,  Hazlitt  once  wrote,  "  Players  should  be 
immortal,  but  they  are  not.  I^ike  other  people,  they 
cease  to  be  young,  and  are  no  longer  themselves.  It 
is  the  common  lot.  Any  loss  of  reputation  to  Mrs. 
Siddons  is  a  loss  to  the  world.  Has  she  not  had 
enough  of  glory  ?  The  homage  she  has  received  is 
greater  than  that  which  is  paid  to  queens.  The 
enthusiasm  she  excited  had  something  idolatrous 
about  it.  Does  she  think  we  have  forgot  her  ?  Or 
would  she  remind  us  of  herself  by  showing  us  what 
she  was  not  ? " 

"  She  cannot  go  back  to  the  past's  bright  splendour, 
When  life  seemed  worth  living,  and  love  a  truth. 
Ere  Time  had  told  her  she  must  surrender 
Her  double  dower  of  fame  and  youth."*' 

Twilight  in  art — as  in  nature — must  be  sad ; 
surely  a  sweeter  picture  is  the  splendid  sinking  of  an 
autumnal  sun.     Let  us  not  be  reminded  that 

"  Cold  upon  the  dead  volcano 
Sleeps  the  gleam  of  dying  day."" 


CHAPTER  X 

HOLIDAY     NOTES 
''Trip,  trip  away." 

It  may  be  a  relief  to  the  reader  to  turn  for  a  few 
pages  from  strictly  theatrical  matters  to  reminiscences 
gathered  in  our  simple  hoUday  travels.  These  were 
never  very  far  afield.  In  the  early  years  of  our 
management  holidays  were  brief,  and  were  passed  at 
Scarborough  or  Margate  or  Broadstairs.  It  was  on 
the  Kentish  coast  that  two  episodes  took  place  which, 
with  others,  shall  be  told  by  the  soprano  voice  in  our 
duet.     So  for  the  moment  I  lay  down  my  pen. 

Even  in  the  tranquillity  of  a  quiet  seaside  place  a 
story  of  romantic  interest  can  be  found. 

One  morning  early  I  was  walking  on  the  beach 
when  I  saw  a  young  fellow  hard  at  work  taking  a 
new  boat  to  pieces.  He  was  evidently  in  very  low 
spirits,  and  it  only  needed  a  little  show  of  interest  to 
induce  him  to  explain  his  strange  procedure.  He 
looked  round  to  see  that  there  was  no  one  near, 
and  said,  "  Would  you  mind  listening  to  me  a  while, 
lady  ? " 

He  reflected  for  a  moment,  as  if  to  gulp  down  his 
emotion.  Then  he  told  his  story  in  his  Kentish 
dialect.     I  will  repeat  it  as  best  I  can. 

"Little  more  nor  a  year  ago  I  was  the  'appiest 
chap  in  these  parts,  for  I  loved  a  girl  and  she  loved 
me.     We  was  engaged  and  goin'  to  be  married,  and 

277 


278  HOLIDAY   NOTES 

1  'ad  bought  and  made  from  time  to  time  bits  of 
things  for  furnishin'  a  cottage  a  mile  or  two  out 
yonder.  I  was  that  'appy,  I  could  'ardly  sleep,  mum — 
she  filled  my  'ead  noight  and  day.  All  at  once  a 
dandified  young  chap  come  here  with  a  kind  of  tutor 
they  called  a  *  coach  ' — what  teaches  young  fellars  to 
be  gentlemen,  you  know,  mum.  She  didn't  know 
she  was  so  pretty  till  he  told  her ;  he  filled  her  mind 
with  vain  notions,  and  she  begun  a-lookin'  at  'erself 
all  day  long  in  the  lookin'-glass,  and  dressin'  of  'erself 
more  gay  like.  She  was  leavin'  off  being  the  simple 
lass  I  loved  ;  she  looked  to  me  like  a  boat  a-driftin' 
away  somewhere,  and  I  was  losin'  sight  of  her.  This 
fellar  was  alius  a-runnin'  after  her  and  givin'  her 
things,  so  I  made  up  my  mind  to  marry  her  outright, 
although  I  was  poor.  All  at  once,  one  mornin'  quite 
sudden,  they  both  ran  away."  His  voice  failed  him 
here,  and  he  paused  for  a  second  or  two  before  he 
added,  "  I  'eered  no  more  of  'er,  for  I  never  moved 
a  step  to  foUer  'er.  I  was  sick  in  my  'eart,  and  it 
seemed  chilled  loik  ;  but  my  old  mother  had  to  be 
seen  to  and  took  care  of,  so  I  up  and  set  to  work, 
without  tellin'  the  mother  anything  except  that  my 
girl  'ad  gone  to  a  place  in  London.  Well,  things 
was  prosperous  with  me,  and  soon  I  had  as  much  as 
a  hundred  pound  in  the  bank.  Two  months  ago  I 
'eerd  that  the  fellar  'ad  deserted  my  poor  gal,  and  she 
and  her  baby-choild  was  starvin'.  So  I  took  the  little 
cottage  we  was  to  'ave  if  she  'ad  been  true  to  me ;  I 
puts  in  the  bits  of  furniture  wot  I'd  got  together,  and 
a  little  more.  I've  never  spoken  to  'er,  and  I  never 
will,  but  so  long  as  I  live  she  shall  never  want.  We 
can't  now  never  come  together  no  more ;  but  I  can't 
put  on  one  side  the  remembrance  of  what  she  might 
'ave  been  to  me.  That  boat  I  built  for  'er  and  me, 
and  christened  it  after  her,  Alice.  I  painted  the  name 
in  blue,  because  it  was  the  colour  of  her  eyes,  and  I 
began  a-breakin'  of  it  up,  as  she  'as  broken  up  my 
life." 

How  near  akin  are  truth  and  fiction  !   I  lived  again 


«A  RIVERSIDE   STORY"  279 

in  the  sorrows  of  Ham  Peggotty  and  Little  Em'ly ; 
and  almost  under  the  shadow  of  "  Bleak  House," 
where  Dickens  once  had  stayed. 

I  afterwards  wrote  a  little  play  on  the  subject, 
which  was  admirably  acted  for  me  at  the  Haymarket 
Theatre  for  a  charity  by  some  old  friends,  who  in- 
cluded Mr.  Leonard  Boyne,  Mr.  George  Giddens, 
Kate  Rorke,  Annie  Hughes,  Kate  Phillips,  and  the 
late  much-lamented  Rose  Leclercq  (a  great  loss  to 
the  stage),  to  all  of  whom  I  was  greatly  indebted. 

Mr.  Pigott,  in  sending  me  his  licence  for  the  per- 
formance, was  kind  enough  to  say : 

"  I  feel  grateful  to  you  for  the  unalloyed  enjoy- 
ment I  have  found  in  reading  a  piece  so  pure  and 
generous  and  kindly  in  spirit,  so  true  to  life  and 
nature,  so  pathetic  in  its  simplicity,  so  delicately 
humorous  in  its  observation  of  character,  and,  above 
all,  so  courageous  in  its  consistency  of  purpose  and 
intention,  from  beginning  to  end,  as  A  Riverside 
Story,  You  have  the  courage  to  abjure  the  silly  and 
false  conventionality  of  the  '  happy  ending '  to  a  sad 
story ;  and  you  do  not  think  it  due  to  the  prejudice 
of  the  British  public  to  wind  up  a  domestic  tragedy 
with  a  country  dance.  For  my  own  part,  I  confess, 
I  prefer  your  truer  nature  and  your  finer  art." 

Another  scene  of  humble  fife  impressed  itself  on 
my  memory — a  little  story  of  a  homely  woman  who 
kept  a  small  sweet-stuff  shop.  One  day  I  looked  in, 
as  I  had  done  before,  but  not  to  eat  the  acid-drops  or 
bulls-eyes  which  graced  the  tiny  window  in  a  single 
row  of  greenish  glass  bottles,  and  which  had  lost  their 
colour  and  stuck  together  as  if  to  keep  one  another 
warm.  I  made  my  way  to  the  cramped  sitting-room, 
where  I  was  greeted  by  several  little  voices,  some 
laughing,  some  crying.  There  was  the  mistress  of  the 
house  holding  a  baby  at  her  breast  with  one  hand,  and 
combing  the  hair  of  an  older  baby  with  the  other,  while 
the  rest  of  the  progeny  were  scattered  about  the  room. 
The  poor  woman  appeared  rather  unamiable,  and  I 
asked  her  how  she  was.     She  replied,  "  Oh,  mum,  I'm 


280  HOLIDAY   NOTES 

as  well  as  can  be  expected,  but  I'm  worrited  a  good 
deal !  My  'usband  is  the  most  inconsiderestist  man 
1  knows.  Last  night  he  comes  'ome  for  'is  tea.  I'd 
done  a  hard  day's  washin',  and  I  was  that  tired,  mum, 
I  could  'ardly  'old  up  my  'ead.  He  looks  at  me  and  he 
says,  '  Why,  missus,  ye're  a  lively  one,  I  don't  think ! 
1  comes  'ome  tired  from  work,  and  wants  to  see  yer 
'appy.  Why  don't  yer  larf  ? '  *  Larf ! '  I  says— '  larf  I 
It's  all  very  well  for  you  to  talk !  While  ye're  at 
work  you  'ave  yer  pals  to  talk  to,  and  yer  'ave  the 
fresh  air  to  enjoy.  Here  am  I  stuck  at  home  with 
six  brats  wot's  a-fightin'  and  squaUin'  all  day  long. 
Wot's  there  to  larf  at  in  that  ?  I  'ave  a  babby  to 
nuss,  wot's  that  weak  as  the  doctor  says  I  ought 
to  drink  porter,  and  where  is  it  to  come  from  ? 
Wot's  there  to  larf  at  in  that  ?  There's  I^iza  in  bed 
with  measles,  and  she  'as  to  be  watched  noight  and 
day,  so  I  don't  get  no  sleep.  Wot's  there  to  larf  at 
in  that  ?  Then  there's  Johnny  with  his  'ead  that  bad, 
wot's  brought  on  by  the  school-teachers  a-crammin' 
verses  into  it.  The  doctor  says  that  the  lad'U  'ave 
absence  on  the  brain.  Wot's  there  to  larf  at  in  that  ? 
I  looks  in  the  glass,  and  I  can  see  myself  a-gettin' 
holder  and  huglier  every  day.  Wot's  there  to  larf 
at  in  that  ? ' " 

The  scene  of  many  later  happy  holidays  was 
Switzerland  ;  to  some  part  of  that  beautiful  country 
we  went  regularly  for  nearly  thirty  years.  During 
that  time  we  have  driven  over  nearly  every  one  of  its 
wonderful  mountain  passes,  and  the  memories  we 
cherish  of  the  descent  into  Italy  by  the  Spliigen,  of 
the  marvellous  Simplon,  and  of  the  monarch  of  them 
all,  the  Stelvio,  are  with  us  still — happily  so,  for  I 
must  go  no  more  to  those  great  heights. 

Resting  once  at  Berne,  we  paid  a  hurried  visit 
to  the  funny  old  performing  clock,  a  description  of 
which,  years  afterwards,  as  Lady  Henry  Fairfax,  I 
turned  to  good  account  in  Diploviacy.  From  the 
"  Beau  Rivage  "  on  the  shores  of  Ouchy  we  made 
a  pilgrimage  to  the  Villa  Beausite  on  the  outskirts 


PRACTICAL   JOKES  281 

of  Lausanne  ;  the  house  in  which  John  Kemble  Uved 
after  his  retirement  from  the  stage  in  1817,  and  near 
which  he  was  buried  in  1823.  With  difficulty  we 
discovered  the  last  resting-place  of  "  the  noblest 
Roman  of  them  all " — in  the  strangers'  quarter  of 
a  now  unused  cemetery  on  the  road  to  Berne. 
When  at  last  we  found  a  sexton  to  unlock  the  rusty 
gates,  we  searched  for  the  vault.  The  stone  was 
sadly  neglected,  and  the  enclosed  grave  choked 
with  weeds.  These,  by  our  directions,  were  cleared 
away,  and  we  left  some  flowers  in  their  stead,  a 
small  tribute  to  the  memory  of  a  great  man.  A  few 
years  later  we  went  there  again,  and  then  found 
the  grave  in  perfect  order,  some  member  of  the 
Kemble  family  having,  doubtless,  come  to  know  of 
its  neglected  state.  We  believe  the  improvement 
was  due  to  Fanny  Kemble,  the  daughter  of  his 
brother  Charles  and  aunt  of  our  friend  Henry 
Kemble,  whom  we  met  soon  afterwards  travelling 
with  the  old  lady.  No  greater  lover  of  the  Alps 
has  lived  than  Fanny  Kemble.  Year  after  year,  until 
old  age  came,  did  the  mountains  draw  her  towards 
them,  and  many  an  eloquent  description  of  their 
beauties  is  to  be  found  in  her  charming  books. 

Those  were  the  days  of  youth  and  high  spirits, 
and  I  am  afraid  I  must  confess  to  my  husband  having 
been  something  of  a  practical  joker,  who  would  go 
even  to  such  boyish  lengths  as  this.  One  night, 
at  a  mountain  hotel,  when  a  dance  was  going  on  in 
the  drawing-room,  which  opened  by  very  large 
windows  on  to  the  terrace,  a  friend  and  he  drove  some 
cows  into  the  midst  of  the  dancers,  who  scattered 
themselves  in  all  directions  with  cries  of  "  Les 
vaches  ! — les  vaches  !  "  He  plagued  the  musicians 
terribly,  too,  for  he  was  always  hiding  the  drum- 
sticks. The  performer  on  the  noisy  instrument  they 
belonged  to  passed  much  of  his  time  in  violent 
gesticulations,  as  he  asked,  "  Wo  sind  die  Trommel- 
schlagel  ?  " 

Of  all  our  holiday  resorts  we  were  most  faithful 


282  HOLIDAY   NOTES 

to  the  Engadine  ;  our  attachment  to  the  beautiful 
valley  never  weakened.  We  first  went  to  Pontresina, 
and  soon  learned  to  love  the  little  village  which 
slumbers  in  the  valley  of  the  Inn,  six  thousand  feet 
above  the  sea.  It  is  all,  alas  !  very  different  now,  with 
its  railway,  its  tramcars,  and  hotel  omnibuses.  We 
also  stayed  at  different  times  at  St.  Moritz,  Campfer, 
and  Maloja.  We  met  many  friends  in  all  those 
villages  and  had  happy  times  with  them. 

At  Pontresina  we  became  acquainted  with 
Madame  Goldschmidt— the  world-famed  Jenny  Lind 
— and  her  husband.  Otto  Goldschmidt.  It  was  she 
who  told  us  of  an  incident  which  occurred  during 
one  of  the  provincial  tours  of  the  great  "Swedish 
Nightingale  "  and  her  operatic  company.  The  tenor 
of  the  troupe  stammered  painfully  when  he  spoke, 
though,  when  he  sang,  not  a  trace  of  the  affliction 
could  be  observed.  One  day  they  were  about  to  start 
for  the  next  place  on  their  list,  where  they  had  to 
appear  that  evening.  They  were  all  in  the  railway 
carriage  and  the  train  was  on  the  point  of  starting, 
when  suddenly  the  tenor  discovered  that  a  certain 
black  box,  which  carried  the  important  part  of  their 
wardrobe,  had  been  left  behind.  In  a  terrible  state 
of  excitement  and  anxiety,  he  stammered  out: 
"  The  b-b-b " 

Baritone  :  What's  the  matter  ? 

Tenor  :  The  b-b-b 

Baritone  :  What  is  it,  my  dear  fellow? — what  is  it? 

Tenor  :  The  bl-bl 

Baritone  :  Sing  it,  man  ! — sing  it ! 

Tenor  (in  recitative) :  All,  I  fear,  is  lost ! 

Basso  (shouting) :  What's  lost  ? 

Tenor  :  I  fe-ar  is  lost ! 

Baritone  :  What  do  you  mean,  man  ?     Go  on  I 

Tenor  :  The  black  box  ! 

Basso  :  What  of  it,  man  ?— what  of  it  ? 

Tenor  :  The  black  box  has  been  for-got-ten  ! 

TuTTi :  Oh,  my  goodness,  we  shall  have  no 
clothes  ! 


ENTERTAINMENTS  AT  PONTRESINA  283 

Here  is  one  of  several  letters  written  to  me  by 
the  great  singer: 

1,  MoRETON  Gardens,  South  Kensington. 

Dear  Mrs.  Bancroft, — 

I  am  sorry  to  hear  that  your  head  still 
troubles  you.  I  hope  time  and  calmness  will  come 
to  your  help  ;  stage-work  is  so  apt  to  disturb  the 
head — the  hurry,  the  anxiety  one  is  always  in  on  the 
"  planks  "  (as  we  call  the  stage  in  my  own  country), 
makes  the  head  to  quiver  and  the  sensitive  nerves  to 
quake. 

It  is  very  kind  of  you  to  offer  us  a  box  ;  only,  as 
you  always  can  sell  yours,  it  is  rather  a  hard  task  to 
ask  you  to  become  a  loser  by  us. 

But  your  kind  offer,  sincere  as  I  know  it  is,  has 
been  fully  appreciated  by  us. 

Believe  me,  dear  Mrs.  Bancroft,  yours  sincerely, 
Jenny  Lind  Goldschmidt. 

We  gave  several  successful  entertainments  at 
Pontresina,  the  profits  being  divided  between  the  little 
English  church  and  the  funds  of  the  Verschonerungs- 
Verein  (I  have  copied  that  word  carefully  from  an 
old  programme ;  I  certainly  never  could  spell  it 
myself),  or  Paths  and  Ways  Improvement  Society. 
The  first  consisted  of  a  reading  of  the  death  of  "  Jo  " 
from  Bleak  House,  A  good  sum  was  realised  and  a 
path  made  up  one  of  the  hills  known  as  the  Little 
Muottas.  A  year  or  two  before,  an  old  friend  of 
ours  and  lover  of  the  Engadine  had  strayed  there  one 
afternoon  with  a  favourite  book.  The  time  flew  by, 
and  when  he  began  to  retrace  his  steps  he  found  the 
night  was  falling,  and  that  he  had  lost  his  way. 
Knowing  the  descent  would  grow  more  and  more 
dangerous,  he  wisely  returned  to  the  summit,  by 
which  time  it  was  quite  dark,  and  made  efforts  to 
attract  attention  by  placing  newspapers,  one  by  one, 
on  the  end  of  his  alpenstock  and  setting  fire  to  them. 
He  was  answered  from  the  village  by  a  return  fire. 


284  HOLIDAY   NOTES 

The  news  soon  spread  that  a  search-party  of  guides 
had  gone  up  the  mountain.  His  wife,  being  among 
the  visitors  who  heard  all  this,  began  to  wonder  what 
could  have  detained  her  husband.  The  benighted 
wanderer  was  found  and  brought  down  in  safety. 
With  great  discretion  he  dismissed  the  guides  when 
near  the  village,  and  sauntered  to  his  hotel  as  if 
nothing  had  been  amiss,  passing  unobserved  through 
the  little  crowd  which  was  waiting  anxiously  to  learn 
who  it  was  the  men  had  been  sent  in  search  of.  As 
he,  with  complete  sang-froid,  arrived  at  the  hotel, 
his  wife  ran  towards  him,  saying,  "  Oh,  my  dear,  I 
am  so  glad  to  see  you  back  !  Where  have  you  been  ? 
Some  silly  man  has  lost  himself  on  the  mountain, 
and  /  feared  it  might  be  you  I  " 

Dear  Arthur  Cecil  took  his  share  out  of  the  path 
by  pounding  up  and  down  it  daily  in  the  vain  en- 
deavour to  get  thin  !  Up  this  same  path  I  came 
across  a  remarkable  specimen  of  the  English  language 
affixed  to  a  tree,  as  a  warning  to  all  who  used  it : 
"  In  the  month  of  Juli  and  August  it  will  cuttered 
the  wood  in  the  forest  Because  by  the  transport 
stones  also  are  coming  down  is  it  necessary  to  have 
care  of  it." 

It  was  a  great  pleasure  to  help  towards  the  build- 
ing of  the  little  church,  and  we  got  up  several 
entertainments  in  its  aid  ;  and  so  not  only  was  the 
foundation-stone  laid,  but  the  pretty  church  was 
consecrated  and  opened.  A  kind  old  friend  of 
mine,  the  late  Bishop  of  Gloucester  (Dr.  Ellicott) — 
whose  acquaintance  I  made  through  a  letter  he  wrote 
me  to  ask  if  I  was  connected  with  the  Pleydell 
Wiltons  of  that  city — took  a  leading  part  in  the 
ceremony.  The  Bishop  was  devoted  to  the  Bel  Alp, 
and  once,  when  he  took  my  husband,  who  was 
staying  there,  on  to  the  great  Aletsch  glacier  without 
a  guide,  said  to  him,  speaking  of  Pontresina,  that  he 
did  not  consider  the  Morteratsch  glacier  one  "  fit  for 
a  gentleman." 

We  were  lucky  in  the  friends  we  met  to  help  us 


PRINCE   CHRISTIAN   VICTOR        285 

with  the  entertainments  in  each  succeeding  year. 
Cox  and  Box  was  acted  by  the  briUiant  composer  of 
its  deUghtful  melodies,  Arthur  SuUivan,  and  by 
Arthur  Cecil  and  Joseph  Barnby,  the  last  making  a 
capital  Sergeant  Bouncer.  Arthur  Sullivan  was  very 
anxious  to  have  a  gaudy  waistcoat  for  Mr.  Cox,  and 
we  searched  Pontresina  and  St.  Moritz  high  and  low, 
but  nothing  of  the  kind  could  be  found.  At  last, 
after  fruitless  efforts,  an  idea  struck  me.  I  hunted 
for  a  piece  of  the  most  startling  material  that  I  could 
buy,  and  succeeded  in  finding  a  pattern  that  gave 
one  a  headache  to  look  at.  Arthur  Sullivan  brought 
me  one  of  his  own  waistcoats,  which  I  covered 
with  this  wonderful  conglomeration  of  colour.  He 
was  in  ecstasies,  and  vowed  he  would  never  have  it 
taken  off! 

T'he  Vicarage  was  acted  by  ourselves  and  Arthur 
Cecil ;  and  so  were  Good  for  Nothing  and  a  scene 
from  Money.  These,  with  songs  and  recitations 
and  overtures  played  by  Arthur  Sullivan  and 
our  musical  friend  already  mentioned,  Otto  Gold- 
schmidt,  made  up  happy  evenings  and  drew  large 
sums. 

It  was  at  Pontresina  that  I  had  the  privilege  of 
acting  for  a  short  time  as  sick-nurse  to  one  whom  I, 
with  others  in  all  ranks  of  life  and  all  parts  of  the 
Empire,  recall  with  affection  and  regret.  My  patient 
was  Prince  Christian  Victor  of  Schleswig-Holstein, 
then  a  boy  of  twelve  or  thirteen,  who  was  staying 
there  with  his  parents  and  his  younger  brother, 
Prince  "  Abby."  Prince  Christian  Victor  fell  ill  with 
serious  throat  mischief;  and  when  Princess  Christian 
asked  me  if  I  would  help  her,  I  readily  took  charge 
of  him  and  helped  to  nurse  him  till  he  recovered. 
He  was  a  capital  patient,  gentle  and  obedient.  When 
he  was  well  enough  to  sit  up  and  be  read  to,  what 
he  demanded  first  was  always  the  cricket  news  out 
of  the  papers,  at  which  his  large  blue  eyes  glistened 
with  excitement.  On  the  day  when  he  was  allowed 
to  take  his  first  short  walk,  he  looked  up  at  me,  as 


286  HOLIDAY   NOTES 

we  were  returning  to  the  hotel,  and  said  with  a 
pathetic  smile,  "  You  are  so  good  to  me.  Dr. 
Bancroft "   (for   so    he    called    me).      "  May   I   kiss 

I  allude  to  this  incident  because  it  is  told  in  the 
Life  of  the  young  soldier,  whose  promising  career 
was  so  sadly  cut  short  during  the  South  African 
War.  My  copy  of  the  book  was  given  to  me  by 
the  afflicted  Princess,  with  a  locket  containing  a 
portrait  of  her  poor  son — the  last  "  snapshot "  taken 
of  him  by  a  comrade-in-arms. 

At  Pontresina,  also,  we  cemented  a  friendship, 
begun  some  years  before,  with  Lord  Fitzmaurice. 
He  was  our  principal  supporter  at  a  supper  which  we 
once  gave  to  the  guides.  An  amusing  feature  of  the 
entertainment  was  the  big  frying-pan  which  for  so 
many  years  had  done  good  service  at  the  Boval  hut ; 
on  this  occasion  it  was  highly  polished  and  filled  with 
tobacco  and  cigars.  1  well  remember  the  speech 
which  Lord  Fitzmaurice  made  in  fluent  German ; 
and  how,  after  supper,  when  we  had  listened  to 
songs  from  the  guides,  they  presented  me  with  a 
basket  of  edelweiss  tied  with  the  guides'  colours,  and 
escorted  me  to  the  street,  where  their  parting  cheers 
awoke  the  slumbering  villagers  and  the  visitors  who 
had  sought  an  early  bed  I  Among  the  latter  was 
the  late  Lord  Goschen,  who  the  next  morning  said 
he  much  wished  we  had  invited  him  to  the  little 
feast. 

Those  were  the  days  of  the  old-fashioned  table 
dhote,  at  which  we  made  up  a  happy  party.  One 
evening  Arthur  Sullivan  drew  the  attention  of 
Edmund  Yates,  who  was  at  the  head  of  the  long  table, 
to  a  new  arrival  some  way  removed  from  us — a  re- 
markably pretty  woman.  Yates,  ever  an  admirer 
of  the  fair  sex,  the  better  to  have  a  good  look  at 
her,  rose  from  his  chair  very  much  in  the  attitude 
of  a  public  speaker.  Arthur  at  once  rapped  the 
table  with  his  knife,  and  said,  "  Hear,  hear !  "  The 
attention   of  the   surrounding  guests   was   instantly 


AN   IMPROMPTU  2Sf 

attracted.  Yates  was  so  absorbed  that  he  did  not 
for  the  moment  reaHse  his  ludicrous  position.  When 
he  did,  he  resumed  his  seat  in  confusion — and,  for  the 
first  time  for  years,  I  should  say,  positively  blushing. 

The  incident  was  greatly  enjoyed  by  our  old  friends, 
Sir  George  and  Lady  Lewis,  and  the  popular  Cam- 
bridge don  Mr.  Oscar  Browning.  We  also  have  met  in 
the  beautiful  Swiss  valley,  the  Mundellas,  the  de  la 
Rues,  Mr.  Briton  Riviere,  Mr.  Henry  Shee,  the 
two  great  explorers  Burton  and  Stanley,  Professor 
Huxley,  the  Hares,  the  Pineros,  and  a  charming 
young  lady  known  then  as  Miss  Endicott,  for  it 
was  before  she  had  ever  seen  the  great  statesman, 
the  Right  Hon.  Joseph  Chamberlain. 

I  am  glad  to  include  in  the  illustrations  to  this 
volume  a  photograph  of  Mr.  Pinero  and  my  husband 
on  the  "  saddle "  of  the  Diavolezza,  taken  by  the 
widow  of  Colonel  Burnaby.  The  frontispiece  to 
this  volume  is  from  a  drawing  made,  unknown  to  me, 
by  Beatrice  Ward — Leslie  Ward's  sister — as  I  sat 
by  a  window  in  our  room  at  Pontresina,  reading. 

On  our  way  to  the  Engadine  we  have  stopped  at 
Ragatz,  and  I  remember  an  occasion  when  the  little 
town  was  en  fete  to  celebrate  the  birthday  of  "  Son 
Excellence  Monsieur  Emanuel  Arago,"  who  was  one 
of  the  Foreign  Ministers  at  Berne.  Very  old,  very 
distinguished,  and  much  beloved,  he  was  serenaded 
at  early  morn,  and  flagged,  feted,  and  fireworked 
until  dewy  eve.  At  night  a  Httle  French  play, 
written  for  the  occasion,  was  acted  at  the  Kursaal,  a 
leading  character  in  it  being  taken  by  the  Franco- 
American  Duchesse  Decazes  {nee  Singer).  On  a 
young  visitor  asking  me,  naively,  "  Is  she  a  real 
Duchess?"  I  am  afraid  I  had  the  impudence  im- 
mediately to  answer,  "  Real  ?  Oh  yes  ;  but  machine- 
made  ! " 

During  one  of  our  later  visits  we  had  the  un- 
pleasant experience  of  an  earthquake.  A  long  spell 
of  perfect  weather  was  broken  by  a  thunderstorm  of 
great  violence,  which   culminated   at   night   in   two 


288  HOLIDAY   NOTES 

slight,  but  decided,  shocks.  The  first,  and  sHghtest, 
was  followed  in  a  few  minutes  by  a  positive  tremble- 
ment  de  terre.  I  have  no  personal  impressions  to 
relate,  as  sleep  ignominiously  robbed  me  of  the 
privilege  of  assisting  at  the  earthquake ;  but  some 
who,  though  in  bed,  were  still  awake,  attributed  the 
roaring  sound  and  the  accompanying  rattle  of  crockery 
to  the  fall  overhead  of  heavy  trunks  or  furniture. 
One  lady,  who  occupied  a  room  low  down,  thought 
barrels  of  wine  were  being  rolled  about  in  the 
cellars,  while  other  disturbed  creatures  imagined  that 
gigantic  American  trunks,  belonging  to  unusually  late 
arrivals,  were  being  dropped  on  the  staircases.  In 
the  morning  we  learnt  that  the  alarm  had  been 
shared  at  St.  Moritz,  Samaden,  and  other  villages, 
but,  beyond  some  cracks  in  the  ceilings  of  old 
houses,  we  heard  of  no  damage. 

My  good-bye  to  Pontresina  shall  be  a  little  tale 
of  filial  love  which  we  learnt  there.  For  five-and- 
twenty  years  Madame  Leupold,  a  brilliant  pianist, 
who  for  some  time  gave  lessons  to  the  daughters  of 
the  present  King  and  Queen,  had  visited  the  little 
village  with  her  son,  Hugo.  She  had  long  been  a 
sufferer  from  sleeplessness  and  neuralgia,  and  the 
noise  of  even  the  quietest  inn  became  unbearable. 
At  last  she  took  up  her  quarters  in  a  humble  summer 
cottage,  on  the  grassy  slope  above  which  was  a 
favoured  nook  where,  when  well  enough,  the  little 
lady  would  sit  for  hours  attended  by  her  devoted 
son.  On  their  arrival  one  year,  as  towards  evening 
they  reached  their  destination,  the  mother's  eyes 
sought  her  favourite  retreat — to  see,  to  her  amaze- 
ment and  regret,  that  a  chalet  had  been  built  upon 
the  spot  she  knew  so  well.  Horrified,  she  turned  to 
her  son,  and  exclaimed  that  Pontresina  would  never 
be  the  same  to  her  again.  He  consoled  her,  saying 
that  to-morrow  they  would  seek  another  corner.  In 
the  morning  Hugo  went  to  his  mother  with  the 
news  that  he  knew  all  about  the  httle  chalet,  that  he 
had  the  key,  and  that  he  would  show  her  over  it  if 


ST.   MORITZ   IN  WINTER  289 

she  would  go  with  him.  Arriving  at  the  porch,  they 
unlocked  the  door,  and  both  entered.  The  invalid's 
delight  and  admiration  were  unbounded  at  the 
charming  little  rooms,  with  their  lovely  views,  the 
tiny  kitchen,  the  open  piano,  and  every  detail  of 
pretty  furniture.  "  Oh,  Hugo,  what  a  little  Paradise  ! 
What  taste  I — what  comfort !  Tell  me  who  the  owner 
of  it  is."  He  kissed  her  and  said,  "  You,  mother 
dear."  Silently,  with  the  aid  of  good  friends  in  the 
village,  had  Hugo  carried  out  the  building  and 
furnishing  of  this  fairy  home,  and  in  his  own  quiet 
way  he  had  acted  his  little  play. 

My  final  recollection  of  the  Engadine  is  of  a  happy 
Christmas  spent  at  St.  Moritz — in  those  days  chiefly 
the  winter  resort  of  invalids,  but  now  largely  given 
up  to  youth  and  strength.  One  poor  young  fellow, 
with  a  Wellingtonian  nose,  I  remember  well — so 
pleasant  and  so  cheerful.  His  name  was  Marshall, 
and  we  called  him  "  Marshal  N'ez"  The  life  there, 
my  husband  said,  very  much  resembled  that  on 
shipboard — of  which,  as  the  reader  has  already 
been  told,  I  remained  ignorant — for  the  people  did 
not  merely  come  and  go  as  in  the  summer  season, 
and  so  every  one  seemed  to  know  every  one  else. 
The  short  but  lovely  days  had  five  hours  of  warm 
sun,  a  deep-blue  sky,  and  an  atmosphere  that 
was  absolutely  still.  Skating  and  toboganning  were, 
of  course,  the  chief  amusements.  The  Cresta  "  run," 
then  quite  new,  has  two  terrible  corners,  which  I 
christened  "  Battledore  "  and  "  Shuttlecock  " — names 
which  are  still  retained.  The  length  of  the  run 
was  then  about  three-quarters  of  a  mile,  and  at 
"  racing "  pace  it  was  covered  in  a  minute  and  a 
half  The  slow  walk  up  again  took  fully  twenty 
minutes,  and  reminded  one  of  marrying  in  haste — 
to  repent  at  leisure  I 

The  village  shops  in  the  Dorf  were  open,  but 
those  at  the  Bad  seemed  to  be  hermetically  sealed. 
The  big  hotels,  the  Kurhaus  and  the  Trinkhalle, 
were  all  as  silent   as   the  big  clock,  which,  as  my 

19 


290  HOLIDAY   NOTES 

husband  said,  had  "  grown  tired  of  telhng  the  hour 
to  no  one ! " 

We  have  happy  memories,  too,  of  the  Itahan 
Lakes — which  we  visited  after  leaving  the  Swiss 
mountains — and  especially  of  Como ;  of  charming 
hospitalities  on  its  shores  and  of  the  friends  we  met 
and  made  there.  At  Cadenabbia,  particularly,  we 
have  dreamed  away  many  days  of  repose. 

Seated  one  night  in  front  of  the  Hotel  Belle  Vue, 
when  the  lake  was  bathed  in  moonlight,  we  were 
told  a  little  story  of  its  fascination  in  words  some- 
thing like  these : 

"It  is  five-and- twenty  years  since  I  first  visited 
the  Lake  of  Como,  and  I  come  to  it  again  and  again 
whenever  I  can  do  so.  The  first  time  I  was  here,  I 
fell  into  conversation  with  a  stranger — who  was  then 
what  1  am  now,  a  middle-aged  Englishman — whom  I 
had  met  on  one  of  the  boats.  He  told  me  that  he 
had  first  known  the  lake  twenty-five  years  before, 
when  he  was  a  youngster  enjoying  his  holiday  on  the 
eve  of  joining  his  regiment,  to  which  he  had  just  been 
gazetted,  in  India.  He  fell  ill  with  fever  during  his 
first  year  of  service,  and  was  sent  home  on  sick-leave. 
He  disembarked  at  some  port  in  the  Mediterranean, 
and  resolved  to  take  the  Lake  of  Como  for  a  brief 
visit  on  his  way  to  his  own  country.  Bewitched 
more  and  more  by  its  beauties,  he  hngered  on,  till  at 
last  he  realised  how  little  of  his  leave  would  remain 
for  home  and  friends.  When,  at  length,  he  reached 
England,  he  found  it  so  cold  and  sunless  that  the 
thought  of  his  beloved  lake  acted  like  a  magnet, 
drawing  him  irresistibly  back  to  pass  there  the  brief 
remnant  of  his  leave.  '  I  came,'  said  the  soldier,  *  as 
fast  as  I  could  get  here,  being  miserly  over  every  hour 
I  had  left  to  me  for  indulgence  in  its  fascination. 
One  day,  quite  soon,  I  met  an  Italian  girl  with  whom 
I  fell  desperately  in  love.  In  a  few  words  I'll  tell 
you  my  life  and  history  since  I  proposed  to  her :  I 
was  accepted  ;  I  resigned  my  commission  ;  I  married  ; 
I  bought  a  villa  on  the  shore  of  Como  ;    I've  lived 


CHURCH   AND   STATE  291 

there  ever  since,  and  here '  (pointing  to  a  handsome 
lad  of  some  twenty  years)  '  comes  my  son.  Let  me 
present  him.'" 

There  is  no  truer  lover  of  Cadenabbia  than  the 
Right  Hon.  Henry  Labouchere.  We  often  met  him 
there,  before  his  retirement  from  public  life,  and 
before  he  had  made  his  winter  home  in  a  beautiful 
villa  at  Florence.  On  one  occasion  we  arrived  in 
the  evening  and  peered  through  the  windows  at  the 
crowded  table  d'hote.  In  a  conspicuous  position  we 
saw,  to  our  amusement,  the  witty  M.P.  seated 
between  two  well-known  dignitaries  of  the  Church 
whom  we  had  known  at  Pontresina  when  the  church 
there  was  opened.  They  appeared  to  be  revelling  in 
amusing  stories,  and  the  trio  was  very  merry.  When 
the  meal  was  over,  we  asked  one  of  these  prelates 
how  he  had  got  on  at  dinner.  "  Oh,  admirably  !  "  he 
replied.  "  My  friend  and  I  were  so  fortunate  in  our 
neighbour,  a  delightful  companion.  I  wonder  if  you 
happen  to  know  who  he  is  ?  "  In  the  grove  of  olive 
trees  the  then  senior  member  for  Northampton  was 
seated  in  a  rocking-chair  in  a  halo  of  cigarette  smoke. 
I  said,  "  Don't  you  recognise  him  ? "  "  No."  "  That 
is  Mr.  Labouchere."  "  Really,  you  don't  say  so  !  " 
What  those  simple  words  might  have  been  meant 
to  convey  I  never  knew,  for  the  parson  hurried  off  to 
impart  the  information  to  his  companion. 

Hard  by  the  hotel  was  a  shop  kept  by  an  old 
curiosity  dealer,  with  whom  Mr.  Labouchere  and 
ourselves  had  some  harmless  fun  one  day.  I  had 
been  buying  some  pretty  pieces  of  silk,  and,  when 
about  to  leave,  stopped  to  turn  over  a  tray  full  of 
odds  and  ends,  in  which  old  shoe-buckles,  coins, 
supposed  relics  from  Pompeii,  and  every  conceivable 
kind  of  rubbish  were  mixed  together,  including  a 
piece  of  old  iron-work  which,  on  closer  inspection, 
amused  us  immensely.  We  saw  our  way  to  a  joke 
with  the  bric-a-brac  merchant,  and  retired  to  a  distant 
corner  with  our  treasure,  pretending  to  examine  it 
closely,  and,  to  the  amazement  of  the  old  Italian, 


292  HOLIDAY   NOTES 

entering  into  apparent  ecstasies  over  it.  At  last  we 
asked  him  what  he  would  take  for  the  seeming 
treasure.  The  wily  dealer,  completely  taken  in  by 
our  pantomime,  was  at  once  alive  to  its  merits,  and 
assured  us  it  was  a  "rare  specimen."  We  cordially 
agreed,  and  begged  him  to  be  candid  as  to  its  being 
really  genuine.  "  Mais  oui,  oui,  oui,  c'est  vraiment — 
vraiment  veritable  ;  et  bien  remarquable  1 "  "  Com- 
bien  ? "  "  Pour  vous — mais  seulement  pour  vous — 
vingt-cinq  francs." 

W  e  suggested  the  five  without  the  twenty.  The 
old  man  asked  us  if  we  wished  to  rob  him.  We 
worked  up  the  scene  until  we  were  obliged  to  go 
away  to  hide  our  laughter,  saying  we  would  think 
the  matter  over. 

This  wonderful  discovery,  this  veritable  antiquity, 
was  a  broken  fragment  of  worthless  old  iron,  im- 
pressed with  the  Royal  arms  and  motto  of  England, 
and  stamped  with  these  words  :  "  Barnard,  Bishop 
&  Barnard's  Patent  Mowing  Machine  !  " 

Oh  !  what  a  fuss  there  was  one  year  over  the 
services  at  the  beautiful  little  English  church  at 
Cadenabbia,  which  by  some  were  thought  too  "  high  "  ! 
One  visitor  was  very  irate,  and  appealed  vehemently 
to  Mr.  Labouchere  for  his  sympathy  and  support, 
saying  with  bitterness  that  he  could  no  longer  worship 
there.  The  politician  humorously  pointed  with  his 
cigarette  to  the  opposite  shore,  and  suggested  that 
the  visitor  should  transfer  his  patronage  to  the 
English  church  at  Bellagio.  He  was  met  with  the 
objection  that  the  services  held  there  were  as  much 
too  "low"  as  those  at  Cadenabbia  were  too  "high." 
Mr.  Labouchere  was,  of  course,  equal  to  the  occasion  ; 
he  informed  his  interlocutor  that  there  was  still  a 
third  course  open  to  him — to  wait  until  the  bells  of 
the  rival  establishments  began  to  ring,  then  to  hire 
a  boat,  to  row  to  the  exact  middle  of  the  lake,  there 
to  stop,  and  then  to  say  his  prayers  between  the 
two  I 

There   also  we  paid  visits   to  Signor  Piatti,  the 


OUIDA  293 

monarch  of  the  violoncello,  at  his  pretty  villa,  and 
heard  duets  played  by  him  and  Madame  Schumann. 

When  in  Italy  we  were  often  invited  by  Ouida 
to  go  and  see  her  at  Florence,  but  could  not  do  so. 
She  tried  several  times  to  write  a  play  for  us ;  the 
admirable  title  of  one  of  them  I  will  give  to  modern 
playwrights,  A  House  Party.  I  add  the  last  letter 
I  received  from  that  strange  and  accomplished 
woman  ;  it  was  written  very  shortly  before  her  death. 

Dear  Thalia, — 

I  have  been  and  am  still  very  ill.  For  two 
days  I  was  near  death.  I  should  grieve  to  leave  my 
dear  dogs.  Their  lives  are  too  short  in  comparison 
with  their  devotion.  I  did  get  your  long  letter  after 
some  delay.  I  fear  many  letters  are  lost  between 
Italy  and  England.  I  have  seen  a  bag  filled  with 
the  contents  of  pillar-boxes  reposing  in  sweet  soli- 
tude on  the  pavement  of  a  deserted  street  in 
Florence ! 

I  am  so  glad  that  you  and  your  dear  husband  are 
both  well  and  happy.  What  a  brilUant  life  you  have 
both  had !  I  wish  I  could  come  and  see  you  all  and 
the  dear  old  country,  where  its  sons  and  daughters 
are  never  content  except  when  they  are  out  of  it. 

Love  to  you  and  Sir  Squire.  Believe  me,  always 
your  and  his  admirer  and  friend, 

Ouida. 

Another  delightful  and  much-regretted  friend 
whom  we  met  there,  and  who  was  too  soon  removed, 
was  Mrs.  Craigie  ("John  OHver  Hobbes  "),  of  whom 
Lord  Curzon  so  eloquently  said  at  the  unveiling  of 
her  memorial,  *'I^ike  an  apparition  she  burst  upon 
the  scene  in  her  young  prime,  flashed  across  it  in  a 
swift  trail  of  light,  and  vanished  into  the  unseen." 

During  one  of  our  holidays  I  came  across — I 
cannot  remember  exactly  when  or  where — an  extra- 
ordinary bill  from  a  decorator  for  certain  reparations 


294  HOLIDAY   NOTES 

in  a  foreign  church.     I  reproduce  it  in  the  hope  that 
it  may  amuse  the  reader,  as  it  did  me. 

Touching  up  Ten  Commandments      .         .         .         .25  francs 
Reviving  Pontius  Pilate,  and  putting  a  new  rib  in  his 

back    .........     15      ,, 

Putting  a  new  tail  on  the  rooster  of  St.  Peter  and 

mending  his  comb       .         .         .         .         .         *     20       ,, 
Embellishing  and  gilding  left  wing  of  the  Guardian 

Angel 27      „ 

Washing  the  servant  of  the  High  Priest  and  rouging 

his  cheek     .         .         .         .         .         .         .         .     15      „ 

Bordering  the  robe  of  Herod  and  dressing  his  wig      .     22      ,, 
Cleaning  the  ears  of  Balaam's  ass  and  shoeing  him     .     20      ,, 
Decorating  Noah's  Ark      .         .         .         .         .         .     25      „ 

Mending  the  shirt  of  the  Prodigal  Son  and  cleaning 

his  ears        .         .         .         .         .         .         .         .     15      „ 

Renewing   Heaven,  adjusting  the  North   Star,  and 

cleaning  the  Moon      .         .         .         .         .         .     35      „ 

Reanimating  the  flames  of  Purgatory  and  restoring 

Souls 30      „ 

Reviving  the  flames  of  Hell        .         .         .         .         .     20      „ 
Putting  a  new  tail  on  the  Devil,  mending  his  left  hoof, 

with  several  extra  jobs  for  the  Damned        .         .     45      „ 

Total   .         •  314      „ 

Of  course  we  often  stayed  in  Paris  on  our  way 
home  from  these  trips  abroad,  and  paid  more  than 
one  interesting  visit  to  the  charming  green-room  of 
the  most  complete  of  theatres — the  Fran^ais — where 
we  also  saw  some  of  the  loges  des  artistes. 

In  the  year  of  one  of  the  great  exhibitions  I 
ventured  in  the  halloii  captif,  and  we  also  visited  the 
realistic  panorama  of  the  Siege  of  Paris.  At  the 
latter  we  were  greatly  annoyed  by  a  strange-looking 
creature,  who  persisted  in  dogging  our  steps  which- 
ever way  we  turned.  He  wore  an  old  slouch  hat, 
the  collar  of  his  coat  was  turned  up,  and  one  could 
not  fail  to  observe  his  moustache,  which  seemed  to 
grow  upwards  in  a  singular  fashion.  This  man 
followed  us  round  and  round  the  gallery,  always 
halting  when  we  did.  At  last,  grow  ing  more  familiar, 
he  bestowed  upon  us  mysterious  nudges  and  mutter- 
ings,  which,  without  disclosing  his  nationality,  cast 
doubts  upon  his  sanity.  He  presently  became  more 
violent    in    his    gesticulations  5    then    suddenly    his 


PERE   LA   CHAISE  295 

moustache  Jell  to  the  ground,  and  at  once  revealed 
the  well-known  features  of  that  dear  old  practical 
joker,  Johnny  Toole ! 

Our  ever-regretted  old  comrade  played  another 
joke  upon  us  a  few  days  later  at  the  Restaurant 
Champeaux,  in  the  Place  de  la  Bourse,  which  then 
had  a  shingly  floor  and  trees  reaching  to  its  glass 
roof.  He  had  seen  us  enter  the  restaurant,  where, 
presently,  to  our  amazement,  our  little  party  became 
the  object  of  extraordinary  attention.  Nothing  seemed 
to  be  thought  good  enough  for  us.  The  bowing  and 
scraping  increased  with  each  course ;  no  end  of  little 
politesses  were  pressed  upon  us  ;  humble  waiters  left 
our  table  to  the  control  of  more  gorgeous  persons, 
and  the  proprietor,  or  manager,  superintended  our 
meal  himself.  Meanwhile,  groups  of  visitors  were 
whispering  together,  and  staring  at  us  in  a  marked 
manner.  We  wondered  what  it  could  mean  !  When, 
at  last,  our  bill  was  brought,  it  certainly  seemed  a 
little  extravagant,  but  as  nothing  compared  to  the 
ceremonial  with  which  our  coats  and  cloaks  were 
handed  to  us.  What  seemed  to  be  the  whole  staff 
and  their  relatives — uncles,  cousins,  aunts— were 
assembled  to  witness  our  modest  departure.  We 
learnt,  when  we  gained  the  street,  that  we  had  been 
pointed  out  as  members  of  the  English  Royal  Family, 
travelling  incog,  to  see  the  exhibition  quietly !  We 
certainly  discovered  that  we  had  breakfasted  en 
prince. 

One  year,  I  remember,  we  made  a  longer  stay 
than  usual  and  saw  more  of  the  historic  city  than  we 
ever  had  the  chance  to  know  before.  Among  other 
places,  we  drove  to  Pere  la  Chaise,  where  we  saw  the 
tomb  of  Abelard  and  Heloise,  and  other  vaults  almost 
as  celebrated.  After  wandering  in  the  heat  up  and 
down  countless  alleys,  we  emerged  upon  the  broad 
main  path  of  the  cemetery,  at  the  end  of  which,  above 
its  noble  flight  of  steps,  we  caught  sight  of  a  crowd 
of  people  and  the  figure  of  a  man  violently  gesticu- 
lating.     We    thought    ourselves    indeed    in    luck ; 


296  HOLIDAY   NOTES 

evidently  a  big  funeral  was  taking  place,  and  one  of 
the  customary  orations  was  being  delivered  by  some 
eminent  Frenchman.  We  hurried  down  the  path 
and  up  the  steep  stone  steps,  hearing,  as  we  drew 
nearer,  the  voice  of  the  speaker,  and  noticing,  more 
and  more,  the  rapt  attention  of  his  listeners.  Suddenly, 
as  we  got  quite  close,  we  found  to  our  great  surprise 
that  the  speech  was  being  made  in  our  own  language, 
and  as  I  panted  up  the  last  few  steps,  exhausted  by 
heat  and  fatigue,  I  just  caught  these  words  :  "  Yes, 
that  is  the  tomb  of  the  great  Cherubini ;  there  lie  the 
remains  of  the  distinguished  actor  Talma  ;  and  there  " 
(in  a  lower  tone,  as  the  orator  pointed  us  out)  "  are 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Bancroft,  of  the  Haymarket  Theatre  1 " 
The  crowd  consisted  of  a  "  personally  conducted " 
tourist  party,  and  we  both  felt  fit  to  sink  into  an 
adjacent  open  grave  I 

tAnd  now  1  will  hand  the  pen  back  to  my  husband. 

The  baritone  solo  will  be  brief.  There  is  but 
little  to  add  to  this  chapter.  In  these  days  of  easy 
travel,  with  such  temptations  as  "  A  Week  in  Lovely 
Lucerne  for  Five  Pounds,"  there  is  no  need  to  dwell 
on  trips  to  Norway  or  Continental  M'^atering-places, 
where,  whether  the  baths  are  of  mud  or  pine,  and 
the  springs  charged  with  salt  or  iron,  the  life  is  much 
the  same. 

In  recent  years  the  fascinations  of  Monte  Carlo 
have  drawn  me  there  for  a  short  while  at  Easter  time, 
and  during  one  of  these  visits  Monsieur  "  Sem  "  made 
his  admirable  caricature  of  me.  I  have  also  twice 
visited  the  Cote  d'Azur  in  the  autumn.  The  first  time 
was  at  the  close  of  a  holiday  on  the  Lake  of  Como, 
when  it  occurred  to  me  that  it  would  be  an  experience 
to  learn,  on  the  way  to  Genoa,  what  the  wicked  place 
looked  like  in  the  dead  season.  1  found  the  weather 
little  hotter  than  that  I  had  left  in  Italy.  By 
a  clause  in  the  lease  of  the  Hotel  de  Paris,  I  was 
told,  its  omnibus  with  the  four  grey  horses,  driven  by 
a  near  relation  of  the  Postilion  de  Longemeaux,  must 


CARICATURE  BY   "SKM" 


p.  296] 


MONTE   CARLO   IN   AUTUMN       297 

meet  every  train  that  stops  at  Monte  Carlo  through- 
out the  year.  It  was,  however,  a  bad  moment  to  ask 
their  hospitality,  as  a  big  addition  to  the  hotel  was 
being  built,  so  noise  and  dust  ran  riot.  The  work 
was  only  just  begun,  but,  judging  by  its  growth  hour 
by  hour,  under  the  hands  of  picturesque  gangs  of 
Nicois  and  Italians,  it  seemed  credible  that  all  might 
be  finished  in  time  for  the  season,  as  they  assured  me 
it  would  be.  In  "  the  rooms  "  I  found  four  tables 
going — all  in  the  centre  salle,  three  being  devoted  to 
roulette  (what  a  prize  that  monk  who  invented  the 
game  would  take  in  mathematics  even  nowadays  I). 
These  three  were  surrounded  by  strange  and  motley 
crowds,  for  ever  changing,  except  in  face,  in  which 
they  always  look  the  same.  At  the  one  table  reserved 
for  trente-et-quarante,  the  croupiers — I  beg  their 
pardon,  Messieurs  les  employes — were  often  idly 
waiting  for  a  game  until  the  afternoon.  I  only  saw 
one  heavy  player  ;  he  scattered  mille  notes  as  though 
they  were  cigarette  papers,  and  "sowed"  his  louis 
like  grain  upon  the  green  cloth.  The  weather  was 
really  delightful,  but — there  was  a  flaw^ — the  mosqui- 
toes had  not  yet  taken  their  departure.  Over  the 
ravages  they  caused  let  me  draw  a  veil  thicker  than 
the  net  curtains,  which  do  but  little  to  prevent  them. 
Everywhere  were  signs  and  sounds  of  the  coming 
season.  Every  place  was  en  reparation,  and  the 
gardens  were  resuming  their  beauty  almost  by  magic, 
or  as  if  produced  in  some  theatre  painting-room  ;  for 
virgin  turf  was  taking  the  place  of  burnt-up  earth, 
which  looked  but  yesterday  as  brown  as  Hyde  Park 
after  a  baking  August  Bank  Holiday.  In  fact,  the 
spider  was  weaving  the  very  prettiest  of  webs,  and 
making  his  "  parlour "  more  than  ever  inviting ; 
indeed,  he  worked,  and  fiercely,  night  and  day,  either 
by  flaring  gas-lights  or  in  the  glare  of  the  beautiful 
southern  sun. 

My  wife  accompanied  me  on  two  visits  to  the 
Riviera,  but  for  Monte  Carlo  she  cared  but  little.  I 
remember  that  one  morning,  when  we  entered  the 


298  HOLIDAY   NOTES 

rooms  at  the  opening  hour,  we  could  not  fail  to  notice 
in  the  rush  a  quiet-looking,  middle-aged  Englishman, 
who  made  for  one  of  the  trente-et-quarante  tables 
and  seated  himself  in  the  most  business-like  way. 
He  then  took  out  a  packet  of  mille  notes,  counted 
the  maximum  and  placed  his  stake  upon  Rouge,  long 
before  all  the  preliminaries  were  finished  or  the  game 
begun.  When  a  neighbour  remarked  casually  on 
the  boldness  of  the  first  stake,  the  man  replied  that 
he  was  not  a  gambler ;  he  was  only  spending  a  few 
days  in  the  place  from  curiosity,  but  was  acting  in 
obedience  to  the  most  vivid  dream  his  life  had  ever 
known.  On  the  strength  of  this  dream  he  had  just 
cashed  a  cheque  for  five  hundred  pounds,  all  of 
which,  practically,  was  lying  on  the  table.  His  dream 
had  told  him  to  make  for  the  table  he  was  seated  at, 
to  take  the  particular  chair  he  had  chosen,  opposite 
a  picture  which  he  pointed  out,  and  to  put  the 
maximum  on  Rouge  for  the  first  coup.  All  this  he 
had  done.  The  cards  were  now  made  and  shuffled, 
then  cut  and  dealt.  The  top  row  of  cards  counted 
thirty-two :  the  croupier  said  "  Deux,''  which  looked 
all  in  favour  of  Noir  ;  the  second  row  followed,  they 
made  thirty-one ;  the  a^oupier  grunted  "  U>^,"  and 
then  said,  ''Rouge  gagne  et  Couleur.''  The  maxi- 
mum was  counted  and  placed  back  on  Rouge,  twelve 
mille  notes  were  counted — all  very  methodically — 
and  placed  on  the  top  of  the  others ;  the  player 
quietly  took  them  up,  put  them  in  his  pocket,  rose, 
bowed  to  the  croupiers,  said,  **  Good-morning ;  I'm 
not  going  to  play  the  fool,"  and  walked  away. 

We  soon  followed,  and  strolled  in  the  glare  of  the 
sun  upon  the  beautiful  terrace.  A  pigeon-shooting 
match  was  in  progress,  and  a  poor  wounded  bird  flew 
feebly  towards  us  and  almost  fell  upon  my  wife,  its 
blood  spattering  her  dress.  This  painful  episode 
ended,  there  and  then,  her  stay  at  Monte  Carlo. 

I  will  bring  these  holiday  notes  to  a  close  by  a 
reference  to  the  Passion  Play  at  Ober-Ammergau, 
which  it  was  twice  my  privilege  to  see  acted — first 


OBER-AMMERGAU  299 

in  1890,  again  in  1900.  Many  as  are  the  descriptions 
that  have  been  written  of  this  famous  festival,  I  do 
not  know  of  one  composed  from  the  point  of  view 
of  an  actor  and  stage-manager  ;  and  it  is  on  this 
account  that  some  notes  of  mine,  made  when  its 
effect  was  fresh  upon  my  mind,  may  even  now  have 
a  little  interest. 

What  I  felt  in  1890  about  the  ''  Gospel  according 
to  St.  Daisenberger,"  as  I  have  heard  it — somewhat 
profanely — called,  was  much  what  I  felt  in  1900, 
except  that  my  second  visit  revealed  to  me  the 
absolutely  mechanical  nature  of  the  performance, 
each  representative  giving  as  exact  a  reproduction  of 
his  predecessor  in  the  part  as  "  coaching  "  could  make 
possible.  The  theatre  was  then  a  new  structure,  and, 
happily  for  the  occupants  of  the  cheaper  seats,  was 
entirely  roofed  in. 

In  1890  visitors  had  to  walk  or  drive  a  great  part 
of  the  way  from  Munich  to  Ammergau ;  ten  years 
afterwards  the  train  went  there  direct ;  and,  when 
next  the  play  is  given,  no  doubt  motors  will  be  the 
chief  conveyance  to  the  little  village,  whose  name  is 
known  as  well  as  that  of  any  city  in  the  world. 

Animated  as  it  is  by  religious  enthusiasm  and 
local  superstition,  the  version  of  "the  story  which 
has  transformed  the  world  "  may  be  too  doctrinal  in 
treatment  and  too  overlaid  with  foreshadowings  from 
the  Old  Testament  of  events  chronicled  in  the  New. 
But  the  whole  representation — the  evident  result  of 
organised  skill  (with  the  aid,  it  is  whispered,  of  an 
accomplished  stage  manager  from  Munich) — remains 
marvellously  good  when  considered  as  the  work  of 
tradition  carried  out  at  the  hands  of  peasants  ;  and 
this  both  in  its  acting  and  in  the  judgment  shown 
throughout  in  selecting  faces  and  figures,  even  down 
to  such  minor  parts  as  Barabbas  or  the  Impenitent 
Thief 

I  hardly  like  to  quarrel  with  the  "  crowd,"  which 
was  splendid  in  material,  if  a  little  trying  in  the 
painful  unanimity  of  its  frequent  shouts.     Now  and 


300  HOLIDAY   NOTES 

again  things  were  attempted — like  the  appearance 
of  the  Angel  in  the  Garden  of  Gethsemane — which 
the  limited  dramatic  means  at  command  could  not 
impressively  realise.  It  should  be  remembered  that 
these  players  give  in  truth  a  morning  performance, 
and  have  to  face  the  veritable  elements,  knowing 
nothing  of  the  mysteries  of  the  limelight ;  nor  do 
they  dabble  with  cosmetics,  beyond  some  powder 
in  a  beard,  and  a  slight  pallor  on  the  face  of 
Christus. 

The  tableaux  from  the  Old  Testament  were 
admirably  done,  but  I  thought  there  were  too  many 
of  them.  Adam  and  Eve  expelled  from  the  Garden 
of  Eden  and  the  Remorse  of  Cain  were  the  most 
satisfying  of  them.  So  motionless,  indeed,  were  the 
figures  that  I  clearly  heard  a  visitor  who  w^as  seated 
near  me  express  his  regret  at  the  introduction  of 
**  the  waxworks."  When  I  first  saw"  the  play  the 
best  performance  by  far  was  given  by  Josef  Mayr 
as  the  Christus.  On  my  second  visit  he  had  grown 
too  old  for  the  part ;  but,  with  a  patriarchal  beard, 
was  of  great  value  as  the  Prologue  and  Chorus,  and 
declaimed  the  frequent  explanatory  verses  with 
dignity  and  the  repose  of  a  practised  actor. 

The  best  acting  on  my  second  visit  was  shown, 
I  thought,  by  the  representatives  of  Judas,  Caiaphas, 
and  John  ;  the  two  disciples  were  played  by  villagers 
who  had  taken  those  parts  on  the  previous  occasion, 
and  both  were  admirable.  The  Christus,  Anton 
Lang,  although  in  appearance  he  far  eclipsed  his 
predecessor,  lacked  his  strength  and  his  convincing 
voice  ;  but  Lang  is  young  enough  to  repeat  his  work, 
and,  no  doubt,  will  do  so  with  increased  success  at 
the  next  production.  The  female  parts  were  played 
feebly  in  1900,  for  I  remember  well,  in  contrast,  the 
Madonna  of  ten  years  before ;  but  I  could  not  keep 
my  managerial  mind  from  casting  the  play  in  London, 
and  longing  to  see  Irving  as  Judas,  with  Tree  as 
Pontius  Pilate,  and  to  listen  to  the  beautiful  voice 
of  Forbes-Robertson  as  the  Christus.     By  far  the 


THE   PASSION   PLAY  301 

most  effective  and  affecting  scene  was  the  Last 
Supper;  this  moved  me  to  tears,  while  I  was  im- 
pressed by  choked  but  audible  sobs  around  me  ;  but, 
when  the  scene  was  over,  I  felt — I  hardly  know 
why — that  there  are  still  some  things  which  should 
not,  however  reverently,  be  mimicked,  "and  these 
are  of  them." 

The  Crucifixion  had  not  the  same  effect  upon 
me.  Curiosity  during  the  twenty  minutes  the  figure 
is  on  the  cross  took  the  place  of  emotion — partly, 
perhaps,  because  I  was  tired,  while  the  chief  "  trick  " 
of  it  was  discovered  in  a  moment,  1  remember,  by 
my  wife,  who  was  with  me  on  the  occasion  of  the 
first  visit.  The  Descent  from  the  Cross — a  careful 
study  in  detail  from  the  great  Rubens  picture — 
was  tenderly  treated  by  the  actors  of  Joseph  of 
Arimathgea  and  Nicodemus.  The  Resurrection,  how- 
ever, seemed  to  me  trivial  and  childish,  and  the 
Ascension  did  not  prove  a  fitting  end  to  a  perform- 
ance so  remarkable  and  unique,  when  all  is  said 
and  done,  that  to  see  it  once  is  well  worth  any 
trouble  by  the  way. 

I  remember  that  the  representation  lasted  eight 
whole  hours — two  of  which  might  have  been  ruth- 
lessly cut  away  with  great  advantage  to  the  rest; 
for  the  bringing  of  Christ  before  Annas,  before 
Caiaphas,  before  Pilate,  before  Herod,  and  again 
before  Pilate,  grew  wearisome.  Yet  throughout  all 
these  hours  there  was  never  a  hitch,  never  a  pause, 
never  the  faintest  sound  of  preparation  from  the 
vast  numbers  engaged  behind  the  curtain.  All  this 
was  as  striking  as  the  stillness  of  the  audience,  some 
four  thousand  in  number,  who  sat  throughout,  if 
not  with  reverence,  at  least  with  profound  respect. 

Many  are  the  heart-burnings,  and  even  jealousies, 
in  the  little  village,  while  the  play  is  being  cast  by 
a  committee  from  whose  fiat  there  is  no  appeal ; 
and  deep  is  the  grief  at  the  enforced  resignation, 
through  advancing  years,  of  former  favourite  char- 
acters.    Thus,  even  in  the  peaceful  Bavarian  Alps, 


802  HOLIDAY  NOTES 

as  in  London's  busy  theatre-land,  I  was  reminded 
of  a  whisper  in  our  ears  in  the  early  days  of  our 
own  enterprise — that  management  is  not  always  a 
bed  of  roses  I 

One  word  of  advice  might  be  given  to  the 
Burgermeister  and  others  in  control :  to  keep  the 
chief  performers  from  the  gaping  crowd  on  the  eve 
of  the  play,  or  so  to  arrange  that  they  should  not 
then  follow  their  usual  vocations.  To  see,  for  hours, 
a  stream  of  adoring  maidens  pleading  for  the  auto- 
graphs of  Christus  or  Johannes  on  the  photographs 
they  have  bought  from  them  is  hardly  edifying ; 
nor  does  it  add  to  the  dignity  of  the  morrow  to 
overhear  a  dispute  with  Pontius  Pilate  about  the 
price  of  a  bedroom,  or  to  think  that  it  may  have 
only  just  been  put  in  order  by  Martha  or  Mary. 

After  our  first  visit  my  wife  received  from  Josef 
Mayr,  a  wood-carver  by  trade,  a  letter,  of  which  the 
following  is  a  translation  : 

Forgive  me  for  only  being  able  to  thank  you, 
honoured  lady,  to-day  for  the  distinction  you  have 
conferred  upon  me  by  sending  me  your  photographs. 
Let  me  thank  you,  indeed,  most  heartily  for  them. 

It  makes  me  very  happy  indeed  to  have  received 
them  from  your  own  hands.  The  amateur  would 
like  to  enclose  with  these  lines  one  of  his  likenesses 
in  the  part  of  Christus,  as  a  sign  of  his  deep  respect 
for  the  great  English  artist,  did  he  not  consider 
it  too  bold  an  action.  In  fact,  he  has  not  the 
courage  to  do  so. 

I  remain  with  esteem  and  respect. 
Your  devoted 

Josef  Mayr. 


CHAPTER  XI 

REAPPEARANCE 

''Let's  return  again. 
And  suffice  ourselves  with  the  report  of  it." 

As  it  fell  out,  on  my  wife's  birthday  (January  12), 
in  1893,  the  following  announcement  appeared  in  the 
columns  of  the  Daily  Telegraph : 

**An  important  revival  of  the  celebrated  play, 
Diplomacy,  with  a  remarkable  cast,  will  be  the  next 
production  at  the  Garrick  Theatre.  Mr.  Hare  has 
persuaded  Mr.  Bancroft  to  reappear  in  his  original 
character  of  Count  OrlofF;  Mr.  Arthur  Cecil  has 
been  specially  engaged  for  his  old  part  of  Baron 
Stein  ;  Julian  Beauclerc  will  be  played  by  Mr.  Forbes- 
Robertson  ;  Mr.  Gilbert  Hare  will  be  the  young 
attache ;  and  the  elder  brother,  Henry  Beauclerc, 
will  be  played  for  the  first  time  by  Mr.  Hare.  Miss 
Kate  Rorke  will  be  the  new  Dora;  the  Countess 
Zicka  will  be  acted  by  Miss  Olga  Nethersole ;  and 
Lady  Monckton  will  appear,  for  the  first  time  under 
Mr.  Hare's  management,  as  the  Marquise  de  Rio 
Zares. 

"  But,  in  addition  to  these  conspicuous  attractions, 
there  will  be  one  of  even  greater  significance.  To 
show  her  friendship  and  regard  for  her  old  comrade, 
Mrs.  Bancroft  has  most  generously  given  her  services 
for  a  certain  number  of  weeks,  and  will  appear  as 
Lady  Henry  Fairfax.  Although  this  part  is  a  small 
one,  it  is  needless  to  say  how  valuable  the  services 
of  this  brilliant  actress  will  prove,  and  her  temporary 

303 


304  REAPPEARANCE 

return  to  the  stage  cannot  fail  to  be  welcomed  by  all 
classes  of  playgoers  with  interest  and  delight." 

Some  months  before  the  arrangement  referred 
to  in  the  above  paragraphs  was  made,  the  revival 
of  Diplomacy,  which  is  my  property,  had  been 
mooted  by  another  prominent  manager,  who  wished 
to  do  the  play  on  most  liberal  conditions ;  but  I 
regarded  my  wife's  part  as  so  unworthy  of  her — 
her  original  appearance  in  it  being  one  of  many 
instances  of  self-abnegation  during  our  manage- 
ment— that  I  declined  to  entertain  the  proposal, 
although  she  was  tempted  by  exceptional  personal 
terms.  Very  shortly  afterwards  Hare  came  to  me 
with  a  strongly  expressed  desire  to  revive  the 
play  at  the  Garrick  Theatre,  a  desire  that  put  a 
different  aspect  on  the  case,  and  aroused  other  feel- 
ings, far  away  from  mercenary.  It  was  very  soon 
agreed  that  Hare  should  revive  the  play,  and  that 
I  should  act  my  old  part  of  Orloff,  an  arrangement 
which  he  and  I  both  found  pleasant.  The  special 
engagements  referred  to  were  made,  and  the  re- 
hearsals about  to  begin,  when  my  wife  said  to  me, 
"Do  you  think  Hare  would  like  me  to  play  Lady 
Henry  Fairfax  for  him  ?  "  I  answered  that  the  part 
would  be  a  wretched  one  for  her  to  reappear  in  after 
an  absence  from  the  stage  of  more  than  seven  years ; 
urging  also  how  I  had  refused,  and  so  recently, 
the  former  application  for  the  play,  mainly  on  that 
account.  These  and  other  arguments  I  used ;  still 
she  persisted,  and  said  she  would  reappear  in  the 
part,  poor  as  it  was,  if  Hare  thought  her  doing  so 
for  a  short  time  would  be  of  advantage  to  him, 
and  that,  if  so,  it  should  be  a  service  on  her  part  of 
comradeship  and  without  any  consideration  of  money. 
I  was  greatly  touched  by  her  generous  feelings,  and 
at  once  expressed  them  to  our  old  friend,  who  felt 
the  kindness  deeply,  but  feared — I  think  wisely — 
that  my  wife's  withdrawal  from  the  cast  after  "a 
short  time"  might,  in  the  end,  be  more  injurious 
than  beneficial  to  the  run.     I  told  her  all  this,  and 


A   GREAT   RECEPTION  805 

the  answer  was,  ''  Well,  I  will  play  the  part  for  fifty 
nights  if  Hare  would  like  that " — an  offer  that  was 
joyfully  accepted.     The  revival  was  a  brilliant  success. 

Immediately  after  the  announcement  was  made 
the  booking  office  was  besieged,  and  the  theatre 
was  crammed  to  its  full  capacity  for  many  months. 
When  the  promised  fifty  nights  were  coming  towards 
an  end,  Hare  begged  my  wife  to  name  the  terms 
herself  on  which  she  would  continue  to  play.  She 
answered  that  she  would  remain  with  him  on  the 
same  terms,  and  no  other,  until  he  closed  his  theatre 
in  July.  This  she  did  with  delight  until  five  days 
before  the  season  ended,  when,  unhappily,  she  was 
thrown  out  of  a  cab  and  received  a  serious  injury  to 
her  knee,  from  which  she  has  suffered  ever  since. 

In  describing  the  scene  on  the  first  night  of  the 
revival,  a  distinguished  journalist  chronicled  how  the 
chief  honours  were  reserved  for  my  wife. 

"The  cheering,"  he  related,  "began  as  soon  as 
her  merry,  musical  laugh  was  heard  at  the  wings ; 
it  grew  in  volume  directly  she  was  seen ;  and  when 
at  last  she  was  permitted  to  speak  the  opening  words 
of  her  part  to  Henry  Beauclerc,  'You  have  not 
forgotten  me,  then,  after  this  long  absence  ? '  the 
delighted  audience  seized  upon  the  words  as  the  cue 
for  a  tremendous  shout  of  welcome  that  made  the 
rafters  ring.  She  was  the  idol  of  the  hour;  and 
when  she  came  to  the  well-remembered  description 
of  the  famous  clock  at  Berne,  the  house  became 
rapturous,  laughed  itself  almost  out  of  breath,  and 
cheered  and  cheered  again.  The  art  of  the  actress 
was  proved  to  be  undimmed,  and  her  triumph  was 
complete." 

According  to  another  of  those  present : 

"The  evening  was  a  festival  in  honour  of  her 
return  ;  from  the  opening  scenes  to  the  final  words  it 
was  a  triumphal  fugue,  repeated  in  endless  variations, 
with  her  as  its  theme.  Rarely  within  the  walls  of  any 
theatre  had  there  been  witnessed  so  overpowering  a 
demonstration — so  emotional,  so  entirely  personal  in 

20 


306  REAPPEARANCE 

its  object,  so  obviously  spontaneous.  The  moment 
she  entered  the  room  she  seemed  to  brighten  every- 
body and  everything  in  it.  I  do  not  know  when  I 
have  had  a  greater  treat  than  hearing  the  music  of 
that  perfectly  pitched  and  perfectly  modulated  voice, 
which  made  itself  tunefully  heard,  without  any 
apparent  effort,  all  over  the  house.  .  .  .  Time,  in- 
exorable as  a  rule,  seemed  to  have  reversed  its  course 
in  her  favour,  for  she  seemed  positively  to  have  grown 
younger.  The  merry  laugh,  that  would  always  be 
remembered  by  playgoers  as  one  of  her  particular 
charms,  had  not  lost  a  note,  and  her  spirits  had 
suffered  no  depression." 

When  the  curtain  fell  on  the  last  act  the  enthusiasm 
was  so  great  that  Hare  went  before  the  curtain  and 
made  a  charming  little  speech,  some  words  from 
which  may  be  quoted  here. 

"  The  function  will  ever  be  memorable  to  me 
personally,  and  to  you,  I  venture  to  think,  too,  as  the 
date  of  the  return  to  the  stage  of  my  old  friend  and 
once  manager.  With  the  greatest  kindness,  she  has 
consented  to  appear  in  this  revival ;  and,  I  think, 
after  the  reception  that  has  been  afforded  her  to- 
night, she  will  hesitate  to  be  away  from  the  scene  of 
her  triumphs  for  so  long  a  period  as  that  which  has 
just  elapsed." 

This  only  redoubled  the  applause.  My  wife  was 
led  on  to  the  stage  by  Hare,  but  the  audience  would 
not  be  content  without  some  words  from  her  own 
lips,  which  she  gave  with  a  laughing  plea  for  the 
woman's  right  to  the  last  word  ;  and  still  she  was 
kept  on  the  stage  to  bow  her  acknowledgments  to 
the  cheers  and  applause  which  seemed  as  if  they 
would  never  stop.  It  was  a  long,  long  time  from  the 
fall  of  the  curtain  before  the  enthusiastic  audience 
finally  dispersed. 

Another  little  ceremony,  which  came  as  an  utter 
surprise  to  the  central  figure,  and  of  which  I  was  only 
told  during  the  evening,  was  still  to  take  place. 
Without  saying  a  word  of  it  to  her,  a  large  number 


^  -     'O    Xr' 


%.i^  S  ■Qifiin^'' 


fiiiiiilHi  tii^ 


'^oo2 


o 


REAPPEARANCE 
From  a  drawing  made  in  the  dressing-room 


p.  306] 


A  PLEASANT   SURPRISE  807 

of  my  wife's  friends  and  admirers  collected  on  the 
stage,  where  Lady  St.  Helier  (then  Lady  Jeune), 
acting  on  behalf  of  the  Princess  Christian,  who  was 
unfortunately  prevented  from  being  present  as  she 
had  hoped  to  be,  presented  my  wife  with  a  beautiful 
diamond  watch-bracelet,  the  gift  of  old  friends  and 
admirers.  From  the  very  graceful  speech  made  by 
Lady  St.  Helier  on  that  occasion  come  the  following 
words : 

**  When  you  gave  up  management  a  few  years 
ago  we  all  felt  that  your  disappearance  would  leave  a 
blank  not  easily,  if  it  ever  could  be,  filled,  and  it  is  no 
disparagement  to  any  one  to  say  that  no  one  ever  has 
taken  your  place.  You  cannot  doubt  how  deep  and 
genuine  is  the  pleasure  with  which  your  reappearance 
has  been  welcomed,  and  in  long  years  to  come  I  feel 
sure  the  echo  of  the  cheers  which  greeted  you  will 
live  in  your  heart  as  an  expression  of  public  gratitude 
and  affection  towards  one  to  whom  we  all  owe  a  debt 
of  deep  and  lasting  pleasure.  We  all  felt  we  should 
like  to  give  you  something  as  a  souvenir  of  to-night, 
and  flowers  naturally  suggested  themselves  as  the 
most  lovely  and  delicate  offering  we  could  lay  at  your 
feet.  But  flowers  fade,  and  we  did  not  wish  our  little 
present  to  be  swept  away  in  the  flood  we  see  around 
us  of  beautiful  but  fading  flowers.  We  hope  that  the 
gift  which  we  offer  you  may  always  serve  to  remind 
you,  though  very  inadequately,  of  the  esteem,  regard, 
and  great  affection  of  the  friends  who  give  it  you." 

It  was  a  joyous  time  for  all  concerned  in  the  play, 
which  has  always  proved  a  great  success. 

My  wife  greatly  valued  the  charming  souvenir 
Hare  gave  her  on  the  hundredth  night  of  the  revival, 
and  also  all  the  kindness  and  consideration  he  showed 
towards  his  old  and  first  London  manager,  while  her 
affectionate  reception  by  the  public  warmed  and 
rejoiced  her  heart. 

I  know,  of  course,  that  it  might  occur  to  some 
minds  that  as  my  wife  added  largely  to  the  receipts 
by  joining    the    cast   of  Diplomacy,    not   only  the 


308  REAPPEARANCE 

management,  but  I — who  had  a  pecuniary  interest  in 
the  result  of  the  production — gained  considerably. 

The  intimacy  of  more  than  forty  years  entitles 
me  to  say  that  no  such  idea  crossed  her  mind,  no  such 
stuff  was  in  her  thoughts.  It  was  freely  acknowledged 
to  be  "  a  labour  of  love,"  and,  in  simple  truth,  a  flower 
plucked  from  the  sweet  garden  of  a  generous  nature, 
in  harmony  with  the  life  of  one  who  had  been  a  bread- 
winner since  her  tongue  could  lisp. 

For  the  joint  tour  my  wife  and  I  afterwards  made 
with  Hare  and  his  company  to  Liverpool,  Manchester, 
Birmingham,  Edinburgh,  and  Glasgow,  a  different 
arrangement  was  entered  into,  and  continued  when 
the  performance  was  resumed  at  the  Garrick  Theatre 
until  the  close  of  the  year. 

The  accident  to  which  I  have  referred  was  most 
unlucky.  My  wife  was  sadly  injured,  but  I  need 
only  allude  to  it  so  far  as  it  affects  this  narrative. 

Various  acts  of  sympathy  were  shown  to  her,  not 
only  by  friends,  as  might  have  been  looked  for,  but 
by  many  whom  my  wife  had  neither  met  nor  known. 

She  was  also  honoured,  through  the  Duchess  of 
Roxburghe,  by  the  late  Queen's  sympathy,  and  by 
Her  Majesty's  desire  to  be  kept  informed  of  the 
progress  made  towards  recovery. 

The  letter  which  I  add  gave  my  wife  infinite 
pleasure,  the  writer  of  it  not  being  prone  readily  to 
show  his  feelings  : 

89^  Promenade,  Homburg, 

July  29,  1893. 

My  dear  Mrs.  Bancroft, — 

I  can't  help  writing  to  tell  you  how  delighted 
we  are  to  hear  you  are  making  such  good  progress 
towards  recovery — and  that  you  are  likely  to  be  able 
to  get  out  of  town  next  week.  Apart  from  any 
feeling  of  personal  regard,  it  would  have  been  a  public 
calamity  if  your  accident  had  permanently  disabled 
you.  I  have  a  horror  of  **  gush  " — and  the  English- 
man's desire  to  keep  his  emotions  to  himself  is  always 
strong  within  me — but  there  are  occasions  when  this 


A   ROYAL   COMMAND  309 

desire  yields  both  to  extreme  pleasure  and  to  extreme 
sorrow  ;  and  when  such  an  invaluable  artist  as  your- 
self has  had  so  narrow  an  escape  from  a  dreadful 
catastrophe,  it  is  impossible  not  to  relieve  one's 
feelings  by  writing  to  express  one's  gratitude,  even  at 
the  risk  of  being  tiresome.  Please  show  me  that  you 
forgive  me  for  worrying  you  with  this  letter  by  not 
replying  to  it — I  shall  then  know  that  I  have  given 
you  little  or  no  trouble.     I  shall  learn  how  you  are. 

My  wife  sends  her  best  regards  and  joins  with  me 
in  my  pleasure  at  the  good  news. 

Believe  me  to  be  always  sincerely  yours, 

W.  S.  Gilbert. 

After  some  weeks  of  kind  and  skilful  treatment 
by  Sir  William  MacCormac  she  was  able  to  travel 
to  Sheringham,  all  plans  for  a  foreign  trip  having, 
of  course,  been  abandoned.  We  were  fortunate  in 
the  companionship  of  two  old  friends,  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Perugini,  who  were  staying  in  the  same  hotel ;  while 
the  owners  of  Sheringham  Hall  and  Felbrigg  in  the 
kindest  way  begged  us  to  drive  through  their  beauti- 
ful parks,  w^hether  closed  to  the  public  or  not,  and 
showed  us,  also,  much  hospitality.  The  fine  Norfolk 
air  gave  sufficient  strength  to  allow  my  wife  to  fulfil 
the  promise  she  had  made  to  take  part  in  the  brief 
tour  with  Hare.  So  long  a  time  had  passed  since 
she  had  acted  out  of  London,  while  of  the  five  cities 
we  visited  she  had  only  appeared  in  two,  that, 
naturally,  she  added  greatly  to  the  success  of  the 
visits,  and  proved  to  be,  in  fact,  as  great  an  attraction 
as  the  play  itself,  in  spite  of  her  really  slight  part 
in  it — the  smallness  of  which  was  everywhere  much 
deplored. 

During  the  tour  the  exciting  news  came  that 
we  were  all  to  go  to  Balmoral  and  act  Diplomacy 
before  Queen  Victoria.  Hare  had  special  scenery 
prepared,  and  the  play  was  carefully  rehearsed  to 
meet  the  size  of  the  small  stage. 

I   make  a  pause  in  my  narrative  to  say  that, 


310  REAPPEARANCE 

except  when  Her  Majesty  was  seated  in  a  carriage, 
my  wife  and  I  had  only  then  seen  the  late  Queen 
on  two  occasions. 

The  first  of  these  was  after  the  serious  illness 
of  the  Prince  of  Wales  from  typhoid  fever,  in 
1872,  when  the  excitement  reached  so  high  a  pitch 
that  the  bulletins  from  Sandringham  were  read  out 
in  the  theatres  between  the  acts,  and  the  National 
Anthem  and  "  God  bless  the  Prince  of  Wales " 
were  nightly  played  by  the  orchestras  until  more 
reassuring  news  came.  I  may  say  here  that  actors 
have  always  seemed  to  me  to  be  strongly  loyal, 
as  a  body :  a  survival,  perhaps,  of  those  troublous 
times  of  long  ago  when  the  theatres  were  all  shut 
up,  and  the  players  among  the  first  to  rally  round 
their  King ;  for  when  treason  was  abroad  and  near 
the  throne,  the  actors  threw  aside  sock  and  buskin 
and  took  up  arms  to  serve  His  Majesty. 

The  manifestations  of  loyalty  to  the  throne  and 
of  personal  attachment  to  His  Royal  Highness, 
which  this  illness  seemed  to  set  ablaze,  culminated 
on  the  day  of  General  Thanksgiving,  when  the 
Queen  went,  with  the  Prince  of  Wales,  to  the 
service  held  at  St.  Paul's.  We  were  fortunate 
enough  to  receive  tickets  for  the  Cathedral  from  the 
Lord  Chamberlain,  and  so  witnessed  the  imposing 
ceremony.  I  shall  never  forget  the  august  effect,  nor 
the  wonderful  sound  of  it,  when  the  vast  and  silent 
assembly  rose  as  the  great  west  door  was  thrown 
open  and  a  loud  voice  announced  "  The  Queen." 

The  second  time  was  at  the  Jubilee  of  1887, 
when  we  were  splendidly  placed  in  Westminster 
Abbey.  An  impressive  sight  1  Three  things  con- 
cerning it  dwell  in  my  memory :  the  stately  walk 
of  the  Queen  down  the  nave,  and  the  extraordinary 
impression  created  by  that  small  but  majestic  figure ; 
and  two  other  personages — the  then  Crown  Prince 
of  Germany,  soon  afterwards  for  so  brief  a  reign 
the  Emperor  Frederick,  and  the  strikingly  handsome 
Prince  Rudolph  of  Austria. 


BALMORAL  PRIVATE  THEATRICALS    311 

The  Diploviacy  tour  ended  on  a  Saturday  at  l 
Glasgow,  and  the  Royal  command  was  fixed  for  \ 
the  following  Thursday.  My  wife  and  I  resolved 
to  pass  the  intervening  days  at  Ballater,  where  the 
season  was  practically  over,  there  being  but  one 
or  two  ardent  sportsmen  remaining  to  "kill  fish." 
We  were  made  comfortable  at  the  Invercauld  Arms, 
the  dismantling  of  some  rooms  being  postponed  on 
our  account. 

When  we  arrived  there  on  the  Monday  evening 
we  found  a  letter  of  welcome  from  the  Hon. 
Alexander  Yorke,  who  was  in  waiting  at  the  Castle, 
and  the  news  that  he  had  the  Queen's  commands  to 
invite  us  to  attend  an  amateur  performance  which 
was  to  take  place  there  on  the  following  night,  and 
in  which  the  Princess  Beatrice  was  to  have  a  part. 
Mr.  Yorke  added  that  a  similar  invitation  had  been 
sent  to  Hare  (who  had  decided  to  fill  up  the  time 
at  Aberdeen),  as  well  as  to  the  ladies  and  gentlemen 
of  his  company. 

We  were  now  well  advanced  in  "  chill  October," 
and  my  wife,  in  her  still  far  from  robust  state  of 
health,  did  not  dare  risk  the  long  drive  to  Balmoral 
and  the  late  journey  home.  This  was  accepted  as 
a  sufficient  excuse  for  her  absence.  I,  however, 
was  glad  to  avail  myself  of  the  honour,  and,  having 
chartered  a  carriage,  had  the  pleasure  of  the  com- 
pany of  Lady  Monckton  and  Miss  Kate  Rorke, 
who,  with  Forbes-Robertson  and  Gilbert  Hare, 
were  able  to  arrive  from  Aberdeen  in  time,  the 
telegraph  wires  having  been  kept  busy  to  arrange 
things. 

The  amateur  performance  was  a  version  of 
Sardou's  Pattes  de  Mouche,  and  it  was  a  valuable 
and  interesting  guide  in  regard  to  the  size  of  the 
stage  and  the  effect  of  a  performance  on  the  audience. 
The  Queen  was  wheeled  in  a  chair  by  her  Indian 
servants  to  a  private  entrance  to  the  ballroom,  and 
conducted  to  her  seat  by  her  gentlemen-in-waiting 
and  attendants.     The  comedy  was  acted  under  the 


312  REAPPEARANCE 

management  of  Mr.  Alexander  Yorke,  an  experi- 
enced and  clever  amateur.  He  and  the  Hon.  Mary 
Hughes  acted  the  two  principal  characters  ;  other 
parts  being  taken  by  the  Princess  Beatrice  and,  if 
I  remember  rightly,  by  Sir  James  Reid  and  Sir 
Arthur  Bigge. 

When  the  play  was  over,  to  my  surprise.  Sir 
Henry  Ponsonby,  for  many  years  the  Queen's  Private 
Secretary,  came  to  me,  and  said,  "  The  Queen  will 
receive  her  guests  in  the  drawing-room.  I  shall 
present  you  to  Her  Majesty ;  and  then,  as  Mr.  Hare 
is  not  here,  will  you  kindly  present  the  members 
of  his  company  ? "  adding,  after  a  moment's  thought, 
that  perhaps  it  would  be  better  if  Lady  Ampthill 
presented  the  ladies  and  I  presented  the  gentlemen. 
I  began  to  feel  nervous  at  the  unexpected  responsi- 
bility, but  was  so  reassured  by  Sir  Henry  that  1 
soon  was  more  at  my  ease.  When  I  had  the  honour 
of  being  presented,  the  Queen,  who  stood  alone  in 
the  centre  of  the  room,  surrounded  by  a  circle  formed 
by  members  of  the  Royal  Family,  Her  Majesty's 
guests— who  included,  I  remember.  Sir  Algernon 
and  Lady  Borthwick  (as  Lord  and  Lady  Glenesk 
then  were),  and  Johannes  Wolff,  the  celebrated 
violinist,  as  well  as  the  ladies  and  gentlemen  in 
waiting — spoke  to  me  for  some  minutes  in  perhaps 
the  most  beautiful  and  winning  voice  1  ever  listened 
to,  although  I  have  lived  in  the  company  of  a  strong 
rival  to  it  for  more  than  forty  years.  The  Queen 
alluded  with  great  sympathy  to  my  wife's  accident, 
and  kept  up  a  conversation  with  regard  to  the 
pleasure  with  which  she  was  looking  forward  to 
seeing  her  act,  in  a  way  which  placed  me  more  than 
ever  at  her  feet.  I  afterwards  presented  Mr.  Forbes- 
Robertson,  Mr.  Gilbert  Hare,  and  other  gentlemen 
of  Hare's  company.  The  Queen  then  bowed  with 
great  charm  to  all  present,  and,  in  an  impressive 
setting  of  ceremonial  curtseys  and  salutations,  re- 
tired with  her  ladies  to  her  own  apartments.  We 
all  had  the  honour  of  joining  Her  Majesty's  guests, 


PRESENTATIONS  313 

among  whom  was  Sir  Henry  Campbell-Bannerman, 
who  was  the  Minister  in  attendance,  at  supper  before 
we  drove  in  high  and  happy  spirits  back  to  Ballater. 
It  was  an  eventful  evening,  and  I  was  proud  that 
it  should  have  befallen  me. 

My  wife  has  never  kept  a  diary,  and  my  own 
attempts  to  do  so  have  been  very  feeble,  fated  always 
to  come  to  an  untimely  end  before  even  the  month 
of  January  was  past.  I  may,  however,  take  this 
opportunity  to  say  that  I  have  long  contemplated 
the  possible  appearance,  in  some  form  or  other,  of 
this  volume,  and  so  have  helped  a  naturally  good 
memory  by  making  certain  notes.  In  this  instance 
I  am  enabled  to  quote  from  a  letter  written  at  the 
time  by  my  wife  from  Ballater,  and  her  words  will 
help  to  string  this  little  chronicle  together. 

"B.  has  given  me  a  glowing  account  of  last 
night's  visit  to  Balmoral  to  see  the  amateur  perform- 
ance. The  play  was  a  version  of  A  Scrap  of  Paper. 
B.  says  that  Miss  Hughes  and  Alec  Yorke  were  both 
excellent  in  the  principal  parts,  and  that  Princess 
Beatrice  acted  very  well  en  amateur  as  the  wife. 
The  evening  was  full  of  surprises.  He  had  to 
present  the  company  to  the  Queen  ;  both  Forbie 
[Forbes-Robertson]  and  Bertie  Hare  are  loud  in  his 
praise  and  say  no  one  could  have  done  it  better, 
although  he  says  himself  that  he  was  frightfully 
nervous.  It  would,  however,  take  a  small  earth- 
quake to  upset  his  control.  After  the  ceremony 
they  all  stayed  to  have  supper  with  the  Royal 
Family  and  the  Household.  Now  I  know  the  more 
than  kind  way  in  which  the  Queen  spoke  of  me 
to  B.,  I  feel  assured  of  a  gracious  welcome.  He 
tells  me  the  Queen's  exact  words  were :  '  I  am 
so  looking  forward  to  Thursday,  having  never  seen 
Mrs.  Bancroft  act,  but  I  have  for  many  years  heard 
very  much  about  her.' 

"  I  am  now  going  for  a  long  drive  in  this  beautiful 
country." 


314  REAPPEARANCE 

The  performance  of  Diplomacy  was  a  splendid 
success  and  rejoiced  all  concerned  in  it.  What 
astonished  us  most  was  the  laughter  and  applause 
the  play  provoked — very  different  from  the  solemn 
ordeal  of  acting  at  Windsor,  where  rigorous  court 
etiquette  is  observed.  The  Queen  and  the  Empress 
Eugenie,  who  was  staying  at  Abergeldie  at  the  time, 
sat  side  by  side.  I  was  guilty  of  boring  a  tiny  hole 
at  the  back  of  the  scene  to  watch  the  effect  of  my 
wife's  fun  in  her  imitation  of  the  Berne  clock,  and 
can  only  say,  without  the  faintest  affectation,  that 
she  never  had  a  finer  audience  than  Queen  Victoria ; 
not  one  of  Her  Majesty's  subjects  ever  laughed  or 
enjoyed  the  buoyant  nonsense  of  it  more. 

When  the  play  was  over  the  Queen  again 
received  her  guests,  the  Empress  Eugenie  being  also 
there.  Those  who  were  not  present  on  the  Tuesday 
then  had  the  honour  of  being  presented  by  Lady 
Ampthill  and  Sir  Henry  Ponsonby.  Here  again 
I  can  quote  from  another  letter  written  by  my 
wife. 

"I  was  made  very  happy  by  the  goodness  of 
the  public  to  me  on  my  reappearance,  and  that  has 
now  been  followed  by  the  great  delight  of  knowing 
from  her  own  lips  that  I  have  given  pleasure  to  the 
Queen,  greater  because  I  had  abandoned  the  hope 
of  ever  acting  before  her,  as  since  the  Prince 
Consort's  death  she  had  never,  as  you  know,  been 
to  a  theatre.  The  words  of  praise  were  charming, 
the  manner  was  even  more  so.  To  hear  that 
singularly  beautiful  voice,  to  provoke  that  equally 
beautiful  smile,  gives  me  the  sort  of  happiness  which 
children  feel.  Lady  Ampthill  presented  me  to  Her 
Majesty,  who  at  once  placed  me  at  my  ease — her 
talk  was  so  friendly.  After  dwelling  on  my  wretched 
accident  she  was  quite  bountiful  in  expressing  delight 
at  the  play,  and  ended  by  referring  to  the  Berne  clock 
and  saying,  '  How  you  have  made  me  laugh  1  and 
it  is  ^o  nice  to  be  merry.' 


THE   QUEEN'S   GIFTS  315 

"  1  then  was  presented  to  the  Empress  Eugenie, 
still  strikingly  handsome,  who  was  also  full  of  com- 
pliments and  told  me  she  had  not  seen  a  play  acted 
for  five-and-twenty  years.  I  knew  the  thoughts 
that  were  behind  her  words." 

As  I  followed  my  wife  and  made  my  bow  to  the 
Queen,  Her  Majesty  said,  with  a  smile,  "  Now  I  have 
seen  Mrs.  Bancroft."  The  Queen's  final  words,  on 
retiring  with  her  ladies,  were :  "  What  an  evening  1 
and  now  it  is  all  over." 

We  then  were  presented  by  the  Princess  Beatrice, 
in  the  name  of  the  Queen,  with  the  gifts  Her 
Majesty  had  already  chosen  as  souvenirs  of  the 
occasion.  My  wife  received  the  royal  cipher  in 
brilliants,  rubies,  and  sapphires,  surmounted  by  the 
imperial  crown.     I  treasure  a  gold  cigar-case. 

At  supper,  I  remember,  my  wife  was  telling  a 
funny  Scotch  story,  sotto  voce,  to  Mr.  Yorke,  which 
Prince  Henry  of  Battenberg  partly  overheard,  and 
then  insisted  upon  hearing  fully.  The  laughter  was 
most  hearty,  as  was  Sir  Henry  Campbell-Bannerman's 
appreciation  of  the  accurate  Scotch  dialect,  which 
surprised  him. 

I  recall  an  incident  of  the  evening,  which  left  an 
ineffaceable  impression  on  my  memory. 

The  lady  who  had  been  in  attendance  on  Her 
Majesty  joined  the  party  late,  and  said  to  Forbes- 
Robertson,  next  to  whom  she  was  seated,  '*The 
Queen  wishes  it  to  be  understood  that  she  is  quite 
aware  that  several  of  the  ladies  and  gentlemen  she 
has  seen  act  this  evening  are  the  friends  of  her 
children." 

Prince  Henry  made  a  charming  speech,  which 
was  admirably  responded  to  by  Hare,  before  we 
broke  up  in  the  small  hours  and  drove  through  the 
snow- wrapped  country  back  to  Ballater. 

Early  in  the  morning,  before  we  left  for  home, 
my  wife  wrote  to  Mr.  Yorke  to  say  how  deeply  she 
was  impressed  and  touched  by  the  kindness  and  help 


316  REAPPEARANCE 

she  had  received.  Owing  to  her  weak  knee,  a  room 
on  the  ground  floor  had  been  assigned  to  her  quite 
close  to  the  improvised  stage — one  of  the  Royal 
servants,  I  remember,  was  stationed  outside  the 
door — and  all  the  comfort  was  provided  for  her  that 
forethought  could  suggest.  I  saw  the  letter,  which 
was  both  charmingly  and  humorously  expressed,  and 
was  not  surprised  to  hear  afterwards  that  it  had  been 
kept  by  the  Queen. 

In  the  following  year  my  wife  acted  again  in  the 
Garrick  Theatre,  when  she  accepted  an  offer  made 
to  her  by  Hare  to  appear  as  Lady  Franklin,  her  old 
part,  in  Money,  She  had  the  advantage  of  being 
again  supported  by  Arthur  Cecil  as  Mr.  Graves,  so 
they  renewed  the  success  of  our  old  Haymarket  days 
in  their  laughable  scenes.  The  old  comedy  was 
strongly  cast,  and  ran  merrily  for  months.  Besides 
Hare  himself,  Forbes-Robertson,  Bourchier,  Aynes- 
worth,  Brookfield,  Kate  Rorke,  and  Maud  Millett  also 
acted  in  it.     I  resisted  all  temptations  to  reappear. 

A  tragic  circumstance  was  connected  with  the 
first  night  of  this  revival.  Edmund  Yates  was  seated 
in  the  centre  of  the  stalls,  and  throughout  my  wife's 
performance  he  had  laughed  and  applauded  heartily. 
At  its  close,  when  she  was  loudly  called  before  the 
curtain,  he  turned  to  his  neighbour  and  said,  **The 
old  brigade,  the  old  brigade — it  will  take  a  deal  to 
beat  it  1 "  He  then  stooped  for  his  hat,  and  fell 
forward  in  a  fit.     He  never  recovered  consciousness. 

"  How  oft  when  men  are  at  the  point  of  death 
Have  they  been  merry  ! "" 

I  helped  to  take  him  to  the  Savoy  Hotel  and  to 
break  the  dreadful  news  to  Mrs.  Yates,  to  whom  my 
wife  and  I  had  for  many  years  a  sincere  attachment. 

Once  again  my  wife  yielded  to  temptations  to 
appear  ;  this  time  with  Tree  at  her  old  home  in  the 
Haymarket.  She  acted  for  fifty  nights  in  Fedora, 
with  Mrs.  Patrick  Campbell  in  the  chief  part  and 
Tree  as  Loris  Ipanoff. 


AKTHUR  CECIL  AND  MARIE  BANCROFT  IN   "MONEY 


<<  nr/^xTWir  » 


p.  816] 


LENDING  AND   BORROWING       817 

When  Tree  arranged  with  me  to  revive  Fedora, 
which  had  not  been  acted  since  I  produced  the  play 
in  1883,  there  was,  unhappily,  a  discordant  note 
connected  with  the  revival  which  caused  distress  to 
all  concerned,  since  it  involved  the  withdrawal  by 
Tree — in  accordance,  of  course,  with  his  right  to  do 
so — of  Mrs.  Patrick  Campbell  from  Hare,  to  whom 
he  had  lent  her  services  for  a  time.  This  happened 
at  the  most  unfortunate  moment,  at  the  height  of  the 
great  success  Mrs.  Campbell  had  achieved  in  Pinero*s 
brilliant  play.  The  Notorious  Mrs,  Ebbsviithy  so 
strikingly  following  up,  as  she  did,  her  first  triumph 
with  Alexander  as  The  Second  Mrs,  Tanqueray, 

This  meant  a  serious  blow  to  both  manager  and 
author,  no  matter  how  they  might  replace  Mrs. 
Campbell.  It  was  a  painful  illustration  of  the  in- 
evitable risk  which  one  manager  takes  in  borrowing 
from  another  the  services  of  an  important  actor  or 
actress,  unless  for  an  entire  run.  There  had  already 
been  an  instance  of  borrowing  in  connection  with  the 
same  play;  for  Hare  had  lent  Forbes-Robertson  to 
Irving  for  the  part  of  Lancelot  in  Comyns  Carr's 
play  King  Arthur  at  the  Lyceum,  and  was  obliged 
to  claim  his  services  for  the  production  of  Pinero's 
play  at  the  Garrick  Theatre. 

Hare's  loss  was  far  the  greater  of  the  two,  as  the 
unfortunate  circumstance  deprived  him  of  a  leading 
actress  at  the  crowning  moment  of  a  great  success, 
to  which  she  was  essential,  while  the  withdrawal  of 
Forbes-Robertson  still  left  Irving  and  Ellen  Terry  to 
support  the  Lyceum  play. 

But  for  this  regrettable  episode,  the  engagement 
gave  my  wife  much  pleasure.  Though  playing  a 
comparatively  small  part  herself,  she  was  glad  to  act 
with  Mrs.  Patrick  Campbell,  in  the  same  way  that  it 
always  pleased  her  to  act,  on  her  own  stage,  with 
Mrs.  Kendal,  Ellen  Terry,  and  Madame  Modjeska. 

My  old  part  in  Fedora  was  taken  by  Nutcombe 
Gould,  whose  premature  death  robbed  the  stage  of 
a  charming  personality. 


818  REAPPEARANCE 

This  engagement  was  the  last  my  wife  fulfilled. 
I  know  she  would  wish  me  to  say  concerning  it  that 
Tree,  of  whom  she  then  knew  comparatively  little, 
treated  her  throughout  with  a  special  courtesy  and 
consideration  which  neither  she  nor  I  have  in  the 
least  forgotten. 

I  would  like  to  allude  here  to  the  constant  gentle 
acts  and  kindly  thoughts  shown  to  my  wife  in  many 
ways  by  our  brothers  and  sisters  in  art  since  her 
retirement,  when  she  goes  to  the  play ;  not  only  by 
the  older  managers,  who  of  course  have  known  her 
for  many  years,  but  by  those  whose  friendship  and 
acquaintance  are  of  later  date.  I  hope  that  one  and 
all  of  them  know  and  believe  how  much  pleasure 
they  have  given  and  how  truly  thanked  they  are. 

Then  came  our  very  last  appearance,  which  was 
for  a  charity,  on  May  12,  1896.  It  chanced  to  be  at 
the  Haymarket  Theatre — in  the  beautiful  theatre 
which  is  now  all  changed  ;  and  it  also  chanced  to  be 
in  the  second  act  of  Ows,  which  was  represented  by 
the  following  cast :  Hugh  Chalcot,  Mr.  Bancroft ; 
Prince  Perovsky,  Mr.  Tree  ;  Sir  Alexander  Shendryn, 
Mr.  E.  S.  Willard  ;  Angus  MacAlister,  Mr.  George 
Alexander ;  Sergeant  Jones,  Mr.  Forbes-Robertson ; 
A  Servant,  Mr.  Frederick  Kerr ;  Lady  Shendryn, 
Miss  Rose  Leclercq  ;  Blanche  Haye,  Mrs.  Tree ;  and 
Mary  Netley,  Mrs.  Bancroft, — a  remarkable  list  of 
names,  if  one  who  figures  in  it  may  say  so.  My  wife 
adds  a  farewell  note. 

Mary  Netley  is  by  no  means  a  good  part  to  read, 
and  had  not  Robertson  asked  me  to  "  build  it  up," 
she  would  have  fallen  comparatively  flat  with  the 
audience.  When  the  play  was  originally  read  to  us, 
the  author  begged  me  to  do  all  I  could  in  the  scenes 
which  chiefly  concerned  myself  in  the  last  act,  for 
somehow,  he  said,  he  felt  unable  to  make  Mary  as 
prominent  as  he  wished.  So  at  the  rehearsals  I  set 
to  work,  and  invented  business  and  dialogue,  which, 
happily,  met  with  his  approval.     He  always  declared 


OUR  LAST  APPEARANCE  319 

I  greatly  helped  the  act,  which  was  in  parts  very 
weak.  The  audiences  always  laughed  heartily  at  the 
fun  and  frolic  which  in  the  days  of  high  spirits  I 
adopted.  1  remember  with  what  care  I  made  the 
famous  roly-poly  pudding  during  the  first  run — it 
was  eagerly  waited  for  by  some  poor  children  hard-by. 
Ours  was,  in  spite  of  its  weak  last  act,  always  a  great 
favourite  with  the  public,  and  never  failed  to  be  our 
good  friend  whenever  we  called  upon  it  to  help  us ; 
and  so  the  play  remains  a  treasure  in  "  my  memory 
locked."  My  husband  and  I  have  always  looked 
upon  the  second  act  of  Ours  as  the  best  the  author 
ever  wrote,  an  opinion  which  we  are  sure  Robertson 
shared.  It  was  fit  and  proper  that  it  should  so  fall 
out  that  our  last  appearance  should  be  in  this  fine 
scene.  The  emotions  it  stirred,  the  patriotism  it 
evoked,  the  waving  of  handkerchiefs  and  the  buzz 
of  delighted  voices  when  the  curtain  finally  fell,  are 
cherished  memories  that  will  never  fade.  A  sweet 
good-bye  I 

It  was  in  that  same  year  that  I  received  a  letter 
from  Sir  Arthur  Bigge  expressing  Queen  Victoria's 
strong  wish  to  see  my  wife  act  again ;  and  a  per- 
formance consisting  of  The  Vicarage  and  a  selection 
from  Money  was  to  have  taken  place  by  Her 
Majesty's  command.  Unhappily  it  had  to  be  post- 
poned through  the  illness  of  poor  Arthur  Cecil,  an 
illness  that  soon  afterwards  took  a  serious  turn  and 
ended — to  the  grief  of  his  multitude  of  friends — with 
his  death. 

A  few  recitations  and  speeches  have  been  given 
since  for  benefits  and  charities ;  and  when  a  special 
performance  took  place  at  Drury  Lane  Theatre  in 
honour  of  Ellen  Terry's  stage  jubilee,  by  her  wish — 
expressed  in  these  welcome  words  :  **  I  do  so  much 
hope  you  will.  If  you  ha\|e  the  will,  do  find  the  way, 
and  don't  let  me  be  without  the  support  of  one  of 
my  best  and  oldest  comrades" — my  wife  had  the 
pleasure  of  addressing  a  speech,  first  to  the  audience, 


520  REAPPEARANCE 

and  then  to  the  great  pubHc  favourite  in  the  names 
of  her  fellow-servants  of  our  art.  It  was  a  memor- 
able occasion. 

On  the  afternoon  of  June  16,  1897,  my  wife  and 
I  had  been  to  a  musical  party.  On  our  return, 
there  were  several  letters  in  the  hall :  one  of  them  I 
transcribe : 

Foreign  Office, 

June  16,  1897. 

My  dear  Sir, — 

I  have  had  the  honour  of  submitting  to 
the  Queen  that  the  Honour  of  Knighthood  should 
be  conferred  upon  you  on  the  occasion  of  the 
approaching  Jubilee  ;  and  Her  Majesty  having  been 
pleased  to  approve  of  my  recommendation,  in  recog- 
nition of  the  high  position  which  you  occupy  in  the 
profession  to  which  you  have  rendered  such  notable 
service,  it  becomes  my  duty  to  acquaint  you  with 
Her  gracious  intention.  It  affords  me  much  satis- 
faction to  be  the  instrument  of  making  this  com- 
munication to  you. 

Beheve  me,  yours  very  faithfully, 

Salisbury. 

S.   B.  Bancroft,  Esq. 


I  was  very  moved  and  impressed  ;  after  a  little 
while  I  went  upstairs,  and  without  comment  left  the 
letter,  in  its  envelope,  with  my  wife.  I  then  wrote 
to  Lord  Salisbury : 

18,  Berkeley  Square, 

June  16,   1897. 

My  Lord  Marquess, — 

I  have  the  honour  to  acknowledge  the 
receipt  of  your  lordship's  letter  informing  me  of  the 
great  and  unexpected  distinction  you  have  shown 
me  in  submitting  to  the  Queen  that  I  should 
receive  the  Honour  of  Knighthood,  and  of  Her 
Majesty's  most  gracious  approval  of  your  lordship's 
recommendation. 


KNIGHTHOOD  321 

I  would  beg  leave  to  add  how  deeply  sensible  I 
am  of  the  flattering  words  in  which  you  acquaint  me 
of  this  great  honour,  and  also  that  it  is  a  profound 
gratification  to  me  that  the  recommendation  should 
have  emanated  from  your  lordship. 

With  much  respect,  believe  me  to  be,  my  Lord 
Marquess, 

Your  faithful  servant, 

Squire  B.  Bancroft. 

To  THE  Most  Honble. 
The  Marquess  op  Salisbury,  K.G. 

When  the  announcement  was  made  public,  by 
letter  and  telegram  came  between  two  and  three 
hundred  congratulations.  Some  of  them  were  a 
surprise  to  us — as,  for  instance,  warm  expressions 
of  pleasure  from  the  late  Duke  of  Westminster,  the 
late  Lord  Goschen,  the  Bishop  of  Ripon,  and  the 
then  Dean  of  Canterbury  (Dr.  Farrar).  The  most 
acceptable  of  them  all,  however,  were  the  unstinted 
words  of  congratulation  we  received,  without  ex- 
ception, from  the  prominent  members  of  our  own 
profession. 

At  the  Jubilee  Garden  Party  given  by  the 
late  Queen  at  Buckingham  Palace  a  few  days 
afterwards,  the  then  Prince  of  Wales  graciously 
and  warmly  expressed  his  congratulations  on  our 
honour. 

The  "  accolade  "  was  conferred  at  Osborne.  We 
crossed  from  Southampton  to  the  Isle  of  Wight  in 
the  Royal  Yacht,  and  1  had  the  pleasure  to  travel  in 
the  company  of  some  personal  friends  who  then 
became  Sir  Felix  Semon,  Sir  Lucius  Selfe,  Sir 
Charles  Howard,  and  Sir  George  Martin. 

Once  again  we  were  privileged  to  speak  with 
Queen  Victoria.  This  was  at  the  Garden  Party 
given  by  Her  Majesty  at  Buckingham  Palace  in  the 
last  summer  of  her  life,  when  she  graciously  honoured 
some  among  her  loving  subjects  whom  she  seldom 
met. 

21 


322  REAPPEARANCE 

Then  came  the  end  of  the  reign  of  that  great 
Monarch,  that  amazing  woman. 

"  O  Queen  of  Queens  ! 
How  far  dost  thou  excel 
No  thought  can  think." 

On  that  never-to-be-forgotten  day  we  saw  what 
Ella  Wheeler  Wilcox  so  pathetically  describes  as 
The  Queen's  Last  Ride.  My  wife  was  at  Lord 
Glenesk's  house  in  Piccadilly.  I  had  the  honour  to 
be  invited  to  the  Chapel  Royal  at  Windsor. 

"  Though  in  Royal  splendour  she  drives  through  town, 
Her  robes  are  simple  ;  she  wears  no  crown  ! 
And  yet  she  wears  one  ;  for,  widowed  no  more, 
She  is  crowned  with  the  love  that  has  gone  before, 
And  crowned  with  the  love  she  has  left  behind 
In  the  hidden  depths  of  each  mourner's  mind. 
Bow  low  your  heads ;  lift  your  hearts  on  high — 
The  Queen  in  silence  is  driving  by." 


p.  322] 


MAEIE  BANCROFT 


CHAPTER  XII 

HENRY    IRVING 

"Like  a  great  sea-mark,  standing  every  flaw." 

In  obedience  to  the  following  words,  written  by  his 
elder  son,  I  will  tell  what  I  can  of  Henry  Irving. 

"  It  rests  with  those  who  knew  him  well,  who  at 
different  times  were  his  companions,  to  convey  to 
those  who  neither  saw  nor  heard  him  some  idea  of 
a  personality  the  power  and  impressiveness  of  which 
none  can  question.  It  is  well  that  those  of  them 
who  will,  should  tell  us  something  of  Henry  Irving." 

In  a  book,  written  with  all  his  usual  charm,  by 
the  Right  Hon.  George  Russell  is  a  description  of 
Lord  Beaconsfield  which,  when  I  read  it,  seemed 
to  me  not  only  a  faithful  portrait  of  the  great  Tory 
leader,  but  one  that  might  as  truthfully  be  applied 
to  the  late  great  leader  of  the  stage.  I  will  quote 
the  passage : 

"  In  private  life  he  was  affectionate,  easy-going, 
facile,  obliging.  He  lived  in  a  circle  of  hypnotised 
worshippers,  whose  highest  joy  was  to  promote  his 
interests  and  establish  his  rule  and  magnify  his 
majesty.  For  the  man  who  crossed  his  path  or 
frustrated  his  ambition,  or  opposed  his  onward  march 
to  the  supreme  place,  a  different  side  of  his  nature 
was  brought  into  play." 

Irving  was  a  born  leader,  and  grew  to  be  a  fine 
judge  of  mankind.  He  owned  that  mysterious  power 
which  draws  towards  its  possessor  the  affection  of  his 


324  HENRY   IRVING 

fellows  ;  and  he  must,  early  in  his  life,  have  learnt  the 
important  truth,  that  to  be  well  served,  you  must 
first  teach  yourself  how  to  become  beloved. 

He  also  illustrated  a  theory,  strongly  held  by 
such  a  master  of  our  art  as  Regnier,  that  to  make 
a  really  fine  actor  a  man  ought  to  be  obliged  to  fight 
against  some  physical  drawback.  This  remark  of  one 
of  the  greatest  of  all  French  comedians  applied  to  his 
distinguished  comrade  Lesueur — whose  performance 
in  the  Partie  de  Piquet  prompted  Charles  Coghlan 
to  give  us,  under  the  title  of  A  Quiet  Rubber,  his 
admirable  version  made  known  so  artistically  to 
English  audiences  by  John  Hare. 

Although  denied,  by  the  accident  of  life,  the 
advantages  of  a  first-class  education,  Irving  possessed 
the  knowledge  and  the  learning  which  schools  and 
colleges  may  fail  to  teach ;  and  certainly,  in  his  later 
years,  he  would  have  gi'aced,  in  manner  and  aspect, 
any  position  to  which  he  might  have  been  called. 
The  refinement  of  his  appearance  grew  to  be  remark- 
able— the  Church  or  the  Bench,  equally  with  literature 
or  science,  might  with  pride  in  that  regard  have 
claimed  him  as  a  chief  This  personal  attribute  only 
came  to  him  towards  the  autumn  of  his  life,  which 
it  so  adorned.  Truth  to  tell,  in  the  early  part  of  his 
career  he  had  but  little,  if  any,  of  it.  In  those 
distant  days  there  was  indeed  a  smack  of  the  country 
actor  in  his  appearance ;  and,  if  it  is  not  profanity  to 
utter  the  thought,  even  a  suggestion  of  a  type  im- 
mortalised by  Dickens. 

The  first  time  I  ever  spoke  to  Irving  was  in  the 
very  early  years  of  the  old  Prince  of  Wales's  Theatre. 
It  was  when  he  was  at  the  St.  James's  Theatre,  and 
had  a  lodging  in  Old  Quebec  Street.  I  was  walking 
through  the  Burlington  Arcade  with  Montague — a 
mutual  friend — and  there  we  met  him  and  all  three 
had  a  pleasant  talk.  I  can  recall  his  appearance 
perfectly ;  which  was  much  as  I  have  suggested. 
He  wore  a  moustache  then  and  carried  an  eyeglass 
(though  he  was  not  nearly  so  short-sighted  as  I  am), 


IRVING   IN   PARIS  325 

before  he  adopted  the  long  famihar  pince-nez.  We 
soon  became  friends,  and  remained  so  throughout 
his  remarkable  career — the  most  remarkable  in  many 
respects  that  ever  befell,  or  perhaps  ever  will  befall, 
an  actor.  My  contribution  to  all  that  has  been  so 
fully  and  so  ably  written  of  Irving  will  be  a  few 
personal  items  which  will  owe  any  interest  or  value 
they  may  possess  to  their  association  with  himself. 

Without  being  in  the  least  distant  or  proud,  he  was 
reticent  and  secretive  ;  yet  such  was  his  peculiar  force 
and  magnetism  that  many  thought  they  were  intimate 
with  him  who  were  never  really  allowed  to  be  so. 

An  interesting  incident  of  his  early  life  was  revealed 
to  me  by  Irving.  He  told  me  something  new  to  me 
about  himself  when  he  was  engaged  by  Sothern,  in 
the  summer  of  1867,  to  act  in  Paris  the  part  of  the 
drunken  clerk,  a  character  drawn  by  Tom  Taylor  in 
a  vein  of  downright  melodrama,  in  Our  American 
Cousin,  "  Lord  Dundreary "  proved  a  flat  failure 
there.  The  little  troupe  of  players  was  disbanded 
and  returned  to  London,  with  the  exception  of 
Irving,  who,  then  finding  himself  abroad  for  the 
first  time,  lingered  in  the  bright  city  for  a  couple  of 
months,  until  he  was  summoned  home  to  attend 
rehearsals  for  his  autumn  engagement.  He  told  me 
that  during  his  stay  in  Paris  he  lived  in  a  garret  on 
a  few  francs  a  day  and  paid  nightly  visits  through- 
out that  time  to  the  cheap  parts  of  the  theatres. 
Although  he  had  no  knowledge  of  the  language,  he 
was  all  the  while  zealously  studying  acting  of  every 
grade  and  kind. 

When,  in  later  years,  he  entertained  in  his  princely 
fashion  eminent  foreign  artists,  in  answer  to  some 
torrent  of  compliment  showered  upon  him  in  French, 
he  would,  without  the  slightest  affectation — a  failing 
from  which  he  was  entirely  and  happily  free — bestow 
upon  the  animated  speaker  the  charm  of  his  beautiful 
smile  and  simply  say,  "  I  am  sure  it  is  all  something 
very  kind  and  sweet,  but  I  don't  understand  one 
single  word." 


326  HENRY   IRVING 

Soon  after  his  success  in  James  Albery's  comedy, 
Two  Roses,  at  the  Vaudeville  Theatre,  and  shortly 
before  what  proved  to  be  the  turning-point  in  his 
wonderful  career — his  joining  Bateman  as  a  member 
of  the  Lyceum  company — I  had  occasion  to  go  to 
the  office  of  English  and  Blackmore,  who  then  were 
well  known  as  dramatic  agents.  As  I  was  on  the 
point  of  leaving,  one  of  them  said  to  me,  "  Oh,  by 
the  way,  would  Irving  be  of  use  to  you  next  season  ? 
We  have  reason  to  believe  he  desires  a  change." 
The  question,  even  then,  was  startling :  I  replied 
that  I  should  indeed  be  delighted  to  offer  him  an 
engagement,  but  feared  it  would  be  difficult  to  do 
so  with  advantage  to  him,  as  there  were  already 
Hare,  Coghlan,  and  myself  in  occupation.  How 
possible  it  is  that  a  diffisrent  answer  might  have 
influenced  future  events  in  theatre-land,  and  how 
strange  it  seems  now  to  recall  that  the  Bancroft 
management  was  then  already  some  years  old ! 

At  a  dinner-party  given  by  Edmund  Yates  in 
1878,  while  Diplomacy  was  in  its  first  run  and  our 
theatre  was  crowded  every  night,  Irving  spoke  to 
me  of  its  great  success.  I  answered  that  in  my 
belief  the  same  could  be  achieved  as  readily  at  the 
Lyceum  if  money  were  freely  and  wisely  spent  there. 
This  was  a  few  months  before  his  own  illustrious 
management  began.  I  adhere  to  my  belief ;  but  wide 
is  the  diffisrence  between  spending  and  wasting,  while, 
also,  the  disasters  which  are  now  admitted  to  have 
darkened  his  brilliant  reign  were  sometimes,  it  must 
be  conceded,  the  result  of  grave  errors  of  judgment 
in  the  choice  of  plays.  For  instance,  after  the 
undoubted  success  which  attended  his  splendid 
production  of  Much  Ado  about  Nothing,  and  when 
it  was  attracting  all  London,  largely  owing  to  the 
superb  rendering  of  Beatrice  by  Ellen  Terry — indeed, 
a  cherished  memory — I  urged  him  after  such  a 
triumph  to  produce  As  You  Like  It  for  her,  and 
to  let  her,  while  still  young,  show  us  Rosalind.  I 
went  on  enthusiastically  about  the  all-round  cast  he 


A  LOST   OPPORTUNITY  327 

then  had  in  the  theatre  :  Terriss  for  Orlando  ;  Forbes- 
Robertson  for  Jacques  ;  Fernandez  for  the  banished 
Duke  ;  and  the  choice  of  those  sterUng  actors  Howe 
and  Mead  for  Adam  and  the  old  shepherd.  I  was 
adding  several  other  names  when  I  felt  his  glittering 
eye  upon  me  as,  with  his  forefinger  pointed  to  his 
breast,  he  jerked  out,  "  Good — very  good — but 
where  do  I  come  in  ?  "  I  answered,  "  Touchstone  I " 
And  so  I  would  again,  for  of  certain  comedy  parts 
he  was  a  brilliant  actor,  raising  them  to  great 
prominence.  Nothing  came  of  the  suggestion,  but 
such  a  revival  then,  I  still  maintain,  would  have 
meant  both  fame  and  fortune. 

King  John  and  King  Richay^d  II,  were  other  plays 
I  more  than  once  in  friendly  talks  ventured  to  urge 
upon  him.  It  seemed  to  me  that  he  was  singularly 
gifted  to  pourtray  the  characters  of  both  monarchs ; 
while  he  allowed  all  his  own  wealth  of  ideas  con- 
cerning a  great  production  of  Julius  Ccesar,  for  which 
he  had  splendid  help  from  Alma-Tadema,  to  slide 
away  and  vanish,  losing,  eventually,  the  opportunity 
of  playing  Brutus  and  casting  Forbes-Robertson  and 
Terriss  for  Cassius  and  Marc  Antony.  In  a  sordid 
sense,  as  an  artistic  asset,  Irving  was  often  wasted. 
As  he  was  a  believer  in  them,  so  was  he  a  masterly 
exponent  of  the  imagination,  the  mystery,  the  witch- 
craft of  the  theatre,  which  by  their  power  can  force 
even  a  student  to  see  a  play  by  Shakespeare  acted  on 
the  stage  and  so  render  him  discontented  with  the 
reading  of  it  at  home.  It  was  thus  that  he  commended 
our  art  to  many  a  cultured  mind,  and  it  is  for  that 
we  cherish  his  great  achievements. 

Naturally  enough,  he  must,  early  in  his  career 
as  a  manager,  have  been  influenced  by  a  previous 
remarkable  series  of  Shakespearian  and  other  stage 
productions — those  by  Charles  Kean  at  the  Princess's 
Theatre,  which  included  The  Merchant  of  Ve7iice, 
Macbeth,  and  Henry  VII L ;  and  the  following 
popular  dramas  :  The  Cor  dean  Brothers,  Louis  XL, 
The  Lyons  Mail,  and  Faust,  all  of  which,  excepting 


328  HENRY   IRVING 

Henry  VIII.,  perhaps  from  its  great  cost,  must 
valiantly  have  served  Irving's  purpose.  It  was  in 
the  later  years  of  his  hard-worked  life  that  his 
judgment,  like  his  strength,  began  to  fail  him : 
as  evidenced  by  the  production,  for  example,  of 
Coriolanus,  The  Medicine  Man,  and  Dante.  Had 
Irving  been  in  partnership  with  a  capable  comrade,  to 
whose  guidance  he  would  sometimes  have  submitted, 
he  might  have  lived  and  died  a  man  of  fortune,  instead 
of,  as  must  have  been  the  truth,  allowing  several 
to  pass  like  water  through  his  hands — to  say  nothing 
of  being  harassed  by  the  need  of  money. 

Prior  to  his  first  visit  to  America  in  1883  one  of 
the  greatest  compliments  ever  offered  to  an  actor 
was  paid  to  Henry  Irving,  and  through  him  to  the 
entire  theatrical  world,  in  the  banquet  which  was 
given  in  his  honour  under  the  presidency  of  the 
Lord  Chief  Justice  of  England  (Lord  Coleridge) — 
an  event  only  paralleled  by  the  festival  when  John 
Kemble  left  the  stage.  To  name  those  who  filled 
the  great  St.  James's  Hall  on  the  occasion  would 
be  to  print  a  list  of  the  leaders  in  almost  every  phase 
of  intellect  and  eminence. 

I  performed  rather  a  feat  in  connection  with  this 
banquet.  Fedora  was  then  being  acted  at  the  Hay- 
market,  and  began  at  an  hour  that  allowed  me  to  sit 
down  to  the  soup,  although  I  had  rapidly  to  dis- 
appear with  the  fish.  In  the  second  and  third  acts  of 
the  play  I  wore  evening-dress.  Some  eight  minutes 
before  the  end  of  the  second  act,  and  during  the 
interval,  I  was  free,  and  so  I  returned  to  the  hall, 
just  as  I  was — made  up  as  the  French  diplomat,  my 
head  suggesting  a  kind  of  young  Due  d'Aumale.  I 
stood  in  the  doorway,  and  having  fortunately  arrived 
at  the  happy  moment  when  Lord  Coleridge  was  pro- 
posing the  chief  toast,  I  was  able  to  remain  long 
enough  to  hear  part  of  Irving's  reply.  Of  course  I 
knew  my  time  almost  to  a  second,  and  was  back  on 
the  Haymarket  stage  without  causmg  a  moment's 
delay.     When  I  had  finished  my  part,  I  went  again 


A  MEMORABLE   GATHERING       329 

to  the  hall,  and  was  lucky  enough  to  hear  James 
Russell  Lowell,  then  Americas  representative  in 
this  country,  conclude  an  eloquent  speech. 

The  following  week  another  banquet  took  place, 
which  emanated  from  myself,  the  idea  having  occurred 
to  me  to  give  a  farewell  supper  to  Irving  before  his 
departure,  and  to  let  it  have  a  distinctive  character 
by  inviting  none  but  actors.  Feeling  that  nowhere 
could  it  be  given  so  appropriately  as  in  the  Garrick 
Club,  I  ventured  to  ask  the  Committee  if,  in  the 
special  circumstances,  it  might  take  place  in  the 
handsome  dining-room.  Greatly  to  my  delight,  my 
request  was  granted,  with  the  remark,  from  the  late 
Lord  Glenesk,  that  it  was  "  an  honour  to  the  Club." 
The  room,  so  appropriate  for  the  purpose,  its  walls 
being  lined  with  the  portraits  of  those  whose  names 
recall  all  that  is  famous  in  the  great  past  of  our  stage, 
was  arranged  to  accommodate  a  party  of  a  hundred. 
Those  who,  like  my  chief  guest,  have  left  us,  included 
James  Anderson  (who  played  the  lovers  with 
Macready),  Lawrence  Barrett  (the  clever  and  poetical 
American  actor),  Wilson  Barrett,  William  Creswick 
(another  veteran),  Arthur  Cecil,  J.  S.  Clarke, 
John  Clayton,  Charles  Coghlan,  George  Conquest, 
David  Fisher,  Corney  Grain,  Augustus  Harris, 
Henry  Howe,  David  James,  Walter  Lacy,  Frederick 
Leslie,  C.  Marius,  T.  Mead,  John  Ryder,  Arthur 
Stirling,  William  Terriss,  J.  L.  Toole,  and  Charles 
Warner.  Happily,  as  I  write,  we  have  here  with 
us  still  George  Alexander,  J.  H.  Barnes,  Kyrle 
Bellew,  Lionel  Brough,  Dion  Boucicault,  Alfred 
Bishop,  Charles  Brookfield,  H.  B.  Conway,  W.  G. 
Elliott,  James  Fernandez,  George  Grossmith,  John 
Hare,  W.  H.  Kendal,  Henry  Neville,  A.  W. 
Pinero,  Charles  Sugden,  Beerbohm  Tree,  Edward 
Terry,  Hermann  Vezin,  and  E.  S.  Willard.  Barry 
Sullivan,  an  actor  of  an  older  school,  bluntly  and 
frankly  declined  my  invitation :  he  could  not,  he 
wrote,  bring  himself  to' acknowledge  the  justice  of  the 
position  to  which  Irving  had  undoubtedly  attained. 


380  HENRY   IRVING 

A  humorous  drawing  of  a  supposed  finale  to  the 
supper  was  one  of  the  early  successes  of  Phil  May. 
He  made  two  copies  of  it ;  one  of  the  three  belongs 
to  His  Majesty  the  King,  the  others  are  owned  by 
Pinero  and  myself. 

I  will  end  my  reference  to  this  supper-party  by 
relating  a  pleasant  incident  which  happened  late  on  a 
night  in  the  following  spring.  My  wife  and  1  were, 
in  fact,  on  the  staircase  on  our  way  to  bed,  when 
we  were  startled  by  a  loud  ringing  at  the  door  bell. 
The  servants  had  locked  up  the  house  :  I  heard  the 
door-chain  loosened,  and  in  a  moment  more  a  well- 
known  voice  asked  if  I  was  at  home  or  not.  As  I 
ran  downstairs  I  called  out  to  my  wife,  "  Come  down 
again  ;  I'm  sure  it's  Irving  !  "  He  almost  embraced 
me  in  the  hall,  and  said,  in  the  next  breath,  **  How 
white  you've  grown,  old  fellow  !  "  He  had  only  that 
day  returned  from  America,  and,  after  dining  with 
his  old  friend  Mr.  J.  M.  Levy  in  Grosvenor  Street, 
took  his  chance  of  finding  us  at  home.  What  a  long, 
delightful  talk  we  had  I  and  the  clock  struck  often 
while  we  listened  to  his  tale  of  travels  and  experiences. 

Irving's  wish  that  I  should  act  with  him  was  first 
expressed  when  he  tempted  me  to  play  Chateau 
Renaud  in  The  Corsican  Brothers.  I  was  still  busy 
in  management,  and  the  idea  could  not  be  seriously 
entertained.  Later,  in  1889,  when  we  had  left  the 
Haymarket,  he  contemplated  a  production  of  The 
Dead  Hearty  and  flattered  me  by  saying  that  unless 
I  would  appear  with  him  as  the  Abb^  Latour  he 
would  not  carry  out  the  plan.  I  tried  to  persuade 
him  to  let  me  undertake  the  part  as  a  labour  of  love, 
but  he  would  not  listen  to  the  proposal.  After  a 
long  talk — neither  of  us,  I  remember  so  well,  looking 
at  the  other,  but  each  gazing  separately  at  different 
angles  into  the  street — he  said  that  I  must  content 
him  by  being  specially  engaged,  on  terms  which  at 
last  were  settled.  The  money,  which  I  arranged 
with  the  treasurer  should  be  in  bank  notes,  was 
regularly  put  aside  by  me  into  a  drawer  of  my  desk. 


^/! 


IRVING,    TOOLE,   AND  BANCROFT 
From  a  drawing  in  colour  by  Phil  May 


p.  330] 


"DARKEST   ENGLAND"  831 

My  income  was  fixed  and  ample ;  I  did  not  wish,  I 
dare  say  very  foolishly,  to  upset  things  by  spending 
considerably  more  in  one  year  than  in  others  ;  and  so, 
eventually,  I  gave  a  thousand  pounds  of  the  amount 
to  the  "  Darkest  England  "  scheme,  propounded  soon 
afterwards  by  "  General  "  Booth,  and  the  rest  of  the 
money  to  similar  objects.  The  first  action  proved  to 
be  one  of  the  torments  of  my  life,  as  I  have  since 
been  asked  to  subscribe  to  every  charity  under  the 
sun — or  in  the  shade.  It  is  but  fair  to  add  that  I 
never  regretted  the  impulse,  which  certainly  was  the 
means,  indirectly,  of  adding  largely  to  the  funds  of 
an  experiment  that  was  amply  proved  by  high 
authorities,  and  subsequently  acknowledged  by  the 
most  august  in  the  land,  to  be  sound  and  deserving. 
The  following  letter  will  not  be  without  interest ;  I 
may  add  my  regret  that  I  never  enjoyed  the  pleasure 
of  meeting  that  fiery  free-lance,  the  writer  of  it : 

My  dear  Sir, — 

I  send  you  herewith  a  copy  of  my  Ballads, 
which  I  have  taken  leave  to  inscribe  to  you.  The 
inscription  is  merely  the  permanent  record  of  my 
sympathy  with  your  noble  letter  to  The  Times  on 
the  subject  of  "  Darkest  England." 

Personally,  of  course,  I  write  with  no  religious 
bias,  for  1  have  no  creed,  and  crave  for  none  ;  and  I 
see  as  clearly  as  anybody  the  absurdities  of  the  Salva- 
tionists. To  me,  however,  the  stirring  up  of  the 
social  deposits  to  some  sort  of  vitality  is  a  subject 
far  too  solemn  for  ridicule,  and  those  who  are  pouring 
scorn  on  the  scheme  would  have  treated  either 
Socrates  or  Jesus  of  Nazareth  quite  as  cavalierly  as 
they  are  treating  General  Booth.  Nor  would  either 
of  these  great  men  have  been  welcomed  by  the 
Scribes  of  Culture,  or  the  Pharisees  of  Science. 

I  trust  that  you  won't  think  I've  taken  your 
name  in  vain,  and  that  you  will  believe  me  to  be, 

Yours  faithfully, 

Robert  Buchanan. 


332  HENRY   IRVING 

To  return  to  professional  matters,  it  was  a  strange 
experience  to  me  to  re-enter  a  theatre  to  serve 
instead  of  to  govern  :  moreover,  in  one  where  the 
pohcy  was  so  entirely  different  from  our  own.  My 
wife  and  I  had  been  content  to  choose  plays  without 
regard  to  ourselves  ;  the  policy  at  the  Lyceum  was 
upon  another  plane  ;  and  so  perhaps  I  could  not  be 
expected  to  like,  or  to  be  in  sympathy  with  it.  The 
Dead  Heart  is  a  story  of  the  French  Revolution, 
somewhat  on  the  lines  of  A  Tale  of  Tivo  Cities,  It 
was  pleasant  to  find  The  Saturday  Review  entirely  in 
accord  with  the  view  I  took  of  Latour  and  my 
"excellent  appreciation  of  the  sentiments  which 
would  have  swayed  the  aristocrats  of  that  day.  It  is 
not  quite  that  the  Abb^  regards  the  people  with 
contempt — he  evidently  does  not  suppose  that  they 
belong  to  the  same  order  of  created  beings  as  him- 
self.    And  this  is  the  true  reading." 

This  was  the  year  of  one  of  the  great  Paris 
exhibitions,  where  I  saw  the  portrait  of  an  Abbe 
in  a  violet-coloured  dress,  and  resolved  to  adopt  it  in 
the  Prologue,  the  events  of  which  took  place  before 
the  destruction  of  the  Bastille.  Irving  and  Lewis 
Wingfield  both  helped  me  in  the  matter.  The  latter, 
to  use  his  own  words,  "turned  the  British  Museum 
upside  down  "  in  his  researches,  and  sent  me  authorities 
from  Ferrari's  Les  Costumes  fraufaises  des  diffcTents 
Etats  du  Royaume,  1776,  and  Migne's  Les  Ordres 
religieux,  but  "could  not  find  such  an  animal  as  a 
violet  abb^,"  adding  that  "  Gonzalez  was  a  very  clever 
painter  who  did  as  he  pleased,  and  most  likely 
invented  him.  However,  as  you  have  found  authority 
for  him  in  Uzanne,  I  should  go  on  with  him,  as  he 
will  be  v^ery  pretty  and  new." 

Irving  sent  me  the  following  note :  "  The  connec- 
tion many  of  them  had  with  the  Church  was  of  the 
slenderest  kind — consisting  mainly  of  adopting  the 
name  of  Abbe — and  wearing  a  distinctive  dress,  a 
short,  dark  violet  coat  with  a  narrow  collar " ;  and 
said,  in  the  letter  enclosing  it : 


"THE   DEAD   HEART"  333 

My  dear  B., — 

This  was  what  the  Abb^s  wore  for  a  long 
time  after  the  foundation  of  the  Order  by  Francis  I. 
If  there  hasn't  been  a  violet  priest,  we'll  set  the 
example  and  lead  the  fashion. 

Ever  yours, 

H.  I. 

The  best  scene  in  the  play  was  between  Irving 
and  myself,  in  which  we  fought  a  duel  to  the  death. 
I  recall  his  words  when  we  first  stood  up  to  rehearse 
it :  "I  had  no  idea  you  were  so  much  the  taller."  In 
the  preparation  of  this  fight  we  both  wore  glasses, 
necessitated  by  our  short  sight,  and  were  obliged  to 
do  so  at  all  rehearsals,  but  we  had  both  been  good 
fencers  in  our  youth.  A  clever  drawing  of  the  duel 
at  the  supreme  moment  was  made  by  Bernard 
Partridge.  From  all  I  have  heard  said  of  it  the 
fight  must  have  been  very  well  done — real,  brief,  and 
determined.  It  was  a  grim  business,  in  the  sombre 
moonlit  room,  and  certainly  gave  the  impression 
that  one  of  the  two  combatants  would  not  leave  it 
alive.  The  scene  remains  in  the  memory,  and  I 
often  still  hear  from  many  old  playgoers  that  it  was 
the  best  thing  of  the  kind  they  ever  saw.  Walter 
Pollock,  who  had  revised  the  play  for  Irving,  gave 
me  a  charming  souvenir  of  it  in  the  shape  of  a 
miniature  rapier  made  from  Toledo  steel. 

A  pleasant  circumstance  will  live  in  my  re- 
membrance while  memory  lasts — the  extraordinary 
demonstration  with  which  the  audience  did  me  the 
honour  to  greet  my  reappearance  on  the  stage. 

One  night  during  the  hundred  and  sixty  on  which 
The  Dead  Heart  was  acted,  when  we  had  acknow- 
ledged the  loud  applause  which  always  followed  the 
duel,  Irving  put  his  arm  round  me  as  we  walked 
from  the  stage  together,  and  said,  "  What  a  big  name 
you  might  have  made  for  yourself  had  you  never 
come  across  those  Robertson  plays  !  What  a  pity, 
for  your  own  sake ;  for  no  actor  can  be  remembered 


834  HENRY   IRVING 

long  who  does  not  appear  in  the  classical  drama." 
Quite  true :  the  name  of  many  a  bombastic  actor  of 
tragedy  is  unjustly  remembered  long  after  the  fame 
of  even  peerless  comedians  survives,  if  at  all,  but 
feebly,  in  the  imperfect  annals  of  tradition,  or  in  the 
records  of  the  rare  student  of  the  stage. 

To  support  Irving's  generous  words  about  myself 
I  must  turn  to  the  Chorus,  which,  fortunately,  will 
sing  of  us  both,  and  so,  I  hope,  excuse  me.  T'he 
Times,  after  remarking  that  it  had  been  a  happy 
thought  to  cast  me  for  the  part  of  the  Abb^  Latour, 
gave  its  opinion  in  exact  support  of  all  I  had  tried  to 
convey  from  the  stage,  adding  that  never  had  the  cynical, 
faithless,  treacherous  courtier  found  a  more  polished 
representative.  This  reading  of  the  character,  with 
*  its  splendid  audacity,  its  biting  sarcasm,  its  utterly 
corrupt  and  depraved  selfishness,  and  its  perfect 
tenuer  was  declared  admirable.  Very  striking,  too, 
was  said  to  be  the  duel  scene  between  Landry  and 
the  Abbd,  as  rendered  by  Irving  and  myself;  the 
one  eol^,  implacable,  pitiless,  the  other  haughty, 
contemptuous,  and  cynical,  with  a  perceptible  under- 
current of  deadly  hate  and  treachery  combined, 
nevertheless  with  all  the  pride  of  caste  and  the 
unflinching  courage  of  the  gentilhomme. 

Other  leading  journals  were  equally  laudatory. 
My  Abb^  Latour  was  found  to  be  a  cruel,  crafty 
villain  to  the  life,  and  it  was  recorded  that  "finer 
acting  could  scarcely  be  conceived  than  that  in  the 
scene  where  Landry  and  Latour,  at  last  face  to  face, 
and  with  death,  the  final  arbiter,  between  them, 
fought  out  tlieir  quarrel."  Neither  critics  nor 
audience,  it  was  said,  were  prepared  for  the  realistic 
duel  which  stood  out  vividly  as  the  finest  and  most 
thrilling  situation  of  the  play — without  doubt,  so  it 
was  pronounced,  the  best  stage  duel  English  play- 
goers had  witnessed.  **  The  conjunction  of  the  two 
actors  gave  the  artistic  climax  of  the  evening.  They 
rose  upon  one  another  as  though  each  would  scale 
the  other  and  overtop  him,  and  did  it  so  quietly  and 


IRVING  AND  BANCROFT  IN   "THE  DEAD   HEART 
From  a  drawing  by  Bernard  Partridge 


^    .^^       ^^^^^^^^  '  ^-^ 


^^^^^:=^^' 


^fO 


jp.  834] 


THE   ABBE  LATOUR  335 

composedly,  though  hate  and  scorn  wrapped  them 
both,  that  not  until  the  act  was  over  did  the  audience 
realise  what  admiring  terror  had  been  roused." 

The  death  of  the  Abbe,  waving  his  blood-stained 
handkerchief  as  he  cries  Vive  le  Roi,  and  with  his 
last  breath  contemptuously  spitting  at  his  canaille 
opponent,  was  pronounced  the  culmination  of  a  scene 
which  reached  an  almost  painful  intensity. 

"  Grandly  and  brilliantly  satisfactory,"  was  the 
phrase  of  another  writer,  who  described  the  Abbd  as 
courtly,  suave,  libidinous,  satanic  in  thought  and 
deed,  word  and  suggestion,  an  ideal  incarnation  of 
wickedness,  **  rivalling  Irving's  Dubosc  in  malignant 
intensity."  "  But  splendidly  seductive  as  he  is  in 
the  earlier  scenes  of  the  play,  it  is  only  when  he  is 
caged  in  the  Conciergerie,  only  when  his  fine  feathers 
have  been  stripped  off,  that  Bancroft  reveals  the 
wonderful  power  which  has  hitherto  been  latent  in 
him,  and  that  a  great  actor  was  lost  to  the  heroic 
drama  when  he  devoted  himself  to  light  comedy."  .  .  . 
"  Irving's  scene  with  Latour,  culminating  with  the 
death  of  the  Abb^,  is  worthy  of  association  with 
Bancroft's  impersonation  of  the  last-named  character." 
More  could  not  be  said,  because  the  Abb^  offered  a 
singularly  polished  and  well-considered  presentment 
of  the  cynical  and  utterly  heartless  villain;  and  "  made 
us  regret,  with  his  perfect  finish  and  fine  elocution, 
that  the  stage  has  been  so  long  without  such  an  actor 
as  Bancroft." 

That  great  actor  Coquelin  aind,  who  saw  the 
play,  also  paid  a  very  high  tribute  to  my  perform- 
ance, which  appeared  in  the  French  press  after  his 
return  to  Paris. 

At  this  time  I  presided  at  a  banquet  given  to 
Toole  before  he  went  to  Australia,  when  Irving  spoke 
the  following  eulogy  of  me,  whicli  1  recall  with  pride  : 

*'  There  never  was  an  instance  where  thoroughness 
and  perseverance  were  more  deservedly  rewarded. 
One  point  must  strike  all  in  connection  with  Bancroft's 
career — before  he  left  the  Haymarket,  at  the  age  of 


336  HENRY   IRVING 

forty-four,  he  was  the  senior  theatrical  manager  of 
London.  In  conjunction  with  that  gifted  lady  who 
was  the  genius  of  English  comedy  for  so  many  years, 
he  popularised  a  system  of  management  which  has 
dominated  our  stage  ever  since,  and  the  principle  of 
which  may  be  described  as  the  harmony  of  realism 
and  art.  His  management  is  associated  with  the 
early  successes  of  notable  artists.  In  the  old  Prince 
of  Wales's  Theatre  John  Hare  became  famous.  It 
was  there  that  Ellen  Terry's  Portia  first  charmed 
the  world,  and  it  was  there  that  Marie  Wilton  and 
Bancroft  became  identified  with  types  of  character 
which  have  not  lost  their  hold  upon  the  public.  I  am 
quite  certain  that  the  man  of  whom  such  things  can 
be  said  is  sure  of  a  remarkable  place  in  the  history  of 
the  stage.  As  a  manager,  his  courtesy  was  as  con- 
spicuous as  his  judgment.  As  an  actor,  he  has  earned 
from  his  brother  and  sister  artists  the  warmest  tribute 
that  good  fellowship  can  pay." 

Irving's  allusion  to  my  having  been  the  senior 
manager  recalls  to  me  a  reminder  of  the  fact  at  the 
first  dinner  given  by  the  Prince  of  Wales  at  Marl- 
borough House  to  the  principal  actors  of  I^ondon  of 
that  date — one  of  the  many  gracious  acts  by  which 
his  present  Majesty  has  endeared  himself  to  the  theatri- 
cal profession.  On  this  memorable  occasion  I  found 
myself  honoured  by  being  placed  on  the  right-hand 
side  of  our  Royal  host.  This  was  in  1882.  Without 
having  previously  realised  it,  I  found  that  I  had 
already  been  senior  in  managerial  service  for  some 
years.  The  actors  present  among  the  distinguished 
guests  invited  were  Henry  Irving,  J.  L.  Toole,  John 
Hare,  Charles  Wyndham,  Charles  Coghlan,  W.  H. 
Kendal,  John  Clayton,  David  James,  Arthur  Cecil, 
Henry  Neville,  Lionel  Brough,  Hermann  Vezin, 
George  Grossmith,  and  myself.  H.  J.  Byron  was 
also  bidden,  but  was  too  ill  to  obey. 

I  do  not  think  a  really  satisfactory  portrait  of 
Irving  exists.  The  one  which  Millais  painted  and 
gave  to  the  Garrick  Club  in  1884  is,  to  my  mind, 


SARGENT'S   PORTRAIT  337 

slightly  effeminate  in  its  beauty  and  lacking  in 
strength  of  character.  Sargent  once  painted  him, 
when  Irving  was  fifty,  and  the  work  was  exhibited 
in  the  Royal  Academy  in  1888.  It  was  of  course  a 
clever  likeness,  but  not  a  pleasant  one.  The  great 
painter  showed  you  points  in  the  great  actor,  as  he  so 
often  does  in  his  sitters,  which  you  had  never  seen 
before — points  which  his  searching  eyes  could  not 
help  seeing,  and  which,  once  having  seen  them,  you 
cannot  afterwards  help  seeing  always.  Irving  disliked 
this  portrait,  and  thought  it  a  failure  ;  for  some  years 
it  was  hidden  away  in  a  garret ;  and  when  he  left  the 
old  Grafton  Street  Chambers,  his  solitary  home  for 
so  many  years,  for  Stratton  Street,  he  came  across  it 
and  hacked  the  canvas  to  pieces  with  a  knife.  What 
a  treasure  lost  I  What  an  end  to  befall  such  a  man's 
work  of  such  another  man  I 

Irving  was  dreadful  in  answering  letters — I  mean  in 
his  delay — but  I  have  read  many  sweet  words  written 
by  him,  especially  to  young  people. 

Here  are  a  few  lines  he  sent  me  years  ago,  which 
I  cherish  with  others  and  with  many  souvenirs  of  our 
affectionate  friendship. 

My  dear  Bancroft, — 

I  shall  wear  your  gift — and  a  rare  one  it  is — 
as  I  wear  you,  the  giver,  in  my  heart.  My  regard 
for  you  is  not  a  fading  one.  In  this  world  there  is 
not  too  much  fair  friendship,  is  there  ?  And  I  hope 
it  is  a  gratification  to  you — it  is  to  me,  old  friend — to 
know  that  we  can  count  alike  upon  a  friend  in  sorrow 
and  in  gladness. 

Affectionately  yours, 

Henry  Irving. 

Irving's  generosity  was  unbounded.  The  constant 
evidence  of  it  made  you  feel  towards  him  as  lago 
felt  towards  Cassio  when  he  said,  **  He  hath  a  daily 
beauty  in  his  life  that  makes  me  ugly." 

At  one  of  many  dinner  parties   given   in  those 

22 


338  HENRY   IRVING 

days  by  the  much  regretted  younger  brother  of 
Lord  Burnham,  I  recollect  Irving  saying  to  Frank 
Lockwood,  afterwards  to  become  Solicitor- General, 
**  The  fortunate  actor  is  the  actor  who  works  hard." 
He  then  pointed  across  the  table  to  me,  and  added, 
"  Look  at  that  fellow,  and  remember  what  hard 
work  meant  in  his  case.  '  B.'  is  the  only  actor  since 
Garrick  who  has  made  a  fortune  purely  by  manage- 
ment of  his  own  theatre — I  mean  without  the  aid 
of  provincial  tours  and  visits  to  America."  After 
a  pause  he  continued,  "  But  he  has  paid  the  penalty 
of  leaving  his  best  work  as  an  actor  undone." 

I  recall  also  a  banquet  given  to  Irving  on  his 
return  from  one  of  his  tours  through  the  United 
States,  at  which  I  was  seated  next  to  the  then  Lord 
Chief  Justice  of  England,  Lord  Russell  of  Killowen, 
who  had  for  many  years  honoured  me  with  his  friend- 
ship. Halfway  through  the  dinner  the  Lord  Chief 
said  to  me :  "  I  have  to  propose  Irving's  health. 
What  shall  I  say  ?  "  Of  course  I  could  only  reply 
that  no  one  could  answer  the  question  so  well  as  him- 
self. However,  the  Lord  Chief  persisted,  with  that 
well-remembered,  imperious  manner  of  his,  *'  Come, 
come,  my  friend,  you  must  have  done  it  often :  tell 
me  what  I  am  to  say."  At  last,  I  recalled  an  occa- 
sion when  I  had  proposed  Irving's  health,  and  said 
that  I  spoke  of  him  as  possessing  "the  strength  of 
a  man,  the  sweetness  of  a  woman,  and  the  simplicity 
of  a  child."  Lord  Russell  turned  to  me  at  once,  with 
the  question,  "  How  about  the  wisdom  of  a  serpent  ? 
I  could  not  have  left  that  out." 

On  one  of  the  occasions  when  we  were  tempted 
to  return,  for  some  charity  performance,  to  the  stage 
(of  which,  by  the  way,  we  never  took  a  formal  leave, 
our  retirement  having  been  from  management  only), 
my  wife  and  I  talked  the  matter  over,  and  a  reckless 
inspiration  came  to  us  that  the  old  farce  of  Box  and 
Cox  might  be  done  in  a  striking  way.  So  I  said  to 
those  concerned,  who  badly  wanted  to  raise  a  thousand 
pounds,  "  Well,  if  you  can  persuade  Irving  to  appear 


HIS   KNIGHTHOOD  339 

as  Box,  I  will  play  Cox,  and  my  wife  Mrs.  Bouncer.' 
Irving  would  not  yield,  so  the  rather  wild  idea  fell 
through. 

By  chance  I  came  across  some  words  which  truly 
go  to  show  how  history  repeats  itself.  They  were 
written  of  Queen  Elizabeth.  "To  her  encourage- 
ment the  theatre  was  still  more  directly  indebted 
for  the  stamp  of  approbation  that  was  at  once 
discriminating  and  royal,  and  therefore  productive  of 
the  most  beneficial  influence  upon  the  fortunes  of 
the  stage."  How  closely  the  language  applies  to  the 
great  Queen,  as  well  as  to  the  great  actor  whom  we 
have  lost  I  For  it  will  ever  be  remembered  that 
Irving  was  the  first  member  of  the  dramatic  pro- 
fession to  receive  from  his  Sovereign  a  long-coveted 
prize,  the  honour  and  dignity  of  State  recognition — 
so  placing  the  actor's  calling  on  a  level  with  the  other 
arts,  no  more  to  be  looked  at  askance,  but  recognised 
as  leading  to  a  share  of  the  distinction  enjoyed  by 
his  fellow-men. 

When  Irving  received  his  knighthood,  it  fell  to 
my  lot  to  present  the  beautiful  casket  designed  by  his 
comrade  and  friend,  Forbes-Robertson,  to  contain  the 
address  he  received  from  the  members  of  the  theatrical 
profession  throughout  the  land.  This  address  I  de- 
scribed as  a  personal  roll-call  of  the  British  stage,  for 
it  numbered,  among  some  thousands  of  autographs, 
the  names  of  survivors  who  had  done  honour  to  our 
calling  in  former  days,  the  names  of  those  who  were 
then  its  most  brilliant  ornaments,  and  the  names  of 
those  whose  destinies  were  still  in  the  future — who 
were,  in  fact,  the  heirs  and  guardians  of  the  present 
and  the  past. 

In  far  more  eloquent  words  than  I  can  command 
— words  from  the  pen  of  Arthur  Pinero — the  address 
said  :  **  The  history  of  the  theatre  will  enduringly 
chronicle  his  achievements,  and  tradition  will  fondly 
render  an  account  of  his  personal  qualities ;  and  so, 
from  generation  to  generation,  the  English  actor  will 
be  reminded  that  his  position  in  the  public  regard  is 


340  HENRY  IRVING 

founded  in  no  small  degree  upon  the  pre-eminence 
of  Sir  Henry  Irving's  career  and  upon  the  nobility, 
dignity,  and  sweetness  of  his  private  character." 

Irving  was  greatly  moved.  When  the  ceremony 
was  over,  he  turned  to  me  and  said  pensively,  "  The 
honour  which  the  Queen  and  all  of  you  have  done 
me  should  make  me  a  better  man." 

In  the  fascinating  story  of  her  life,  Ellen  Terry 
tells  of  an  opinion  expressed  to  her  on  Irving's  dis- 
tinguished appearance  at  the  Jubilee  Fancy  Dress 
Ball  given  at  Devonshire  House.  A  similar  opinion 
was  also  uttered  to  me,  my  informant  being  Lord 
Rowton.  Irving  was  clad  as  a  Cardinal,  and  seemed 
to  be  the  only  person  in  all  the  great  assembly  who 
was  not  masquerading.  The  solution  is  simple.  He 
knew  how  to  put  on  fantastic  robes,  and  possessed 
the  power  to  wear  them  as  if  the  garments  were  his 
by  right. 

My  memory  is  keen  of  what  passed  on  the  last  of 
the  many  occasions  Irving  sat  at  our  table.  He  was 
very  affectionate  in  his  manner  towards  my  wife,  and 
delighted  at  having  to  take  Ada  Rehan  down  to 
dinner.  When  the  ladies  left,  he  enjoyed  heartily  a 
pleasant  talk  with  Sir  John  Bigham,  whom  he  had 
never  met  before.  Of  course  he  stayed  until  every 
one  else  had  gone  ;  he  then  sat  on  and  opened  his 
heart  to  us.  He  gave  me  a  sad  account  of  the  great 
trouble  he  had  recently  gone  through — far  greater 
than  we  knew — in  America,  in  consequence  of  the 
complete  failure  there  of  Dante,  He  looked  too 
worn  and  frail  to  be  still  battling  with  the  fever  of 
the  theatre.  My  thoughts  were  sad  about  him  as  we 
parted,  and  I  watched  him  walk  slowly  towards  his 
home  close  by. 

But,  indeed,  for  a  year  or  two  before  the  end  it 
was  manifest  to  those  who  loved  him  that  the  sword 
had  worn  out  the  scabbard.  This  I  strongly  realised 
the  last  time  I  dined  with  him — it  was  at  the  last 
party  he  ever  gave — and  I  recall  with  sadness  the 
eloquent  expression  on  the  faces  of  his  two  sons,  who 


HIS   FUNERAL  341 

were  present,  late  in  the  evening,  when  they  both 
sat  facing  him.  We  met  again  and  had  a  happy 
talk  in  Stratton  Street;  his  manner,  I  remember, 
w^as  cheerful,  and  then,  certainly,  he  still  looked 
forward,  but  his  beautiful  hands  were  almost  trans- 
parent. Once  more  I  saw  him ;  we  both  were 
driving.  He  was  lost  in  thought,  and  did  not 
answer  to  my  salutation.  In  another  month  he  had 
fallen  with  his  armour  on,  as  he,  no  doubt,  had 
settled  should  be. 

I  rejoiced  that  his  sons  showed  me  their  love  by 
doing  me  the  honour  of  asking  me  to  be  one  of  the 
pall- bearers  when  he  was  laid  to  rest  in  Westminster 
Abbey.  My  wife  and  I  have  known  them  from 
their  childhood,  and  feel — with  deep  interest  in  their 
careers — sincere  affection  towards  them  both.  I 
enjoy,  too,  with  Lady  Bancroft,  the  friendship  of  the 
lonely  lady  who  is  now  their  widowed  mother. 

At  the  end  of  the  supremely  impressive  funeral 
ceremony  I  was  glad  to  be  responsible  for  a  touching 
episode  by  the  side  of  Irving's  open  grave.  I  sent  a 
word  to  the  two  delegates  from  the  Theatre  Fran^ais, 
who  thereupon  walked  side  by  side  from  the  choir, 
where  they  had  been  seated,  to  Poets'  Corner,  clad, 
according  to  the  custom  of  their  land,  in  evening 
dress,  and  bearing  a  beautiful  wreath,  the  offering  of 
Irving's  French  comrades.  They  knelt  and  laid  it  by 
the  grave,  remaining  on  their  knees  while  they  uttered 
the  prayer  for  the  dead  from  the  Catholic  Liturgy ; 
then,  crossing  themselves,  they  rose  and  retreated 
among  the  mourners. 

Soon  afterwards  I  received  a  letter  from  the  Dean 
of  Westminster,  which  ran  as  follows  : 

"  I  want,  through  you,  to  convey  my  most  sincere 
thanks  to  the  Committee  for  their  kind  words  as  to 
the  details  of  the  funeral  service.  It  was  a  deep  satis- 
faction to  me  to  have  drawn  together  into  the  Abbey 
Church  so  remarkable  a  gathering  of  the  members  of 
your  profession  and  to  help  them  to  share  in  sonie- 
thing  of  its  inspiration." 


342  HENRY   IRVING 

It  is  much  to  have  lived  to  provoke  the  following 
words : 

"  Irving  believed  in  his  profession  and  in  himself. 
He  aimed  at  the  highest,  and  never  faltered.  The 
theatre  is  an  instrument  of  vast  and  beneficent 
power.  The  harp-strings  slumber  till  touched  by  the 
magician's  hand ;  the  echo  of  his  artistic  life  will 
sound  on  in  human  hearts  long  after  its  music  has 
ended  in  the  silence  that  waits  for  all." 

My  feebler  pen  cannot  cope  with  such  writer. 
Yet  I  yield  to  none  in  the  warmth  of  my  tribute  to 
the  leader  of  my  calling.  His  remarkable  campaign 
has  taken  its  place  in  the  annals  of  his  country,  for 
Henry  Irving  earned  the  privilege  granted  to  but 
few,  and  has  won  eternal  honour  for  the  stage  in  the 
eyes  of  the  world. 


p    342] 


THE  LAST  PHASE  :    HENRY  IRVING  ENTERING  THE  LYCEUM 
From  a  snapshot  lent  by  Arthur  W.  Pinero 


CHAPTER  XIII 


A    CHRISTMAS    CAROL  " 


**  I  shall  journey  through  this  world  but  once.  Any  good  thing, 
therefore,,  that  I  can  do,  let  me  do  it  now,  for  I  shall  not  pass  this  way 
again." 

Some  years  ago,  in  the  summer  time,  I  was  walking 
near  my  house  when  a  cheery  voice  called  out,  "  Hi, 
Bancroft ! "  A  victoria  drew  up  by  my  side,  in 
which  was  seated  that  dearly-loved  old  man,  the 
Reverend  William  Rogers,  irreverently  but  affection- 
ately known  as  "  Hang-Theology  Rogers."  He  said 
he  wanted  me  to  do  him  a  favour.  I  replied,  "  I 
will  do  anything  in  my  power,  sir,  for  you,  and  with 
all  my  heart."  He  then  explained  that  an  institute 
at  Bishopsgate,  in  which  he  was  greatly  interested, 
would  be  opened  in  the  coming  autumn,  adding  that 
some  of  his  many  friends — whose  well-known  names 
he  mentioned — were  going  to  help  him.  Would  I  join 
the  number  and  deliver  a  lecture  there  ?  I  told  him  I 
could  only  lecture  on  the  Stage  ;  he  answered,  "What 
subject  could  be  better?"  I  asked  if  a  Reading 
would  do  as  well ;  he  replied,  "  Anything  you  like — 
only  come." 

During  my  subsequent  holiday  in  the  Engadine 
my  thoughts  turned  towards  Charles  Dickens  and  my 
strong  love  for  his  works — a  love  learnt,  with  what 
little  else  is  good  in  me,  from  my  mother,  in  the 
far-off  days  when  the  green-backed  numbers  of  the 
world-famed  novels  were  so  keenly  waited  for,  month 
after  month.     The  end  of  it  was  that  I  devoted  some 

343 


344  "A   CHRISTMAS   CAROL" 

time  and  much  thought  to  an  arrangement  of  the 
immortal  Christmas  Carol, 

The  circumstance  added  to  my  acquaintance  with 
Mr.  Rogers.  I  several  times  had  luncheon  at  the 
Rectory,  and  many  interesting  talks  with  my  delight- 
ful host,  the  remembrance  of  whose  friendship  I  shall 
always  cherish.  In  a  letter  I  received  from  the 
Rectory  House  in  Devonshire  Square,  at  this  time, 
he  wrote: 

My  dear  Friend, — 

I  think  your  proposal  is  excellent,  and  will 
most  certainly  attract.  After  you  left  me  I  was 
taken  bad  in  the  carriage  and  have  been  very  weak 
since — curious  that  I  should  have  been  so  near  the 
verge  of  realising  our  very  interesting  conversation. 
However,  I  am  pulling  round  and  hope  to  get  out  of 
this  "  drear  abode  of  Erebus  the  black  "  on  Monday 
for  a  fortnight  at  Mickleham,  ready  on  my  return  to 
enjoy  your  Reading.  I  write  in  a  recumbent  position, 
so  excuse  cacography. 

Yours  sincerely, 

William  Rogers, 

The  Reading  duly  came  oiF  and  proved  a  success. 
The  kind  words  of  thanks  sent  to  me  by  the  dear 
old  clergyman  are  too  flattering  for  publication.  It 
seemed  a  pity  that  the  labour  the  Reading  involved 
should  be  wasted,  except  for  this  one  occasion,  and 
that  the  Reading  should  never  be  repeated ;  and  it 
was  thus  the  idea  occurred  to  me  to  make  some 
effort  to  benefit  hospitals  by  this  means.  So  it 
happened  that  the  scheme  was  indirectly  brought 
about  by  one  of  the  best  men  whom  it  has  been  my 
privilege  to  know.  He  did  not  long  survive ;  he 
succumbed  to  an  illness  due  to  a  chill  he  un- 
fortunately  contracted  through  his  invariable  habit 
of  driving  in  an  open  carriage.  As  the  end  was 
approaching,  his  sister,  who  kept  house  for  him  at 
the  old  City  rectory,  more  than  once  suggested  that 


THE   ROGERS   MEMORIAL         345 

she  should  send  for  his  Ufe-long  friend,  the  then 
Dean  of  Westminster — Dr.  Bradley — to  read  to  or 
talk  with  him.  The  dying  man,  in  a  casual  way, 
several  times  put  her  off  from  doing  so.  At  last,  in 
answer  to  an  affectionate  persistence,  he  said  gently, 
"  No,  my  dear — no,  my  dear ;  don't  trouble  con- 
cerning me.  I  think  I  know  as  much  about  it  all  as 
any  of  them." 

A  memorial  to  the  much-loved  old  man  was 
afterwards  got  up  ;  but,  as  such  things  often  do,  it 
hung  fire  towards  the  end  and  could  not  be  com- 
pleted for  the  lack  of  some  eighty  or  a  hundred 
pounds.  It  was  then  that  I  was  asked  if  I  would 
give  a  Reading  to  make  up  the  sum  required. 
Remembering  all  the  circumstances,  I  thought  it  a 
proper  case  for  breaking  my  rule  to  restrict  the 
Reading  to  the  aid  of  hospitals  ;  but  at  the  same 
time  pointed  out  the  necessity  of  obtaining  a  dis- 
tinguished chairman.  The  first  appeal  was  made  to 
Lord  Rosebery,  a  great  friend  and  warm  admirer  of 
the  dead  parson,  who,  with  that  charm  given  but  to 
few,  had  recently  presided  at  the  Mansion  House, 
at  a  meeting  where  Mr.  Rogers  was  presented  with 
an  admirable  portrait  of  himself,  in  honour  of  his 
labours  in  the  City.  Unfortunately,  Lord  Rosebery 
was  going  abroad  and  could  not  do  as  he  would 
have  wished.  I  was  then  told  that  the  next  man  to 
be  approached  was  Lord  Russell  of  Killowen  (then 
Lord  Chief  Justice  of  England).  I  reminded  those 
concerned  that  he,  being  a  devout  Roman  Catholic, 
could  hardly  be  expected  to  comply,  adding  that  he 
had  only  quite  recently  presided  at  a  Reading  of  the 
same  story  which  I  had  given  for  the  benefit  of  a 
Catholic  institution.  The  Committee,  however,  said 
they  could  but  be  refused,  and  made  their  request. 
Lord  Russell  replied  at  once,  in  the  kindest  words, 
that  I  had  gone  out  of  my  way  to  help  a  charity  of 
his  faith,  and  that  he  would  gladly  do  the  same  for 
me.  In  an  eloquent  and  generous  speech  he  made  on 
the  occasion,  the  Lord  Chief  spoke  of  William  Rogers 


346  "A   CHRISTMAS   CAROL" 

in  terms  which  bore  no  taint  of  the  bigot  which 
the  great  Irish  lawyer  was  sometimes  said  to  be. 
I  cherish  the  remembrance  of  many  acts  of  kindness 
shown  to  me  and  mine  by  Lord  Russell  of  Killowen, 
but  not  one  of  them  touched  me  more  deeply  than 
his  generous,  large-hearted  tribute  to  the  simple, 
liberal-minded  Vicar  of  St.  Botolph,  Bishopsgate. 

At  the  Reading  to  which  Lord  Russell  referred. 
Cardinal  Vaughan  had  promised  to  preside.  He, 
however,  was  prevented  by  indisposition,  and  the 
Lord  Chief  Justice  took  his  place.  It  was  given  for 
the  charity  of  the  Sisters  of  Nazareth.  Although  I 
do  not  chance  to  belong  to  the  beautiful  faith  their 
lives  so  sweetly  illustrate,  I  have  the  privilege  and 
honour  to  be  allowed  to  call  some  of  the  ladies 
there  my  friends. 

I  had  previously  received  the  following  letter 
from  the  late  "  Mother-General,"  who  died  recently 
revered  and  respected  by  all  who  enjoyed  the  privi- 
lege of  her  acquaintance. 

Nazareth  House,  Hammersmith, 
June  23,  1897. 

Dear  Sir, — 

My  telegram  reached  you  yesterday,  I  trust. 
We  all  rejoice  exceedingly  at  the  well-merited  honour 
conferred  on  you.  We  cannot  express  all  we  feel  in 
your  behalf.  All  we  can  say  is,  that  this  honour 
may  be  only  a  foretaste  of  what  is  prepared  for  you 
in  the  Heavenly  Kingdom  for  your  great  charity  to 
God's  Poor,  and  for  the  continued  effort  you  make 
in  their  behalf. 

With  love  to  you  both  from  all  the  Sisters, 
Yours  gratefully  and  respectfully, 

Mary  of  the  Nativity, 
Supt,-Gen, 

Two  of  these  dear  ladies  called  once  upon  a  con- 
nection of  mine,  whose  charity  was  stronger  than 
his  faith,  and  were  announced  by  his  manservant  as 
"the  two  Sisters  of  Lazarus."     My  friend  at  once 


THE   LORD   CHIEF  JUSTICE         347 

said,  "What,  Mary  and  Martha!  Pray  let  them 
come  in."  The  Sisters  entered,  laughing  heartily, 
and  quite  appreciating  the  situation.  It  was  the 
same  friend  who  once  gave  the  same  manservant  a 
Bible,  adding  to  the  inscription  he  wrote  on  the  front 
page  the  words :  "  And  much  good  may  it  do  him." 
The  addition  was  greatly  prized  by  the  recipient, 
who  read  the  words  with  a  meaning  which  I  fear 
his  satirical  master  did  not  altogether  intend  them 
to  convey. 

To  return  to  the  Reading.  It  was  naturally 
gratifying  to  find  The  Daily  Telegraph,  in  its  com- 
ment on  the  circumstance,  recording  that,  "true  to 
that  catholicity  of  sentiment  and  action  in  the  aid 
of  charity  universal,"  I  had  given  my  recitation — it 
was,  in  the  opinion  of  the  writer,  no  longer  a  Read- 
ing— of  A  Christinas  Carol,  in  aid  of  the  noble  work 
of  the  good  Sisters  at  Nazareth  House ;  and  that  I 
had  read  already  for  every  possible  charity,  irrespec- 
tive of  creeds,  thinking  only  of  good  works,  never  of 
dogma. 

"  As  to  the  success  of  Sir  Squire  Bancroft's  tour 
de  forced'  the  report  continued,  "  the  most  learned 
and  the  most  lucid  judgment  or  criticism  came  from 
the  lips  of  the  Lord  Chief  Justice  of  England,  who 
presided  on  this  occasion.  Every  one  present  hung 
upon  his  words  when  he  pronounced,  in  earnest  and 
solemn  tones,  this  work  of  Charles  Dickens  to  be  a 
'  Christmas  sermon  which  all  should  take  to  heart,' 
a  noble  example  of  true  humanity,  unselfishness,  and 
charity,  and  then  proceeded  to  deliver  a  very  pointed 
and  admirable  criticism  on  the  brilliant  effort  which 
had  just  concluded.  He  said,  and  very  justly  said, 
that  quite  apart  from  histrionic  ability  and  the  gifts 
of  the  actor  as  such,  no  man  could  convey  the  sense 
of  the  immortal  Carol  unless  he  possessed  a  warm, 
sympathetic,  and  charitable  heart.  It  is  well  that 
these  words  should  be  spoken  with  such  dignity  and 
authority  by  so  excellent  a  critic  and  so  good  a 
judge." 


348  "A   CHRISTMAS   CAROL" 

The  fact  was,  the  writer  went  on  to  say,  that 
by  constant  repetition  and  study,  and  by  unswerving 
earnestness,  I  had  changed  a  prose  romance  into  a 
spoken  poem.  "An  actor  of  rare  observation  and 
versatiHty,  with  a  keen  sense  of  humour,  he  indulges 
in  no  show,  no  bombast,  no  affectation.  Everything 
he  does  is  done  in  the  best  of  taste,  and  the  audience 
is  conscious  rather  of  a  cheery  conversationaUst  and  a 
teller  of  good  stories  than  a  public  reader." 

The  most  successful  passages  were  stated  to  be, 
perhaps,  those  of  racy  humour.  The  Fezziwig  dance 
of  "Sir  Roger  de  Coverley,"  the  game  of  Blind 
Man's  BufF  with  the  "  plump  sister,"  the  immoderate 
laughter  of  the  irrepressible  nephew,  and  poor  Bob 
Cratchit's  Christmas  goose  feast,  had  literally  brought 
down  the  house.  Never  had  a  couple  of  hours  slipped 
so  pleasantly  away,  and  there  was  not  the  slightest 
fatigue  or  effort  on  the  part  of  the  reader,  who  had 
seemed  to  enjoy  it  as  much  as  any  one  in  the  crowded 
hall.  And  this,  as  the  writer  justly  said,  was  the 
secret  of  success.  "A  nobler  devotion  of  the  ac- 
quired talent  of  an  eminent  actor  and  the  leisure 
earned  by  the  fruits  of  industry  and  judgment  has 
seldom  been  recorded.  Here  is  a  man  still  eager 
for  work,  still  loving  his  art,  and  he  devotes  his 
talents  to  the  service  of  the  suffering,  the  afflicted, 
and  the  poor.     It  is  a  fine  example." 

After  this  Reading  I  was  gratified  at  receiving 
the  following  letter  from  the  Cardinal  Archbishop: 

Archbishop's  House,  Westminster, 
November  25,  1897. 

Dear  Sir  Squire, — 

Allow  me  to  express  to  you  my  very  hearty 
thanks  for  the  charity  you  have  performed  in  behalf 
of  Nazareth  House.  I  am  very  grateful  to  you  for 
this  great  act  of  kindness.  May  God  bless  and 
reward  you  is  the  prayer  of 
Yours  sincerely, 

HEjiBERT  Card:  Vaughan. 


AT  SANDRINGHAM  ^40 

At  about  the  same  time  I  had  a  similar  pleasure  in 
giving  the  Reading  for  the  Jewish  Hospital,  at  which 
the  Chief  Rabbi  did  me  the  honour  to  preside.  The 
audience,  which  comprised  many  of  the  most  promi- 
nent followers  of  that  great  faith,  was,  it  is  needless 
to  add,  one  of  the  most  responsive  I  have  appealed  to 
— for  the  Jews  are  well  known  for  their  wide  know- 
ledge and  true  appreciation  of  art  in  all  its  branches. 

My  allusion  to  these  leaders  in  ancient  creeds  re- 
minds me  of  an  occasion  when  two  similar  dignitaries 
who  attended  a  big  function  sat  side  by  side  at 
luncheon.  The  Cardinal  helped  himself  bountifully 
to  cold  ham,  which  was  declined  by  his  neighbour  the 
Chief  Rabbi,  to  whom  the  Cardinal  said,  *'  When 
will  the  day  come  when  you,  sir,  will  partake  of 
ham?"  The  Chief  Rabbi  replied,  "At  your 
Eminence's  wedding." 

A  great  stimulus  was  given  to  the  success  of 
these  Readings  by  one  of  the  many  acts  of  kindness 
with  which  I  have  been  honoured  by  the  King. 
Soon  after  I  started  them,  I  had  the  good  fortune 
to  meet  His  Majesty  (then  Prince  of  Wales),  by  the 
invitation  of  Lord  Burnham,  at  Hall  Barn,  where 
His  Royal  Highness  was  staying  for  a  shoot  extend- 
ing over  several  days.  On  the  afternoon  of  my 
arrival  the  Prince  at  once  spoke  about  the  "  Carol," 
and  asked  if  I  would  like  to  give  the  Reading  at 
Sandringham  at  the  coming  Christmas-time,  when 
the  house  would  be  full  of  guests.  Needless  to  say, 
I  could  have  wished  for  no  greater  honour,  no  greater 
help  to  any  project.  A  few  days  later  I  heard  from 
Lord  KnoUys,  and  all  was  arranged. 

On  my  arrival  at  Sandringham  I  was  met  by 
Sir  Dighton  Probyn,  and  we  were  soon  joined  by 
my  Royal  host,  who  took  a  personal  interest  in  the 
preparations  for  my  evening's  work.  In  the  drawing- 
room,  before  dinner,  I  found  among  the  "  house-party  " 
two  old  friends,  Sir  Charles  du  Plat  and  Sir  Charles 
Hall.  On  entering,  the  Princess  of  Wales  paused  to 
look  round  the  room,  and  then,  breaking  through  the 


S50  "A   CHRISTMAS   CAROL" 

formalities  usually  observed  on  these  occasions,  ad- 
vanced towards  me  and  graciously  welcomed  me  as 
her  guest.  I  felt  deeply  honoured.  At  the  table, 
also,  were  the  present  Prince  and  Princess  of  Wales 
and  a  large  company.  The  audience  for  my  Reading 
was  completed  by  invitations  given  to  many  friends 
and  neighbours,  the  household,  and  the  servants — the 
ballroom  being  quite  full.  The  Reading  was  ac- 
companied by  loud  laughter  and  applause,  a  special 
tribute  being  paid  to  my  impromptu  description  of 
the  memorable  turkey  as  "  real  Norfolk."  In  the 
billiard-room,  later  in  the  evening,  I  had  suitable 
opportunity  to  show  the  present  King  the  gold 
cigar-case  which  was  given  to  me  by  Queen  Victoria 
at  Balmoral,  saying  that  it  was  the  first  occasion  on 
which  I  had  carried  it.  The  Prince  at  once  rephed, 
suiting  the  action  to  the  word,  "  Perhaps  you 
would  like  me  to  be  the  first  to  take  a  cigar  from  it  ? " 
I  have  always  gratefully  remembered  some  words 
spoken  by  the  present  Prince  of  Wales  at  a  meeting 
of  the  Committee  of  what  is  now  called  King 
Edward's  Hospital  Fund : 

*'  I  take  this  opportunity  of  referring  to  one 
particular  class  of  the  community  from  which  the 
London  hospitals  derive  frequent,  substantial,  and 
unassuming  help — that  is,  from  a  profession  whose 
generosity  and  readiness  to  help  those  in  adversity 
is  almost  proverbial — I  mean  the  dramatic  pro- 
fession. I  sometimes  think  we  do  not  fully  realise 
how  much  of  their  valuable  time  and  of  their 
artistic  powers  are  gratuitously  given  by  the  members 
of  the  stage  for  charitable  purposes." 

The  good-nature  of  the  Prince  towards  my  calling 
does  not  end  in  gracious  words  ;  they  have  often 
gone  hand  in  hand  with  kind  acts. 

We  all,  I  suppose,  sometimes  say  what  is  known 
as  "  a  good  thing."  I  was  credited  with  one  when 
the  Prince  and  Princess  of  Wales  honoured  by  their 
presence  the  fete  organised  by  the  actors  for  the 
benefit  of  their  Orphanage. 


A   BON   MOT  851 

My  wife  had  lost  a  little  green  parrot,  for  the 
return  of  which  I  offered  a  reward  of  ten  shillings, 
giving  our  address,  but  no  name.  One  of  the  news- 
papers, however,  had  a  paragraph  headed,  *'  Lady- 
Bancroft's  Lost  Lovebird."  It  was  my  privilege,  with 
others,  to  receive  their  Royal  Highnesses  at  the 
Botanical  Gardens,  when  the  Prince  produced  a 
newspaper  cutting  and  said,  "  I  think  I  have  Lady 
Bancroft's  lost  bird.  One  of  the  breed  was  flying 
about  for  some  days  in  the  garden  of  Marlborough 
House,  and  a  gardener  succeeded  in  catching  it  this 
morning.  Pray  go  and  see  if  it  is  yours,  as  I  hope 
it  may  be;  but,  mind,  I  shall  claim  the  reward." 
I  replied,  "  Certainly,  sir  ;  it  is  small,  but  appropriate, 
being — half  a  sovereign^ 

By  the  first  set  of  Readings  I  had  the  pleasure 
of  handing  over  between  three  and  four  thousand 
pounds  to  hospitals  in  town  and  country.  There 
were  too  many  flattering  comments  about  the  good 
result,  but  I  cannot  refrain  from  adding  some  of  the 
words  given,  to  my  surprise,  by  The  Morning  Post, 
in  the  unusual  and  highly  complimentary  form  of 
a  leading  article,  which  said  that : 

The  Reading  at  Stafford  House  had  brought  to 
a  close,  for  that  season,  a  splendid  work  which  was 
being  done  in  the  cause  of  philanthropy.  The 
programme  had  consisted,  of  course,  of  Dickens's 
Christmas  Carol,  which  had  delighted  so  many 
audiences,  and  upon  that  occasion  the  institution  to 
be  benefited  was  the  Chelsea  Hospital  for  Women. 
There  were  many  ways  of  showing  charity,  and  this 
was  one  that,  though  doubtless  congenial  to  the  tastes 
and  disposition  of  the  reader,  involved  an  infinity  of 
labour  and  no  small  amount  of  personal  inconvenience. 
It  was,  at  any  rate,  effectual.  The  reader  had  not 
confined  his  work  to  the  Metropolis  alone.  I  had 
recited  the  Christinas  Carol — and  it  was  far  more  a 
recitation  than  a  reading — in  all  parts  of  the  country, 
and  the  result  was  that  I  had  been  able  during  that 
winter  to  make  gifts  to  various  hospitals  in  London 


352  "A   CHRISTMAS   CAROL' 

and  the  provinces  of  sums  which  in  the  aggregate 
exceeded  £3,000.  As  the  readings  would  be  resumed 
the  following  winter,  and  as  it  was  my  intention  to 
extend  them  over  even  a  longer  period,  the  ultimate 
result  of  my  efforts  was  likely  to  be  the  addition 
of  a  very  large  sum  to  the  funds  of  the  institutions 
which  ministered  to  the  sick  and  suffering  in  all  parts 
of  the  country.  There  was  surely  to  be  found  in  this 
the  truest  kind  of  charity.  That  virtue  took  many 
forms,  and  numerous  appeals  were  being  then  made  to 
it.  In  some  cases  it  was  associated  with  the  osten- 
tation of  wealth  ;  in  others  it  was  carried  on  entirely 
in  secret.  These  were  the  two  extremes,  and  each  had 
its  advantage.  That  which  was  now  under  discussion 
might  be  described  as  a  middle  course.  The  benefactor 
could  not  hide  his  work,  for  it  was  done  in  public, 
and  it  was  to  the  public  that  I  appealed.  I  had 
retired  from  the  stage  after  making  for  myself  a  high 
reputation  and  a  competent  fortune,  and  might  fairly 
claim  to  enjoy  my  retirement  in  leisured  ease ;  yet  I 
had  imposed  upon  myself  exhausting  labour  in  order 
that  I  might  confer  a  lasting  benefit  upon  my  fellow- 
countrymen.  The  large  sums  which  had  by  this 
means  been  distributed  to  the  various  hospitals  to 
which  I  had  given  my  services  testified  to  the  popular 
appreciation  of  the  readings,  and  it  was  interesting  to 
inquire  what  was  the  cause  of  that  success.  The  secret 
was  twofold.  It  was  to  be  found,  in  the  first  place,  in 
the  intimate  relation  which  the  Reader  established 
in  the  mind  of  his  audience  between  himself  and  his 
subject,  in  the  manner,  to  use  a  common  phrase, 
in  which  he  entered  into  the  spirit  of  the  story. 
While  he  was  reading  or  reciting — it  mattered  little 
which  it  was  called — he  was  the  representative  of  the 
character  he  was  assumed  to  pourtray,  and  he  conveyed 
to  the  audience  the  meaning  of  the  author  in  a  manner 
that  would  have  satisfied  even  the  man  who  was  at 
once  a  great  master  of  the  art  of  public  reading  and 
the  author  of  the  Christmas  Carol — Charles  Dickens 
himself.      That  led  up  to  the  second  secret  of  my 


A   LETTER  FROM  LORD  GLENESK  353 

power,  and  that  was  my  combination  of  the  platform 
and  the  stage.  Without  making  any  comparison,  it 
might  be  said  that  in  that  respect  there  was  sometimes 
a  certain  failure  on  the  platform  and  elsewhere,  and 
that  a  reader  or  speaker  failed  to  gain  the  attention  of 
his  audience,  not  because  his  elocution  was  defective, 
but  for  lack  of  a  little  borrowing  of  dramatic  effect. 
It  was  one  thing,  of  course,  to  enact  a  part  with  all  the 
accessories  of  scenery,  of  dresses,  of  make-up,  and  it 
was  another  thing  altogether  to  read  the  same  thing 
upon  a  platform,  sandwiched  between  a  chair  and 
a  table.  It  was  because  the  performances  of  the 
C/iristmas  Carol  combined  the  best  points  of  both, 
bringing  the  experience,  the  boldness,  the  gesture, 
the  facility  of  expression  acquired  on  the  stage  to 
bear  upon  the  work  on  the  platform,  that  they  had 
succeeded  in  a  degree  which  must  be  as  much  a 
source  of  just  pride  to  the  reader  as  it  was  of  satisfaction 
to  those  who  listened  to  him.  He  had  given  of  his 
substance.  He  had  utilised  his  brains  and  his  powers 
for  one  of  the  noblest  forms  of  public  charity,  and  he 
had  been  justified  by  the  appreciation  with  which  his 
work  had  been  everywhere  received.  An  under- 
taking so  public-spirited  deserved  public  recognition, 
and  the  man  who  by  his  strenuous  effort  had 
attempted  to  lessen  the  stream  of  suffering  and  to 
attenuate  the  pangs  of  misery  certainly  deserved  a 
frank  and  full  acknowledgment." 

I^ord  Glenesk,  in  whose  famous  journal  this  great 
compliment  appeared,  also  wrote  to  my  wife  : 

"  The  splendid  lesson  brought  back  so  many 
memories  of  foolish  neglect  of  opportunities — of  hard 
words  too  hastily  poured  forth — that  I  was  thankful 
for  the  lesson,  so  eloquently  given,  and  when  I  think 
of  the  example,  of  the  self-sacrifice — the  travellings 
in  winter  weather — the  abandonment  of  Home  to 
succour  the  poor,  I  recognise  the  noble  motive." 

I  have  reason  to  be  proud  of  the  names  of 
distinguished  men  who  have  presided  and  spoken  at 
these    Readings.     During    the    first   winter    I   was 

23 


354  "A   CHRISTMAS   CAROL" 

honoured  by  the  late  Prince  Edward  of  Saxe- 
Weimar,  the  Bishop  of  Ripon,  Bishop  Mitchinson, 
the  Lord  Justice  Clerk  of  Edinburgh,  the  late  Dean 
of  Canterbury  (Dr.  Farrar),  the  Dean  of  York,  the 
Dean  of  Norwich  and  the  late  Dean  of  Manchester  ; 
the  late  Duke  of  Beaufort,  the  late  Earl  of  Lathom 
(then  the  Lord  Chamberlain),  the  late  Lord  Malmes- 
bury,  Lord  Reay,  the  late  Lord  Glenesk,  the  late 
Lord  Loch,  the  Right  Hon.  St.  John  Brodrick, 
(when  at  the  War  Office — now  Lord  Midleton),  the 
Hon.  Sydney  Holland,  Sir  Frank  Lockwood,  Sir 
Henry  Thompson,  the  Vice-Chancellors  of  the 
Universities  of  Oxford  and  Cambridge,  and  the 
Headmasters  of  Eton,  Harrow,  and  Winchester. 
To  give  the  Reading  now  and  again  to  the  boys  at 
the  great  public  schools  of  England  remains  among 
my  true  pleasures. 

At  the  close  of  one  of  the  Readings,  at  which  he 
had  been  present.  Lord  Strathcona  expressed  a  flat- 
tering wish  to  make  my  acquaintance,  and  then  said 
how  sorry  he  was  that  the  Carol  could  not  be  given 
in  Canada.  I  replied  that  I  thought  it  might  be,  as 
1  should  much  like  to  visit  the  Dominion.  After  a 
warning  from  the  grand  old  peer  not  to  make  rash 
offers  lest  I  be  taken  at  my  word,  I  agreed  to  talk 
the  matter  over  at  home,  as  the  prospect  of  a  separa- 
tion of  three  thousand  miles  and  the  rigours  of  a 
Canadian  winter  meant  matter  for  thought  on  both 
sides,  I  had  my  wife's  helpful  sympathy  throughout, 
and  it  was  settled  that  I  should  be  a  fortnight  in 
Canada,  and  give  the  Reading  at  Montreal,  Quebec, 
Ottawa,  Kingston,  Toronto,  Hamilton,  and  London. 

My  arrangements  for  the  second  series  in  England 
were  already  completed  ;  and,  looking  back,  I  cer- 
tainly may  claim  to  have  worked  hard  that  winter. 
For  instance,  in  the  course  of  twelve  days  I  gave 
eight  Readings,  and  travelled  many  hundreds  of  miles. 
Itinerary:  Read  at  Newcastle-on-Tyne,  when  Sir 
Edward  Grey  presided  ;  a  late  supper  afterwards. 
The  next  day,  read  at  Glasgow  ;  supper  at  the  Con- 


A   VISIT   TO   CANADA  355 

servative  Club.  The  following  morning,  luncheon 
with  the  Lord  Provost  in  the  Municipal  Buildings  ; 
then  a  night  off.  The  next  evening,  read  at  Southport ; 
another  supper.  On  the  Saturday  afternoon,  read  at 
Liverpool ;  a  big  dinner  afterwards.  Sunday,  returned 
home.  Monday,  read  at  Bath  ;  big  dinner-party  to 
follow.  Tuesday  afternoon,  read  at  Torquay,  after  a 
luncheon-party  on  arrival ;  the  same  evening,  on  to 
Plymouth,  late  dinner.  Wednesday,  early  morning 
visit  to  James  Doel,  then  the  oldest  living  actor ;  read 
in  the  evening.  Thursday,  returned  to  London. 
Friday  afternoon,  read  in  the  Inner  Temple  Hall, 
Lord  Halsbury  (then  Lord  Chancellor)  presiding. 
Saturday,  sailed  for  Canada. 

It  has  been  my  rule  to  bear  my  own  travelling- 
expenses  on  these  expeditions,  so  I  paid  an  ordinary 
return  fare  to  New  York,  it  being  impossible  to  sail 
direct  for  Canada,  as  at  that  time  of  year  the 
St.  Lawrence  was  frozen  over.  No  sooner,  however, 
had  I  alighted  from  the  train  at  Montreal  than  1  was 
taken  possession  of,  and  treated  like  a  prince,  until  I 
quitted  Canadian  soil.  Owing  to  the  long  and  truly 
valued  friendship  I  have  enjoyed  with  Sir  Rivers 
Wilson,  who  owns  that  phase  of  youth  which  defies 
old  age,  a  private  railway  car  was  placed  at  my 
disposal  on  the  Grand  Trunk  Line,  of  which  he 
is  chairman,  while  the  chairman  of  the  Canadian 
Pacific  insisted  on  doing  the  same  for  me — in  both 
instances  a  great  privilege  and  a  great  surprise.  I 
was  entertained  in  delightful  fashion  at  Montreal  by 
Sir  George  Drummond ;  at  Quebec  by  the  Bishop  ; 
at  Ottawa  by  the  Governor- General,  Lord  Aberdeen, 
where  I  had  the  pleasure  of  meeting  Sir  Wilfrid 
Laurier  ;  at  Toronto  by  the  Governor  of  Ontario,  Sir 
Oliver  Mowat, — all  of  whom  presided  at  Readings  ; 
and  when  I  told  Sir  Oliver  how  much  I  wished  to  see 
Niagara,  he  made  arrangements  for  a  private  car  to 
meet  me  there,  that  I  might  see  all  its  winter  wonders 
in  a  way  only  possible  to  those  so  favoured. 

My  other  hosts,  although  their  names  are  not  so 


356  "A   CHRISTMAS   CAROL" 

widely  known,  shared  in  a  hospitality  which  was 
boundless  and  ever  to  be  remembered  by  me.  The 
weather  was  a  real  type  of  Canadian  winter,  the 
winter  of  the  "  Lady  of  the  Snows."  When  I 
entered  the  sleigh  to  go  to  the  hall  at  Montreal  on 
my  opening  night,  I  had  to  face  a  blizzard,  and  said 
to  my  host  that  we  surely  should  find  an  empty 
house.  He  laughed,  and  answered  that  they  could 
not  wait  for  weather  there.  And  so  it  was.  The 
place  was  packed  with  a  splendid  audience  that  made 
me  feel  at  home  after  I  had  spoken  three  sentences, 
and  followed  me  throughout  the  Reading  with  the 
keenest  interest  and  manifest  pleasure. 

In  response  to  some  too-flattering  words  spoken 
by  Sir  George  Drummond,  I  ended  by  thanking  the 
audience  for  the  great  kindness  shown  to  one  who, 
though  a  stranger,  decHned  to  think  of  himself  as  a 
foreigner  in  a  land  where  both  he  and  his  audience 
revered  the  same  great  Queen.  The  outburst  of 
cheering  at  the  simple  words  amazed  me  and  showed 
me  what  loyalty  meant. 

One  criticism  on  this  Canadian  enterprise,  which 
appeared  after  the  first  Reading,  shall  represent  the 
many  columns  written  on  the  subject.  The  vn-iter 
described  how,  of  his  own  volition  and  at  his  own 
expense,  the  reader  had  undertaken  to  visit  that 
country  to  give  a  series  of  Readings  in  aid  of  the 
funds  of  hospitals  and  the  Victorian  Order  of  Nurses. 
The  generous  offer  had  been  gratefully  accepted  by 
those  who  had  this  work  at  heart,  conscious  that  they 
would  be  under  a  lasting  obligation  to  one  whose  art 
had  delighted  his  generation  in  the  Mother  Country, 
and  whose  Sovereign,  upon  the  recommendation  of 
the  Marquess  of  Salisbury,  had  conferred  upon  him 
the  honour  of  knighthood  to  express  her  appreciation 
of  the  services  he  had  rendered  to  his  profession  by 
the  refinement  and  elevated  character  of  his  art.  The 
reader,  according  to  this  friendly  critic,  was  simplicity 
itself.  This,  apart  from  his  talent,  constituted  his 
charm.      He  neither   read  nor  declaimed,   as   those 


AN   INTERVIEW  357 

words  are  ordinarily  understood,  but  by  his  voice 
and  gesture  and  attitude,  by  a  sympathy  so  dehcate 
as  to  make  every  minor  chord  of  feehng  its  own,  by 
a  sense  of  humour,  a  tenderness  which  felt  all  the 
poignancy  of  sorrow  and  loss,  he  made  Dickens's 
characters  live  and  move  and  suffer  and  enjoy.  One 
saw  a  gentleman  in  evening  dress ;  but,  by  the 
alchemy  of  art,  he  became  Scrooge,  and  the  ghost, 
and  Bob  Cratchit,  and  Tiny  Tim — each  and  every 
character  in  turn.  This  was  accomplished  by  a 
sympathetic  transmutation,  by  virtue  of  which  the 
reader  became  the  character  itself.  The  audience 
had  perceived  that  in  the  reader,  who  really  never 
looked  upon  his  book,  and  whose  method  was  simply 
the  expression  of  naturalness,  they  had  before  them 
the  finished  artist. 

I  was  "  snowed  up  "  for  some  hours  on  my  way 
to  Quebec,  and  crossed  the  grand  river  in  a  sleigh. 

One  little  incident  which  occurred  during  the 
happy  fortnight  I  spent  in  the  Dominion  may  be 
worth  relating.  I  was  seated  in  my  "observation 
car  "  on  the  way  to  Toronto,  when  the  *'  porter," 
as  the  man  in  charge  is  called,  brought  me  the  card 
of  an  "  interviewer,"  who  followed  at  his  heels  before 
T  could  deny  myself.  The  young  man  at  once 
seated  himself  familiarly  close  to  me,  and  informed 
me  that  he  was  engaged  for  an  American  journal 
on  a  political  errand,  but  that,  hearing  there  was 
what  he  was  pleased  to  call  a  "distinguished 
Englishman"  on  board  the  train,  he  thought  he 
might  do  a  stroke  of  business  for  us  both,  adding, 
as  he  produced  a  note-book,  that  he  understood  I 
was  engaged  in  giving  medical  lectures  in  Canada. 
I  replied  that  my  mission  was  not  exactly  of  that 
nature,  although  it  chanced  to  have  some  connection 
with  hospitals  ;  upon  which  the  irrepressible  young 
man  ejaculated,  "  Hospitals  ?  Exactly — near  enough  ! 
And  you,  sir,  I  presume,  are  an  eminent  member 
of  the  noble  medical  profession  in  the  old  country  ?  " 
I  regretted  that,  unfortunately,   I  could  not  claim 


358  "A   CHRISTMAS   CAROL" 

that  distinction.  "  But  you  are,  of  course,  a  doctor  ?  " 
he  persisted.  I  answered  in  the  negative.  Not  the 
least  abashed,  my  tormentor,  who  really  was  amusing 
me  very  much,  then  bluntly  put  the  question,  "  Then, 
sir,  what  are  you  ?  "  I  told  him  I  was  an  actor. 
"  An  actor !  Then  where  on  earth  do  the  hospitals 
come  in  ? "  I  endeavoured  briefly  to  explain.  He 
seemed  more  than  ever  bewildered,  as  he  said, 
"  Then,  sir,  may  I  ask  your  name  ? "  I  replied  that 
I  had  remarked  that  for  some  minutes  he  had  been 
trying  hard  to  read  it  on  an  article  of  luggage,  which 
I  thereupon  pushed  towards  him.  He  repeated  the 
name  slowly — **  Bancroft ! — Hospital ! — Sir — Squire 
— Bancroft  !  Guess,  sir,  you  puzzle  me.  I  have 
heard  of  a  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Bancroft  who  were  in  that 
line  in  your  country,  but  never  came  over  here. 
Any  relation  ?  "  I  replied  that  I  chanced  to  be  the 
male  member  of  that  firm.  The  young  man  rose, 
put  up  his  note-book,  and,  as  he  made  for  the 
corridor,  said  solemnly,  "  Sir,  I  wish  you  a  pleasant 
journey.  I  guess  I  know  more  about  local  politics 
than  your  attainments." 

When  my  work  was  done,  its  bright  experiences 
were  brought  to  a  close  with  the  sights  of  Niagara 
in  its  solemn,  winter  grandeur — sights  never  to  be 
forgotten,  including  the  mighty  whirlpool  where 
Webb,  the  champion  swimmer  of  the  Channel,  so 
rashly  threw  away  his  life.  After  sleeping  with  the 
roar  of  its  mighty  waters  in  my  ears — a  sound  which 
it  baffles  my  paltry  pen  to  describe — I  spent  an 
hour  or  two  at  Buffalo,  and  then  caught  the 
"Empire  Express"  to  New  York.  I  was  there 
simply  as  a  private  person,  homeward  bound,  and 
merely  desirous  of  seeing  once  again  a  city  I  had 
known  many  years  before.  But  I  had  not  been, 
literally,  ten  minutes  in  the  hotel,  and  that  at  a 
late  hour — I  had  merely  asked  at  the  office  if  the 
room  I  had  telegraphed  for  had  been  reserved  for 
me,  had  written  my  name  in  the  book  of  arrivals 
and  been  shown  to  my  room — when  a  boy  knocked 


A   CHANGED   CITY  359 

at  the  door  to  say  that  an  "  interviewer "  wished 
to  see  me.  The  mystery  remained  unsolved,  for  in 
a  few  minutes  1  was  in  bed. 

Naturally  my  amazement  was  great  at  the  mar- 
vellous changes  in  New  York  since  my  brief  visit 
as  a  boy,  nearly  forty  years  before  ;  and  I  was,  I 
own,  and  more  than  ever,  full  of  regrets  at  never 
having  acted  in  America.  There,  as  at  home,  we 
should  have  had  the  glory  which  is  the  reward  of 
pioneers.  In  Bond  Street,  in  which  at  the  date  of 
my  previous  visit  I  had  lodged,  I  found,  instead 
of  pleasant  private  dwellings,  lofty  warehouses  and 
towering  cranes ;  the  same  with  Houston  Street 
and  Bleecker  Street  close  by.  Between  them  Laura 
Keene's  theatre  had  stood,  while  Wallack's  theatre 
was  then  below  Canal  Street.  In  those  days  there 
was  not  a  single  shop  on  Broadway  above  Bond 
Street,  opposite  which  was  the  theatre  farthest  **  up 
town  " — called,  I  think,  the  Metropolitan — with  the 
single  exception  of  the  Academy  of  Music,  as  the 
Opera  House  was  named,  which  was  on  Fourteenth 
Street.  I  believe  this  theatre,  in  some  form,  still 
exists.  Down  by  the  City  Hall  and  Astor  House 
I  went  up  a  tremendous  "  sky-scraper " — a  strange, 
Gilbertian,  topsy-turvy  form  of  architecture — which 
extinguished  everything  below  ;  indeed,  the  spire  of 
Trinity  Church  looked  itself  very  like  an  extinguisher, 
and  the  churchyard  of  St.  Paul's,  hard  by,  seemed 
very  small  and  insignificant.  When  I  descended,  I 
went  there  to  look  again  at  the  grave  of  the  once 
famous  actor  George  Frederick  Cooke,  who  died 
in  America :  he  who  threatened  to  make  "  Black 
Jack,"  as  he  called  John  Kemble,  "  tremble  in  his 
shoes,"  and  kept  his  word ;  he  who  had  seen 
Macklin  play  Shylock  in  the  way  that  Pope  im- 
mortalised, and  went  still  further  on  the  right  road 
himself,  only  to  be  surpassed,  in  turn,  by  his  own 
intense  admirer,  Edmund  Kean.  It  was  Kean  who 
erected  to  Cooke's  memory  the  vault  I  speak  of. 
Afterwards   it  was  restored   by  Charles  Kean,  and 


360  "A   CHEISTMAS   CAROL" 

later  still  by  Sothern,  whose  goodness,  at  the  time 
when  I  read  the  inscriptions,  had  left  it  in  sound 
repair.  I  trust  it  is  so  still,  or  it  would  be  a  labour 
of  love  to  English  actors  again  to  restore  it. 

From  what  I  now  read  and  hear,  the  New  York 
of  ten  years  ago  has  by  this  time  become  equally 
**  ancient  history "  with  the  city  I  have  written 
about. 

The  four  days  I  spent  there  were  very  happy, 
very  long,  and  very  busy,  but  tinged  with  regret 
at  the  discovery  that  a  letter  written  to  me  by 
Augustin  Daly,  and  addressed  to  an  hotel  at  Montreal, 
had  not  come  to  hand.  The  purport  of  the  letter 
was  to  invite  me,  if  my  plans  would  allow  of  such 
an  arrangement,  to  read  the  Carol  at  his  theatre 
one  afternoon  before  I  returned  to  England.  This 
might  easily  have  been  done,  perhaps  in  aid  of  the 
American  Theatrical  Fund.     I  was  indeed  sorry. 

I  derived  much  amusement,  however,  from  a 
conversation  I  had  with  Daly  on  the  telephone  at  my 
hotel.  Being  unfamiliar,  then,  with  that  useful  but 
aggravating  instrument,  I  dictated  my  share  of  the 
task  to  a  diminutive  Yankee  boy  with  a  powerful 
twang.  When  Daly  asked,  "  How  is  your  dear 
wife  ?  "  I  prompted  the  boy  to  say,  "  Splendid  ;  heard 
from  her  this  morning."  The  answer  at  once  came 
back,  "  So  glad  to  hear  it,  and  so  glad  to  hear  your 
voice  again ! " 

I  sailed  for  home  in  the  Umbria  with  a  bewildered 
sense  of  great  kindness  and  hospitality  from  Augustin 
Daly,  from  John  Drew,  and  from  friends  in  an  old- 
world  remnant  of  the  city — Washington  Square — at 
whose  house  I  met  an  always  welcome  friend,  George 
Smalley.  I  treasure  recollections  of  proffered  wel- 
come from  leading  clubs  ;  of  the  company  of  the 
famous  actor,  William  Gillette,  of  Daniel  Frohman, 
and  a  former  member  of  our  company,  Maurice  Barry- 
more  (father  of  the  accomplished  Ethel  Barrymore). 
It  was  Maurice  Barrymore,  by  the  way,  who  sent  an 
amusing  answer  by  telegram  to  a  proposed  engage- 


IN  THE   WRONG  TRAIN  861 

ment,  the  terms  of  which  did  not  appeal  to  him: 
"  Offer  duly  received;  have  sent  it  to  one  of  the  comic 
papers."  I  recall,  too,  Ada  Rehan's  bewitching 
Country  Girl ;  and,  above  all,  the  pathetic  room  at 
the  Players'  Club  in  Gramercy  Park,  which  was  built 
by  Stanford  White  for  Edwin  Booth,  where  the 
touching  souvenirs  of  America's  great  actor  are 
treasured  and  tended,  just  as  he  left  them  when  his 
sweet  and  generous  spirit  passed  away. 

After  the  figures  were  added  up,  I  was  as  surprised 
as  pleased  to  find  that  during  that  busy  winter  the 
large  sum  of  seven  thousand  pounds  had  been  paid  to 
hear  my  Reading  of  Dickens's  simple  story. 

I  may  here  relate  an  unaccountable  blunder  I 
committed  when  on  my  way  to  give  the  Reading  at 
Bradford  under  the  chairmanship  of  the  Bishop  of 
Ripon.  At  that  time  there  were  two  express  trains 
to  the  North,  one  from  Euston,  the  other  from  King's 
Cross  ;  both  started  at  1.30,  and  by  both  of  them  I 
had  recently  travelled  on  similar  errands.  Full  of 
thought,  I  drove  to  Euston  instead  of  to  King's  Cross. 
When  I  asked  for  a  ticket,  there  was  some  delay  ;  and 
at  last  it  was  given  to  me  with  the  name  of  my 
destination,  Bradford,  written  upon  it  in  ink.  I  thought 
it  strange  that  tickets  for  so  important  a  place  should 
be  out  of  print,  but  took  my  seat  in  the  train  ;  and  it 
was  only  when  well  beyond  Rugby  that  I  realised 
what  I  had  done.  Eventually,  after  hurried,  anxious 
talk  with  the  authorities  at  Crewe,  I  got  out  at 
Stafford.  There,  in  great  excitement,  I  ordered  a 
special  train  and  telegraphed  home  to  allay  anxiety. 
Some  difficulties  about  the  special,  owing  to  the 
Christmas  traffic,  were  overcome  by  my  earnest 
appeals  to  disregard  cost.  I  was,  indeed,  prepared 
to  pay  anything  demanded  of  me,  for  never  once  in 
my  life  had  I  failed  to  keep  an  appointment  with  the 
public,  and  should  have  been  doubly  distressed  at 
breaking  an  engagement  in  which  I  was  doing  the 
work  for  nothing.  Eventually,  I  reached  Bradford 
five  minutes  before  the  time  fixed  for  the  Reading. 


362  "A   CHRISTMAS   CAROL" 

To  add  to  my  troubles,  the  confusion  had  driven  out 
of  my  head  the  name  of  the  hall  where  1  was  to  give 
the  Reading.  Fortunately,  one  of  the  flymen  on  the 
station  rank  remembered  it,  and  drove  me  quickly  to 
its  doors.  The  audience  was  already  pouring  in. 
After  inquiry  at  an  hotel  hard  by — the  same  hotel  in 
which  a  few  years  later  Henry  Irving  stumbled  in  the 
hall  and  then  fell  dead — 1  found  the  Bishop.  He  had 
telegraphed  to  London  for  the  cause  of  my  absence,  and 
receiving  no  explanation,  had  settled  to  fill  my  place 
by  giving  his  lecture  on  Dante  ;  but  on  my  appearance 
he  immediately  drove  to  the  hall,  asked  for  a  short 
delay,  explained  the  reason,  and  then  returned  to 
fetch  me.  I  dressed  by  magic,  swallowed  some  soup, 
and,  appearing  on  the  platform  only  fifteen  minutes 
late,  was  greeted  with  great  warmth.  I  had  never 
before  felt  so  pleased,  as  I  told  the  assembled  crowds, 
to  face  my  audience. 

There  is  but  little  more  I  need  tell.  With  less 
frequency,  but  not  less  interest,  I  have  given  the 
Reading  winter  after  winter,  for  hospitals  chiefly  out 
of  London,  and  to  the  boys  at  the  great  schools.  The 
Readings  to  the  latter  I  look  upon  as  my  special 
treat ;  money,  of  course,  has  no  part  in  such  pleasures. 
I  hope,  before  I  have  done — and  I  am  not  far  off  it — 
that  my  gift  will  reach  the  sum  of  twenty  thousand 
pounds,  all  paid  to  hear  me  read  Dickens's  story.  The 
expenses  of  the  Readings  are  small,  being  limited  to 
the  hire  of  a  hall  and  a  little  printing.  Another 
result  has  been  that  a  good  deal  of  money  has  been 
given  in  annual  subscriptions  and,  I  have  some  reason 
to  believe,  as  legacies  in  wills.  I  have  in  mind 
especially  the  case  of  a  bachelor  of  real  wealth,  who 
moved  me  very  much  by  some  simple  words  he  once 
spoke  to  me.     I  hope  he  will  never  marry  ! 

I  recall  a  few  more  names  of  distinguished  men 
who  have,  by  presiding,  so  largely  helped  at  these 
Readings  ;  but  my  heaviest  debt  is  due  to  those  dear 
ladies  on  committees  who  have  worked  so  hard  to 
sell  the  tickets.     Without  their  aid  I  should  not  have 


DISTINGUISHED   CHAIRMEN         368 

achieved   one-half    the    good   result.      I   kiss    their 
hands. 

The  Duke  of  Norfolk,  a  few  years  since,  postponed 
an  important  engagement  in  London  and  journeyed 
purposely  to  Sheffield  to  help  the  hospital.  We  were 
rewarded  by  a  fine  result.  Among  others  who  have 
presided  are  the  Duke  of  Abercorn,  the  late  Duke  of 
Westminster,  the  Duke  of  Fife,  Lord  Lathom,  Lord 
Wolseley,  Lord  Tredegar,  the  late  Dr.  Creighton  (when 
Bishop  of  London),  Lord  Alverstone,  Lord  Avebury, 
Sir  Edward  Grey,  Sir  William  Broadbent,  Dr.  Bradley 
(when  Dean  of  Westminster),  the  Deans  of  Windsor, 
Lincoln,  Rochester,  and  Gloucester,  and  several  of  the 
Lord  Mayors  of  London,  notably  Sir  Alfred  Newton, 
who  first  gave  me  the  Egyptian  Hall  at  the  Mansion 
House  when  I  realised  my  largest  sum,  eight  hundred 
pounds,  owing  to  an  indefatigable  secretary  of  the 
Earlswood  Asylum.  I  received  much  kindness,  too, 
from  the  never-ending  charity  of  the  Stock  Exchange. 
This  Reading,  I  remember  well,  was  given  on  the 
afternoon  of  Black  Friday.  The  Lord  Mayor  was 
late,  having  been  detained  at  the  War  Office  over  the 
patriotic  offer  of  the  C.I.V.  to  go  to  our  help  in  the 
South  African  War.  In  art.  Sir  Edward  Poynter 
and  Arthur  Pinero  have  honoured  me  as  chairmen ; 
and  Henry  Irving  had  promised  to  do  so,  unfortunately 
at  a  Reading  which  had  to  be  postponed. 

From  many  letters  on  the  subject,  I  have  selected 
three.  The  first  was  written  by  a  friend  and  lover  of 
Charles  Dickens,  a  man  who  knew  him  well,  and  who, 
though  he  no  longer  mingles  with  the  world,  survives. 
I  may  disclose  his  identity  to  some  when  I  say  that 
in  olden  times  he  daily  rode  a  very  tall  horse  in  the 
Row,  the  animal  being  rarely  known  to  break  from  a 
slow  and  stately  walk.  W.  S.  Gilbert  one  morning, 
seeing  its  solemn  approach,  galloped  towards  it  and, 
as  he  dashed  by,  called  loudly  to  the  rider  that  if  he 
persisted  in  going  on  in  that  way  he  would  be  taken 
up  for  furious  loiteriug !  This  is  what  the  friendly 
critic  wrote ; 


364  "A   CHRISTMAS   CAROL" 

"Yours  is  the  best  Carol  reading  I  have  ever 
heard — bar  one  I  C.  D.'s  reading  was  so  complicated 
by  the  intense  interest  of  the  author's  personaHty,  so 
bound  up  with  the  gratification  of  excited  curiosity 
to  see  the  very  author  of  the  Carol  in  the  flesh,  that 
it  is  quite  impossible  to  discriminate  judicially,  and 
to  separate  the  mere  reading  from  the  reader  himself, 
in  the  case  of  C.  D.  Therefore,  it  is  unfair,  and 
indeed  ungenerous,  to  compare,  or  contrast,  C.  D/s 
own  reading  with  yours,  or  any  one  else's  reading. 

"Our  old  friend  Bellew  would  have  read  Maud 
infinitely  better  than  Tennyson  read  it ;  yet  the 
reading  of  Maud  by  Bellew  could  never  have  equalled 
in  interest,  and  in  its  effect  on  the  audience,  the 
author  of  In  Memoriarii  standing  there,  actually  in 
the  flesh,  reciting  his  own  composition. 

"  There  are  passages  in  your  reading  which  are, 
to  my  mind,  more  natural  and  more  touching  than 
C.  D.'s — which  all  through  was  tainted  with  just  a 
soupfon  of  insincerity.  But  he  had  points  of  admir- 
able dexterity  which  told  immensely.  When  old 
Fezziwig  was  dancing,  C.  D.  stopped  before  the  word 
'  wink,'  as  if  searching  for  a  phrase,  and  then  jerked 
it  out  very  effectively,  as  if  on  a  sudden  inspiration. 
He  made  an  immense  hit  of  this. 

"  When  Tiny  Tim  beats  his  knife  on  the  table 
and  '  feebly  cried  "  Hooray  ! " '  C.  D.  gave  it  in  a  high, 
childish  treble,  with  a  suggestion  of  feeble  crippledom 
that  was  very  good  business.  You  put  in  some  lines 
last  night  which  are  from  27ie  Chimes  (unless  I  am 
doddering),  and  most  beautiful  they  are  I 

"There  may  be  a  few  other  little  reminiscences 
which  come  up  out  of  the  half-forgotten  past,  but 
are  of  no  account.  One  thing,  you  got  the  audience 
quite  as  much  as  he  did.  The  handkerchiefs  were 
going  freely,  both  male  and  female ;  one  girl  became 
hysterical,  and  went  rapidly  out.  When  you  did  the 
laughing,  which  is  entirely  new  and  all  your  own,  it 
became  infectious,  and  they  all  laughed  really  and 
uproariously.     The  reading  is  a  genuine  success  as 


TRIBUTES  865 

a  reading;  and  the  impression  is  deepened  and  in- 
tensified by  the  knowledge  of  the  genuine  generosity 
with  which  the  readings  are  given.  May  they  go 
on,  and  prosper  1 " 

The  second  came  from  a  cultured  friend,  who 
wrote : 

"  I  am  anxious  to  tell  you  how  deeply  interested 
we  were  from  first  to  last  this  afternoon. 

"  '  Readings,'  as  such,  are  a  novelty  to  me.  I 
had  no  idea  such  dramatic  force  of  interpretation 
could  be  put  into  the  story,  and  your  very  fine 
rendering  was  altogether  a  revelation.  Though  sitting 
well  back,  every  syllable  reached  me  from  a  sym- 
pathetic voice,  and  the  meaning  of  every  passage, 
every  word,  was  made  abundantly  clear  by  your 
remarkable  emphasis  and  action.  It  was  a  real  tour 
de  force,  and  for  me  a  genuine  intellectual  treat.  I 
doubt  very  much  whether  Dickens  himself  had 
realised  the  true  dramatic  possibilities  of  his  story, 
and  my  reason  for  this  is  that  when  icloseted  alone 
with  the  volume  there  is  a  dead  level  of  excellence 
running  clear  through  the  story  ;  whereas  under  your 
interpretation  it  would  seem  that  the  first  half  of  the 
story  is  really  finer  as  a  piece  of  prose  composition 
than  the  second  half,  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  the 
dramatic  effort  was,  if  anything,  keener  during  the 
second  than  it  was  during  the  first  part. 

"  It  was  purely  your  own  exposition  of  the  text 
that  provoked  this  piece  of  criticism,  which  in  one's 
armchair  would  have  certainly  escaped  me. 

"The  measure  of  general  excellence  cannot  be 
put  to  a  higher  ordeal  than  this.  The  tear-compelling 
rendering  of  pathetic  passages  is  quite  another  matter 
— a  valuable  adjunct,  but  intellectually  on  a  lower 
plane. 

"Be  it  Canada,  Calcutta,  or  Fiji,  wherever  you 
take  your  Carol,  lovers  of  Dickens  will  love  to  hear 
you  read  him." 

The  third  letter  came  from  a  well-known  actor, 
in  these  terms : 


866  "A   CHRISTMAS   CAROL" 

"  When  I  heard  Dickens  read  his  own  work  1 
thought  I  should  never  hear  anything  so  fine  again, 
but  I  have  to-night.  I  shall  certainly  never  try  to 
read  the  Christmas  Carol  after  your  supremely 
admirable  performance." 

Of  all  the  many  compliments  which  have  been 
paid  to  me,  one  of  the  most  enjoyable  came  from 
the  lips  of  a  public  school-boy,  and  I  valued  his  words 
at  their  true  worth.  In  the  middle  of  the  Reading 
the  youngster  turned  to  his  mother  and  said  loudly, 
"  I  say,  mater,  isn't  he  jolly  good  ?  He  ought  to 
have  been  an  actor." 

One  serious  word.  Whatever  the  worth  of  my 
work,  it  has  been  a  labour  of  love,  if  only  to  make 
the  story  better  known  to  a  new  generation ;  re- 
membering always  and  echoing  the  words  Thackeray 
wrote  when  Dickens  first  sang  his  Chistmas  Carol 
to  the  English-speaking  world  :  "It  seems  to  me  a 
national  benefit,  and  to  every  man  or  woman  who 
reads  it  a  personal  kindness." 

Not  the  least  of  the  many  pleasures  the  work  has 
given  me  have  been  the  approval  and  the  sympathy 
of  the  immortal  writer's  surviving  children :  of  his 
son,  Henry  Fielding  Dickens,  who  has  maintained 
the  cherished  inheritance  of  his  name  with  honour 
and  distinction ;  and  of  his  daughter,  that  sweet 
woman,  Kate  Perugini.  To  their  names  I  would 
affectionately  add  another — borne  by  his  faithful 
friend,  their  faithful  friend,  that  gentle,  loving  lady, 
Georgina  Hogarth. 


CHAPTER     XIV 

DEPARTED    GUESTS 

"He  would  have  all  as  merry 
As,  first,  good  company,  good  wine,  good  welcome, 
Can  make  good  people." 

The  Shakespearian  heading  I  have  chosen  for  this 
chapter  reminds  me  of  a  remark  made  by  Sir  Wilham 
Gilbert,  that  it  always  seemed  to  him  quite  as  impor- 
tant for  a  host  to  remember  what  he  intended  to  put 
on  the  chairs  as  what  he  meant  to  put  on  the  table. 

Chatting  one  evening  with  a  dear  friend  in  my 
dining-room,  I  happened  to  mention  the  name  of 
another  once-dear  friend  who  had  but  recently  left 
us,  when  my  companion  said,  "  I  last  spoke  to  him 
at  this  table  ;  and  how  many  have  sat  round  it,  my 
dear  B.,  whom  he  has  now  joined  ! "  This  set  us 
both  thinking,  until  I  said,  "  Yes,  indeed,  I  am  sure 
there  must  be  a  hundred  such  friends  whose  names 
would  be  known  far  and  wide."  The  thought 
haunted  me  through  the  night,  and  the  next  morning 
I  wrote  some  names  down.  They  recalled  a  wealth 
of  friendship  and  love,  admiration  and  esteem,  joy 
and  sorrow,  pleasure  and  pain,  all  mixed  together — 
a  human  salad.  Some  of  my  thoughts  concerning 
those  departed  guests  I  will  tell  the  reader. 

Certain  of  their  names,  so  prominent  when,  as 
young  people,  we  first  knew  them,  may  be  faded 
now,  but  few  are  completely  forgotten. 

"Their  ears  are  deaf  to  human  praise, 
Their  lips  to  mortals  mute  ; 
But  still  their  words  deep  echoes  raise. 
Their  thoughts  have  endless  fruit." 
367 


368  DEPARTED   GUESTS 

Lord  Chief  Justice  Cockburn  was  the  first 
great  man  of  light  and  leading  who  dined  with  us 
in  the  days  of  our  youth,  and  he  shall  head  the  list. 
We  knew  him  in  the  early  days  of  the  Tichborne 
trial.  He  had  one  of  the  most  musical  and  telling  male 
voices  I  ever  listened  to.  In  the  street  he  looked  not 
unlike  the  skipper  of  his  own  beloved  yacht.  We  en- 
joyed his  friendship  for  the  last  ten  years  of  his  life. 

I  recall  one  evening  when  the  Lord  Chief  dined 
with  us  and  Mr.  Critchett  was  among  our  guests ; 
he  asked  my  wife  to  introduce  him  to  Sir  Alexander. 
She  did  so  in  these  words  :  "Will  you  allow  me,  dear 
Chief,  to  present  to  you  Mr.  Critchett,  the  celebrated 
oculist  ?  As  Justice  is  blind,  you  may  find  him  a 
most  useful  man."  To  which  Sir  Alexander  replied, 
in  his  courtly  manner,  **  If,  when  you  first  lift  the 
film  from  my  eyes,  you  will  permit  me  to  gaze  on 
Mrs.  Bancroft,  I  shall  thank  you,  sir." 

Returning  to  our  work  from  a  holiday  in  Switzer- 
land, we  rested  for  a  night  at  Geneva.  On  the  next 
day  we  learnt  by  the  firing  of  guns  and  a  display  of 
bunting  that  the  Alabama  claims  had  just  been 
settled,  the  Conference  having  been  held  there. 
England's  representative — Lord  Chief  Justice  Cock- 
burn — was  staying  at  the  Hotel  des  Bergues  ;  so  we 
lost  no  time  in  calling  upon  him.  The  circumstance 
is  a  reminder  of  a  characteristic  letter  received  from 
the  Lord  Chief  just  before  he  started  on  this  mission. 

40j  Hertford  Street,  Mayfaib, 
Tuesday. 

Dear  Mrs.  Bancroft,— 

I  should  be  delighted  to  dine  with  you,  as 
you  so  kindly  wish  ;  but,  alas  I  I  am  just  leaving  for 
Geneva.  Your  note  makes  me  wish  the  Alabama 
had  gone  to  the  bottom  of  the  sea  the  day  she  was 
launched  I     In  utmost  haste,  very  truly  yours, 

A.  E.  Cockburn. 

Early  in  the  list  must  come  Charles  Mathews. 
This  finished  comedian  and  polished  gentleman  has 


COMEDIAN    AND   CRITIC  369 

several  times  been  mentioned   in   this   book  ;  now, 
with  regret,  we  write  his  name  for  the  last  time. 

Mathews  was  thirty  when  he  went  upon  the 
stage,  and  for  more  than  forty  years — as  he  worked 
continually  until  a  few  days  before  his  death  in  the 
summer  of  1878 — was  one  of  the  greatest  of  the 
public's  favourites.  In  defence  of  the  view  he  took  of 
his  art,  he  once  said,  "  It  has  been  urged  against  me 
that  I  always  play  the  same  characters  in  the  same 
way,  and  that  ten  years  hence  I  should  play  the  parts 
exactly  as  I  play  them  now ;  this  I  take  as  a  great  com- 
pliment. It  is  a  precision  which  has  been  aimed  at 
by  the  models  of  my  profession,  which  I  am  proud  to 
follow,  and  shows,  at  least,  that  my  acting  is  the  re- 
sult of  art  and  study,  and  not  that  of  mere  accident." 

My  wife  and  I  passed  many  happy  evenings  at 
his  house  in  Pelham  Crescent  in  the  early  part  of 
our  married  life. 

It  was  during  a  holiday  at  Scarborough  that  we 
added  to  our  list  of  friends  that  strange  and  interest- 
ing creature  Henry  Fothergill  Chorley,  in  his 
day  an  authoritative  musical  critic  ;  always  a  friend  to 
the  young — notably  to  Arthur  Sullivan.  He  was  a 
man  who  neither  loved  nor  hated  by  halves  ;  but  of 
his  nature  we  fortunately  knew  only  the  tender  side. 
We  grew  to  know  him  well,  which  meant  to  like 
him  much.  It  happened  that  he  first  felt  an  interest 
in  us  through  having  accidentally  overheard  the 
terms  of  affection  in  which  we  chanced  to  speak  of 
Charles  Dickens,  whose  death  was  then  recent. 
Chorley's  love  for  the  great  writer  was  profound,  and 
he  referred  to  it  in  these  pathetic  terms :  "  I  have  a 
letter  from  poor  Mary.  If  universal  sympathy  of  the 
warmest  kind  in  every  form  could  soften  the  agony 
of  such  a  trial — they  will  have  it  in  overflowing 
measure  ;  but  it  will  not  give  back  one  of  the  noblest 
and  most  gifted  men  I  have  ever  known,  whose 
regard  for  me  was  one  of  those  honours  which  make 
amends  for  much  failure  and  disappointment.  I 
cannot  express  to  any  human  being  the  void  this  will 

24 


370  DEPARTED   GUESTS 

make  for  me  to  my  dying-day."  As  his  friends  fell 
from  him,  Chorley  would  say,  with  a  sigh,  "  There 
goes  another  page  from  my  book.  Shall  I  have 
courage  to  try  and  replace  it  by  a  new  leaf  ? " 

His  love  for  Dickens  was  manifested  until  the  end 
of  his  life,  for  by  his  wish  two  branches  from  the 
cedar  trees  which  grew  on  the  lawn  at  Gad's  Hill 
were  placed  on  either  side  of  him  in  his  coffin. 

In  those  days  we  also  first  met  J.  M.  Bellew, 
whom,  when  he  was  still  a  clergyman  of  the  Church 
of  England,  I  had  often  heard  preach.  He  had 
great  oratorical  gifts  ;  and  doubtless  owed  something 
of  his  pulpit  popularity  to  his  grand  voice,  his  long 
silvery  hair,  and  altogether  remarkable  appearance. 
His  reading  of  the  "  death  chapter  "  from  the  Burial 
Service  was  very  impressive,  but  his  delivery  of  the 
Commandments  was  theatrical.  In  the  fifth  com- 
mandment he  used  to  thunder  out  the  words, 
"  Honour  thy  father,"  then  drop  his  voice  to  its  most 
dulcet  tones,  gently  to  murmur,  '*  and  thy  mother." 

Later  on  we  were  neighbours,  and  I  remember 
the  story  of  another  neighbour,  also  a  clergyman, 
who  for  years  wore  one  of  the  most  palpable  of  wigs, 
although  convinced  in  his  own  mind  that  no  one 
shared  the  secret.  He  even  went  so  far  as  to  wear 
several  wigs  in  turn,  the  hair  on  each  of  them  being  of 
different  lengths.  Bellew  one  morning  met  his  friend 
just  as  he  was  leaving  the  house,  and  asked  if  they 
could  walk  together.  "  Delighted,"  said  the  owner  of 
the  coffee-coloured  "  jasey,"  "  if  you  are  going  towards 
Bond  Street,  where  I  must  stop  to  have  my  hair  cutr 

I  have  always  thought  Bellew  should,  like  his 
son,  have  gone  upon  the  stage,  which  he  would 
certainly  have  adorned.  It  was  said  that  Fechter's 
striking  and  original  performance  of  Hamlet  owed 
much  to  his  help  and  counsel. 

I  come  now  to  an  old  and  valued  friend  of  quite 
another  stamp,  Mr.  J.  M.  Levy  :  a  kind,  wise  man, 
the  founder  of  the  vast  fortunes  of  The  Daily  Tele- 
graph,  and,  in  my  opinion,  one  of  the  greatest  friends 


J.   M.   LEVY  371 

to  the  drama,  in  his  own  or  any  other  times.  It 
was  Mr.  Levy  who  first  gave  to  its  affairs,  in  the 
great  journal  he  then  controlled,  the  prominence  and 
the  importance  which  he  always  considered  its  due, 
and  which  have  been  maintained  by  his  successors. 
Our  stage  owes  him  much,  and  English  actors  should 
hold  his  memory  in  high  regard. 

Mr.  Levy  rarely  dined  from  home  on  a  Sunday, 
and  then  for  many  years  left  his  guests,  punctually 
at  nine  o'clock,  and  drove  to  Fleet  Street.  He  once 
came  to  us,  and  I  remember  that  a  messenger  from 
Fleet  Street  arrived  by  his  orders  during  dinner,  speci- 
ally to  bring  him  the  assurance  that  all  was  well  there. 
Telephones  were  not  even  in  their  cradles  then. 

My  wife  reminds  me  of  a  pathetic  incident  at  a 
dinner-party  given  by  Mr.  Levy  in  Grosvenor  Street, 
when  Henry  Russell,  the  veteran  composer  of  Cheer, 
Boys,  Cheer,  The  Red,  White,  and  Blue,  and  a  mass 
of  stirring  patriotic  songs,  was  among  the  guests. 
After  dinner  the  two  old  friends  talked  of  the  days  of 
their  youth,  and  in  his  enthusiasm  our  host  begged 
Russell  to  sing  once  more  The  Ship  on  Fire.  The  old 
man  at  last  consented,  on  condition  that  his  host 
should  sing  a  verse  of  a  ballad  too.  It  was  delightful. 
Russell  dashed  at  the  piano,  and  amazed  all  present 
by  the  force  of  his  voice  and  the  earnestness  of  his 
accompaniment.  Afterwards,  when  Mr.  Levy  war- 
bled, in  a  sweet,  soft  voice,  true  to  time  and  tune,  the 
old  song,  She  J'Tore  a  Wreath  of  Roses,  the  reader  will 
readily  believe  that  tears  trickled  down  the  cheeks 
of  several  who  had  the  good  fortune  to  be  present. 

Towards  the  end  of  a  long  and  honourable  career, 
he  was  a  great  sufferer.  I  was  sitting  by  his  side  one 
afternoon  at  his  house,  when  Corney  Grain  joined  us, 
and  in  the  course  of  conversation  alluded  to  the 
deaths  of  two  public  men,  which  had  recently  oc- 
curred, dwelling  for  a  moment  on  the  subject.  I  can 
hear  Mr.  Levy's  voice  now  as  he  waved  a  trembling 
hand  and  said,  "  Don't,  Corney  Grain— don't !  Speak 
to  me  of  them  when  they  are  dancing." 


372  DEPARTED   GUESTS 

Another  early  friend  was  Tom  Hood,  the  clever 
son  of  an  illustrious  father.  Not  long  before  he  died, 
he  gave  my  wife  a  copy  of  that  droll  nursery  story, 
The  Headlong  Career  and  Woeful  Ending  of  Pre- 
cocious Piggy.  She  has  drawn  many  a  laugh  from 
the  little  ones  to  whom  she  has  read  the  story,  and 
her  copy — a  gift  from  the  son  who  so  cleverly  illus- 
trated nis  father's  quaint  fancy — has  an  extra  drawing 
which  represents  "  Piggy "  in  evening  dress,  with 
crush  hat,  gloves,  and  opera-glass  complete,  and  the 
following  verse : 

"  Where  are  you  going  to,  you  little  pig  ? 
To  the  new  Prince  of  Wales'^s,  dressed  out  in  full  fig, 
In  full  fig,  young  pig  ? 
A  pig  in  full  fig ! 
You'll  see  Marie  Wilton,  you  lucky  young  pig !  ^ 

Next  from  the  dim  distance  I  remember  Shirley 
Brooks,  a  handsome,  fresh-coloured  man,  with  beauti- 
ful eyes,  who  was  then  the  able  editor  of  Punch,  The 
following  letter  from  him  recalls  an  early  honour 
which  befell  me  and  made  me  very  proud  : 

Garrick  Club,  Saturday,  April  3,  1869. 
8.55  p.m.     Rain.     Wind,  S.W. 

My  dear  Bancroft, — 

As  your  proposer  here,  I  have  the  great 
pleasure  of  informing  you  that  you  have  just  been 
unanimously  elected  to  the  Garrick  Club.  Trusting 
that  this  will  not  render  you  unduly  undomestic,  I 
add,  with  my  congratulations  to  you,  my  best  regards 
to  Mrs.  Bancroft. 

Ever  yours  faithfully, 

Shirley  Brooks. 

George  Duplex,  an  old  physician,  who  had  at- 
tended Edmund  Kean,  was  my  seconder. 

The  mere  mention  of  the  Garrick  Club  recalls 
great  happiness  enjoyed  within  its  walls  for  forty 
years.  1  was  received  there  in  my  youth  with  a 
welcome  never  to  be  forgotten,  by  men  of  mark  in 
all  the  walks  of  life  ;  and  I  am  honoured  and  cheered 


THE   GARRICK   CLUB  373 

in  my  advancing  years  by  the  friendship  now  given 
to  me  by  their  successors — a  sweet  compensation  for 
the  flight  of  time.  This  reminds  me  that  1  recently 
discovered  my  service  on  the  committee  of  the  club 
to  be  longer  than  that  of  any  other  member,  as  it 
dates  from  1877. 

Among  the  club's  notable  collection  of  works  of 
art  connected  with  the  stage,  I  have  the  honour  to 
be  represented  by  a  replica  of  the  portrait  of  myself 
painted  for  me  by  my  young  friend  Hugh  Riviere,  the 
son  of  my  old  friend  Briton  Riviere.  The  rare,  if  not 
unique,  distinction,  I  trust,  awaits  the  family  of  having 
Royal  Academicians  in  two  consecutive  generations. 

One  of  my  early  Garrick  friends  was  the  Marquis 
OF  Anglesey  of  that  time.  I  was  his  happy  guest 
for  many  years  at  Epsom,  where  he  had  a  private 
stand  opposite  the  winning-post.  In  those  days  at 
the  Garrick  Club  an  old-fashioned  card  game,  four- 
handed  cribbage,  was  a  good  deal  played,  and  Lord 
Anglesey  was  among  its  devotees.  The  following 
note  has  a  reference  to  it : 

West  Park,  Salisbury,  January  24,  1876. 

Dear  Bancroft, — 

I  left  London  the  morning  after  dining  with 
you,  or  should  have  acknowledged  your  letter  sooner. 
I  have,  however,  written  to  Lady  Constance  and  sent 
her  the  charming  Woffington  Gavotte,  and  she  begs 
me  to  say  she  is  extremely  obliged  to  you  for  it. 

What  a  pleasant  dinner  you  gave  us,  but  what  a 
disastrous  night  I  had  ! 

Yours  very  truly, 

Anglesey. 

Lord  Anglesey  had  intended  to  be  present  at 
our  opening  performance  at  the  Haymarket  Theatre, 
but  died,  after  a  short  illness,  the  night  before. 

I  made  the  acquaintance  of  the  great  actor 
Edmond  Got  in  the  troublous  days  of  the  Com- 
mune. When  the  chief  members  of  the  Com^die 
Fran^aise,  of  whom  for  many  years  he  was  the  doyen^ 


374  DEPAKTED   GUESTS 

were  acting  for  some  time  in  London,  I  was  present 
at  a  banquet  given  in  their  honour,  at  which  Lord 
DufFerin  presided.  He,  with  Lord  Granville  and 
Alfred  Wigan,  the  actor,  made  speeches  fluently  in 
French.  I  recollect  that  I  had  the  luck  to  be  seated 
between  the  late  Sir  Frederick  Pollock  and  George 
Du  Maurier,  both  friends  and  lovers  of  the  drama. 

The  Theatre  Fran^ais  was  kept  open  in  those  sad 
days  by  another  part  of  the  troupe,  who  played  to 
receipts  varying  between  eighty  and  two  hundred 
francs  a  performance  1  In  England  money  was  made, 
and  it  fell  to  the  lot  of  Got  to  take  a  share  of  it  to 
his  besieged  comrades  in  Paris.  The  eminent  actor 
had  served  in  the  French  cavalry  before  he  went 
upon  the  stage,  and  owed  his  life  to  the  fact,  through 
being  recognised  by  an  old  companion-in-arms  when 
he  fulfilled  the  perilous  errand  of  bringing  succour 
from  England  to  his  fellow-players. 

On  July  8,  1879,  he  wrote  : 

"  Je  veux  vous  remercier  de  la  gracieuse  hospitalite 
que  vous  avez  bien  voulu  nous  ofFrir  dans  votre 
theatre,  et  vous  prier  de  mettre  aux  pieds  de  Mme. 
Bancroft  I'hommage  de  mon  respect  et  de  ma  tres 
sincere  admiration. 

"  Quant  k  vous,  monsieur,  vous  avez  montr^  ce  que 
peut  obtenir  de  ses  artistes,  un  habile  administrateur 
double  d'un  parfait  com^dien,  c'est-a-dire  un  ensemble 
que  je  souhaiterais  rencontrer  sur  beaucoup  de  scenes 
parisiennes,  et  quelquefois  sur  la  notre." 

Got  was  accompanied  by  the  incomparable  jeune 
premier,  Louis  Delaunay,  than  whom  few  actors 
have  given  more  pleasure  to  the  world — for  all  the 
world  at  some  time  finds  its  way  to  the  Theatre 
Fran^ais.  In  1879,  at  the  time  the  illustrious  com- 
pany was  playing  in  London  with  all  its  strength — a 
strength  never  since  equalled — Delaunay  told  me  a 
story  of  that  charming,  buoyant  actress  Jeanne 
Samary  (a  niece  of  the  great  Madeleine  Brohan), 
who  died  all  too  soon,  and  who  was  noted  for 
staunchly  upholding  the  dignity  of  her  calling.     One 


A   REBUKE  375 

evening  a  very  rich  young  man,  the  son  of  a  well- 
known  banker,  who  had  the  entree  of  the  Com^die 
Fran^aise,  was  standing  in  the  green-room  when 
Samary  entered  it.  He  made  a  profound  bow.  The 
actress  slightly  inclined  her  head,  looked  at  him 
frigidly,  and  said,  "  May  I  give  one  so  young  as 
yourself  a  little  advice  ?  I  was  surprised,  monsieur, 
when  we  met  yesterday  at  the  Salon — on  varnishing 
day,  too — to  see  you  in  the  company  of  a  woman  of 
no  reputation."  "  Madame,"  the  young  man  replied 
indignantly — "  madame,  that  lady  was  my  sister." 
"Indeed,  monsieur  ;  I  could  not  possibly  have  guessed 
it.  In  this  theatre,  to  which  I  have  the  honour  to 
belong,  I  always  receive  you  as  in  my  house.  I  knew 
you  saw  me  at  the  Salon,  but  declined  to  recognise 
me ;  and  so  I  concluded  that  your  companion  could 
only  be  one  whose  presence  at  your  side  made  you 
pretend  not  to  know  me." 

Lord  Justice  Holker  was  a  friend  since  youthful 
days  in  Liverpool,  when  he  was  a  leading  member  of 
the  Northern  Circuit.  I  was  present  in  court  on  an 
occasion  when,  in  the  middle  of  an  important  speech, 
he  begged  a  moment's  delay  from  the  judge.  He 
then  beckoned  and  whispered  to  his  clerk,  who  left 
the  court.  There  was  a  long  pause  until  the  man 
returned  and  handed  something  to  Holker.  It  turned 
out  to  be  his  snuif-box,  from  which  the  learned 
counsel  deliberately  took  a  heavy  pinch,  and  then, 
quite  calmly,  went  on  with  his  address. 

The  last  time  we  met,  many  years  afterwards, 
he  looked,  and  was,  gravely  ill.  It  was  at  the 
Grosvenor  Gallery,  where  there  used  to  be  such 
happy  times,  such  notable  gatherings,  on  Sunday 
afternoons — meetings  never  to  be  forgotten  by  those 
who  enjoyed  the  privilege  of  invitation. 

The  first  great  surgeon  whom  we  knew  was 
Sir  William  Fergusson  :  he  was  marvellously 
kind  to  actors,  from  whom  he  would  never  take  a  fee. 
All  we  could  do  as  a  small  return  was  to  make  him 
free   of  our  theatre.     On  one  occasion — it  was  the 


376  DEPARTED   GUESTS 

first  night  of  Wilkie  CoUins's  play  Man  and  Wife — 
Sir  William  took  a  box.  Happily  my  wife  caught 
sight  of  him,  and  a  cheque  for  the  price  of  the  box, 
with  a  strong  rebuke,  w^as  sent  to  him  as  soon  as 
possible,  to  which  he  answered  : 

16,  George  Street,  Hanover  Square, 
24  February,  1873. 

Dear  Mr.  Bancroft, — 

I  have  so  often  trespassed  on  your  liberality 
that  I  was  reluctant  to  ask  such  a  favour  on  so  im- 
portant a  night.  It  appears,  however,  that  I  have 
not  escaped  your  vigilance,  and  I  have  now  for  myself 
and  daughters  to  express  our  thanks  for  the  great 
politeness  evinced  by  you  and  Mrs.  Bancroft. 

I  agree  most  cordially  with  the  Observer  of 
yesterday,  and  concur  in  all  that  is  so  favourable  ; 
but  regret  that  Mr.  Dewar  has  not  met  with  that 
approbation  which  he  deserves.  His  performance  is 
the  most  unctuous  bit  of  Scotch  I  have  seen  on  the 
stage  since  the  days  of  McKay  (the  Baillie),  and  was 
not  appreciated  by  the  audience,  chiefly,  I  imagine, 
from  want  of  knowledge  of  the  true  idiom. 

The  beautiful  rooms  you  show  us  in  your  theatre 
make  us  disgusted  with  our  own  plain  homes. 
Yours  very  sincerely, 

William  Fergusson. 

The  name  of  H.  J.  Byron  comes  next  upon  our 
list.  In  an  earlier  chapter  we  have  told  something 
of  this  old  friend.  When  the  following  letter  was 
written,  Byron's  health  had  long  been  faihng,  and 
it  was  evident  to  the  few  friends  he  cared  to  keep 
about  him  that  his  race  was  nearly  run.  He  grew 
dreadfully  restless,  and  was  constantly  changing  his 
home,  generally  having  at  least  two  empty  houses 
on  his  hands.  Within  quite  a  short  period  we 
have  correspondence  dated  by  him  from  Eccle- 
ston  Square,  Bedford  Square,  Clapham  Park,  and 
Sutton, 


H.   J.   BYRON  377 

Langton  Lodge,  Sutton,  Surrey, 
June  25,  1882. 

JMy  dear  Bancuoft,— 

I  ought  to  have  answered  your  very  kind 
letter  before,  but  upon  my  word  the  weather  has 
been  so  depressing  that  I  have  had  no  "go "  in  me, 
and  have  not  taken  up  a  pen,  except  under  protest 
and  on  compulsion,  for  a  month.  If  the  sun  would 
only  show  up  like  a  man,  I  should  feel  like  another 
one  ;  but  constant  clouds  and  almost  ceaseless  winds 
drive  one  wretched.  Good  for  the  theatres,  though. 
You  will  both  soon  enjoy  what  the  papers  always 
madden  me  by  calling  a  "  well-deserved  "  or  "  well- 
earned  "  holiday,  and  will,  I  suppose,  seek  the 
Engadine  again. 

I  hope  Mrs.  Bancroft  has  escaped  her  quondam 
enemy,  hay-fever,  this  year ;  I  always  think  of  her 
when  passing  the  carts  full  of  it — hay,  not  fever  ! 

I  have  a  lot  of  work  on  hand,  with  a  most  horrible 
and  revolting  distaste  for  doing  it,  and  the  very  name 
of  a  playhouse  drives  me  frantic.  A  boy  came  and 
left  a  bill  announcing  CoUette  as  7Vie  Colonel  at  the 
Public  Hall  here  last  week.  It  is  lucky  I  didn't  catch 
him,  but  the  Sutton  boys  are  very  agile.  I  like 
CoUette,  and  I  like  The  Colonel,  but  there  are  limits. 
Arthur  Sketchley  has  been  here  for  two  or  three 
days.  He  left  yesterday,  but  the  staircase  still 
trembles.  [This,  of  course,  in  allusion  to  Sketchley 's 
bulk  and  weight.]  And  now,  hoping  you  may  both 
enjoy  your  rest,  and  with  kindest  regards. 

Believe  me,  yours  always  sincerely, 

H.  J.  Bykon. 

A  valued  friend  of  those  earliei  days  was  the 
distinguished  musician  Sir  Julius  Benedict.  I 
pause  for  a  moment  to  express  a  hope  that  his  son 
may  one  day  be  as  distinguished  on  the  stage. 

Many  years  ago,  when  we  were  resting  in  a  Swiss 
hotel  high  up  in  the  mountains,  we  were  amused 
by  di.^cpyering    likenesses   amongst   the  visitors   to 


378  DEPARTED   GUESTS 

some  of  our  acquaintances  and  friends,  and  spoke 
of  them  by  the  names  of  those  whom  we  thought 
they  resembled.  There  was  an  old  lady  in  the  hotel 
whose  features  so  strongly  suggested  Sir  Julius 
Benedict,  that  we  never  called  her,  among  ourselves, 
by  any  other  name. 

One  terribly  wet  day,  when  we  were  quite  in 
cloudland,  the  mist  being  so  dense  that  nothing 
could  be  seen  beyond  the  railings  of  the  terrace, 
and  few  had  ventured  beyond  it,  who  should  appear, 
to  our  amazement,  but  the  veritable  Sir  Julius 
himself,  who  with  wonderful  pluck  had  walked  up 
the  mountain  in  the  drenching  rain.  After  having 
coffee  with  us,  he  expressed  a  wish  to  see  the 
principal  rooms.  When  we  came  to  the  large 
drawing-room,  we  saw  the  little  old  lady  who  went  by 
the  name  of  *'  Sir  Julius,"  knitting  at  the  farther  end 
of  it.  As  we  entered,  we  looked  at  one  another, 
and  wondered  whether  we  should  draw  attention 
to  the  resemblance.  In  a  moment  our  merriment 
was  changed  to  sentiment.  No  sooner  had  one  of 
us  uttered  the  name  of  Sir  Julius,  than  the  old  lady 
looked  up,  fixed  her  eyes  upon  him  for  a  moment, 
as  though  to  realise,  as  it  were,  the  fact  that  she 
was  not  dreaming,  then  rose  from  her  chair,  ap- 
proached slowly  and,  with  tears  in  her  eyes,  exclaimed, 
"  Ach,  Jules  !  mein  Gott,  sind  Sie  es  I "  The  old 
man  started,  and  seemed  suddenly  affected,  then, 
kissing  both  her  hands,  said,  "  Meine  liebe !  meine 
alte  Freundin  !  "  Greatly  surprised  at  this  touching 
recognition,  we  left  the  old  couple  alone. 

Before  leaving,  Sir  Julius  told  us  the  history  of 
this  little  drama.  The  old  lady  had  been  the  object 
of  his  earliest  love,  the  first  romance  of  his  life,  and 
they  had  not  met  for  full  forty  years. 

I  mention  now  an  excellent  actor  of  the  olden 
time,  Walter  Lacy,  whom  I  saw  in  nearly  all 
Charles  Kean's  revivals  at  the  Princess's  Theatre  in 
'^y  boyhood.  He  was  a  great  favourite  at  the 
Garrick  Club^  and  most  amusing  through  his  extra- 


WALTER   LACY  379 

ordinary  choice  of  words.  For  instance,  in  describing 
the  acting  of  an  aspiring  tragedian  in  the  great  scene 
between  Shylock  and  Tubal,  where  the  Jew  learns 
how  his  daughter  parted  with  the  ring  which  he 
would  not  have  sold  for  "  a  wilderness  of  monkeys," 
Lacy  said,  "  At  this  point,  sir,  he  leapt  three  feet 
into  the  air,  and  then  gave  a  cry  like  the  skreel  of 
a  banished  eagle  ! "  Speaking  of  some  of  his  own 
performances,  he  thus  related  his  different  methods 
of  dining :  "  When  I  played  '  Bluff  Hal,'  Henry  of 
England,  I  drank  brown  porter  and  dined  off  British 
beef;  but  if  I  had  to  act  the  Honourable  Tom 
ShufHeton,  I  contented  myself  with  a  delicate  cutlet 
and  a  glass  of  port  which  resembled  a  crushed  garnet, 
and  then  sallied  on  to  the  stage  with  the  manners 
of  a  gentleman  and  the  devil-me-care  air  of  a  man 
about  town  ! " 

Speaking  of  an  actress  who  was  a  popular 
favourite  in  his  day,  he  said,  tapping  his  forehead, 
"  Mashed  potatoes,  sir,  mashed  potatoes,  behind  the 
osfrontis  ! " 

The  old  actor  reached  an  advanced  age,  as  the 
following  letter  will  show: 

13,  Marine  Square,  Kemp  Town,  Brighton, 
June  29,  1897. 

My  dear  Bancroft, — 

Still  screwed  to  my  chair  with  the  painful 
sciatica,  it  is  with  the  greatest  pleasure  I  learn  of 
your  elevation  to  Knighthood  which  Her  Imperial 
Majesty  could  not  have  bestowed  on  a  more  worthy 
man,  and  I  heartily  join  with  our  whole  profession, 
in  my  eighty-ninth  year,  in  wishing  you  very  many 
years  of  health  and  happiness  to  enjoy  your  well- 
earned  dignity.  Pray  present  my  warm  congratula- 
tions to  Lady  Bancroft. 

Always  sincerely  yours, 

Walter  Lacy. 

Tom  Taylor,  who  was  then  the  editor  of  Punch, 
we  only  claimed  once  as  our  guest,  and  only  once 


380  DEPARTED   GUESTS 

did  we  dine  with  him  and  Mrs.  Taylor,  a  charming 
lady.  They  lived  at  what  was  then  a  country  house, 
in  Lavender  Sweep,  quite  beautiful,  with  a  small 
park  and  certainly  one  cow.  I  remember,  too,  a 
deal-topped  dining-table,  covered  with  a  collection  of 
notable  autographs.  Johnston  Forbes-Robertson,  who 
was  then  a  young  actor  in  our  company,  and  com- 
bined the  use  of  the  palette  and  mahlstick  with  his 
love  for  the  sock  and  buskin,  had  played  often  with 
Samuel  Phelps  at  the  end  of  his  career.  His  admir- 
able portrait  of  the  famous  actor,  in  the  character  of 
Cardinal  Wolsey,  was  added,  by  subscription  on  the 
part  of  a  hundred  members,  to  the  valuable  collection 
of  paintings  owned  by  the  Garrick  Club.  In  this 
transaction  I  took  an  active  part,  writing,  among 
others,  to  ask  Tom  Taylor  to  be  one  of  the  subscribers. 
He  replied,  in  his  always  illegible  handwriting : 

Lavender  Sweep^ 

Januaini  30,  '79. 

Dear  Bancroft, — 

I  shall  be  delighted  to  be  one  of  the  hundred 
to  buy  Forbes-Robertson's  picture,  and  am  very  glad 
to  hear  of  the  excellent  intention,  which  honours  the 
two  arts  at  once  :  acting,  in  the  subject ;  acting  and 
painting,  in  the  artist. 

Very  truly  yours, 

Tom  Taylor. 

My  first  recollection  of  Serjeant  Ballantine  is 
of  being  taken  to  have  supper  with  him  at  "  Evans's  " 
Concert  Rooms,  by  the  Piazza  in  Covent  Garden, 
where  the  National  Sporting  Club  now  is.  The 
place  was  a  strange  contrast  to  the  modern  music- 
hall.  The  entertainment  comprised  comic  songs, 
glees  and  choruses  sung  by  boys,  and  imitations  of 
the  occupants  of  a  farmyard  by  a  certain  Herr  Von 
Joel.  The  fare  was  "  Early  Victorian " — steak  and 
chops  served  with  potatoes,  which  were  squeezed  from 
their  jackets,  in  a  napkin,  for  a  favoured  few  by 
the  proprietor,  "  Paddy  Green  "  himself. 


THE  LAW  AND  THE  STAGE      3S1 

Serjeant  Ballantine  was  prominent  in  the  first 
Tichborne  trial,  when,  with  Markham  SpofForth,  he 
professed  behef  in  the  Claimant. 

He  was  a  great  theatre-goer  and  lover  of  the 
play  until  the  end,  as  the  following  letter,  written 
during  the  last  season  of  our  management,  will 
show : 

9,  Suffolk  Street^  Pall  Mall,  W., 
January  16,  1885. 

My  dear  Bancroft, — 

Many  thanks  for  the  treat  you  gave  me  last 
night ;  the  play  and  the  rendering  of  it  were  equally 
fine.  I  was  delighted  to  see  your  wife  as  bright  as 
ever,  but  must  find  this  fault  with  the  piece — it  gives 
the  audience  too  little  of  her  admirable  performance. 
Please  tell  her  so.  With  my  kind  remembrances  to 
you  both. 

Believe  me,  sincerely  yours, 

William  Ballantine. 


Sweet  memories  are  recalled  by  the  name  of 
the  great  American  comedian,  Joseph  Jefferson. 
Dear  Rip  Van  Winkle  I  What  an  artist  1  Had 
he  not  been  so  successful  as  an  actor,  he  might 
easily  have  made  painting  his  profession,  his  pictures 
having  been  more  than  once  shown  in  the  Academy. 
When  last  in  England  he  gave  us  a  charming 
souvenir  from  his  brush  of  some  happy  days  we  had 
passed  together,  chiefly  on  the  river.  The  subject 
is  a  backwater  on  the  Thames  in  the  early  haze — the 
genre  being  greatly  that  of  Corot. 

Jefferson  had  lingered  in  the  old  country  long 
after  his  engagements  here  were  over,  for  he  loved 
England  and  its  people,  and  now  was  going  home. 
The  following  letter  was  an  answer  to  a  wish  that  he 
would  add,  if  possible,  to  the  value  we  set  upon  his 
gift  by  writing  his  name  on  the  canvas,  which  is 
quite  important  in  size,  although  so  modestly  spoken 
of  by  himself : 


882  DEPARTED   GUESTS 

My  dear  Mrs.  Bancroft, — 

I  was  sorry  to  find  yourself  and  Bancroft 
from  home  when  I  called  on  Monday  with  the  little 
sketch  of  the  Thames.     1  am  glad  you  like  it. 

Many  thanks  for  your  kind  and  beautiful  letter. 
I  shall  be  in  London  on  Sunday,  and  will  call  for 
the  purpose  of  wishing  you  both  good-bye,  and  to 
sign  the  picture  as  you  request. 

Mrs.  Jefferson  joins  me  in  love  to  you  both,  and 
we  still  hope  some  day  to  see  you  in  America. 
Always  your  friend  and  admirer, 

J.  Jefferson. 

Jefferson  loved  Nature.  To  linger  on  an  old 
bridge,  or  wander  in  a  country  lane,  would  give  him 
hours  of  happiness.  Once,  after  a  long  ramble  near 
Cookham,  he,  said,  "  What  a  beautiful  place  is  your 
England  I  How  I  should  like  to  take  it  in  my  arms 
and  just  carry  it  right  away  I  " 

A  little  story  of  periodical  visits  to  a  certain 
theatre  in  his  own  country  we  thought  touching  in 
its  simplicity.  At  this  theatre  the  actor  had  for 
years  taken  friendly  notice  of  an  old  scene-shifter 
named  Jackson,  whose  life  had  interested  him,  and 
who  always  got  some  substantial  recognition  when 
the  engagement  ended.  This  went  on  for  years, 
until,  on  one  occasion,  the  kind  comedian  looked 
about  for  the  old  man  in  vain.  He  sent  for  the 
master  carpenter,  and  asked  him  where  Jackson  was. 
The  man  first  answered  the  question  with  a  sorrowful 
look  ;  then,  simply  pointing  upwards,  said  quietly, 
"  I  guess  he's  shifting  clouds  I  " 

We  were  naturally  proud  of  the  friendship  in 
our  early  days  of  so  prominent  a  man  as  Lord 
Houghton.  One  night  I  chanced  to  meet  him  at 
the  Vaudeville  Theatre,  in  Paris ;  between  the  acts 
he  suggested  our  having  some  supper  together  after 
the  play.  We  went  to  a  cafe  close  by,  where,  to  my 
amazement,  his  supper  consisted  solely  of  an  ice. 
A'propos  of  some  pictures  we  had  seen  in  the  play, 


LORD   HOUGHTON  383 

he  told  me  of  an  amusing  story  of  his  going  to  some 
dealers  in  Wardour  Street,  where  he  was  well  known, 
in  search  of  a  piece  of  furniture.  On  entering  the 
shop  he  caught  sight  of  the  portrait  of  an  admiral, 
apparently  of  Nelson's  time,  which  he  rather  fancied 
and  asked  the  price  of  "  Ten  pounds,"  was  the 
answer.  Lord  Houghton  offered  five  ;  the  dealer  was 
obdurate.  The  subject  was  dropped,  the  article  wanted 
was  sought  for  upstairs,  was  found  and  bargained  for. 
On  going  away  Lord  Houghton  again  returned  to 
the  price  of  the  admiral's  portrait.  At  last  the 
dealer  said,  "  Well,  my  lord,  and  to  your  lordship 
only,  seven  pound  ten  "  ;  but  his  customer  would  not 
go  beyond  the  offer  of  a  fiver,  and  there  was  an  end 
of  the  matter. 

Soon  afterwards,  visiting  a  neighbour  in  Yorkshire, 
Lord  Houghton  caught  sight  of  his  friend  the  admiral 
hanging  in  the  dining-room.  He  recognised  him  at 
once,  and  said,  "  Halloa,  who's  that  ?  What  have 
you  got  there  ?  Something  new  ?  "  "  Yes,"  replied 
the  friend  ;  "  he  was  a  celebrated  admiral  who  fought 
with  Nelson — a  fine  portrait,  too — recently  bequeathed 
to  us — an  ancestor  of  my  wife's."  "  Ah,  was  he  ?  " 
said  Lord  Houghton.  "  A  month  ago  he  was  within 
two  pound  ten  of  becoming  one  of  mine  1  " 

Edward  Askew  Sothern,  and  many  acts  of 
friendship  shown  to  me  by  him,  have  been  mentioned 
in  this  volume. 

I  was  once  the  victim,  although  it  was  not 
traced  to  him  for  years,  of  one  of  his  many  practical 
jokes.  On  my  reaching  my  dressing-room  the  stage- 
door  keeper  told  me  that  a  parcel  had  been  left  for 
me  which  he  did  not  like  the  look  of,  continuing, 
mysteriously,  that  he  did  not  like  the  feel  of  it  either. 
"  It's  unpleasant,  sir,  very  unpleasant,  to  the  touch — 
I  think  there's  something  alive  inside  it.  I  only 
speak  to  warn  you,  sir,  because  if  you  opened  it 
unawares,  it  might  give  you  a  fright !  "  ''  What  on 
earth  do  you  mean  ?  Fetch  the  parcel,  and  we'll 
very  soon  see  the  contents." 


384  DEPARTED   GUESTS 

The  mysterious  package  was  brought  in.  It  was 
covered  with  thick  brown  paper,  properly  directed, 
and  was  officially  marked  "  Sd.  to  pay." 

Directly  I  touched  the  packet  I  shared  the  man's 
belief,  and  my  thoughts  turned  first  towards  the  gift 
of  a  harmless  sucking-pig  ;  his,  I  fancy,  took  a  more 
serious  direction.  We  cut  the  string  and,  after 
removing  a  quantity  of  paper,  disclosed  the  body  of 
a  dead  monkey  I  The  beast,  although  it  had  evidently 
only  been  dead  a  short  time,  was  horrible  to  look  at, 
and  certainly,  but  for  the  warning  I  had  received, 
would  have  alarmed  me. 

What  to  do  with  the  wretched  brute  was  my  next 
thought.  I  did  not  mean  to  let  the  practical  joke 
end  with  me,  nor  to  waste  the  animal,  but  decided  to 
pass  it  on  to  some  one  else  ;  and  after  a  little  thought 
fixed  on  a  young  actor  named  Herbert,  who  had  not 
yet  arrived.  Of  course  the  hall-keeper  was  in  the 
secret,  and  we  carefully  packed  the  animal  up  again, 
and  attached  the  official  label  to  the  fresh  covering. 

When  my  victim  arrived,  he  was  asked  for  eight- 
pence,  and  then  had  the  parcel  sent  to  his  room. 
Soon  there  was  a  wild  shriek,  and  of  course  I  rushed 
upstairs  to  see  what  was  the  matter. 

After  all  sorts  of  cogitations,  the  poor  monkey 
was  left  that  night  in  the  cellar  of  the  theatre ;  and 
as  otherwise  no  further  fun  seemed  likely  to  arise 
from  it,  a  long  letter  was  concocted  in  French,  as 
though  written  by  an  eminent  foreign  naturalist, 
who  had  by  an  unfortunate  blunder  sent  the  ape  to  a 
wrong  address,  requesting  its  recipient  to  be  so  kind 
as  to  readdress  the  "  rare  and  very  valuable  specimen ' 
to  "•  Monsieur  Herberte  "  at  Long's  Hotel,  to  be  called 
for.  Unfortunately,  1  have  no  end  to  my  story. 
How  long  the  mysterious  parcel  remained  at  the 
hotel  before  the  "  rare  and  very  valuable  specimen " 
too  powerfully  asserted  its  presence,  I  never  knew — 
never  inquired. 

When  we  took  the  Haymarket  Theatre,  our  old 
friend  Sir  Eyre  Massey  Shaw,  in  his  due  regard 


CAPTAIN   SHAW  385 

for  the  public  safety,  did  not  spare  us,  and  caused 
many  things  to  be  done  which  in  earUer  days  had 
been  neglected.  We  cheerfully  submitted  to  his 
strenuous  requests,  which  might  indeed  be  called 
commands.  Just  before  the  opening  night  he  sent 
me  this  letter: 

Fire  Brigade^  Southwark, 
January  28,  1880. 

Dear  Bancroft, — 

I  have  tried  all  legitimate  means  to  get  a 
place  for  your  opening  night,  but  without  success. 
Now  I  am  trying  what  love  will  do. 

Is  there  any  way  in  which  I  can  be  present,  pour 
assister,  as  the  French  say  ? 

Forgive  me  for  troubling  you  :  my  only  wish  is  to 
show  my  appreciation — and  admiration — of  your  suc- 
cessful efforts  to  serve  the  stage.  My  kind  regards 
to  Mrs.  Bancroft  and  yourself. 

Yours  very  truly, 

Eyre  M.  Shaw. 

I  come  next  to  Dion  Boucicault.  The  amount 
of  work  done  by  him  for  the  stage  was  colossal,  from 
the  days  when,  at  the  age  of  twenty-one,  he  wrote 
London  Assurance,  until  his  death  in  1890  ;  and  how 
much  of  it,  whether  original  or  otherwise,  was  virile 
and  dramatic  I  Old  playgoers  here  and  in  America 
are  largely  in  his  debt.  He  was  perfect  as  a  host, 
charming  as  a  guest,  sympathetic  as  a  listener, 
brilliant  as  a  talker ;  and  it  has  been  said  of  him 
that  he  not  only  knew  how  to  order  a  good  dinner, 
but  how  to  cook  it  as  well. 

With  pardonable  pride  in  the  honour  shown  to  so 
young  a  man  as  I  was  then,  I  have  preserved  the 
menu  of  the  first  dinner-party  to  which  he  invited 
me.  It  fully  bears  out  his  reputation  both  for  hos- 
pitality and  wit.  The  long  list  of  wines  includes 
"  Cognac,  1803,"  which  came  from  the  cellars  of 
Napoleon  III.,  and  had  the  imperial  "  N  "  on  the 
bottle  ;   and  below  the  list  are  these  words :   "  The 

25 


886  DEPARTED   GUESTS 

wine  will  be  tabled — Every  man  his  own  Butler — 
Smiles  and  Self-help." 

Henry  Stacey  Marks  was  one  of  my  earliest 
friends  among  eminent  painters,  although  I  saw  but 
little  of  him  since  distant  days.  Some  years  ago,  not 
long  before  his  death,  I  bought  at  Christie's  the  panel 
paintings  he  did  for  Birket  Foster  of  Shakespeare's 
"  Seven  Ages."  He  called  one  day  to  see  them, 
and  gave  me  their  full  history.  In  his  book  of 
Reminiscences  he  expressed  his  approval  of  their 
new  home — my  dining-room  ;  their  possession  gives 
me  great  pleasure.  I  thanked  Marks  best,  I  think, 
by  buying  his  portrait,  painted  by  Ouless,  and 
presenting  it  to  his  old  comrades  of  the  Royal 
Academy. 

We  first  met  the  American  tragedian  Edwin 
Booth  at  a  dinner-party  given  for  the  purpose  by 
the  Millais.  He  was  a  fine  actor,  a  link  between  the 
older  and  the  newer  school.  His  performance  in 
Richelieu  and  The  Fool's  Revenge  would  alone  entitle 
him  to  high  rank. 

Our  acquaintance  with  him  began  at  the  time 
when  he  was  acting  at  the  Princess's  Theatre  in 
1881  and  afterwards  with  Irving  at  the  Lyceum, 
when  they  alternated  the  parts  of  Othello  and  lago. 
He  was  a  sad  man  then ;  his  second  wife.  Miss 
McVicker,  who  had  been  an  actress  and  played  with 
him  at  his  own  theatre  in  New  York,  left  the  stage 
soon  after  their  marriage  and  at  the  time  was  gravely 
ill.  Booth  was  glad  to  come  to  us  and  dine  some- 
times on  a  Sunday  night,  from  Clarges  Street,  where 
he  lodged  for  a  while.  A  letter  written  to  a  dear 
friend  will  best  tell  the  pain  his  work  must  then  have 
cost  him. 

"  I  scratch  in  haste,  therefore  excuse  my  inco- 
herence. I  am  tired  in  body  and  brain.  The  poor 
little  girl  is  passing  away  from  us.  For  weeks  she 
has  been  failing  rapidly  ;  and  the  doctors  have  at  last 
refused  to  attend  her  any  longer,  unless  she  follows 
their  directions  and  keeps  her  bed  day  and  night. 


EDWIN   BOOTH  387 

They  tell  me  that  she  is  dying,  and  that  I  may  expect 
her  death  at  any  time.  It  is  very  pitiful  to  see  her 
fading  before  our  eyes.  Edwina,  deprived  of  sleep, 
and  half  dead  with  sorrow  for  the  only  mother  she 
has  ever  known,  and  I — worn  out  with  my  nightly 
labours  and  wretched  all  the  while — sit  turn  by  turn 
to  cheer  her.  The  doctors.  Sir  William  Jenner  and 
Morell  Mackenzie,  have  pronounced  her  case  hope- 
less. Edwina  has  written  to  Mrs.  McVicker ;  and  at 
last  Mary  knows  that  she  is  dying.  You  can  imagine 
my  condition  just  now ;  acting  at  random  every 
evening,  and  nursing  a  half-insane  dying  wife  all 
day,  and  all  night  too,  for  that  matter.  1  am  scarce 
sane  myself.  I  scribble  this  in  haste  at  two  in  the 
morning,  for  I  know  not  when  I  will  have  a  chance 
to  write  sensibly  and  coherently  again.  Good-night. 
And  God  bless  you  1  " 

Mrs.  Booth  lingered  for  a  few  months,  and  was 
taken  to  her  native  land  to  die. 

I  now  write  the  name  of  Charles  Reade,  one  of 
the  literary  giants  of  the  Victorian  era. 

I  have  but  little  to  add  to  what  we  have  said 
about  this  old  and  valued  friend,  in  reference  to 
Masks  and  Faces :  it  shall  take  the  form  of  one  of 
his  characteristic  letters,  written  in  the  summer 
of  1879 : 

19,  Albert  Gate,  Kniqhtsbridqe. 

Dear  Bancroft, — 

I  hear  you  take  the  Haymarket — date  not 
mentioned.  Though  I  do  not  feel  equal  to  writing 
new  stories,  or  new  plays,  I  desire  to  keep  those  alive 
that  I  have  written,  and  cannot  help  asking  you  to 
consider  seriously  The  Kings  Rival,  with  my  new 
and  vastly  improved  third  act. 

This  comedy,  although  shelved  in  London  for 
five-and-twenty  years,  has  been  shelved  nowhere  else. 
It  has  been  played  for  years  in  the  country  with 
success,  and  also  in  the  United  States.  Yet  this  has 
been  done  with  a  loose,  ill-constructed  third  act  which 
introduces  a  superfluous  Queen,  who  is  seen  no  more 


388  DEPARTED   GUESTS 

and  does  next  to  nothing  with  the  King,  who  is, 
or  ought  to  be,  the  leading  male  character  of  the 
piece. 

Besides  this,  a  good  scene  between  Nell  Gwynne 
and  Pepys  in  the  King's  closet  has  somehow  slipped 
out  of  the  printed  text. 

I  have  perfect  belief  in  your  judgment,  and  think 
if  you  would  compare  the  printed  third  act  with  that 
which  I  have  to  offer,  it  would  give  you  some  con- 
fidence that  I  could  make  this  comedy  a  great  success 
if  I  had  you  for  the  King  and  Mrs.  Bancroft  for  Nell 
Gwynne.  Amongst  other  suitabilities  it  so  happens 
that  you  could  reproduce  the  head  and  face  of  Charles 
the  Second  to  the  very  life. 

1  have  no  doubt  that  there  are  one  or  two  things 
in  the  part  of  Nell  Gwynne  Mrs.  Bancroft  would 
dislike ;  but  so  there  are  in  Peg  Woffington.  It  is 
not  on  these  spots,  believe  me,  that  any  character 
depends,  and  she  would  have  carte  blanche  to  strike 
out,  and  my  assistance  to  add  if  she  saw  her  way  to 
any  new  effect. 

My  life  draws  near  its  close :  the  comedy  will  be 
revived  and  badly  played  as  soon  as  ever  the  breath 
is  out  of  my  body.  Whereas  if  you  and  1  revive  it, 
and  put  our  heads  together  over  it,  we  should  produce, 
in  a  theatre  neither  too  large  nor  too  small,  a  high 
comedy,  such  as  it  is  certain  no  living  writer  can 
write. 

All  this  is  prospective.  Your  arrangements  are 
doubtless  made  for  a  year.  You  have  no  Richmond 
in  your  company,  but  you  have  the  best  Charles,  the 
best  Pepys,  and  the  only  Nell  Gwynne  left  in  the 
kingdom. 

Wishing  you  success  in  so  noble  a  venture,  by 
which  in  any  case  the  public  will  profit, 
Yours  very  sincerely, 

Charles  Reade. 

Mr.  Critchett  was  frequently  our  guest,  as  we 
were  his.     He  was  for  years  an  affectionate,  and  after 


PRINCE   LEININGEN  889 

his  loss  a  much-regretted,  friend.  I  remember  my 
wife  jokingly  saying  to  him  that  his  profession  was 
**  all  my  eye."  He  at  once  replied,  "  Yes,  my  dear, 
and  you  are  my  Betty  Martin." 

Among  the  many  acts  of  kindness  shown  by  him 
to  actors  was  one  to  a  humble  member  of  our 
company,  whose  child  had  the  misfortune  so  seriously 
to  injure  an  eye  that  Mr.  Critchett  found  it  necessary 
to  remove  it ;  afterwards,  and  for  several  weeks,  going 
long  distances  to  watch  the  little  fellow  through  the 
various  stages  of  adapting  an  artificial  substitute.  He 
not  only  insisted  upon  doing  all  this,  but  provided 
everything  that  was  necessary,  the  distinguished 
oculist's  fee  being  limited  to  the  father's  grateful 
thanks.  The  only  return  we  were  allowed  to  insist 
upon  to  him  and  to  other  such  men  was  to  make 
them  at  all  times,  and  especially  for  performances  of 
exceptional  interest,  free  of  our  theatre,  where  they 
were  ever  most  welcome  guests. 

1  became  acquainted  with  Prince  Leiningen 
through  his  great  attachment  to  the  Garrick  Club ; 
when  in  England  he  passed  a  great  deal  of  his  time 
there.  Like  all  the  Royal  Family,  he  loved  the  drama, 
went  constantly  to  the  play,  and  was  an  admirable 
critic.  His  favourite  seats  at  the  Haymarket  Theatre, 
as  we  constructed  it,  were  in  the  front  row  of  the 
balcony  ;  and  he  often  told  me  we  had  robbed  the 
treasury  by  having  made  it,  in  fact,  the  cream  of 
the  house  from  three  points  of  view — ease  of  access, 
comfort,  and  perfect  view  of  the  stage. 

I  received  the  following  letter  from  the  Prince 
after  our  first  book  appeared  : 

Amorbach,  Bavaria, 

September  26,  1888. 

My  dear  Bancroft, — 

I  have  just  read  the  book  which  Mrs.  Ban- 
croft and  yourself  have  written,  and  I  cannot  resist 
sending  you  a  line  to  say  how  much  I  have  enjoyed  it. 
My  acquaintance  with  Mrs.  Bancroft,  I  mean  as  one 
of  her  audience,  dates  from  the  opening  of  the  little 


390  DEPARTED   GUESTS 

house  in  Tottenham  Street,  now,  alas  I  no  longer  in 
existence.  Before  that  time  I  was  not  much  in 
London,  my  profession  keeping  me  away  at  sea ;  but 
since  the  above-mentioned  event,  I  do  not  think 
I  have  ever  missed  a  piece  Mrs.  Bancroft  has 
acted  in.  In  my  humble  opinion  as  an  outsider, 
the  gem  of  her  repertoire  is  Sweethearts,  and  next 
to  that.  Masks  and  Faces  and  Ca^te.  I  wonder 
whether  you  agree  with  me  ?  I  well  remember 
the  morning  in  Count  Gleichen's  studio  and  one 
or  two  other  occasions  when  I  dropped  in.  We 
laughed  a  good  deal,  but  as  to  the  progress  of  the 
bust  in  those  days,  I  fear  it  was  a  case  of  "  business 
done — none." 

My  copy  of  your  book  is  marked  "  third  edition," 
which  shows  what  a  success  it  is,  and  I  have  no  doubt 
it  will  run  through  many  more. 

Please  remember  me  kindly  to  Mrs.  Bancroft,  and 
believe  me, 

Sincerely  yours, 

Leiningen. 

The  name  of  Montagu  Williams  recalls  a  long 
and  happy  friendship.  Once  a  soldier,  then  an  actor, 
afterwards  a  barrister,  finally  a  police  magistrate — in 
which  last  capacity  he  will  be  remembered  for  his 
charity  and  goodness  to  the  poor. 

I  was  lucky  in  interrupting,  by  accident,  at  the 
Garrick  Club,  a  volley  of  rapturous  enthusiasm  which 
he  was  firing  off  over  our  last  performance  of  Caste, 
given  the  night  before.  He  said,  I  remember,  that 
he  felt  it  to  have  been  worth  five  years  of  life  to  have 
so  enjoyed  being  present. 

Albert  Smith,  of  Mont  'Blanc  fame,  and  Montagu 
Williams  married  sisters,  Mary  and  Louise  Keeley, 
daughters  of  the  celebrated  comedian.  One  very 
warm  afternoon,  a  young  barrister,  who  had  just  left 
the  Old  Bailey — where  Montagu  Williams,  who  was 
in  great  demand,  was  vigorously  defending  an  un- 
doubted scoundrel — was  walking  westward  when  hg 


LAW,  MUSIC,  AND  SPORT  391 

met  Mrs.  Albert  Smith,  who  had  lost  her  husband 
some  two  or  three  years  before.  He  had  a  pleasant 
talk  with  the  lady,  being  all  the  while  under  the 
impression  that  he  was  speaking  to  her  sister,  Mrs. 
Montagu  Williams.  Mrs.  Albert  Smith  remarking 
on  the  sultriness  of  the  weather,  the  young  barrister 
replied,  "  Yes,  it  is  hot ;  but  not  half  so  hot  as 
where  your  poor  husband  is  ! " 

Next  comes  the  name  of  Frederic  Clay.  Sad 
thoughts  arise  from  the  sudden  check,  by  grave  illness, 
to  his  career. 

I  recall  an  evening  when  I  dined  in  Montagu 
Square,  ostensibly  with  Frederic  and  Cecil  Clay,  but 
really  with  their  father,  James  Clay,  the  friend  of 
Beaconsfield  and  the  finest  whist  player  of  his  time 
in  London.  I  afterwards  went  on  with  Frederic 
Clay  to  spend  an  hour  with  Gounod,  who  had 
before  been  to  our  house,  so  I  had  an  interesting 
time. 

I  remember  another  merry  evening  when  Clay 
and  Sullivan  were  among  my  guests  at  a  Sunday 
dinner,  one  of  the  number  being  late  in  arriving. 
Suddenly,  to  beguile  the  time,  the  two  musicians  sat 
together  at  the  piano  and  improvised  such  sweet 
harmonies  that  we  were  all  entranced,  and  it  grew  to 
be  very  late  indeed  before  they  were  allowed  to  break 
off  and  at  last  go  down  to  dinner. 

The  late  Duke  of  Beaufort  was  a  well-known 
figure  in  stage-land,  as  well  as  a  warm  friend  to  those 
he  cared  for.  I  add  extracts  from  a  frequent  cor- 
respondence. 

Badminton, 

January  23,  1879. 

My  dear  Bancroft, — 

1  shall  have  much  pleasure  in  joining  you 
and  others  in  purchasing  the  Phelps  portrait  and 
presenting  it  to  the  Garrick  Club. 

Our  weather  here  is  frightful :  the  only  disagreeable 
incident  absent  is  snow — luckily  ;  but  one  risks  an 
ear  or  a  bit  of  one's   nose  if  one  puts  one's  head 


392  DEPARTED   GUESTS 

outside  the  door.  Bitter  N.E.  wind  and  14  degrees 
of  frost.  1  hear  you  are  overflowing  at  the  Prince 
of  Wales's  Theatre.  It  was  a  great  treat  to  see 
Polly  Eccles  and  Hawtree  quite  in  the  old  form.  I 
liked  Arthur  Cecil's  performance  too — very  difficult, 
remembering  Hare  so  well  in  it,  and  I  confess  Miss 
Roselle  quite  astonished  me.  1  had  fancied  I  should 
regret  Miss  Lydia  Foote,  but  she  completely  put 
Miss  Foote  out  of  my  head,  and  1  forgot  her,  so 
much  did  Miss  Roselle  absorb  my  interest  and 
attention.  It  was  very  good  acting.  Honey  was 
Eccles  and  Honey.  I  do  not  think,  as  some  do,  that 
he  overdoes  it,  and  that  it  is  not  comedy.  The  whole 
play  is  throughout  bright,  light  and  deep  shade 
constantly  and  rapidly  varying,  as  seems  to  have 
been  meant  by  the  author. 

Believe  me,  with  kind  remembrances  to  Mrs. 
Bancroft, 

Yours  very  truly, 

Beaufort. 

Referring  to  our  farewell  night  at  the  Haymarket 
Theatre,  the  Duke  wrote  : 

"  Do  you  know,  I  feel  it  is  too  melancholy  an 
occasion  to  assist  at.  I  should  hate  it  all  the  time. 
Some  day,  when  you  both  play  for  a  benefit  or  a 
charity,  I  hope  to  be  there  to  welcome  you.  Let 
me  say  how  very  much  I  regret  your  determination 
to  retire  from  management.  What  a  loss  I  feel  it, 
and  how  sure  I  am  the  general  public  will  share  that 
feeling  I " 

Only  quite  elderly  playgoers  will  find  memories 
awakened  in  their  minds  by  the  mention  of  James 
Anderson,  an  actor  of  the  old  time  and  school  who 
had  played  the  youthful  parts  with  Macready.  I 
remember  Mrs.  Charles  Kean  telling  me,  many 
years  ago,  in  my  earliest  days  upon  the  stage,  that 
James  Anderson  was  the  best  actor  of  "  lovers  "  she 
had  ever  met.  I  knew  him  well  at  the  Garrick 
Club. 


THE   LAST   OF   THE    BARONS        393 

Bedford  Hotei.,  Covent  Garden, 
May  21,  1891. 

My  dear  young  Friends, — 

Your  charming  floral  gift,  token  of  re- 
membrance of  this  old  May-bird's  birthday,  at  the 
ripe  age  of  eighty-one,  was  very  gratifying  and 
pleasant 

That  you  both  may  live  to  be  as  old,  content,  and 
happy  as  I  am,  is  the  best  wish  of  your  grateful  old 
friend, 

James  R.  Anderson. 

To  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Bancroft. 

Baron  Huddleston,  "  the  last  of  the  Barons," 
was  our  friend,  with  *'  Lady  Di,"  for  a  great  number 
of  years.  Their  names  recall  happy  days  at  The 
Grange,  Ascot,  and  many  stories  told  there,  one  of 
which  I  will  tell  here. 

In  the  year  1844  a  man  named  Bowen  was  tried 
for  destroying  and  defacing  a  parish  register.  He 
had  devoted  himself  for  years  to  getting  up,  and,  as 
it  now  transpired,  to  manufacturing  pedigrees.  He 
was  desirous  of  making  out  a  link  in  the  title  to 
some  property,  and  conceived  the  notion  of  forging 
an  entry  in  an  old  will  to  effect  his  object.  He  went 
to  Oxford,  and  there  applied  to  see  the  wills  of  a 
certain  date,  for  in  those  days,  strange  to  say,  wills 
were  kept  in  old  wine- hampers  in  the  Bodleian 
Library.  The  custodian  produced  a  roll  of  wills  of 
the  year  required,  and  from  these  Bowen  abstracted 
one  will  without  detection.  He  took  it  away,  and 
by  means  of  chemicals  deleted  a  passage,  and  inserted 
in  its  place,  in  handwriting  which  marvellously 
imitated  that  in  which  the  body  of  the  will  was 
written,  the  words  essential  to  his  purpose.  He  then 
paid  a  second  visit  to  the  Bodleian,  when  he  replaced 
in  the  roll  the  will  he  had  altered.  The  next  step 
was  to  apply  in  due  form  for  a  copy  of  that  particular 
will.  The  clerk  who  was  given  the  task  of  copying 
it  went  away  to  dinner,  leaving  the  will  open  on  his 
desk.     During  his   absence   a   strong  mid-day   sun 


894  DEPARTED   GUESTS 

playing  through  the  window  of  the  office  upon  the 
will,  brought  out  the  original  handwriting,  and  the 
clerk  on  his  return  found,  to  his  amazement,  passages 
in  the  will  which  certainly  had  not  been  there  before 
he  went  to  dinner. 

This,  of  course,  excited  immediate  suspicion.  The 
curator  had  some  difficulty  in  bringing  to  his  mind 
the  face  of  the  scoundrel,  but  he  perfectly  well 
recollected  that  the  man  had  in  his  possession  a 
remarkable-looking  carpet-bag. 

In  the  meantime,  in  order  to  remove  the  original 
evidence  of  the  entry  which  he  had  destroyed,  Bowen 
went  to  Pirton  Church,  in  Worcestershire,  where,  in 
the  parish  register,  was  the  entry  which  he  wanted 
to  remove.  He  got  the  curate  to  show  him  the 
register  ;  and  then,  feigning  illness,  while  the  clergy- 
man went  to  fetch  a  glass  of  water  for  him,  he  tore 
out  the  entry.  The  curate,  fortunately,  heard  the 
tearing  of  the  paper,  and,  turning  back  just  in  time 
to  discover  what  had  been  done,  detained  the  man 
while  the  police  were  sent  for.  Bowen  had  in  his 
possession  at  the  time  the  identical  carpet-bag  which 
had  engaged  the  attention  of  the  custodian  at  Oxford, 
and  in  it  were  found  pieces  of  old  parchment, 
chemicals,  and  coloured  inks.  He  was  sentenced  to 
seven  years'  transportation. 

No  man's  appearance,  perhaps,  gave  less  the 
suggestion  of  a  poet  than  that  of  Robert  Browning. 
He  looked,  I  always  thought,  far  more  like  a  highly 
respectable  man  of  affairs  than  a  great  man  of  letters. 
When  first  he  dined  with  us,  I  had  the  luck  to  know 
his  taste  and  make  him  happy  by  placing  a  bottle 
of  port  within  his  reach,  that  he  might  help  himself 
as  he  pleased  and  not  be  offered  other  wines.  He 
was  for  years  among  our  most  honoured  guests.  His 
story  was  graphic  of  how,  at  the  time  Longfellow 
visited  England,  the  two  poets  were  driving  in  a 
hansom  when  a  heavy  shower  suddenly  came  on,  and 
Longfellow  insisted  upon  thrusting  his  umbrella 
through   the  trap   in  the  roof  of  the  cab  that  the 


ROBERT   BROWNING  395 

driver  might  protect  himself  from  the  rain.     What 
a  picture  I 

Here  are  two  of  his  many  letters  to  us  : 

19,  Warwick  Crescent,  W., 

June  29,  1885. 

Dear  Mr.  Bancroft, — 

It  is  unfortunate  for  my  own  enjoyment, 
but  probably  lucky  for  my  poetical  reputation,  that 
I  did  not  know  you — or  rather,  one  resembling  you — 
earlier  as  friend  or  as  a  manager.  I  should  inevitably 
have  gone  mad  at  playwriting,  or  attempts  that  way, 
which  might  have  profited  neither  the  management 
nor  my  poor  self.  As  it  happened,  an  early  disillusion 
gave  me  a  distaste  which  I  have  not  been  wise  enough 
to  get  the  better  of — and  hence  comes  that  rarity  of 
my  attendance  at  the  Play,  which  I  remorsefully 
acknowledge  now  that  I  know  how  much  I  have 
irrevocably  lost  by  it.  If  you  please  to  keep  a  place 
for  me,  on  the  occasion  which  you  mention — all  I 
can  say  is,  there  will  be  present  no  more  thorough 
well-wisher  and  admirer  of  the  donors  than,  dear 
Mr.  Bancroft, 

Yours  most  truly  and  gratefully, 

Robert  Browning. 

Dear  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Bancroft, — 

Are  you  too  tired  of  being  told  how  much 
everybody  admires  and  loves  you  both  ?  All  I  can 
say  is,  that  I  heartily  wish  I  had  been  privileged  to 
begin  feeling  twenty  years  ago  what  I  feel  now,  and 
I  shall  make  myself  what  amends  are  in  my  power 
by  feeling  so  as  long  as  I  live. 

All  happiness  to  you,  from  yours  gratefully  and 
aifectionately  ever, 

Robert  Browning. 

At  a  Richmond  dinner  he  greeted  my  wife's  ap- 
pearance on  the  terrace  of  the  Star  and  Garter  with 
this  impromptu — which,  let   me  add,  may  be  very 


396  DEPARTED   GUESTS 

imperfect,  as  it  was  hurriedly  written  down  on  a  menu 

card  : 

"  Her  advent  was  not  hailed  with  shouts, 
Nor  banners,  garlands,  cymbals,  drums ; 
The  trees  breathed  gently  sighs  of  love, 
And  whispered  softly,  *  Hush  !  she  comes."* "" 

I  was  in  Westminster  Abbey  on  the  cold,  cheer- 
less, foggy  morning,  the  last  day  of  the  year  1889, 
when  he  joined  the  "  Poets  "  in  their  "  Corner  "  there. 

I  come  next  to  Sir  Oscar  Clayton,  well  known 
in  days  gone  by  as  a  Court  surgeon.  We  knew  him 
first  at  Homburg.  His  dinners  at  the  corner  of 
Harley  Street — the  house,  like  many  others,  has 
been  absorbed  by  the  "  flat "  octopus — sparkled  with 
good  company,  but  were  of  the  old  fashion ;  a 
separate  choice  wine  being  served  with  every  course, 
of  which  there  were,  also,  far  too  many.  It  is  surely 
pleasanter  to  drink  one  wine  throughout  and  get 
the  best  of  dinners  over  quicker  than  we  did. 

One  of  the  leading  Victorian  novelists,  Wilkie 
Collins,  was  long  beloved  by  us.  To  what  has  already 
appeared  about  him  in  this  volume  I  will  add  another 
of  his  letters. 

90,  Gloucester  Place,  Portman  Square, 
November  28,  1872. 

My  dear  Mrs.  Bancroft, — 

I  am  sincerely  sensible  of  the  kindness  which 
has  prompted  the  compliment  you  pay  me. 

Bancroft's  note  tells  me  nothing  about  your  health 
— so  I  gladly  assume  that  the  Brighton  air  is  proving 
itself  to  be  the  best  of  all  doctors.  It  either  kills  or 
cures.  In  my  case,  it  kills.  I  can  neither  eat,  drink, 
sleep,  nor  walk  at  Brighton.  Cold  perspirations 
envelope  me  from  head  to  foot,  and  Death  whispers 
to  me,  "  Wilkie  !  get  out  of  this,  or  much  as  I  should 
regret  it,  just  as  you  are  beginning  to  write  for  the 
most  popular  theatre  in  London,  I  shall  be  obliged  to 
gather  you  in  the  flower  of  your  youth  !  " 
Believe  me,  dear  Mrs.  Bancroft, 

Always  truly  yours, 

Wilkie  Collins. 


SIR   MORELL   MACKENZIE  397 

Among  some  scraps  and  letters  marked  "  Wilkie 
Collins  "  I  found  the  following  story.  Whether  he 
told  it  to  me  or  whether  I  meant  to  tell  it  to  him,  1 
cannot  recollect. 

A  tired  woman  walking  alone  on  a  dusty  road 
in  France  hailed  an  advancing  diligence  for  a  lift  on 
her  lonely  way.  She  was  allowed  to  get  up  on  to  the 
roof  of  the  coach,  and  she  soon  fell  into  a  deep  sleep. 
At  the  next  stage,  where  there  was  a  change  of 
horses,  the  guard  and  coachman  forgot  to  tell  the 
men  who  replaced  them  about  their  extra  passenger, 
who  still  slept  heavily.  Soon  after  a  fresh  start  had 
been  made,  there  was  an  accident  to  the  "  skid,"  a  very 
heavy  iron  sabot.  It  was  taken  off  the  wheel  and 
thrown  up  on  to  the  roof.  This  incident  was  followed, 
at  the  next  stage,  by  the  sight  of  blood  running  down 
the  panels  of  the  diligence — and  general  consternation 
at  finding  the  woman  with  her  head  smashed  in,  and 
dead.  Preparations  for  burial  revealed  the  body  to 
be  not  that  of  a  woman  at  all,  but  of  a  man.  Further 
search  disclosed  letters  which  proved  him  to  be  one 
of  a  desperate  band  of  thieves,  together  with  carefully 
drawn  up  plans  for  robbing  a  neighbouring  chateau^ 
where  he  was  going  in  the  disguise  of  a  new  housemaid. 

How  many  pleasant  memories  are  once  again 
recalled  as  I  write  the  name  of  Sir  Morell 
Mackenzie  I  He  had  been  for  years  a  friend — 
indeed,  it  would  be  impossible  to  over-estimate  the 
services  he  has  rendered  us.  He  sternly  refused  at 
all  times  to  accept  any  fee  or  reward,  whenever  he 
might  be  sent  for  and  however  mortgaged  his  time ; 
and  he  even  went  to  the  extent  of  paying,  throughout 
a  prolonged  sickness  in  our  house,  three  visits  in  a 
day.  One  night  at  the  old  Prince  of  Wales's  Theatre 
he  was  in  the  stalls,  and  a  message  was  brought  round 
that  he  wished  to  see  us.  Directly  he  entered  the 
green-room,  he  startled  us  by  saying  quietly,  "  You 
have  a  dying  man  upon  your  stage,  who  is  only  fit 
to  be  in  bed."  Inquiries  told  us  that  a  poor  fellow 
who  only  appeared  as  a  servant  for  one  minute  had 


X 


398  DEPARTED   GUESTS 

been  for  some  weeks  ill,  but  was  for  so  short  a  time 
in  the  theatre  and  kept  his  troubles  so  much  to  him- 
self that  we  knew  nothing  of  them.  Mackenzie  for 
months  drove  almost  daily  to  a  humble  lodging  in 
Kentish  Town,  where  by  no  chance  could  the  popular 
physician  be  likely  to  have  other  patients,  in  order  to 
keep  this  one  alive.  The  poor  actor  was  patched  up 
for  a  time  through  unceasing  kindness  ;  but  his  state 
was  such  that  it  was  beyond  the  power  of  doctors  to 
do  more,  and  soon  his  troubles  ceased  for  ever. 

These  acts  of  kindness  would  seem  to  be  be- 
queathed by  eminent  surgeons  and  physicians  to 
their  successors,  for  they  are  practised  still. 

We  lost  a  pleasant  friend  when  Edward  Smyth 
PiGOTT  passed  away.  He  was  for  years  the  Examiner 
of  Plays  :  an  accomplished  gentleman  and  amiable 
official.  The  licence  for  the  performance  of  Fedora 
was  enclosed  in  the  letter  I  now  copy. 

Lord  Chamberlain's  Office,  St.  James's  Palace, 
May  1st,  1883. 

My  dear  Bancroft, — 

The  English  version  of  Fedora  seems  to  me 
an  admirable  piece  of  literary  workmanship.  It  reads 
almost  like  an  English  original. 

No  wonder  you  are  anxious  about  your  "  Fedora." 
Training  a  filly  for  the  Oaks  who  has  only  distin- 
guished herself  as  a  two-year-old  in  moderate  company 
is  a  trifle  to  it ! 

The  part  is  all  Sarah.  Though  I  have  not  seen 
V  her  in  it,  I  can  see  and  hear  her  in  it,  from  that  "  / 
don't  know "  in  Act  II.  to  the  **  Where  are  you, 
Loris  ? "  at  the  end.  It  is  written  exactly  to  her 
measure — that  electric  play  of  feature  and  gesture, 
that  nervous  intensity,  that  range  of  power  and 
variety  of  accent,  and  sudden  changefulness  of  mood, 
which  belong  to  the  feline  instinct  or  temperament. 
With  all  best  wishes. 

Always  yours  heartily, 

Edward  S.  Pigott. 


GEORGE   AUGUSTUS   SALA         399 

I  come  now  to  that  remarkable  man  and  journalist, 
George  Augustus  Sala.  In  a  letter  received  from 
him,  bearing  date,  "  Monday,  13th  October,  1884," 
which  he  sent  us  on  the  eve  of  his  lecturing  tour  in 
Australia,  and  which  is  a  beautiful  specimen  of  his 
marvellous  handwriting  (he  could  easily  have  per- 
formed the  feat  of  writing  the  Lord's  Prayer  on  a 
space  the  size  of  a  threepenny  piece),  are  these  words  : 

I    have  written  this   on   the   back  of  a   slip   of 
"  copy  "  which  has  served  its  turn.     In  the  event  of 
my  returning  from  the  Antipodes  as  "  a  grand  piano- 
forte," this  scribble  may  serve  as  a  momento  of 
Yours  very  faithfully, 

George  Augustus  Sala. 

The  "  grand  pianoforte "  was  not  his  mode  of 
return.  Eight  years  later  he  was  in  good  enough 
health  and  spirits  to  write  as  follows  : 

10,  St.  Michael's  Place,  Brighton, 
28.  10.  1892. 

Mr  DEAR  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Bancroft, — 

Thank  you  ever  so  much  for  your  simply 
delightful  birthday  present.  But  I  must  try  to  make 
a  trifling  return  for  your  kindness.  Lo  I  the  prose- 
writer  busteth  into  rhyme : 

"  Fm  sixty-four  ! — Fm  sixty-four  ! 
My  teeth  are  gone,  my  eyes  are  sore  ; 
My  ears  are  deaf,  my  beard  is  hoar  ; 
'Tis  time  a  dark  brown  wig  I  wore  ; 
My  heart  is  withered  to  the  core ; 
O'er  books  I  can  no  longer  pore  ; 
Of  friends  Fve  few,  of  foes  galore  ; 
And  daily  I  feel  more  and  more 
That  I  am  growing  an  old  bore. 
Whose  jokes  belong  to  days  of  yore. 
Or  else  come  from  Joe  Miller's  store  ;— 
Ah  me !   next  year,  if  Fm  alive, 
What  shall  I  be  at  sixty-five  r  ^ 

Always 

G.  A.  Sala. 


400  DEPARTED   GUESTS 

Both  my  wife  and  myself  knew  the  Hon.  Lewis 
WiNGFiELD  from  om*  very  early  days.  I  met  him 
first  in  Dublin  with  Walter  Creyke,  who  was  secretary 
to  Lord  Carlisle,  then  Lord  Lieutenant  of  Ireland. 
They  were  both  enthusiastic  amateur  actors,  and  I 
remember  Wingfield,  later,  as  a  dramatic  critic  on 
one  of  the  London  evening  papers  above  the  signature 
of  **  Whyte  Tighe."  He  loved  the  stage  and  all  that 
appertained  to  it.  As  I  have  already  mentioned, 
he  designed  some  admirable  stage  costumes  for  us. 
After  his  death  there  was  a  sale  of  his  effects  at 
Christie's,  which  I  attended  to  secure  some  memento 
of  a  long  friendship.  I  was  talking  with  another  old 
friend,  Harry  Weldon  (Norroy  King  of  Arms),  who 
now,  I  think,  must  be  Lady  Bancroft's  oldest  friend, 
for  they  first  met  in  the  old  Strand  days.  As  we 
were  going  to  a  second  room,  to  look  at  one  or  two 
things  there,  a  small  picture  was  put  upon  the  easel 
and  a  few  opening  bids  were  at  once  made  for  it, 
much  to  the  surprise  of  Weldon,  who  was  one  of  the 
executors  and  thought  it  valueless.  When  we  re- 
turned, to  his  amazement  the  picture  was  exciting 
keen  competition  for  its  possession,  and  bidding  had 
advanced  to  something  like  two  hundred  pounds. 
Weldon  told  me  the  little  canvas  had  hung  in  a  dark 
corner  of  a  back  room  and  had  cost  Wingfield  some 
few  francs  abroad.  In  the  sale-room,  however,  it  was 
recognised  as  an  authentic  example  of  the  master 
Mantegna,  and  was  eventually  knocked  down  for 
five  hundred  pounds. 

I  remember,  at  Wingfield's  house  in  Mecklen- 
burgh  Square,  once  meeting  General  Boulanger, 
whose  name  had  caused  some  stir  in  the  world. 

I  come  now  to  kindly,  genial  Sik  Richard 
QuAiN,  to  whom,  at  our  table,  my  wife  once  said 
that  his  bright  and  cheery  manner  would  alone  make 
him  welcomed  by  any  sufferer.  "  Ah  I "  he  replied, 
with  his  well-known  Irish  brogue,  "although  I  am 
by  nature  cheerful,  I  began  quite  the  other  way. 
Luckily  I  was  cured  in  my  youth  by  a  kind  friend 


Sm   RICHARD  QUAIN  401 

who  was  already  an  eminent  physician.  One  day  he 
took  me  with  him  to  see  a  patient  who  was  in  a 
critical  state,  and  when  we  got  upstairs  and  were 
outside  the  door  of  the  bedroom,  I  put  on  a  grave 
and,  as  I  thought,  appropriately  solemn  countenance. 
IVly  friend  happily  turned  round  just  in  time  to 
whisper,  *  For  mercy's  sake,  don't  look  like  that,  man, 
or  the  poor  soul  will  take  you  for  the  undertaker ! ' 
I  never  forgot  that  lesson." 

Quain  was  delightful  company,  both  as  host  and 
guest. 

67,  Harley  Street, 

January  20. 

My  deak  Mr.  Bancroft, — 

Thanks  very  much  for  a  most  pleasant 
evening.  The  Three  Ages  of  Woman  will  live  in 
my  memory  as  long  as  Shakespeare's  Seven  Ages  of 
Man — all  so  clever. 

Ever  yours  most  truly, 

R.  Quain. 

Years  and  years  ago,  when  we  passed  a  happy 
holiday  at  Broadstairs,  George  Du  Maurier  was 
hard  by  at  Ramsgate.  We  took  with  us  an  eccentric 
man,  who  had  been  a  dresser  in  the  theatre,  to 
give  him  the  advantage  of  sea  air  after  an  illness, 
for  which  he  had  been  treated  as  an  in-patient  at 
St.  Mary's  Hospital.  We  had  several  times  visited 
him  there,  and  had  one  day  asked  him  if  he  knew 
what  had  really  been  the  matter  with  him.  He 
replied,  quite  promptly,  "  Not  exactly,  sir ;  but  what 
I  had  in  my  throat  the  gentleman  in  the  next  bed 
had  in  his  stomach  !  " 

We  supplied  our  friend  Du  Maurier  with  this 
notion  for  one  of  his  incomparable  Punch  drawings. 

Poor  "  Kiki "  !  We  wish  he  had  lived  to  see  how 
his  son  Gerald  adorns  the  stage  he  so  deeply  loved 
himself. 

The  Marquis  de  Casa  Laiglesia  was  a  strik- 
ingly handsome  and  attractive  man.     He  represented 

26 


402  DEPARTED   GUESTS 

Spain  at  the  Court  of  St.  James's.  We  had  the 
pleasure  to  make  his  acquaintance  at  the  house  of 
that  remarkable  hostess  and  woman,  Lady  Moles- 
worth.  I  remember  her  saying,  when  she  first  called 
upon  my  wife,  that  she  was  married  from  the  house 
we  now  have  lived  in  so  long.  His  Excellency  only 
dined  with  us  on  one  occasion,  which  leads  to  a  little 
story  against  ourselves.  We  had  a  servant  who,  on 
the  memorable  evening,  beat  all  records  in  the  skill 
of  misplacing  the  letter  "h."  Flinging  the  door 
open,  he  announced,  "  The  Spanish  Ham  " — making 
a  perceptible  pause  before  he  added  ''bassador."  I 
never  shall  forget  the  effect  produced.  Edmund 
Yates  and  Corney  Grain,  who  were  of  the  party 
and  talking  together  at  the  moment,  bolted  into  the 
small  drawing-room  and  behaved  certainly  as  well 
as  the  circumstances  permitted.  My  wife  had  the 
profoundest  difficulty  to  control  her  laughter  and 
accord  a  proper  reception  to  our  guest,  who  was, 
of  course,  innocent  of  the  abuse  of  his  distinction. 
The  reader's  imagination  will,  I  am  sure,  finish  the 
incident  better  than  any  description  I  could  further 
give  of  it. 

I  shall  not  readily  forget  the  strong  personality 
of  Sir  Edgar  Boehm,  who  for  years  was  frequently 
our  guest,  nor  an  evening  when  he  and  I  were 
separated  at  table  by  a  lady  who  told  us  a  story 
of  her  own  sad  experience,  as  a  warning  against 
long  partings  between  husband  and  wife.  Her  early 
married  life  was  passed  in  India.  She  had  been 
obliged  frequently  to  come  home  to  recruit  her 
health,  and  the  last  of  these  visits  was  greatly  pro- 
tracted. While  she  was  still  in  England  her  husband 
returned  on  leave,  and  the  wife  went  to  Southampton 
to  meet  his  ship.  She  put  off  in  the  tender;  as  it 
approached  the  vessel  the  husband  and  the  wife,  each 
eagerly  looking  for  the  other,  came  near  enough  for 
recognition,  and  waved  and  waved  and  kissed  their 
hands  until  she  reached  the  companion-ladder  and 
scaled  it  to  the  deck.     As  she  was  about  to  fall  into 


LORD    LONDESBOROUGH  403 

his  outstretched  arms,  he  said,  alas  ! — "  Great  heaveiis, 
Mary^  how  old  youve  gi^own  !  " 

Later  in  the  same  evening  another  lady,  in  answer 
to  an  opinion  I  timidly  expressed  that  it  was  just 
possible  she  might  be  on  the  verge  of  "  spoiling  "  her 
two  charming  young  boys,  turned  upon  me  with  the 
question :  *'  Do  you  think  I  can  ever  sufficiently 
apologise  to  them  for  my  share  in  bringing  them  into 
this  world  ? " 

The  late  Lord  Londesborough  is  still  remem- 
bered as  a  keen  playgoer.  We  cherish  warmly  the 
recollection  of  his  unceasing  kindness.  Our  theatre 
did  not  seem  to  be  furnished  if  he  and  Lady  Londes- 
borough were  not  present  on  a  "  first  night." 

NoRTHERWOOD,    LyNDHURST, 

April  18,  1883. 

Dear  Mr.  Bancroft, — 

Both  Lady  Londesborough  and  myself  were 
very  sorry  that  we  were  unable  to  be  present  at 
the  farewell  to  Caste,  The  demonstration  was  most 
thoroughly  well  deserved,  for  there  is  no  one  to 
whom  the  stage,  and  therefore  the  country,  owes 
more  than  to  you  and  to  Mrs.  Bancroft.  It  is  always 
satisfactory  when  the  public  shows  its  appreciation  of 
those  who  do  their  work,  and  make  their  mark,  with- 
out beat  of  drum  and  flourish  of  trumpets. 
With  our  kind  regards  to  you  both, 

Believe  me,  yours  very  truly, 

Londesborough. 

In  a  letter  to  Mrs.  Bancroft  some  years  later. 
Lord  Londesborough,  who  in  the  later  years  of  his 
life  was  blind  in  one  eye,  said :  "  Perhaps  you  do  not 
know  that  it  was  very  much  owing  to  a  consulta- 
tion held  at  Lord's  between  Bancroft,  Thornton,  and 
W.  G.  Grace  that  I  came  up  to  London  when  I, did, 
and  possibly  saved  my  remaining  eye." 

One  of  our  oldest  friends  was  Edmund  Yates.  I 
remember  an  incident  which  he  told  with  the  verve 
of  a  clever  actor — a  power  inherited  from  his  gifted 


404  DEPARTED   GUESTS 

parents,  who  both  adorned  the  stage.  After  an  un- 
fortunate railway  accident,  when  many  people  were 
injured,  a  search  was  made  among  the  wrecked 
carriages  for  the  victims.  While  two  guards  were 
looking  about  with  the  aid  of  lighted  lanterns,  they 
came  across  a  prostrate  figure,  wedged  in  between 
broken  timber.  This  poor  man  was  apparentl}^  so 
injured  that  one  side  of  his  body  and  face  was,  as 
it  were,  forced  in  an  upward  direction.  The  guards 
immediately  set  to  work  to  endeavour,  one  pulling 
one  way  and  one  pulling  another,  to  get  him  straight. 
They  continued  their  operations  for  some  time ;  the 
chief  man  directing  his  mate  to  pull  up  one  side 
with  a  jerk,  whilst  he  held  firmly  by  the  other.  At 
length,  pausing  to  recover  their  breath,  they  heard 
the  poor  victim  cry  out  piteously,  **  No,  no :  born  so, 
born  so ! "  It  was  then  that  they  realised  that  this 
apparent  result  of  the  railway  accident  was  in  reality 
a  permanent  physical  deformity. 

I  have  a  bundle  of  most  amusing  and  interesting 
letters  from  Yates,  extending  over  twenty-seven 
years,  but  they  are  too  outspoken  for  publication. 
George  Augustus  Sala  told  me  once,  at  the  Beef- 
steak Club,  of  a  conversation  that  occurred  after  a 
dinner  party.  The  question  was  put  to  Sala,  Bouci- 
cault,  and  Yates,  who,  I  think,  was  the  host,  as  to 
whether,  and  how  far,  they  really  repented  of  *'  back- 
slidings,"  of  which  they  might  have  one  and  all  been 
guilty.  Boucicault  at  once  replied  that  he  was  pro- 
foundly sorry  for  all  his  sins ;  Sala  followed,  and  ad- 
mitted, in  a  rather  half-hearted  way,  that  he  hoped 
some  day  to  be  sorry ;  Yates,  after  a  long  pause, 
brought  his  big  hand  down  heavily  on  the  table  with 
a  savage  "  No  !  "     He  was  a  fighter  to  the  end. 

A  most  welcome  Sunday  evening  guest  was  the 
then  well-known  Chaplain  of  the  Savoy  Chapel,  the 
Revekend  Henry  White.  He  always,  in  very 
courteously  worded  letters,  carefully  sealed  with  the 
arms  of  the  Savoy,  begged  us  not  to  wait  for  him, 
but  arrived  just  in  time  from  his  evening  service.     In 


THREE   PROFESSIONS  405 

one  of  those  letters  he  said  :  "  I  cannot  tell  you  how 
much  I  value  the  friendship  you  have  allowed  me  to 
enjoy  so  long.  But  *  my  love's  more  richer  than  my 
tongue.' " 

I  once  was  walking  with  him  from  a  party  late  at 
night,  and  put  a  question  to  him  on  a  sacred  subject. 
After  a  pause,  he  said,  "  Please  don't  press  me  for  an 
answer ;  if  I  can  be  of  use  to  you,  or  any  man,  it  is 
only  in  my  church." 

He  tried  hard  to  persuade  me  to  read  the  Lessons 
there.  I  told  him  that  I  thought  it  would  be  a 
mistaken  thing  for  an  actor  so  to  parade  himself. 

Henry  White's  sermons  were  often  called  "  Elegant 
Extracts."  I  thought  them  very  interesting.  He 
read  the  Litany  with  peculiar  beauty  of  voice  and  in- 
tonation, and  I  shall  never  forget  the  simple  pathos 
with  which  at  the  funeral  of  Florence  Toole  he  spoke 
the  words  (there  was  no  music  at  the  ceremony)  of 
the  hymn  "  Abide  with  me  " :  the  effect  was  almost 
equal  to  that  produced  by  the  majestic  voice  of  Clara 
Butt. 

"Fighting  Dan,"  as  Sir  Daniel  Lysons  was 
called,  had  put  up  his  sword  when  we  first  met. 
We  have  passed  happy  hours  together  at  home  and 
abroad.  He  had  an  unbounded  opinion  of  my  wife. 
Here  is  a  little  note  from  him. 

Aldkrshot  Park, 

July  3,  1882. 

My  dear  Mrs.  Bancroft, — 

If  you  and  your  husband  are  able  to  come 
down  for  our  garden-party,  will  you  come  early  to 
lunch  and  make  a  longer  day  of  it  ?  A  little  country 
air  will  do  you  good.  My  "  missus  "  has  not  returned 
from  London,  so  I  write  to  save  time. 

Yours  very  sincerely, 

D.  Lysons. 

Next  I  briefly  name  Lord  Alcester,  whose 
gentle,  courtly  manners,  and  dandy  lavender  gloves, 
little  bespoke  the  stern  admiral  who,  as  Beauchamp 
Seymour,  bombarded  Alexandria. 


406  DEPARTED   GUESTS 

The  once  dashing  war  correspondent,  Archi- 
bald Forbes,  at  a  time  when  he  had  fallen  into 
ill-health  from  the  severity  of  his  career,  wrote  me 
the  following  letter.  It  was  just  after  the  tragic 
death  of  Edmund  Yates. 

1,  Clarence  Terrace^  Regent's  Park, 
June  2,  1890. 

Dear  Bancroft, — 

I  know  that  you  sometimes  walk  as  far 
as  Regent's  Park,  because  we  have  walked  together 
there.  For  the  sake  of  the  dead  and  the  living,  I 
am  much  concerned  in  the  prosperity  of  The  World, 
and  have  some  ideas  on  the  subject  which,  for  what 
they  are  worth,  I  am  desirous  of  discussing  with 
any  one  in  authority  whom  I  can  get  to  give  some 
measure  of  heed  to  me. 

I  know  you  share  in  my  affectionate  regard  for 
Mrs.  Yates,  and  I  hear  that  poor  Edmund  has 
nominated  you  as  one  of  his  trustees  ;  if,  for  the 
widow's  sake,  you  accept  the  trust,  will  you  listen 
to  me?  I  am  a  close  prisoner,  owing  to  the  state 
of  my  health  ;  I  wonder  whether  you  can  spare  time 
to  have  some  talk  on  the  subject ;  if  so,  do  me  the 
favour  to  send  me  a  line  a  couple  of  posts  in  advance, 
that  I  may  make  sure  of  being  downstairs. 

Remember  me   most   kindly  to   Mrs.   Bancroft, 
whose   emotion   when  we  met  outside    the    Savoy 
Chapel  nearly  broke  me  down,  and  believe  me. 
Very  sincerely  yours. 

Arch.  Forbes. 

Admiral  Sir  Edward  Inglefield  was  a  cheery 
neighbour  of  years  ago.  He  seemed  to  be  a  Jack- 
of-all-trades.  If  his  watch  stopped,  he  could  mend 
it ;  if  he  broke  a  window,  he  could  replace  it ;  if  a 
chimney  smoked,  he  could  cure  it. 

We  once  met  at  his  house  the  beautiful  and 
celebrated  Mrs.  Norton.  The  Admiral's  slight  con- 
nection with  the  following  incident  may  excuse  the 
telling  of  it. 


"MRS.    LOUISON"  407 

Like  most  theatrical  people,  we  were  tormented 
at  all  hours  of  the  day  by  stage  aspirants  or  the 
"  great  unacted."  One  morning,  quite  early,  when 
the  servant,  who  knew  our  ways  and  had  learnt  at 
certain  hours  to  deny  us  to  all  comers,  had  been 
sent  on  a  message,  the  bell  was  answered  by  a  foolish 
housemaid,  who  had  no  right  to  attend  to  its 
summons.  The  girl  admitted  two  ladies,  and  then 
told  us  that  "  Mrs.  Louison  wished  to  see  us."  We 
were  very  busy  and  very  angry  ;  and,  knowing  no 
person  named  Louison,  we  sent  a  polite  message  of 
regret  at  being  unable  to  see  any  one  so  early  without 
an  appointment.  We  afterwards  heard  that  when 
this  message  was  delivered  both  the  ladies,  after 
laughing  heartily,  went  away  on  foot.  In  the  even- 
ing a  letter  was  received  from  Lady  Sophia  Mac- 
namara,  explaining  that  she  was  one  of  the  callers 
in  the  morning.  She  had  mistaken  our  house  for 
that  of  a  leading  dental  surgeon,  with  whom  an 
appointment  had  been  made  for  the  Princess  Louise, 
on  whom  she  was  in  waiting,  and  the  Princess  was 
our  other  visitor.  The  foolish  servant  had  blundered 
over  the  name.  An  answer  explained  the  facts  of 
the  case  from  our  side ;  and  shortly  afterwards,  when 
Sir  Edward  and  Lady  Inglefield  invited  us  to  meet 
Her  Royal  Highness,  the  Princess,  on  my  wife  being 
presented,  laughingly  inquired  if  she  remembered 
Mrs.  Louison  ? 

When  first  I  had  the  honour  of  receiving  an 
invitation  to  the  Royal  Academy  banquet,  the  courtly 
President  of  that  time.  Lord  Leighton,  whose 
friendship  we  had  enjoyed  since  the  early  days  of 
our  management,  prefaced  it  by  this  letter : 

2j  Holland  Park  Road, 

Saturday. 

Dear  Bancroft, — 

As  an  old  friend,  and  on  public  grounds, 
it  will  be  a  sincere  pleasure  to  see  you  at  the 
Banquet  of   the   Royal   Academy.      Ever  since   I 


408  DEPARTED   GUESTS 

have   been   President    the   tribute   of    an   invitation 
has  always  been  paid  to  your  profession. 

Pray  remember  me  most  kindly  to  Mrs.  Ban- 
croft. 

Very  truly  yours, 

Fred.  Leighton. 

The  Right  Hon.  A.  J.  Mundeli.a  was  also 
a  friend  of  early  days,  chiefly  at  Pontresina  and 
Maloja;  from  the  latter  place  he  wrote: 

Hotel  Maloja, 
Sunday  night,  September  Q,  1885. 

Dear  Mr.  Bancroft, — 

We  leave  here  at  six  o'clock  in  the  morning 
en  route  for  Bellagio,  Milan,  Verona,  Munich,  and 
Dresden.  We  hear  with  regret  that  we  shall  just 
miss  your  arrival  here ;  we  have  been  hoping  every 
day  that  you  would  come  earlier,  but  I  suppose  that 
potent  little  "  Lady  Henry  Fairfax,"  who  commands 
Home  Secretaries  and  Prime  Ministers,  has  vetoed 
your  good  intentions  and  frowned  on  the  denizens 
of  Maloja.  I  know  how  cruelly  she  can  behave  to 
her  old  friends.  I  understand  that  the  poor  clock 
at  Berne  has  never  recovered  her  mimicry,  and  has 
had  "  something  wrong  with  his  inside "  ever  since 
hearing  of  it.  Well,  well,  we  must  forgive  her,  and 
hope  to  meet  you  in  England,  vigorous  in  body  and 
refreshed  in  spirit. 

We  all   send   you  our  warm   regards  and   best 
wishes  for  the  remainder  of  your  holiday. 
I  am,  faithfully  yours, 

A.    J.    MUNDELLA. 

When  I  first  met  Oscar  Wilde  he  was  quite 
a  young  man — had  just  come  down  from  Oxford. 
At  the  time  he  brought  to  my  mind  some  words 
from  the  pen  of  Benjamin  Disraeli :  "  The  affec- 
tations of  youth  should  be  viewed  leniently  ;  every 
man  has  a  right  to  be  conceited  until  he  is  suc- 
cessful." 


SIR  JOHN   MILLAIS  409 

What  clever  plays  he  wrote:  might  still  be 
writing  !  What  clever  things  he  said  :  might  still 
be  saying!  I  have  found  a  letter  of  his,  written 
from  the  St.  Stephen's  Club  after  seeing  School: 

Dear  Mrs.  Bancroft, — 

I  am  charmed  with  the  photograph  and 
with  your  kindness  in  sending  it  to  me  ;  it  has  given 
me  more  pleasure  than  any  quill  pen  can  possibly 
express,  and  will  be  a  delightful  souvenir  of  one 
whose  brilliant  genius  I  have  always  admired. 
Dramatic  art  in  England  owes  you  and  your  husband 
a  great  debt. 

Since  Tuesday  I  have  had  a  feeling  that  I  have 
never  rightly  appreciated  the  treasures  hidden  in  a 
girls'  school.  I  don't  quite  know  what  I  shall  do, 
but  I  think  I  must  hold  you  responsible. 

Believe  me,  sincerely  yours, 

Oscar  Wilde. 


In  the  world  of  Art  I  can  recall  no  greater  gap 
than  was  made  by  the  death  of  Sir  John  Millais  ; 
he  was  indeed  an  attractive,  lovable  creature.  In 
1874  I  tried  hard  to  get  him  to  paint  a  portrait  of 
my  wife,  and  offered  him  a  thousand  pounds  to  do 
it.  First,  he  "  shied  "  at  taking  money  at  all  from 
"  a  brother  in  Art."  Secondly,  he  feared  he  should 
not  succeed,  for  this  reason :  "  I  know  no  face  that 
it  would  be  more  difficult  to  tackle ;  it  lives  entirely 
upon  expression,  which  is  ever  changing,  both  on  the 
stage  and  off  it.  No,  my  dear  fellow,  the  job  must 
be  done  either  in  seconds  or  left  alone  for  ever." 

This  was  his  characteristic  acceptance  of  an  in- 
vitation to  dine  with  me  : 

Dear  Bancroft, — 
I'm  your  man. 

Yours  sincerely, 

J.  E.  Millais. 


410  DEPARTED   GUESTS 

My  earliest  experience  of  the  late  Master  of  the 
Rolls,  the  first  Lord  Esher,  was  when  I  was 
chosen  foreman  of  the  jury  in  an  interesting  case 
which  he  tried,  as  Mr.  Justice  Brett,  when  the  Law 
Courts  were  at  Westminster. 

We  afterwards  knew  him  very  well,  and  owe  to 
him  and  the  late  Lady  Esher  many  kindnesses.  I 
select  two  from  a  little  packet  of  characteristic  letters 
which  the  distinguished  judge  wrote  to  my  wife  : 

6^  Ennismore  Gardens, 

January  \,  1895. 

Dear  Friend, — 

You  are  a  very  perplexing  person  to  write 
to.  If  I  say  "  Dear  old  friend  "  it  won't  do  in  every 
sense ;  because,  although  you  are  an  old  friend,  you 
are  in  looks  and  ways  a  young  woman.  If  I  say 
"  Dear  little  friend,"  it  is  a  term  of  endearment,  but 
you  are  a  very  great  person.  However,  I  begin  by 
wishing  you  both  a  very  happy  year.  If  it  is  as 
prosperous  as  your  goodness  and  energy  desire,  I  can 
wish  you  in  that  respect  no  more. 

I  cannot  tell  you  how  I  chafed  under  not  being 
able  to  see  you  in  Money ;  but  in  the  mornings  I  was 
in  court,  in  the  evenings  I  did  not  venture  out ! 
Vile  old  age  I ! 

Lady  Esher  went  to  see  you,  and  told  me  she 
had  never  seen  anything  more  charming  than  you. 
With  that  I  stop. 

My  love  to  you  both.  Believe  me  always  a  very 
true  admirer  and  very  truly  yours, 

Esher. 


6,  Ennismore  Gardens_, 

October  28,  1897. 

Dear  charmingest  of  Friends, — 

Thank  you  with  all  my  old  heart  for  your 
kind  letter.  It  is  as  charming  as  the  prettiest  step 
you  ever  danced,  the  prettiest  note  you  ever  sang, 
the  prettiest  smile  you  ever  threw  to  all  who  saw 


JOHN    EVERETT    MILLAIS 


ip.  410] 


THE   LATE   LORD   ESHER  411 

any  one  of  them  and  forthwith  adored  you.  In  what 
state  must  I  be,  who  saw  and  heard  them  all  and  also 
received  this  dear  note  ! 

Believe  me, 

One  of  them, 

EsHER. 

Of  Sir  Edwin  Arnold  and  his  pretty  Japanese 
wife  we  retain  pleasant  recollections.  I  have  come 
across  this  letter  from  him  : 

Dear  Mrs.  Bancroft, — 

Many  thanks  for  a  great  treat.  How  well 
you  and  Bancroft  show  in  your  beautiful  art  that  you 
know  your  Wordsworth  : 

"  Keep,  ever  keep,  as  if  by  touch 
Of  self-restraining  art. 
The  modest  charm  of  not  too  much — 
Part  seen,  imagined  part."" 

Sincerely  yours, 

Edwin  Arnold. 

We  had  many  years  of  friendship  with  Augustin 
Daly,  whose  services  to  the  stage  were  known  and 
recognised  on  both  sides  of  the  Atlantic. 

We  remember  a  happy  luncheon-party  he  gave  at 
the  Savoy  Hotel  in  October  1891,  to  celebrate  the 
seventieth  birthday  of  dear  old  Mrs.  Gilbert,  an  ad- 
mirable actress  who  left  England  for  America  early 
in  life,  and  was  for  many  years  a  valued  member  of 
his  company.  Two  other  veterans,  Mrs.  Keeley  and 
Mrs.  Alfred  Mellon,  were  also  present. 

A  few  days  afterwards  there  was  another  pleasant 
ceremony — the  laying  of  the  foundation-stone  by 
Ada  Rehan  of  Daly's  Theatre,  and  the  christening 
of  it  by  my  wife. 

It  was  always  a  delight  to  enjoy  the  company  of 
another  well-remembered  American,  who  was  also  a 
great  humorist,  Bret  Harte. 

He  and  I  chanced  to  go  to  the  same  dentist ;  and 


412  DEPARTED   GUESTS 

on  one  occasion,  at  the  very  blackest  time  of  the 
Boer  War,  I  found  him  in  the  waiting-room  turning 
over  a  mass  of  ancient  hterature,  very  back  numbers 
of  illustrated  papers  and  magazines.  After  a  little 
while  he  said,  with  perfect  gravity,  "  I  am  sorry  to 
learn  from  these  journals  that  there  are  fears  of  trouble 
in  the  Transvaal !  " 

A  strange  and  fascinating  personality  comes  to 
our  memory  next  in  Carlo  Pellegrini.  His  power 
over  our  language,  as  has  been  often  said,  seemed  to 
lessen  the  longer  he  lived  in  England.  He  had  an 
intense  admiration  for  my  wife's  acting.  On  a  bright 
afternoon  following  her  first  appearance  in  a  new  part, 
I  was  driving  with  her  in  Regent  Street  when  we 
saw  Pellegrini  advancing  towards  us  just  by  the  Cafe 
Royal.  By  his  vigorous  gestures  he  made  the  coach- 
man pull  up  ;  then  he  knelt  on  the  pavement,  took 
off  his  hat,  and  placed  it  by  his  feet,  and,  kissing  his 
hand  to  her,  ejaculated,  "Oh — my — my — my — One!" 
The  remarkable  performance  attracted  a  little  crowd, 
which  we  left  staring  at  what  it  doubtless  thought  to 
be  a  madman. 

One  night  a  member  of  the  Beefsteak  Club  was 
giving,  in  his  absence,  what  was  really  a  clever 
imitation  of  the  delightful  little  man.  Suddenly 
Pellegrini's  head  appeared  above  a  screen  by  the  door, 
and  he  interrupted  the  laughter  by  saying,  "My 
fellow,  when  you  im-i-tate,  does  it  well ! " 

I  saw  him  a  few  hours  before  he  passed  away. 
Almost  his  last  words  were  these  to  his  faithful 
servant,  "  Wil-li-am,  put  me  on  clean  shirt — I  die 
clean  !  "     Poor,  beloved,  regretted  "  Pelican  "  ! 

Richard  Corney  Grain  was  a  master  of  the  art 
of  "  entertaining  "  at  the  piano — a  giant  indeed — and 
1  say  so  with  a  remembrance  of  an  old  friend  of  my 
youth,  John  Parry.  Corney  Grain's  name  was  by 
many  thought  to  be  assumed  ;  a  mistake  also  made 
about  Stirling  Coyne's,  a  dramatic  author  of  my  early 
days,  known  as  "  Filthy  Lucre  ! " 

The  following  letter  was  written  from  the  Beef- 


r.  412] 


CARLO  PELLBaRINI 


WHISTLER  4tS 

steak  Club  in  October  1894,  on  Dick  Grain's  fiftieth 
birthday : 

My  dear  B., — 

What  a  good  fellow  you  are  !  And  what 
have  I  done  that  you  should  treat  me  in  the  way  you 
have  ?  It  is  worth  while  being  fifty  to  thank  you  for 
a  gift  as  undeserved  as  unexpected.  I  can  only  end 
as  I  began,  by  saying  what  a  good  fellow  you  are  ! 
Yours  most  sincerely, 

R.  CoRNEY  Grain. 

After  his  death,  in  the  following  spring,  the  little 
gift  to  which  the  letter  refers  was  handed  back  to  me, 
and  I  subsequently  further  inscribed  it  and  gave  it 
to  another  gifted  old  friend  and  compeer,  George 
Grossmith. 

When  we  first  made  the  acquaintance  of  James 
McNeill  Whistler  the  little  White  House  in 
Chelsea  stood  alone.  At  his  celebrated  breakfasts,  at 
which  the  table  was  so  quaintly  adorned,  "Jimmy  " 
would  cook  the  buckwheat  cakes  himself — and  how 
well  he  did  it ! 

We  had  the  pleasure  of  being  among  the  first  and 
very  distinguished  audience  at  a  private  house  in 
Queen  Street  when  he  gave  his  now  historical  Ten 
o  Clock,  in  which  he  wandered  from  the  wisdom  of 
Touchstone  to  the  Book  of  Isaiah. 

There  is  no  need  to  attempt  a  fresh  description 
of  this  strange,  rebellious,  tempestuous,  fascinating, 
flamboyant  creature.  He  often  reminded  me  of 
Irving  s  words  as  Mephistopheles  :  *'  Why,  what  a 
mighty  fuss  you're  making  !  "  His  portrait,  by  the 
way,  of  Irving  as  King  Philip,  which  has  varied  in 
price  from  a  few  sovereigns  to  half  as  many  thousands, 
recalls  Whistler's  historical  saying,  ''  Why  drag  in 
Velasquez  ?  " — as  I  now  do,  merely  to  give  myself  an 
opportunity  of  saying  of  the  great  Spanish  master's 
"  Venus  and  the  Mirror,"  that,  although  he  was 
content  to  show  her  face  "  as  in  a  glass  darkly,"  he 


414  DEPARTED   GUESTS 

could  barely  be  called  backward  in  exposing  more 
substantial  claims  to  admiration. 

The  two  great  explorers,  Sir  Richard  Burton 
and  Sir  Henry  M.  Stanley,  were  both  friends  of 
ours,  and  often  dined  with  us.  I  couple  their  names 
because  we  were  once  together,  with  Lady  Burton 
and  Lady  Stanley,  at  an  hotel  in  the  Engadine,  and 
afterwards  on  the  Lake  of  Como.  My  wife  grouped 
them  for  a  photograph,  with  Captain  Mounteney 
Jephson,  Stanley's  friend  and  companion  on  his  last 
great  enterprise  in  "  Darkest  Africa,"  and  a  faithful 
black  servant,  Sali,  who  suffered  terribly  from  the 
Engadine  climate.  One  glorious  morning  I  remarked 
to  Sali  that  at  any  rate  that  day,  with  such  a  splendid 
hot  sun,  must  be  all  right ;  but  he  only  whined, 
"  No,  no,  no,  sar  ;  ice  make  him  cold !  " 

Burton  was  full  of  talk  and  anecdote ;  Stanley 
was  silent  and  reserved.  But  my  wife  could  always 
succeed  in  thawing  him,  and  we  remember  well  the 
dramatic  force  with  which  he  told  us  interesting 
stories  of  his  conversations  with  the  King  of  Uganda. 

Our  friend,  everybody's  friend,  Arthur  Cecil, 
was  a  delightful  and  an  affectionate  companion.  Our 
memories  are  stored  with  incidents  arising  from  his 
humorous  vacillations.  On  one  occasion  we  had 
passed  a  happy  holiday  in  the  Engadine ;  and,  when 
the  time  had  come  for  us  again  to  turn  our  faces 
towards  the  Haymarket  Theatre,  it  chanced  to  be  on 
the  same  day  that  the  Barnbys  and  Arthur  Cecil  had 
fixed  to  depart.  Both  Barnby  and  ourselves  offered 
Arthur  Cecil,  for  the  pleasure  of  his  company,  a  seat 
in  either  of  our  carriages  to  drive  over  the  Albula 
Pass  to  where  the  railway  began.  Those  who  knew 
Arthur  Cecil  and  the  difficulty  of  his  life — how  to 
make  up  his  mind — may  guess  the  strait  in  which 
this  double  offer  placed  him.  At  length  the  matter 
was  decided  by  his  learning  that  our  carriage  would 
start  twenty  minutes  later  than  the  other,  and  he 
went  with  us.  His  eccentric  proceedings  at  our 
departure    from    the  hotel,   messengers   being  con- 


FRANK  LOCKWOOD  415 

tinuously  dispatched  in  search  of  things  forgotten, 
followed  by  his  prolonged  adieux,  procured  for  him 
the  distinction  of  being  spoken  of  by  the  German 
head-waiter — who  had  witnessed  an  entertainment 
given  by  us  for  the  little  church — in  these  glowing 
terms:  ''Das  ist,  gewiss,  der  erste  Komiker!'''  Finally 
we  drove  away  amidst  roars  of  laughter  from  a  crowd 
of  friends  who  saw  us  off — the  hood  of  the  carriage 
being  laden  with  unpacked  luggage,  including  a  large 
wet  sponge,  hurriedly  flung  in  at  the  last  moment — ■ 
punctuated  by  cries  from  Arthur  Cecil,  who  shouted, 
"  I  must  go  back  I  I  haven't  paid  my  laundress  ! 
I  owe  something  to  the  chemist  I  I've  given  nothing 
to  the  church  I" 

He  was  very  fond  of  "  little  Mary,"  and  once  at 
the  Garrick  Club  was,  positively,  known  to  attack  a 
friend's  dinner  which  began  with  stewed  eels,  his 
own  having  only  just  ended  with  orange  tart  1 

The  next  name  is  that  of  our  beloved  friend.  Sir 
Frank  Lockwood.  My  first  meeting  with  Lock- 
wood  was  at  Scarborough  in  1870  or  1871,  when  he 
was  a  young  actor  at  the  theatre  there.  Fortunately 
for  the  bar,  and  I  think  for  himself,  he  abandoned 
the  stage  as  a  career ;  but  he  loved  it,  and  was  much 
attached  to  the  society  of  actors,  all  his  life. 

On  one  occasion  when  he  dined  with  us,  as, 
happily  for  ourselves  and  our  guests,  he  often  did,  1 
asked  him  if  the  thought  of  a  judgeship  appealed  to 
him.  He  answered  emphatically,  **  No,"  that  he  was 
"  too  fond  of  the  fight."  Something  must  have  gone 
wrong  with  him,  for  shortly  afterwards  he  referred 
to  the  conversation,  and  added  that  lately  he  had 
pined  for  the  relief  from  struggle  and  sighed  for  a 
seat  on  the  Bench.  Few  men  have  been  more  truly 
mourned. 

26,  Lennox  Gardens, 

June  22,  1897. 

My  dear5"Lady  B.," — 

We  saw  B.  at  the  Mansion  House  to-day 
and  tendered  to  him  our  very  sincere  congratulations. 


416  DEPARTED   GUESTS 

I  wish  you  had  been  there  ;  you  would  have  received 
an  ovation  ahiiost  equal  to  that  offered  to  the  Queen 
herself ! 

Nothing  has  pleased  me  so  much  for  a  long  time 
as  this  well-deserved  honour  paid  to  you  and  your 
husband.  God  grant  you  may  both  live  many  years 
to  enjoy  the  love  and  respect  of  your  many  friends, 
amongst  whom  you  must  please  to  include  me  and 
mine. 

Yours  ever  affectionately, 

Frank  Lockwood. 

Lockwood's  caricatures  and  drawings  were  most 
amusing.  One  of  them  is  reproduced  here — a  re- 
minder to  dine  with  him  at  Brooks's. 

Sill  Henry  de  Bathe  was  a  kind  friend  for  many 
years,  and  surely,  in  his  prime,  one  of  the  handsomest 
men  who  ever  stepped. 

He  told  me  once  a  most  dramatic  story  of  the 
days  when  he  was  serving  in  the  Crimean  War.  One 
evening  in  the  terrible  winter  time  it  was  his  duty  to 
go  to  the  trenches  and  direct  the  clearing  of  the  dead 
and  wounded  after  a  brief  and  deadly  encounter  with 
the  enemy,  the  brunt  of  which  had  been  borne  by 
men  in  the  French  regiment,  drawn  from  the  convict 
settlements,  and  known,  I  think,  as  the  Regiment  de 
discipUfte.  These  men  were  always  thrust,  poor 
wretches,  into  the  hottest  places  w^hen  trying  work 
had  to  be  done.  De  Bathe  and  his  men  came  across 
one  poor  fellow  who  was  grievously  wounded  but  still 
alive.  De  Bathe  had  him  gently  placed  upon  a 
stretcher,  lifted  his  head,  and  poured  brandy  from 
his  flask  into  the  soldier's  mouth.  The  man  took  his 
hand  and  pressed  it,  murmuring  in  perfect  English, 
"  Thank  you,  De  Bathe."  De  Bathe  was,  of  course, 
thunderstruck,  but  after  a  moment's  amazement 
stooped  down  and  asked  him  how  it  could  be  that 
he,  a  Frenchman,  knew  his  name  and  could  also 
speak  English.  The  wounded  man  smiled  gently 
and  whispered,  "Eton ! "    He  then  fainted.    De  Bathe 


^ 


r 


/  • 


/.  /z,  .y/. 


^--'^^^'^ 


A  PICTURE-LETTER  PROM  FRANK  LOCKWOOD 


p.  416] 


A   GOOD   SALAD  417 

accompanied  the  stretcher  to  the  French  lines,  and 
left  kind  directions,  adding  that  he  would  return  as 
soon  as  his  duty  would  allow  him.  He  did  so,  but 
the  man  was  dead.  De  Bathe  lifted  the  cover  from 
his  face  and  gazed  upon  it  long  and  earnestly  without 
recognising  the  features  of  the  lost  creature :  once 
his  school  companion,  now  known  only  as  a  French 
convict  with  a  number — and  the  fictitious  name  of 
Henri  Dubois. 

From  his  very  early  days  at  the  bar  we  counted 
among  our  friends  Sir  Charles  Hall,  who  became 
Recorder  of  the  City  of  London,  and  was  always 
persona  grata  everywhere,  especially  beloved  by 
young  people  for  his  wonderful  conjuring  tricks. 
Here  is  a  recipe  for  a  salad  for  which  I  asked  him. 
Try  it. 

Of  four  good  lettuces  take  the  hearts 

(They  still  have  got 

What  man  has  not), 
Break  roughly  into  equal  parts ; 
For  hours  in  water  they  should  lie, 
If  fairly  you'd  this  salad  try. 

One  teaspoonful,  not  chopped  too  fine, 
Tarragon,  chevril  and  shalot, 

Of  the  two  first,  proportions  even. 

But  of  the  last  as  one  to  seven  ; 

In  a  large  cup  the  three  combine, 

And  mind  you  bruise  them  not. 

A  pinch  of  powdered  sugar  too. 

Black  pepper  ditto — or  say  two; 

And  in  the  words  of  Sidney  Smith, 
Lest  you  this  salad  spoil. 
Be  niggard  of  your  vinegar 
And  lavish  of  your  oil. 

Six  tablespoonfuls  of  the  first 

Will  barely  quench  thy  salad's  thirst; 

Three  teaspoons  then  of  vinegar 
Must  in  the  mixture  vanish. 
But  mind,  perfection  to  attain. 
The  latter  must  be  Spanish. 

27 


418  DEPARTED   GUESTS 

Stir  them  together,  pour  them  in 

The  bottom  of  the  bowl, 
Then  add  a  teaspoonful  of  salt. 

The  essence  of  the  whole  ; 
Throw  in  your  lettuce,  stir  it  round. 

And  if  you  have  a  soul 
Stir  not  the  lettuce  in  its  midst, 

But  round  and  round  the  bowl, 
Using  two  wooden  kitchen  spoons 

That  have  no  other  mission. 
Your  salad''s  finished — so  am  I — 

And  so  is  my  commission. 

There  is  a  beautifully  situated  house  off  the 
Avenue  Road  called  "  The  Elms,"  where  Mario 
once  lived.  My  wife  and  I  were  tempted  once  to 
make  a  bid  for  it ;  but  I  felt  that  at  the  time  it 
was  beyond  our  means.  Later  on,  our  friend  Sir 
Augustus  Harris  lived  there,  and  in  the  pretty 
garden  we  have  been  to  some  charming  afternoon 
gatherings.  I  remember  dining  there  with  Harris 
one  evening  to  meet  Mascagni,  soon  after  the  great 
success  of  Cavalleria  Rusticaiia ;  which  reminds  me 
of  another  dinner-party  where  I  met  Marconi,  from 
whom  I  was  only  removed  by  one  other  guest. 
Afterwards,  in  the  drawing-room,  a  lady  asked  me 
who  was  the  interesting  man  to  whom  she  saw  me 
talking.  I  said,  "  Oh,  don't  you  know  ?  That  is 
Signor  Marconi."  She  answered,  "  Really  !  how  de- 
lightful !  Do  present  him  to  me.  I  want  to  tell 
him  how  entranced  I  always  am  when  I  listen  to  his 
divine  Intermezzo  I " 

The  allusion  in  this  letter  of  our  old  friend 
Herman  Merivale  to  his  "  comfortable  independ- 
ence "  is  sad,  for  he  was  subsequently  robbed  of  it 
by  fraud. 

Hotel  de  l'Europe,  Florence, 
May  12,  1885. 

My  dear  Mrs.  Bancroft, — 

Have  you,  can  you  have,  a  father-in-law  on 
the  loose  ?  What  other  expression  to  use  I  know 
not.    On  Sunday  morning  in  the  little  English  church 


A   STRANGE   RESEMBLANCE        419 

here  I  found  myself  sitting  behind  a  tall  back,  which 
in  height,  build,  shape  of  head,  trick  of  movement, 
and  all  things,  reminded  me  so  much  of  your  good 
husband  that  I  was  quite  **  intrigued."  His  hair  was 
cut  in  the  same  way,  though  it  was  white.  And  I 
saw  that  he  had  an  eye-glass  in  his  right  eye.  Sud- 
denly he  turned  his  head,  and  displayed  your  husband's 
features  in  something  so  really  like  a  reproduction, 
that  but  for  the  nature  of  the  place  I  must  have 
asked  him  his  name.  In  twenty-five  years  Bancroft 
will  be  so  like  him,  that  I  know  I  have  seen  him 
beforehand. 

When  that  retirement  of  yours  comes  off,  if  ever 
you  find  time  hang  heavy  on  your  hands,  bestow 
some  of  that  "  tediousness  "  upon  me  in  the  form  of 
another  bright  budget  of  chat  like  the  last,  which 
represents  a  style  of  correspondence  now  almost 
extinct,  but  a  definite  pleasure  in  life.  Three  weeks 
of  Florence  has  been  a  revelation.  The  spirit  of  the 
place  has  taken  hold  of  me,  and  I  feel  as  if  my  home 
and  work  were  pointed  out  to  me  for  the  end  of  my 
time.  At  all  events,  it  is  idle  for  a  man  still  young, 
with  no  children  and  a  comfortable  independence, 
to  muddle  away  life  and  money  in  an  English  pro- 
vincial town.  Here  one  might  do  something.  I 
have  had  very  hard  times  in  the  earlier  part  of  my 
life  for  very  different  causes,  but  have  always  been 
an  idler.  Now  I've  just  awoke  to  the  consciousness 
that  it's  seven  months  since  I  did  a  stroke  of  work 
of  any  kind.  When  the  price  of  a  play,  every  other 
year,  with  what  one  has  of  one's  own,  gives  one  all 
one  wants,  it  is  tempting  to  be  lazy.  But  plays  are 
disappointing  to  me  now.  I  care  but  for  the  two 
good  old  forms  of  tragedy  and  comedy ;  and  tragedy 
only  attracts  me  as  a  spectacle,  while  comedy  dis- 
appeared with  Robertson.  Still,  if  I  ever  write  plays 
again,  I  shall  go  for  comedy ;  for  I  quite  agree  with 
you  that  it  is  the  true  stage-need  and  charm  of  life. 
Sincerely  your  friend, 

Herman  C.  Merivale. 


420  DEPARTED   GUESTS 

Of  Charles  Coghlan  as  an  actor  my  own 
opinion  was  so  high  that  I  greatly  value  being 
allowed  to  make  the  following  extract  from  a  letter 
he  wrote  to  a  mutual  friend :  "  There  is  a  strange 
quality  of  strength  in  Bancroft's  acting  which  you 
do  not  value  at  its  worth :  his  method  seems  so 
easy — until  you  see  another  actor  take  one  of  his 
parts.  I  have  done  this,  and  so  know  the  truth  of 
what  I  write." 

Coghlan  was  a  fine  actor — in  his  earlier  career 
one  of  the  best ;  and  yet  he  will  not  be  remembered. 
Stage  fame,  like  more  solid  reputations,  must  owe 
part  of  its  brief  life  to  accident.  In  private  life  he 
was  a  mysterious  creature.  He  often  lived  in  the 
country,  but  near  to  London.  My  wife  and  I  once 
rode  on  horseback  to  have  luncheon  with  him  in  an 
old-fashioned,  picturesque  house  at  Kingsbury;  his 
handsome  sister  Rose  was  also  there,  I  remember. 
In  those  days  he  drove  a  coach ;  and  although  the 
team  would  hardly  have  passed  muster  with  the 
Four-in-Hand  Club,  he  was  a  capital  whip.  At 
Elstree  I  stayed  a  night  with  him,  and  was  beguiled 
into  a  little  partridge  shooting  the  next  morning; 
but  soon  retired,  for  I  felt  very  like  Mr.  Winkle,  and 
was  conscious  that  danger  was  far  nearer  to  the 
keeper  and  his  dog  than  to  the  birds. 

After  he  left  us  in  1876  he  was  much  in  the 
United  States. 

Windsor  Hotel,  Fifth  Avenue,  New  York, 
September  2G,  1876. 

My  dear  Bancroft, — 

I  snatch  a  few  moments  from  my  pro- 
fessional duties — ahem  !  rehearsal  from  10  to  4 — 
but  no  matter.  Although  the  patron  saint  or 
guardian  angel  or  whoever  it  may  be — by  the  way, 
who  does  look  after  theatres  ? — of  the  Prince  of 
Wales's  Theatre  must  weep  at  such  a  statement. 
But  I  have  been  very  busy— really.  I  am  happy 
to  say  that  I  have  made  what  is  considered  to  be 
a  very  great  success  here  so  far.     I  opened  in  Money 


CHARLES   COGHLAN  421 

on  the  12th  instant,  and  the  papers  are  nearly  of 
one  mind  in  pronouncing  me  the  best  actor  that 
England  has  sent  to  America  for  years,  and  which  is 
not  saying  much  after  all — but  still  I  am  content. 
I  would  send  you  some  notices  but  that  the  search 
would  involve  a  journey  in  the  elevator,  and  so  you 
must  kindly  excuse  me  until  next  mail.  Seriously, 
though,  the  New  York  press  have  unanimously  ex- 
pressed themselves  with  great  warmth  in  my  favour ; 
and  the  comments  made  upon  my  first  appearance — 
in  ten  provincial  papers — begging  their  pardons,  they 
don't  think  small  potatoes  of  themselves  in  this  country 
— are  most  flattering,  and  prophesy  for  me  a  brilUant 
future.  I  like  the  place  and  the  people  very  much — 
except  the  bird  of  freedom,  who  takes  rather  too 
much  exercise.  The  audiences  are  pleasant ;  they 
require  acting  to  be  hot  and  strong,  but  this  being 
done  for  them  they  get  enthusiastic.  I  don't  think 
they  will  do  me  much  harm.  My  fault  was  never 
exaggeration !  !  I  might  indeed  have  always  been 
fully  advertised  as  "  quiet  to  write  and  perform," 
so  I  think  I  can  enter  upon  a  course  of  experiments 
on  the  strength  of  my  blood-vessels  in,  say,  San 
Francisco  or  Chicago  with  advantage  to  myself  and 
safety  to  my  auditors. 

I  am  in  excellent  health  and  spirits.  Had  a 
delightful  voyage — and  am  rolling,  I  may  say 
wallowing,  in  dollars.  The  sheriff  has  not  yet  found 
his  way  to  the  stage  door,  and  all  is  peace — for 
a  time. 

Please  give  Mrs.  Bancroft  my  best  remembrances. 
Sincerely  yours, 

Charles  F.  Coghlan. 

Coghlan  died  in  America,  at  Galveston,  where  his 
remains  were  washed  out  to  sea  by  a  flood.  The 
coffin  was  some  time  afterwards  found  floating  on  the 
ocean  and  eventually  buried  again. 

I  come  now  to  a  prince  of  hosts.  Sir  Henry 
Thompson.     A    list   of  the  men   who   have  dined 


422  DEPARTED   GUESTS 

at  his  "  Octaves  "  would  be  a  remarkable  record — 
— I  prize  the  memory  of  having  been  many  times 
a  guest  during  twenty  j^ears. 

A  copy  of  Sir  Robert  Ball's  Storey  of  the  Heavens, 
which  Thompson  gave  to  my  wife  in  October  1889, 
is  inscribed  "  To  Mrs.  Bancroft,  with  an  old  friend's 
kind  regards : 

"  Homage  from  an  Astronomer 
To  a  Star  of  the  First  Magnitude." 

Sir  Henry  sent  me  his  essay,  The  Unknown  God, 
with  this  letter : 

35,  WiMPOLE  Street, 

September  14,  1902. 

My  dear  Bancroft, — 

Kindly  do  me  the  favour  to  read  carefully 
this  brief  but  closely  compressed  result  of  the  labours 
of  half  a  hfetime — a  real  "  Pilgrim's  Progress  " — I 
have  termed  it  so  in  the  text. 

And  if  you  were  mad  enough  to  give  it  as 
a  "  Reading "  after  the  manner  of  the  wonderful 
Christmas  Carol  of  Dickens,  may  I  be  there  to  hear  !  I 

Always  your  admiring  and  sincere  old  friend, 

Henry  Thompson. 

The  well-known  critic,  Clement  Scott,  did 
loyal  service  to  the  stage  in  his  bright  days.  No 
writer,  perhaps,  possessed  greater  power  in  conveying 
his  impressions  with  force  and  rapidity.  Here  is 
a  reference  to  some  work  he  did  for  us. 

War  Office^  Pall  Mall, 

March  16,  1877. 

My  dear  B., — 

I  am  very  anxious  for  many  reasons  that 
you  should  propose  your  own  terms  for  The  Vicarage, 

1.  You  came  to  me  with  an  idea,  and  I  did  not 
suggest  it. 

2.  You  proposed  and  I  carried  it  out  to  the  best 
of  my  ability. 


LORD   ROWTON  423 

3.  It  is  your  child,  and  I  have  in  equity  no  right 
to  any  subsequent  support  from  it. 

4.  It  was  the  happy  commencement  of  what  I 
trust  may  be  a  long  literary  partnership  and  cordial 
companionship. 

Under  the  circumstances,  you  propose  and  I 
accept !  The  work  has  more  or  less  been  a  labour 
of  love  with  me,  and  if,  by  some  happy  accident, 
I  may  have  struck  the  keynote  to  emphasise  the 
undoubted  fact  that  your  wife  is  the  very  first  artist 
of  her  day,  I  shall  be  more  than  rewarded.  I  be- 
lieve myself  that  it  will  be  one  of  the  most  complete 
artistic  triumphs  of  our  memory. 

Since  that  one  rehearsal  I  have  thought  of  little 
else,  and  I  hunger  for  the  evening,  not  so  much  on 
my  own  poor  account  (for  I  have  done  little  more  than 
revive  an  old  tune),  but  on  hers,  an  artist  incomparably 
superior  to  any  actress  of  her  time,  and  who  through 
good-nature  and  good  taste  has  never  been  quite 
extended  to  her  own  art-limit. 

I  long  to  hear  the  cheers  which  will  greet  your 
wife's  success. 

Yours  ever, 

Clement  Scott. 

Lord  Rowton  was  a  friend  from  the  days  when 
he  was  Montagu  Corry,  and  for  some  years  a  next- 
door  neighbour.  In  his  courtly  way,  and  with  the 
best  of  what  he  called  "  Society  manners,"  he  re- 
gretted that  the  numbers  of  our  houses  could  not 
be  reversed — his  being  17,  ours  18 — so  that  he  could 
have  addressed  my  wife,  he  said,  as  "  sweet  seventeen." 
As  it  was,  he  always  wrote  to  her  as  "Dear  18,"  and 
generally  with  the  signature,  "Your  faithful  neigh- 
bour, 17."     Here  is  an  example : 

17,  Berkeley  Square, 

8  a.m.,  June  22,  1897. 

My  dear  "  18,"— 

I  am  anxious  to  be  one  of  the  first  (how 
many  will  join,  later ! !)  to  tell  you  how  delighted  I 


424  DEPARTED   GUESTS 

am  that  this  Honour  has  been  conferred  on  Bancroft 
— and  you  I 

It  has  been  admirably  won. 

Yours  ever, 

"  17." 
Not  a  moment  for  a  formal  letter. 

I  remember  one  night,  when  he  was  ill,  walking 
slowly  home  with  him  from  the  Beefsteak  Club. 
He  stopped  suddenly  in  Bond  Street  and  said  re- 
flectively, "  The  whole  of  my  life  seems  to  have 
been  passed  in  holding  my  tongue." 

When  the  light  flickered  and  burnt  out  there 
was  much  darkness  around. 

My  mind  abounds  with  sweet  memories  of  the 
great  musician  and  loved  friend.  Sir  Arthur 
Sullivan.  Many  of  them  are  connected  with  the 
Riviera,  where  we  knew  him  both  in  health  and 
sickness.  I  remember  my  wife  and  I  meeting  him 
one  morning  in  the  rooms  at  Monte  Carlo,  when 
we  arranged  to  have  luncheon  together  at  the  Caf^ 
de  Paris.  They  walked  away  together  to  order  it, 
while  I,  to  my  cost,  lingered  behind.  When  I  left 
to  join  them  I  walked  slowly  across  to  the  caf^  ; 
and  my  countenance  as  I  entered  must  have  told  a 
sad  story,  for  Arthur's  cheery  voice  rang  out,  '*  Come 
along,  B.,  this  way  to  the  cemetery  I  "  I  doubt  if 
my  wife  has  ceased  laughing  yet. 

Dear  Arthur  Sullivan !  An  entrancing  person- 
ality— a  great  loss.  When  I  last  saw  him,  there 
seemed  little  of  him  left  but  those  beautiful,  plain- 
tive eyes. 

Soon  afterwards  I  had  the  sad  honour  to  be  one 
of  the  pall-bearers  when  he  was  laid  to  rest  in 
St.  Paul's  Cathedral. 

The  "  wee  laird,"  Lord  Shand,  comes  next. 
My  wife  and  I  were  among  his  guests  at  the  last 
dinner-party  he  gave,  a  few  evenings  before  his 
regretted  death.  Both  Lord  and  Lady  Shand  had 
been  kind   friends   for   many  years,  in   London,   at 


ARTHUR  SULLIVAN 


p.  424] 


SARAH   BERNHARDT  425 

Marienbad,  and  on  the  Riviera.  It  was  at  their 
hospitable  table  that  we  improved  our  acquaintance 
with  three  men  distinguished  in  widely  different 
careers :  that  great  man  of  science,  Lord  Kelvin ; 
the  delightful,  "breezy"  First  Sea  Lord,  Sir  John 
Fisher;  and  the  attractive  Master  of  the  Temple, 
Canon  Ainger. 

One  of  those  accomplished  men  who  know  some- 
thing about  everything,  but  not  enough,  perhaps, 
about  anything,  was  Hamilton  Aide.  We  were 
present  at  many  of  his  charming  and  artistic  parties, 
but,  evidently,  not  at  one  to  which  the  following 
note  refers. 

Queen  Anne's  Mansions, 
Saturday. 

Dear  Bancroft, — 

I  was  sorry  you  did  not  come  to  my  party 
on  Thursday;  so  was  Sarah  Bernhardt,  who  wished 
to  express,  personally,  her  admiration  of  your  wife's 
performance ;  but  I  can  quite  understand  that 
Mistress  Woffington  is  an  exhausting  part. 

Sincerely  yours, 

Hamilton  Aide. 

The  great  actress  afterwards  wrote  my  wife  this 
letter  : 

BiEN  chere  Madame, — 

Je  vous  remercie  mille  fois  pour  vos  si  belles 
roses  et  I'aimable  lettre  de  Monsieur  Bancroft.  Je 
suis  tres  heureuse  que  vous  ayez  pris  plaisir  a 
m'entendre,  et  tres  touch^e  que  deux  artistes  de 
votre  valeur  m'accordent  du  talent. 

Veuillez  me  croire  reconnaissante,  et  agr^ez, 
Madame,  je  vous  prie,  mes  meilleurs  sentiments. 

Sarah  Bernhardt. 

We  have  always  been  rich  in  the  friendship  of 
eminent  lawyers,  most  of  whom  I  have  found  imbued 
with  affection  for  the  stage.  In  the  list  of  these 
the  name  of  Lord  Hannen  is  conspicuous. 


426  DEPARTED   GUESTS 

I  recall  with  admiration  his  imposing  appearance 
when  he  presided  at  the  Parnell  Commission,  which 
through  the  kindness  of  the  Bar  I  attended  more 
than  once. 

I  remember  my  wife  saying  to  Lord  Hannen, 
when  he  was  President  of  the  Divorce  Court,  that 
he  seemed  to  her  to  pass  his  life  in  separating  united 
couples.  The  learned  judge  replied  that  he  passed 
much  of  it  in  wondering  why  the  said  couples  had 
ever  wished  to  be  joined  together. 

The  best  souvenir  of  dear  Sir  George  Grove  is 
one  of  his  delightful  letters  : 

Dear  Mrs.  Bancroft, — 

It  is  shameful  after  all  this  interval  to  come 
to  you  with  a  request  in  my  right  hand !  and  yet  I 
am  forced  so  to  do  on  behalf  of  Lord  Charles  Bruce  ; 
the  enclosed  letter  will  explain  his  wish.  As  I  hear 
everybody  say  that  Margate  air  is  good,  I  came  here 
on  Saturday.  I  cannot  say  much  for  the  air  this 
morning,  because  there  is  none,  but  I  can  speak  well 
for  the  rain,  which  is  coming  down  in  buckets-full. 
The  sea  is  being  turned  upside-down  upon  our  heads, 
and  I  suppose  that  is  better  than  nothing.  People 
said  to  me,  "  Go  to  Margate — it  will  brace  you  up." 
Here  I  am,  ready  to  be  braced,  or  embraced,  but  I 
do  not  quite  see  the  fun  of  it  just  yet. 

My  humble  duty  to  Bancroft,  and  to  you, 
Madam,  feelings  which  no  tongue  or  pen  ever  could 
express.  ^ 

Yours  devotedly, 

G.  Grove. 

For  a  lengthened  period  I  enjoyed  the  friendship 
of  that  great  man  Lord  Russeli.  of  Killoaven,  as 
the  two  preceding  chapters  will  have  shown. 

My  wife  and  I  agree  that  his  was  one  of  the  most 
dominating  personalities  we  have  known ;  for  my 
own  part,  when  I  was  in  a  room  with  him,  1  could 
never  forget  his  presence.     He   was   tremendously 


LORD   RUSSKI.L   oi     KII.IOWEN  AND  GEORGE   BANCROFT 


p.  426] 


LORD   RUSSELL   OF   KILLOWEN    427 

downright.  No  man  ever  more  firmly  said  what  he 
meant  or  meant  what  he  said.  1  admired  his  rigid 
punctuahty,  not  being  free  from  that  quahty  myself, 
and  am  grateful  to  him  for  kind  acts  as  well  as  kind 
words. 

He  was  a  faithful  playgoer,  and,  if  in  London, 
never  missed  a  "  first  night  "  at  our  theatre. 

I  was  told  that,  when  asked  what  was  the  worst 
punishment  for  bigamy,  he  answered  at  once,  "  Two 
mothers-in-law ! "  A  reply  worthy  of  his  Irish 
tongue. 

The  following  letter  was  written  in  1 895  : 

House  of  Lords, 

Saturday. 

Dear  Mrs.  Bancroft, — 

You  will  be  glad  to  know  that  Mr.  George 
Bancroft  discharged  with  tact  and  dignity  the  duties 
of  Marshal  to  the  Senior  Judge  on  the  late  Northern 
Circuit.  He  made  an  excellent  Marshal.  The  only 
thing  to  be  said  against  him  is  that  he  unmercifully 
"  rooked  "  both  the  Judges  at  bezique  ! 
I  am,  dear  INIrs.  Bancroft, 
Faithfully, 

Russell  of  Killowen. 

I  one  day  met  Frederick  Goodall  fresh  from 
a  Council  Meeting  at  the  Royal  Academy,  when  he 
shattered  my  nerves  and  stimulated  my  pride  by 
telling  me  that  within  a  few  hours  I  should  receive 
the  honour  of  being  asked  to  respond  for  "The 
Drama  "  at  the  forthcoming  banquet  at  Burlington 
House.  It  was  a  difficult  task.  The  greatness  of 
the  audience  impressed  me  with  my  own  littleness. 
I  limited  myself  to  five  minutes,  and  in  the  course  of 
them  said  that  the  Drama  had  no  greater  patron  and 
friend  than  the  most  exalted  in  the  realm  ;  gracious 
words  and  courtly  deeds  had  gone  far  to  kill  decaying 
prejudice  ;  while  in  the  august  presence  of  one  to 
whom   all  actors  would  ever  be  in  debt,  I  begged 


428  DEPARTED   GUESTS 

leave  to  say  that  their  humble  duty  was  only  equalled 
by  their  loyal  affection.  Nor  was  I  unmindful  that 
the  proposal  of  this  toast  at  that  great  banquet  was 
a  mark  of  respect  to  the  stage  which  could  only  make 
the  stage  the  more  respect  itself.  I  could  not  speak 
in  that  room — surrounded  as  I  was  by  the  rulers  in 
that  fairy-land — without  some  attempt,  however  faint, 
to  say  that  my  admiration  of  the  beautiful  art,  so 
splendidly  illustrated  year  by  year  upon  those  walls, 
was  as  true  as  my  love  for  the  living  pictures  we 
players  tried  to  paint.  Our  pictures,  alas  !  died  early, 
for  the  greatest  actor's  work  must  be  a  passing 
triumph  ;  it  was  not  cut  in  marble,  nor  did  it  live  on 
canvas,  but  could  only  owe  its  fame  to  written  records 
and  tradition.  Vast  wealth  might  keep  for  us,  and 
for  the  ages  yet  to  come,  the  undying  splendour  of 
a  Reynolds  or  a  Millais,  but  no  sum  could  buy  one 
single  echo  of  the  voice  of  Sarah  Siddons.  In  spite 
of  this  I  would  not  for  one  moment  have  it  thought 
that  I  underrated  the  ecstasy — as  it  might  almost  be 
called — of  an  actor  s  high  success  ;  for  this  at  least 
I  knew  I  felt — and  felt  I  knew — that  the  Drama 
remained  the  most  winning,  moving,  fascinating, 
alluring,  untiring  thing  that  ever  was  conceived  or 
carried  out  for  the  enlightenment  and  recreation  of 
mankind.  As  England  could  claim  to  be  the  parent 
of  the  Drama  in  Europe,  so  could  she  claim  to  be 
the  mother  of  the  greatest  dramatist  the  world  had 
owned — that  pearl  of  greatest  price — whose  mighty 
genius  left  all  art  in  debt  that  never  could  be  paid,  and 
whose  works  alone  would  make  the  stage  eternal. 

With  that  large-hearted  man,  J.  L.  Toole,  we 
enjoyed  a  lifelong  friendship.  Much  that  was  lofty 
in  his  character  was  hidden  behind  his  drolleries. 

COMEDY 

Another  old  comrade  and  mutual  friend,  John 
Clarke,  had  a  pardonable,  but  insatiable,  weakness 
for  praise.  Toole  took  a  mischievous  delight  in 
playing  upon  it,  by  lauding  other  actor§  in  Clarke's 


COMEDY  AND   TRAGEDY  429 

own  pet  parts.  One  night  Clarke  and  himself,  with 
two  other  genial  members  of  the  Arundel  Club,  who 
lived  in  the  same  neighbourhood,  were  driving  home- 
wards together  in  a  four-wheeler,  when  Toole  de- 
termined upon  getting  Clarke  to  invite  them  all 
indoors  for  a  final  chat.  Clarke  demurred  at  first, 
urging  the  lateness  of  the  hour  ;  but  Toole  had  only 
to  mention  some  wonderful  criticism  he  pretended  to 
have  heard  of  Clarke's  acting  in  Box  and  Cooo,  and 
the  whole  party  was  promptly  invited  in.  But  little 
of  the  promised  criticism  did  poor  Clarke  ever  hear. 
No  sooner  was  he  inside  the  house  than  Toole  began 
to  praise  Jimmy  Rogers's  performance  of  "  Cox." 
Clarke  at  once  discovered  that  it  was  late  and  that 
he  wanted  to  go  to  bed,  but  a  deft  word  of  praise  for 
Clarke  as  "  Box,"  and  the  host  was  offering  whisky 
and  cigars.  The  next  moment,  on  Toole's  dropping 
a  remark  on  the  excellence  of  Buckstone,  the  original 
of  the  part,  Clarke  was  trying  to  turn  his  guests  into 
the  street.  But  Toole  had  not  done  with  him  yet. 
He  declared  that  Clarke  got  more  applause  than 
George  Honey  when  they  acted  the  old  farce  together, 
and  immediately  he  was  pressed  to  come  nearer  the 
fire  and  make  a  night  of  it.  But  when  Toole  said 
that  the  original  farce  had  been  quite  superseded  by 
Sullivan's  musical  version,  and  Clarke's  performance 
by  Arthur  Cecil's  success  in  it,  his  words  were  stifled 
by  his  being  bundled  out  and  having  the  street-door 
slammed  in  his  face. 

TRAGEDY 

Just  before  Christmas -time  in  1879  I  received  this 
letter : 

4,  Orme  Square, 

Saturday. 

My  dear  Bancroft, — 

You  have  been  so  very  kind  about  my  poor 
boy  that  I  write  you  a  line  to  tell  you  of  a  great 
trouble — he  has  been  getting  worse.  Sir  James 
Paget  has  been  here  consulting,  and  this  afternoon 


430  DEPARTED   GUESTS 

the  poor  fellow  has  undergone  another  terrible  opera- 
tion— his  leg  has  been  taken  off  to  try  and  save  his 
life.  Pray  God  it  may,  although  I  fear  the  shock 
will  be  too  great  for  him.  I  am  still  unable  to  leave 
my  room.  Tell  your  dear  wife :  you  have  been  so 
kind  in  your  enquiries  for  my  poor  dear  suffering  boy. 
I  am  quite  broken-hearted. 

Yours  sincerely, 

J.  L.  Toole. 

In  a  few  hours  the  boy  was  dead ;  the  father 
had  to  be  carried  to  his  son's  bedside  to  say  good- 
bye to  him,  and  a  few  days  later  carried  to  the 
side  of  his  grave.  I  have  seen  nothing  in  my  life 
more  tragic. 

Pleasant  memories  of  hospitality  and  kindness  are 
called  up  as  I  write  the  name  of  Dr.  William 
Playfair.  With  all  his  family,  he  was  devoted  to 
the  play  ;  his  son,  Nigel  Playfair,  in  fact,  resigned  his 
first  profession,  and  has  justified  the  step  by  the  ability 
he  has  since  shown  as  an  actor. 

I  remember  Mrs.  Playfair  being  very  ill  some 
years  ago  at  Mentone :  I  was  at  Monte  Carlo  at  the 
time,  and  went  to  see  her.  I  took  great  pains  in 
trying  to  make  my  name  clear  to  the  waiter,  with  the 
result  that  I  was  announced  as  "  Monsieuj^  le  Baron 
Kr^aft,''  by  which  designation  the  doctor  always 
addressed  me  afterwards. 

The  celebrated  sculptor,  Onslow  Ford,  called  so 
early  from  his  work,  has  left  us  a  fine  reminder  of 
Irving  as  Havilet.  Presently  we  are  to  see  our  late 
chief  "  in  his  habit  as  he  lived,"  by  Brock  ;  the  value 
of  that  monument  to  me  will  be  the  fact  that  it  was 
erected  to  his  memory  by  his  comrades.  I  do  not 
remember  the  members  of  any  other  calling  in  a  like 
way  so  honouring  themselves. 

The  doyen  for  many  years  of  dramatic  critics, 
Joseph  Knight,  was  always  a  popular  member  of 
the  Garrick  and  Beefsteak  Clubs.  My  wife  had  two 
King  Charles  spaniels,  which  we  christened  Pepys  and 


VAL   PRINSEP  431 

Rowley:  not  knowing  how  the  King  obtained  the 
latter  as  a  nickname,  I  wrote  to  Knight,  as  editor  of 
Notes  and  Queries,  to  ask  him,  and  he  repUed : 

27,  Camden  Square,  N.W., 

February  28th,  1900. 

My  dear  Bancroft, — 

There  was  an  old  goat  which  in  the  time  of 
Charles  II.  ran  about  the  private  garden  of  the  palace 
and  was  called  Rowley.  This  animal  was  good- 
humoured,  familiar,  and  amorous.  These  qualities 
also  distinguished  the  King,  to  whom  the  name  was 
transferred.  This  origin  is  due  to  "  Richardsoniana." 
Best  regards  to  Lady  Bancroft  and  yourself. 

Yours  always, 

Joseph  Knight. 


I  was  very  pleased  to  have  it  in  my  power  to 
serve  Sir  William  Broadbent,  for  friendship's  sake 
as  well  as  for  that  of  the  great  hospital  he  worked 
for. 

Dear  Sir  Squire, — 

I  was  equally  delighted  and  impressed  by 
the  Reading  last  evening.  What  a  splendid  audience  ! 
The  power  of  doing  such  fine  work,  and  doing  it  in  a 
noble  cause,  is  a  great  privilege. 

Yours  very  truly, 

W.  H.  Broadbent. 

The  shadow  of  the  bluff  and  burly  form  of 
Valentine  Prinsep,  known  to  his  friends  only  as 
*'  Val,"  is  next  thrown  upon  our  screen. 

He  made  my  wife  three  presents — a  beautiful 
Indian  bracelet,  on  his  return  from  painting  the 
Durbar  ;  the  sketch  of  "  The  Minuet,"  which  was 
inspired  by  our  representation  of  77ie  School  for 
Scandal',  and  a  large  white  Venetian  poodle.  The 
first  and  second  gifts  she  prizes  still ;  the  third,  who 
through  unbounded  spirits  and  destructive  activity 


432  DEPARTED   GUESTS 

was  the  terror  of  the  gardener,  came  to  an  untimely 
end  after  swallowing  a  cricket-ball. 

1,  Holland  Park  Road, 

Saturday. 

Dear  Bancroft, — 

Marco  ought  to  be  shaved  when  the  warm 
weather  sets  in,  up  to  the  shoulder,  with  tufts  on  his 
legs  and  tail. 

Please  tell  Mrs.  Bancroft  I  have  not  forgotten 
my  promise.  The  sketch  has  been  sent  to  be  framed, 
that  the  frame  at  least  may  be  worthy  of  her 
acceptance. 

Yours  very  truly, 

Val  Prinsep. 

The  well-known  actor  Wilson  Barrett  had 
many  ups  and  downs.  After  realising  what  must 
have  been  a  small  fortune  at  the  Princess's  Theatre 
by  the  production  of  such  admirable  dramas  as  I'he 
Lights  of  London  and  T'he  Silver  King,  he  threw  it 
away  over  more  ambitious  schemes,  which  left  him, 
I  believe,  gravely  in  debt.  Nothing  daunted,  he 
eventually,  with  indomitable  courage,  relieved  him- 
self from  all  difficulties  by  the  wonderful  career  of 
The  Sign  of  the  Cross,  by  which  he  again  amassed 
large  sums. 

Not  long  before  his  unexpected  death,  I  received 
a  pleasant  letter  from  him  : 

The  Walsingham  Hotel,  Piccadilly, 
September  19,  1902. 

Dear  Bancroft, — 

Here  is  a  little  souvenir  of  our  late  troubles 
in  South  Africa,  a  Kruger  sovereign ;  they  are 
curious.  There  are  few  men  in  our  profession  I 
esteem  as  much,  none  whose  good  opinion  I  value 
more.  That  you  should  take  so  much  trouble  over 
me  is  very  gratifying  indeed.  The  kind  thought 
which  prompted  you  gives  me  extreme  pleasure.  I 
can  thank  you  for  the  gift ;  there  are  no  thanks 
worthy  of  the  thought. 


LORD   ST.   HELIER  483 

Please  convey  my  kindest  remembrances  and 
good  wishes  to  Lady  Bancroft,  and  believe  me, 

Gratefully  yours, 

Wilson  Barrett. 

Our  friendship  with  Lord  St.  Helier  dates  back 
to  a  time  when  he  had  not  yet  become  the  husband 
of  a  still  older  friend.  We  are  full  of  memories  of 
their  many  acts  of  kindness  and  hospitality,  shown 
to  us  both  in  London  and  at  Arlington  Manor. 
When  they  came  to  us  we  could  say  and  feel,  "Your 
presence  makes  us  rich." 

Probate  Division, 

June  22,  1897. 

My  dear  Bancroft, — 

1  am  truly  delighted  at  the  Honour.  It  is 
a  most  proper  recognition  of  all  you  and  Mrs. 
Bancroft  have  done  for  the  stage,  and  that,  I  am  sure, 
will  be  the  universal  opinion.  ^ 

Please  let  me  and  my  wife  wish  to  Sir  Squire  and 
Dame  Bancroft  very  many  years  of  happiness. 

Yours  very  truly, 

F.  H.  Jeune. 


It  was  a  sorrow  to  lose  so  suddenly  the  warm 
friendship  and  bright  company  of  that  charming 
painter  G.  H.  Boughton.  He  was  much  attached 
to  theatre-land  and  a  prominent  "first-nighter."  1 
append  a  few  pleasant  words  from  him: 

Dear  Bancroft, — 

A  most  enjoyable  evening — Mrs.  Bancroft's 
Lesson  is  indeed  a  lesson  in  the  art  of  acting — an 
exhaustive  exposition  better  than  any  amount  of 
mere  talk — literally  an  "  acted  lecture."  Your 
doctor  in  Peril  admirable — holding  the  whole  play 
together. 

Sincerely  yours, 

G.  H.  Boughton. 

28 


434  DEPARTED   GUESTS 

Henry  Kemble,  a  descendant  of  the  illustrious 
Kemble  family,  was  a  loss  to  the  stage,  as  to  a 
multitude  of  comrades.  He  was  our  staunch  and 
much-loved  friend  since  his  youth.  A  fearless,  odd, 
outspoken  creature :  few  men  have  been  more 
sincerely  regretted  in  many  places  than  "  The  Beetle" 
— so  called,  ages  ago,  from  an  enormous  brown  cape 
he  then  wore.  He  was  most  amusing  at  times  in  a 
quaint  way — as,  for  instance,  when  he  told  an  income- 
tax  collector  that  he  followed  a  very  precarious 
profession,  and  the  Chancellor  of  the  Exchequer 
was  not  justified  in  looking  upon  him  as  a  source 
of  income  I 

I  have  many  birthday  presents  from  him:  his 
final  gift  was  a  little  silver  helmet  inscribed  with  this 
Shakespearian  quotation  : 

"  No  Squire  in  need 
And  no  poor  Knight." 

The  last  words  he  penned  were  to  my  wife,  for 
whom  he  had  great  affection,  in  the  form  of  a 
telegram,  written  a  few  hours  before  he  died  in 
Jersey  in  1907.     They  were  these: 

All  over,  dear,  dear  Lady  B.  Blessings  on  you 
all. 

Beetle. 

A  kind  host,  a  welcome  guest,  was  Lord  Justice 
Mathew  ;  one  of  many  friends  whom  we  met  in  the 
Engadine.  I  cannot,  unfortunately,  recall  the  wit 
of  a  speech  he  made  at  a  picnic  tea-party  which  my 
wife  gave  there,  when,  in  legal  terms,  he  proposed 
her  health  as  his  "  learned  Sister  Bancroft,"  but  I  do 
remember  a  charming  story  he  told  me  of  his  fellow- 
countryman,  the  renowned  Father  Healy,  which  I 
have  never  seen  in  print. 

A  pretty  young  English  girl  was  seated  at  dinner 
next  to  the  witty  priest,  and  said  to  him  :    "  They 


SIR  EDWARD   MALET  435 

tell  me,  Father  Healy,  that  you  have  no  mistletoe 
in  your  country."  "  Is  that  so,  my  dear  young  lady  ? 
Now  I  think  of  it,  I  believe  it  is  true."  "  Then  what 
do  the  boys  and  girls  do  at  Christmas-time  without 
it  ? "  "  Is  it  kissing  you  mean,  my  dear  ?  Sure, 
they  do  it  under  the  rose !  " 

My  wife  and  I  first  made  the  acquaintance  of  that 
distinguished  diplomatist  Sir  Edward  Mai.et  as 
long  since  as  1878,  when  we  read  a  clever  poetic  play 
which  he  had  written.  The  following  kind  letter 
reached  me  at  Monte  Carlo.  I  have  enjoyed  several 
visits  to  the  fairyland  chateau  from  which  it  was 
penned,  and  have  met  delightful  company  there. 

Chateau  Malet,  Monaco, 

April  4,  1901. 

Dear  Sir  Squire  Bancroft, — 

My  cousin,  Augustus  Spalding,  tells  me  he 
met  you  on  the  high  road  yesterday  with  Mr.  Pinero. 
Will  you  give  me  and  my  wife  the  pleasure  of 
lunching  with  us  on  Saturday  next,  the  6th,  at 
half-past  one  ?  and  if  Mr.  Pinero  does  not  object  to 
an  invitation  from  an  unknown  admirer,  it  would 
give  us  great  pleasure  if  he  would  come  with  you. 
Hoping  that  you  may  both  be  disengaged, 

I  remain,  truly  yours, 

Edward  Malet. 

We  are  proud  to  number  among  these  hundred 
names  that  of  Sir  Redvers  Buller,  whose  Victoria 
Cross  was  a  thrice-won  distinction.  He  and  Lady 
Audrey  Buller  were  for  years  kind  friends,  as  the 
following  lines  will  tell  : 

29,  Bruton  Street,  W., 

June  2^,  J  897. 

Dear  Bancroft, — 

May  I  add  one  to  the  hearty  congratulations 
you  will  doubtless  receive  on  the  announcement  of 
Tuesday  last  ?     I  am  so  glad  of  it,  as  I  think  it  but 


486  DEPARTED    GUESTS 

a  fair  recognition  of  yourself  individually  and  of  your 
profession  generally. 

With  sincere  regard  and  admiration  for  you  both, 
Yours  very  truly, 

Redvers  Buller. 

My  wife  at  the  same  time  received  a  very 
charming  letter  from  Lady  Audrey. 

I  first  knew  Sir  Howard  Vincent  when  his 
energies  were  devoted  to  criminal  investigation.  I 
have  a  very  pleasant  letter  to  remind  me  of  his  thirty 
years'  acquaintance  : 

],  Grosvenor  Street, 

Thursday  morning. 

My  dear  Bancroft, — 

It  would  be  difficult  to  remember  a  happier 
evening  than  you  gave  your  guests  last  night.  I  am 
haunted  by  the  mottoes  which  decorate  the  cornice  of 
your  library  : 

Old  books  to  read. 
Old  wood  to  burn. 
Old  wine  to  drink. 
Old  friends  to  trust. 

Charming  I     Where  did  you  get  them  ? 
Sincerely  yours, 

C.  E.  Howard  Vincent. 

The  well-known  and  much-loved  doyen  of  war 
correspondents.  Sir  William  Howard  Russell,  was 
for  many  years  a  friend.  It  was  delightful  on  one 
occasion  to  seat  him  between  Sir  Henry  de  Bathe 
and  Dion  Boucicault ;  with  the  foniier  he  had  faced 
the  rigours  of  the  Crimean  campaign,  and  all  three 
had  been  schoolfellows  in  Dublin  some  forty  years 
before.  "Billy"  Russell's  Irish  wit  sparkled  during 
that  happy  evening,  and  is  not  yet  forgotten  by  their 
(then)  young  host. 

After  seeing  us  act  in  Masks  and  Faces  he 
wrote : 


OTTO   GOLDSCHMIDT  487 

Dear  Bancroft, — 

I  must  tell  you  by  word  of  pen  how  greatly 
appreciated  the  performance  was  last  night ;  true  art 
devoted  to  a  true  embodiment  of  human  nature  and 
human  feeling. 

Yours  sincerely, 

W.  H.  Russell. 

Of  Otto  Goldschmidt,  "little  Otto,"  we  have 
happy  memories  at  home  and  in  the  Engadine,  when 
he  assisted  us  greatly  at  the  charity  entertainments 
we  gave  there.  An  overture  a  quatre  mains,  played 
by  Arthur  Sullivan  and  himself,  was  a  great  feature 
on  more  than  one  occasion.  He  told  me  the  fol- 
lowing story,  which,  like  many  others,  may  or  may 
not  be  familiar.  When  Meyerbeer  died,  a  conceited 
young  musician  sent  the  great  master  Verdi,  whom 
he  knew,  the  score  of  a  funeral  march  which  he 
had  composed  with  a  view  to  its  performance  in 
honour  of  the  illustrious  man  who  had  passed  away, 
adding  that  he  would  call  the  following  day  for 
Verdi's  candid  opinion  upon  its  merits.  When  he 
presented  himself,  he  received  this  verdict :  "  For- 
give me,  my  young  friend,  if  I  cannot  refrain  from 
thinking  that  it  might  have  been  better  had  you 
died  and  Meyerbeer  been  left  to  compose  a  funeral 
march." 

We  knew  Sir  A.  Condie  Stephen  for  years; 
our  first  meeting  was  at  his  uncle's  in  Cadogan 
Square.     We  liked  him  very  much. 

KNIOHTSKBrDGE_, 

June  22,  1904. 

Dear  Bancroft, — 

In  a  book  of  reminiscences  I  read  lately,  the 
author  said  of  a  certain  dinner-party  that  his  only 
regret  was  not  to  have  had  every  guest  at  table  for 
an  immediate  neighbour ;  so  I  felt  last  evening  at 
your  house. 

Yours  very  truly, 

A.  Condie  Stephen. 


438  DEPARTED   GUESTS 

We  enjoyed  the  friendship  of  Lord  Glenesk  for 
many  years,  and  received  much  kindness  and  hos- 
pitahty  at  his  hands.  He  was  only  second  to  Mr. 
J.  M.  Levy  as  a  true  supporter  of  the  drama,  of  which 
he  had  great  knowledge.  We  saw  both  joyful  and 
mournful  national  ceremonies  from  Lord  Glenesk's 
mansion  in  Piccadilly,  and  passed  pleasant  hours  in 
the  old-world  garden  of  his  house  on  Hampstead 
Heath. 

The  following  letter  was  written  when  our  retire- 
ment from  management  was  announced  : 

Dear  Mrs.  Bancroft, — 

I  have  observed  your  career  from  its  be- 
ginning, and  can  bear  testimony  to  the  enormous 
improvement  you  have  effected  on  the  English  stage. 

You  were  the  first  to  teach  the  school  of  Nature, 
and  not  only  by  your  own  bright  impersonations,  but 
also  by  your  influence  over  all  those  with  whom  you 
were  brought  in  contact,  to  prove  that  English  art  is 
second  to  none. 

Following  in  your  footsteps,  and  emulous  of  your 
achievements,  many  have  attained  fame  and  fortune. 
But  it  is  my  firm  belief  that  to  you,  and  to  you 
especially,  is  to  be  attributed  the  great  and  successful 
development  of  our  Modern  Drama. 

Sincerely  yours, 

Algernon  Borthwick. 

I  think  it  well,  however  sadly,  to  close  this  long 
list  with  the  names  of  the  most  eminent  French 
actor  and  the  most  eminent  English  actor  of  my 
day. 

My  friendship  for  Constant  Coquelin  was  as 
sincere  as  my  appreciation.  I  knew  him  for  many 
years.  He  was  among  the  most  outspoken  admirers 
of  my  wife's  acting.  He  said  "  her  splendid  vitality 
was  contagious :  her  winning  magnetism  would  fill 
the  largest  stage."  If  my  saying  so  does  not  detract 
from  this  praise,  I  may  add  that  he  showered  en- 


COQUELIN   AND   IRVING  439 

comiums  in  a  Parisian  journal  on  two  of  my  per- 
formances. 

Nearly  thirty  years  ago  he  wrote  to  me  : 

Cher  Bancroft, — 

Vous  avez  un  excellent  theatre  que  vous 
dirigez  en  maitre — et  en  maitre  artiste — que  pouvez- 
vous  desirer  de  plus  ? 

Votre  ami, 

C.    COQUELIN. 

In  his  home  his  buoyant  gaiety  was  charming, 
while  his  love  for  his  simple  old  mother  was  en- 
shrined in  his  heart  as  sweetly  as  it  would  seem 
always  to  be  in  that  of  a  good  Frenchman. 

In  the  farewell  words  of  M.  Claretie,  the  accom- 
plished Administrator  of  the  Theatre  Fran9ais  :  "  He 
was  more  than  a  stage  king,  he  was  a  king  of  the 
stage,  and  will  leave  a  luminous  trail  in  the  heaven 
of  art." 

The  final  notes  are  struck  by  Henry  Irving. 
They  were  penned  from  15a,  Grafton  Street,  in  the 
early  morning  of  June  22,  1897. 


"  Hail  to  thee,  dear  Lady  and  dear  friend ! 
All  happiness  and  joy  be  with  you  ever." 
Affectionately  yours, 

Henry  Irving. 


II 
My  dear  B., — 

My   heart   rejoices  at   the   richly   deserved 
honour  paid  to  you  and  your  dear  wife.     God  bless 
you  both,  and  may  health,  peace,  and  happiness  be 
yours  for  many,  many  years  ! 
God  save  the  Queen  ! 

Affectionately  ever, 

Henry  Irving. 


440  DEPARTED   GUESTS 

And  still  we  leave  many  former  friends  unnamed, 
but  my  century  is  made,  and  I  declare  the  innings 
closed. 

"  For  some  we  loved,  the  loveliest  and  the  best 
That  from  his  vintage  rolling  Time  hath  prest, 
Have  drunk  their  cup  a  round  or  two  before, 
And  one  by  one  crept  silently  to  rest.*" 

Their  names  have  reminded  my  wife  and  myself 
very  forcibly  how  much  we  have  owed  to  the  calling 
we  both  have  loved  and  lived  by.  It  is  pleasant  to 
remember  this,  and  on  many  a  Darby  and  Joan 
evening  to  think  and  talk  it  over. 

As  we  players  pass  down  the  ages — the  remorse- 
less figure  of  Time  following  at  our  heels  with  his 
relentless  scythe,  mowing  us  one  by  one  from  his 
path — successors  happily  and  joyously,  in  all  the 
splendour  of  youth,  are  ready  to  take  on  our  work, 
as  those  of  to-day  have  replaced  others  whose  turn 
was  done.  Three  hundred  years  have  rolled  away 
since  Philip  Massinger  wrote :  **  Mark  how  the  old 
actors  decay,  the  young  sprout  up."  So  it  will  ever 
be.  The  vineyard  may  keep  its  most  luscious  grapes 
for  favoured  years,  the  orchard  may  not  always  yield 
the  choicest  fruit ;  but  the  beautiful  art  of  acting  will 
live  on.  If  the  sacred  fire  burns  dimly  for  a  while,  it 
will  never  expire,  being  "  not  of  an  age,  but  for  all 
time." 


■ 

■ 

^IHk.- 

^^^^^H 

^^^^^^^^H 

■■^ 

^^^^^^^^H 

^^^^^^^^^^^^H 

^^H 

^^^^^^^^^^^1 

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^H 

^^^H 

^M 

M^ 

H 

K3Hr 

^; 

^          i 

^^^^^^^1 

^^K.,^     ^^  ^^^T^l 

J^H0^ 

^^■^^ 

^^^^^^^1 

^^ft- 

Jj^Bm 

'^^^B 

^H 

p    t»^ 

Kflf 

^^^■^^^■b       1 

W 

W  ^jj^^^^ 

V 

^KK^^m 

^m 

.,A^£_„^^^|^| 

^^^K 

m 

■ 

3 

L 

"'^^^^^^^^1 

^^^^^^^^^^^Bt' 

~-<  "''-sif •'^,  V''^'"^^^^^^W 

DARBY   AND    JOAN 


p.  440] 


INDEX 


Abercorn,  Duke  of,  363 
Aberdeen,  Lord,  356 
Abergeldie,  314 

Actors,  change  in  the  method  of 
paying,  69 ;  increase  in  the 
salaries,  72 

Adams,  Sir  Francis,  First  Secretary 
■  to  the  British  Embassy  in  Paris, 
221 

Addison,  Carlotta,  at  the  Prince  of 
Wales's  Theatre,  78  ;  takes  part 
in  School,  105 ;  Money,  132 ; 
Tame  Cats,  198  ;  in  the  farewell 
performance  of  the  Bancrofts, 
265 

Adelphi  Theatre,  the  old,  11,  12,  30, 
32  ;   pulled  down,  15 

Aid6,  Hamilton,  425  ;  letter  from, 
425 

Ainger,  Canon,  425 

Ainley,  Henry,  54 

Aladdin,  or  The  Wonderful  Scamp,  21 

Albery,  James,  his  adaptation  of 
Lea  JBourgeois  de  Pont-Arcy,  228  ; 
The  Two  Roses,  326 

Alcester,  Lord,  405 

Aldridge,  Ira,  31 

Aldwych  Theatre,  opened,  242 

Aletsch  glacier,  284 

Alexander,  George,  33 ;  his  pro- 
duction of  The  Second  Mrs. 
Tanqueray,  238  ;  takes  part  in 
Ours,  318  ;  at  the  Garrick  Club 
supper,  329 

Alexandra,  Queen,  present  at  the 
performance  of  Play,  103  ;  School, 
106  ;  Man  and  Wife,  171  ;  her 
welcome  to  Sir  S.  Bancroft,  349 

Alhambra,  burnt  down,  237 

Alveratone,  Lord,  363 

Ampthill,  Lady,  312 

Anderson,  James  R.,  392  ;  at  a 
benefit  at  Drury  Lane  Theatre, 
144  ;  on  Mrs.  Bancroft's  render- 
ing of  her  part  in  The  Vicarage, 
182  ;  at  the  Garrick  Club  supper, 
^29  ;  letter  from,  393 


441 


Anglesey,  Marquis  of,  373 

Apollo  Theatre,  opened,  242 

Archer,  Frank,  at  the  Prince  of 
Wales's  Theatre,  78 ;  his  first 
appearance  in  London  in  Money, 
129  ;  takes  part  in  Masks  and 
Faces,  148  ;  The  Merchant  of 
Venice,  208  ;  in  the  farewell 
performance  of  the  Bancrofts, 
265 

Archer,  William,  his  appreciation  of 
Sir  S.  Bancroft's  acting  in 
Masks  and  Faces,  158  ;  on  his 
managership,  164 

Arnold,  Sir  Edwin,  411  ;  letter 
from,  411 

As  You  Like  It,  proposed  revival 
of,  326 

Asche,  Oscar,  54 

Aschenbrodel  (Cinderella),  104 

Astley's  circus,  29 

Athenoeum,  The,  criticism  on  the 
acting  of  the  Prince  of  Wales's 
Theatre  company,  130 

Austin,  Alfred,  his  lines  on  Marie 
Wilton,  32 

Austria,  Prince  Rudolph  of,  present 
at  the  Jubilee  of  1887,  310 

Avebury,  Lord,  363  \ 

Avenue  Theatre,  opened,  242 

Aynesworth,  takes  part  in  Money, 
316 

Ball,  Meredith,  84 

Ballantine,    Serjeant,    380 ;     letter 

from,  381 
Ballater,  311  ' 

Balmoral,  private  theatricals  at,  31 1 
Bancroft,     Lady,     her     birth,     2 ; 

parents,    2  ;     grandmothers,    2  ; 

taught  elocution  by  her  mother, 

3  ;  appears  in  the  pantomime  of 
Gulliver's  Travels  in  Manchester, 

4  ;  her  interview  with  Macready, 
4 ;  takes  the  part  of  Prince 
Arthur,  5  ;  at  the  Bristol  Theatre, 
6  ;    takes  the  parts  of  Hpiiri  in 


442 


INDEX 


Belphegor,  and  Perdita  the  little 
"Royal  Milkmaid,"  7-11,  30; 
her  power  of  acting  pathos,  7  ; 
in  London,  8  ;  salary,  8,  24,  57  ; 
friendship  with  Toole,  8  ;  at  the 
Haymarket  Theatre,  11  ;  the 
Adelphi,  12 ;  the  Strand,  15  ; 
epithet  of  "  Little,"  15 ;  her 
part  of  Pippo  in  The  Maid  and 
the  Magpie,  16  ;  kindness  from 
Lady  Harrington,  19  ;  her  bur- 
lesque parts,  19-21,  23  ;  takes 
part  in  Romeo  and  Juliet,  24 ; 
at  Liverpool,  24,  52 ;  first  meet- 
ing with  her  future  husband,  24, 
49  ;  offers  Mr.  Bancroft  an 
engagement  in  her  theatre,  52  ; 
manager  of  the  Prince  of  Wales's 
Theatre,  55-65 ;  borrows  the 
money,  55  ;  partnership  with 
Mr.  Byron,  56  ;  changes  the 
name,  58  ;  presented  with  a 
souvenir  of  the  theatre,  59 ; 
letter  from  Lady  Harrington,  60  ; 
the  first  comedy,  A  Winning 
Hazard,  61,  63  ;  her  company, 
61  ;  the  first  programme,  63  ; 
marriage,  67 ;  tributes  on  the 
management,  74r-7  ;  leaves  the 
Prince  of  Wales's  Theatre,  78, 
109 ;  friendship  with  T.  W. 
Robertson,  81  ;  takes  part  in 
Society,  82 ;  Ours,  87  ;  Caste, 
94 ;  at  the  Standard  Theatre, 
98 ;  takes  part  in  Play,  102 ; 
School,  104  ;  at  Co  vent  Garden 
Theatre,  107  ;  at  the  Hay- 
market  Theatre,  109  ;  criticisms 
on  her  acting,  110,  119,  120,  132, 
254,  273,  438 ;  takes  part  in 
M.P.,  113  ;  suggests  its  name, 
114;  revival  of  comedy,  120; 
her  terror  of  the  sea,  126,  156 ; 
takes  part  in  Money,  127,  132 ; 
introduces  the  minuet  de  la 
cour  in  The  School  for  Scandal, 
135  ;  her  part  of  Lady  Teazle, 
136,  139  ;  undertakes  the  part 
of  Peg  Woflfington  in  Masks  and 
Faces,  146,  148 ;  her  highly 
strung  artistic  temperament,  147; 
rendering  of  the  part,  151-4, 
158 ;  takes  part  in  London 
Assurance,  161  ;  her  spirit  of 
self-abnegation,  164,  167  ;  takes 
part  in  Man  and  Wife,  167,  170  ; 
her  perfect  acting  in  Sweethearts, 
177-9  ;  takes  part  in  Good  for 
Nothing,  180 ;  The  Vicarage, 
181  ;  A  Lesson,  184 ;  The  Over- 
land   Route,     186 ;      Lords    and 


Commons,  188 ;  behind  the 
scenes,  189  ;  takes  part  in  How 
She  Loves  Him,  193  ;  Tame 
Cats,  198  ;  attacks  of  hay-fever, 
201  ;  takes  part  in  Diplomacy, 
221,  224,  228;  Odette,  230;  on 
their  farewell  performance,  265, 
269  ;  A  Riverside  Story,  277-9  ; 
story  of  a  poor  woman,  279 ; 
holidays  in  Switzerland,  280  ;  in 
the  Engadine,  282  ;  at  Pontre- 
sina,  282-9  ;  nurses  Prince  Chris- 
tian Victor,  285 ;  drawing  of, 
287 ;  at  Ragatz,  287  ;  experi- 
ences an  earthquake,  287  ;  at 
St.  Moritz,  289;  the  Italian 
Lakes,  290  ;  Cadenabbia,  290-3  ; 
Paris,  294  ;  at  Pere  la  Chaise, 
295  ;  Monte  Carlo,  297  ;  Ober- 
Ammergau,  301  ;  reappearance 
in  Diplomacy  at  the  Garrick 
Theatre,  303-5  ;  reception,  305  ; 
accident  to  her  knee,  305,  308  ; 
presented  with  a  diamond  watch- 
bracelet,  307  ;  tour  in  the  pro- 
vinces, 308,  309  ;  at  Sheringham, 
309  ;  commanded  to  act  before 
Queen  Victoria,  309  ;  at  Ballater, 
311  ;  on  her  husband's  reception 
at  Balmoral,  313  ;  presented  to 
Queen  Victoria,  314 ;  to  the 
Empress  Eugenie,  315  ;  gift 
from  the  Queen,  315  ;  letter  to 
Mr.  Yorke,  315  ;  reappears  in 
Money,  316  ;  Fedora,  316  ;  last 
appearance  in  Ours,  318  ;  at  the 
funeral  of  Queen  Victoria,  322 ; 
her  three  presents  from  Val 
Prinsep,  431 
Bancroft,  Sir  Sqiiire,  25 ;  his 
birth,  26  ;  grandfather,  26 ; 
father,  27  ;  childhood,  27  ;  death 
of  his  father,  27  ;  early  memories, 
27-9  ;  his  short  sight,  28  ; 
"  stage-struck,"  29 ;  recollec- 
tions of  his  visits  to  the  stage, 
29-33  ;  first  sight  of  his  future 
wife,  30 ;  visits  to  New  York, 
31,  359  ;  return  to  England,  31  ; 
engagement  at  the  Theatre 
Royal,  Birmingham,  34  ;  his 
first  appearance  in  St.  Mary^s 
Eve,  34;  8,t  the  Cork  Theatre, 
35  ;  takes  part  in  Hamlet,  35  ; 
hard  work  and  rehearsals,  35, 
39  ;  first  meeting  with  Mr. 
Kendal,  36 ;  his  part  in  The 
Trial  of  Effie  Deans,  37  ;  in 
Devonshiie,  38  ;  his  imitation 
of  Sothem's  Lord  Dundreary, 
39 ;      first    meeting    with    Mrs, 


INDEX 


443 


Kendal,    39  ;     at     the     Theatre 
Royal,    Dublin,  40-7,    48;    acts 
with  Charles  Mathews,  40  ;  with 
Charles  Kean,   41  ;     compliment 
from  him,  41  ;    acts  with  G.  V. 
Brooke,     45 ;      meetings      with 
Sothern,  46,  61 ;  at  Liverpool,  47  ; 
reception  at  Dublin,  48  ;  meeting 
with  Marie  Wilton,  49  ;    friend- 
ship with  John  Hare,  49  ;    corre- 
spondence  with    Leigh    Murray, 
49  ;    takes  part  in  the  Comedy  of 
Errors,  60 ;     Used   Up,  61  ;    My 
Own    Victim,    61  ;    first  meeting 
with     Charles     Wyndham,     62 ; 
accepts  offer  of  an  engagement 
in   London  from   Marie  Wilton, 
62  ;    takes  part  in  Money,   63  ; 
his    friends    in    Liverpool,     63  ; 
number    of    parts,    63  ;     at    the 
Prince    of  Wales's  Theatre,    66  ; 
his    marriage,    67  ;     inaugurates 
changes,      69-73  ;       method     of 
paying    the    actors,    69  ;     estab- 
lishes   matinees,     71  ;     increases 
salaries,  72  ;    raises  the  prices  of 
admission,    73  ;     tributes  on  his 
management,   74-7,  336 ;    finan- 
cial result,  78  ;  leaves  the  Prince 
of    Wales's    Theatre,    78,     109 
takes   part    in    Society,    82,    84 
interview  with  W.   Terriss,    86 
takes  part  in  Ours,  87  ;   views  on 
his    acting,    88-90,    120,    164-6, 
168,  222-4,  274,  334-6;    abbre- 
viation  of   his   name,    90 ;     fees 
paid  for  plays,   91  ;    takes  part 
in  Caste,   96  ;    at  the  Standard 
Theatre,  98  ;   takes  part  in  Play, 
102  ;     School,    104 ;     at    Covent 
Garden    Theatre,    107  ;     at    the 
Haymarket,   109  ;    on  the  finan- 
cial result,    109  ;    takes  part  in 
M.P.,    113;    on  the  illness    and 
death  of  T.  W.  Robertson,  114-7  ; 
closes  the  theatre  on  the  night  of 
the  funeral,   117  ;   his  gifts  as  a 
manager,  124,  261  ;  maxim,  125  ; 
help  of  his  wife,  125  ;  resolves  on 
the  production  of    Money,   126  ; 
his  part  in  it,   127,  129  ;    at  the 
Haymarket  Theatre,    133 ;    pre- 
parations for  the  production  of 
The  School  for  Scandal,  134  ;   his 
part  of  Joseph  Surface,  136,  140  ; 
tribute  from  J.  Hare,  144  ;    at  a 
benefit  at  Drury  Lane  Theatre, 
144  ;    resolves  to  play  the  part 
of  Triplet  in  Masks  and  Faces, 
145,  148  ;   rendering  of  the  part, 
154-6,  158  ;  offers  from  America, 


166,  179  ;  takes  part  in  London 
Assurance,  161  ;  his  wish  to 
revive  The  Merry  Wives  of 
Windsor,  162  ;  production  of  The 
Rivals,  162  ;  his  part  in  it,  163  ; 
spirit     of    self-abnegation,     164, 

167,  196  ;  friendship  with  Wilkie 
Collins,  167  ;    takes  part  in  Man 
and  Wife,  167,  170  ;   Sweethearts, 
177 ;     Good    for    Nothing,    181  ; 
The  Vicarage,  181  ;    An  Unequal 
Match,    182  ;    Plot  and  Passion, 
183 ;     preparations   for    the   re- 
vival of  The  Overland  Route,  184  ; 
his   voyage   to    Malta,    184 ;     at 
Constantinople,  186  ;    his  part  in 
it,    187  ;     Lords   and    Commons, 
189  ;    on  the  failure  of  How  She 
Loves   Him>,    191-4 ;     his    acting 
the   part    of    a    "  dandy,"    194 ; 
letter     of     advice     from     Dion 
Boucicault,  196  ;   friendship  with 
E.  Yates,  197  ;    on  the  failure  of 
Tame    Cats,    198  ;     of    Wrinkles, 
199-201  ;    at  Venice,  201  ;    pre- 
parations  for    The    Merchant   of 
Venice,   201-6  ;    arrangement  of 
the  text   and  scenes,    203,    205, 
211  ;    on  the  failure  of  Coghlan 
as  Shylock,  206  ;    failure  of  the 
play,  206-8,  212  ;    production  of 
Peril,  216  ;    his  part  in  it,  216  ; 
purchases    Sardou's    play    Dora, 
218  ;   his  work  in  the  adaptation 
of   Diplomacy,   219  ;    part  in  it, 
221,  228  ;    in  Paris,  226  ;    visits 
Sardou,    226,    229;     refuses   his 
play   Daniel    Rochat,  229 ;     pre- 
sent    at     the     performance     of 
Odette,   229  ;     Fedora,    234 ;    his 
part  in  it,  237  ;    his  paper  war 
with    Sardou,    238-40 ;     reasons 
for  leaving  the  Prince  of  Wales's 
Theatre,   241  ;    declines  offer  of 
St.  James's  Theatre,  243  ;    pur- 
chases the  Haymarket  Theatre, 
244  ;  annual  rental,  245  ;  amount 
spent  on  the  rebuilding,  245  ;  his 
scheme  of   a   proscenium,    246 ; 
result    of    his    abolition    of    the 
pit,  248-51  ;   reasons  for  retiring 
from  management,  256-8  ;    pro- 
posal to  J.   Hare,   266 ;    letters 
from    friends,     268,     262,     264 ; 
farewell   season,    269 ;     tributes, 
269-62,    273-6;     date     of     the 
last  appearance,  262  ;   selections, 
262  ;   cast,  265  ;   farewell  speech, 
267-9 ;    leading   articles   in   the 
papers,   270-3 ;    financial   state- 
ment, 276  ;  practical  jokes,  281 ; 


444 


INDEX 


at  Pontresina,  282-9 ;  photo- 
graph, 287 ;  at  Cadenabbia, 
290-3  ;  Paris,  294  ;  Monte  Carlo, 
296-8,  424 ;  Ober-Ammergau 
Passion  Play,  298-301  ;  re- 
appearance in  Diplomacy  at  the 
Garrick  Theatre,  303  ;  tour  in 
the  provinces,  308  ;  commanded 
to  act  before  Queen  Victoria,  309  ; 
present  at  the  Thanksgiving 
service  in  St.  Paul's  Cathedral 
1872,  310;  at  the  Jubilee  of 
1887,  310;  at  Ballater,  311; 
invited  to  attend  the  private 
theatricals  at  Balmoral,  311  ; 
presented  to  Queen  Victoria, 
312;  gift  from  her,  315,  350; 
his  last  appearance  in  Ours,  318  ; 
honour  of  knighthood  conferred, 
320 ;  his  letter  to  Lord  Salis- 
bury, 320  ;  congratulations,  321  ; 
knighthood  conferred  at  Osborne, 
321  ;  at  the  Garden  Party  at 
Buckingham  Palace,  321  ;  pre- 
sent at  the  funeral  of  Queen 
Victoria,  322  ;  reminiscences  of 
Henry  Irving,  323-42  ;  at  the 
banquet  in  Irving's  honour,  328  ; 
gives  Irving  a  farewell  supper 
at  the  Garrick  Club,  329;  takes 
part  in  The  Dead  Heart,  330-3; 
gift  to  the  "  Darkest  England  " 
scheme,  331 ;  reception  on  his 
reappearance,  333;  rendering  of 
the  part  of  Abb6  Latour,  334-6 ; 
at  Marlborough  House,  336  ; 
present  at  the  funeral  of  Irving, 
341 ;  his  Readings  of  A  Christinas 
Carol  for  charities,  344-65,  361 ; 
at  Sandringham,  349  ;  his  bon 
mot,  351 ;  simoa  realised,  351,  361, 
362,  363  ;  distmguished  chairmen, 
353,  363 ;  visit  to  Canada,  355-60 ; 
interviewed,  357,  359 ;  at  Niagara, 
358 ;  on  the  changes  in  New 
York,  359  ;  return,  361  ;  takes 
the  wrong  train  to  Bradford, 
361  ;  tributes  to  his  reading, 
363-6  ;  departed  guests,  367-440 ; 
elected  a  member  of  the  Garrick 
Club,  372  ;  portrait,  373  ;  victim 
of  a  practical  joke,  383 ;  his 
speech  at  the  Royal  Academy 
banquet,  427 

Bangor,  51 

Barber  of  Fleet  Street,  The,  34 

Barnay,  Ludwig,  on  the  repre- 
sentation of  Society,  86 

Barnby,  Joseph,  takes  part  in 
Box  and  Cox,  at  Pontresina, 
286 


Barnes,  J.  H.,  at  the  Garrick 
Club  supper,  329 

Barrett,  Laurence,  at  the  Garrick 
Club  supper,  329 

Barrett,  Wilson,  at  the  Garrick 
Club  supper,  329  ;  his  drama 
The  Lights  of  London,  432;  The 
Silver  King,  432  ;  The  Sign  of 
the  Cross,  432  ;   letter  from,  432 

Barrymore,  Maurice,  360 ;  takes 
part  in  Diplomacy,  228  ;  in  the 
farewell  performance  of  the  Ban- 
crofts, 265 

Bath,  Reading  at,  355 

Bathe,  Sir  Henry  de,  416  ;  his 
story  when  serving  in  the  Crimean 
War,  416 

Battenberg,  Prince  Henry  of,  at 
Balmoral,  315 

Battenberg,  Princess  Beatrice  of, 
takes  part  in  Pattes  de  MotLche  at 
Balmoral,  311,  312 

Beaconsfield,  Lord,  his  illness  and 
death,  159  ;  present  at  the  per- 
formance of  Diplomacy f  224 ; 
characteristics,  323 

Beaufort,  Duke  of,  354,  391  ;  letter 
from,  391  ;  regret  on  the  retire- 
ment of  the  Bancrofts,  392 

Bedford,  Paul,  at  the  Adelphi 
Theatre,  12,  30  ;  his  appearance, 
12  ;   skit  on,  13 

Beecher,  Henry  Ward,  his  sermon,  31 

Beefsteak  Cinh,  412 

Beere,  Mrs.  Bernard,  takes  part  in 
The  Rivals,  163  ;  Katharine  and 
Petruchio,  181  ;  Lords  and  Com- 
mons, 188  ;  Diplomacy,  228  ; 
Fedora,  235 

Belford,  William,  66 

Bellew,  J.  M.,  370 

Bellew,  Kyrle,  at  the  Prince  of 
Wales's  Theatre,  78  ;  takes  part 
in  the  farewell  performance  of 
the  Bancrofts,  265 ;  at  the 
Garrick  Club  supper,  329 

Belphegor,  performance  of,  30 

Benedict,  Sir  Julius,  377 

Benedix,  Roderick,  his  play  As- 
chenbrodel,  104 

Bennett,  Gordon,  26 

Benson,  F.  R.,  54 

Berne,  the  performing  clock  at,  280 

Bernhardt,  Sarah,  her  part  in 
Fedora,  233,  234 ;  her  superb 
acting,  234  ;    letter  from,  425 

Berton,  Pierre,  the  jeune  premier  of 
the  Vaudeville,  226 ;  his  part 
in  Fedora,  233 

Beverley,  William,  his  gorgeous 
scenery,  29 


INDEX 


445 


Bigge,  Sir  Arthui*,  takes  part  in 
Fattea  de  Mouche  at  Balmoral, 
312  ;   letter  from,  319 

Bigham,  Sir  John,  340 

Bill,  an  extraordinary,  294 

Billington,  Mrs.,  32 

Bird,  Dr.  George,  adventure  in  a 
fog,  252 

Birkenhead,  48 

Birmingham,  308  ;  Theatre  Royal 
at,  34 

Bishop,  Alfred,  takes  part  in  The 
Rivals,  163  ;  The  Overland  Route, 
186  ;  Lords  and  Commona,  188  ; 
in  the  farewell  performance  of 
the  Bancrofts,  265  ;  at  the 
Garrick  Club  supper,  329 

Blakeley,  William,  takes  part  in 
David  Garrick,  61  ;  Money,  53  ; 
at  the  Prince  of  Wales's  Theatre, 
78  ;  takes  part  in  Play,  102  ; 
How  She  Loves  Him,  192,  193  ; 
Tame  Cats,  198  ;  in  the  farewell 
performance  of  the  Bancrofts, 
265 

Bland,  James,  or  the  "  King  of 
Burlesque,"  17  ;  his  sudden  death, 
17 

Blyth,  Lord,  26 

Boehm,  Sir  Edgar,  402 

Booth,  Edwin,  the  American  tra- 
gedian, 386  ;  illness  and  death  of 
his  second  wife,  386,  387 

Booth,  General,  his  scheme  of 
"  Darkest  England,"  331 

Borthwick.  See  Glenesk,  Lord  and 
Lady 

Bottle,  The,  34 

Boucicault,  Dion,  32  ;  his  drama 
The  Trial  of  Effie  Deans,  37  ; 
lesson  to  Sir  S.  Bancroft,  37 ; 
letter  of  congratulation  on  the 
performance  of  Ours,  89  ;  on  the 
death  of  T.  W.  Robertson,  117  ; 
revival  of  his  comedy  London 
Assurance,  160  ;  skill  in  reading 
his  plays,  187  ;  How  She  Loves 
Him,  191  ;  power  as  a  stage- 
manager,  192  ;  declines  to  accept 
fees,  195  ;  illness  at  Washington, 
195  ;  advice  to  the  Bancrofts, 
196 ;  portrait,  197  ;  at  the 
Garrick  Club  supper,  329 ; 
amount  of  writing  for  the  stage, 
385  ;  characteristics,  385  ;  hos- 
pitality, 385 

Boughton,  G.  H.,  433  ;  letter  from, 
433 

Boulanger,  General,  400 

Bourchier,  Arthiu*,  33  ;  takes  part 
in  Money,  316 


Box  and  Cox,  performance  of,  at 
Pontresina,  285 

Boyd-Carpenter,  Dr.,  Bishop  of 
Ripon,  26.    See  Ripon,  Bishop  of 

Boyne,  Leonard,  takes  part  in  A 
Riverside  Story,  279 

Bradford,  Reading  at,  361 

Bradley,  Dr.,  Dean  of  Westminster, 
345.  363 

Braithwaite,  Lilian,  54 

Brampton,  Lord,  11.    See  Hawkins 

Brayton,  Lily,  54 

Brennan,  Margaret,  takes  part  in 
Masks  and  Faces,  149 

Bristol  Theatre,  6 

Broadbent,  Sir  William,  363,  431 

Brodrick,  Rt.  Hon.  St.  John,  354 

Brohan,  Madeleine,  374 

Brooke,  G.  V.,  at  the  Dublin 
Theatre  Royal,  45 ;  drowned, 
46  ;    compared  with  Salvini,  46 

Brookfield,  Charles,  takes  part  in 
Money  at  the  Haymarket 
Theatre,  133  ;  his  comic  sketch 
of  the  two  Triplets  in  Masks  and 
Faces,  157  ;  takes  part  in  it, 
167  ;  A  Lesson,  184  ;  The  Over- 
land Route,  186 ;  Lords  and 
Commx)ns,  188  ;  Diplomacy,  227  ; 
Odette,  230  ;  on  the  retirement 
of  the  Bancrofts,  264 ;  takes 
part  in  the  farewell  performance 
of  the  Bancrofts,  265  ;  Money, 
316  ;  at  the  Garrick  Club  supper, 
329 

Brooks,  Shirley,  editor  of  Punch, 
26,  372 

Brough,  Fanny,  at  the  Prince  of 
Wales's  Theatre,  78  ;  takes  part 
in  Money,  129 

Brough,  Lionel,  at  Liverpool,  47  ; 
takes  part  in  David  Garrick,  51 
Money,    63  ;     The    Rivals,    163 
at  the  Garrick  Club  supper,  329 
at  Marlborough  House,  336 

Brough,  Robert,  11 

Brough,  William,  his  extravaganza 
The  Royal  Milkmaid,  8 

Browne,  Graham,  54 

Browning,  Oscar,  at  Pontresina,  287 

Browning,  Robert,  394 ;  present 
at  the  farewell  performance  of 
the  Bancrofts,  266  ;  letters  from, 
395 ;  lines  on  Lady  Bancroft, 
396 

Buchanan,  Robert,  on  the  part  of 
Loris  Ipanoff  acted  by  Sir  S. 
Bancroft,  237  ;  on  General 
Booth's  scheme  of  "  Darkest 
England,"  331 

Buckingham,  Leicester,  66 


446 


INDEX 


Buckstone,  Mr.,  32,  56 ;  at  the 
Haymarket  Theatre,  11  ;  at  a 
benefit  at  Drury  Lane  Theatre, 
144  ;  his  comic  drama  Oood  for 
Nothing,  180  ;  death,  246  ;  anec- 
dote of,  246 

Buckstone,  Mrs.,  246  ;  proceeds  of 
the  first  performance  at  the  Hay- 
market  under  the  management 
of  the  Bancrofts  handed  over  to 
her,  247 

Buckstone,  Lucy,  at  the  Prince  of 
Wales's  Theatre,  78  ;  takes  part 
in  Peril,  215 

Buller,  Lady  Audrey,  435 

BuUer,  Sir  Redvers,  435 ;  letter 
from,  435 

Bumaby,  Mrs.,  her  photograph  of 
Mr.  Pinero  and  Sir  S.  Bancroft, 
287 

Burnand,  Sir  Francis  C,  his  play 
A  Lesson,  4,  183  ;  congratulations 
on  its  success,  184 ;  skill  in  read- 
ing his  plays,  187 ;  founder  of 
the  A.D.C.  at  Cambridge,  187  ; 
parody  on  the  play  Diplomacy, 
224  ;  on  the  retirement  of  the 
Bancrofts,  258 

Biirnham,  Lord,  338,  349 

Burton,  Lady,  414 

Burton,  Sir  Richard,  414 ;  at 
Pontresina,  287 

Byron,  Henry  James,  376 ;  his 
skit  on  Paul  Bedford,  13  ;  char- 
acteristics, 16  ;  burlesque  The 
Maid  and  the  Magpie,  16  ;  part- 
nership with  Marie  Wilton,  56  ; 
indemnified  from  risk,  57  ;  salary, 
67  ;  War  to  the  Knife,  63,  166  ; 
conclusion  of  the  partnership,  67  ; 
number  of  plays  and  burlesques, 

67  ;    impromptu  jokes  and  pirns, 

68  ;  Dearer  than  Life,  68  ;  at  a 
benefit  at  Drury  Lane  Theatre, 
144;  his  play  £100,000,  166; 
devoid  of  the  skill  in  reading  his 
plays,  187  ;  failiire  of  his  play 
Wrinkles,  199-201  ;  letter  from, 
377 

Cadenabbia,  290 ;    church  services 

at,  292 
Calhoun,    Eleanor,    takes    part    in 

The    Rivals,     163  ;      Lords    and 

Commons,  188  ;   Diplomacy,  227  ; 

in  the  farewell  performance  of  the 

Bancrofts,  265 
Campbell,  Lady  Nina,  her  portrait, 

131 
Campbell,  Mrs.  Patrick,  takes  part 

in  Fedora,  316  ;   withdrawn  from 


the  Haymarket,  317  ;   success  in 
The    Notorious    Mrs.     Ehhsmith, 
317 
Campbell-Bannerman,    Sir    Henry, 
at  Balmoral,  313 

Campfer,  282 

Canada,  visit  to,  355 

Canninge,  Mrs.,  takes  part  in  the 
farewell  performance  of  the  Ban- 
crofts, 265 

Carlisle,  Lord,  Lord-Lieutenant  of 
Ireland,  45,  400  ;  his  selection  of 
The  Heir  at  Law  for  his  com- 
mand night,  47 

Carr,  J.  Comyns,  on  the  advance- 
ment in  the  art  of  acting,  75  ; 
his  play  King  Arthur,  317 

Cartes,  Thespian,  his  tribute  on 
the  management  of  the  Prince 
of  Wales's  Theatre,  74 

Casa  Laiglesia,  Marquis  de,  401 

Caste,  the  comedy,  93-7  ;  char- 
acteristics, 96  ;  revivals,  97-100  ; 
last  performance,  101  ;  number 
of  performances,  104 

Cavendish,  Ada,  18  ;  takes  part  in 
Plot  and  Passion,  183 

Cecil,  Arthur,  33,  414;  at  the 
Prince  of  Wales's  Theatre,  78; 
takes  part  in  Ours,  92  ;  Caste, 
98  ;  Money,  133,  316  ;  Masks 
and  Faces,  157  ;  London  Assur- 
ance, 161  ;  Oood  for  Nothing, 
180;  The  Vicarage,  181,  285; 
Plot  and  Passion,  183 ;  To 
Parents  and  Chuardians,  183 ; 
Peril,  215,  217  ;  Diplomacy,  221, 
303  ;  joint  manager  of  the  Court 
Theatre,  227  ;  his  series  of 
Pinero's  comedies,  227  ;  takes 
part  in  Duty,  229  ;  in  the  fare- 
well performance  of  the  Ban- 
crofts, 265  ;  at  Pontresina,  284  ; 
takes  part  in  Box  and  Cox,  285  ; 
his  illness  and  death,  319 ;  at 
the  Garrick  Club  supper,  329  ;  at 
Marlborough  House,  336 ;  char- 
acteristics, 414 

Celeste,  Madame,  12,  30 ;  at  the 
Theatre  Royal,  Birmingham,  35  ; 
at  the  Queen's  Theatre,  56 

Chamberlain,  Rt.  Hon.  Joseph,  287 

Chaplin,  Henry,  197 

Charing  Cross  Theatre,  opened,  242 

Chartist  Riots  of  1848,  28 

Chester,  48 

Chevalier,  Albert,  at  the  Prince  of 
Wales's  Theatre,  78;  his  first 
appearance  on  the  stage  in  To 
Parents  and  Ouardians,  183 

Chippendale,  Mr,,  11,  32 


INDEX 


447 


Chorley,  Henry  Fothergill,  369  ;  his 
characteristics,     369 ;     love    for 
Charles  Dickens,  369 
Christian,    Prince,    present   at   the 
farewell  performance  of  the  Ban- 
crofts, 263,  266 
Christian,  Princess,  present  at  the 
farewell  performance  of  the  Ban- 
crofts, 263,  266 ;  her  gift  to  Lady 
Bancroft,  307 
Christian  Victor,  Prince,  285 
Christmas  Carol,  A,  38 ;  Readings  on, 

344-66 
Chute,   James  Henry,  manager  of 

the  Bristol  Theatre,  6 
Clarence,  O.  B.,  54 
Claretie,     Jules,     Director    of    the 
Theatre  Fran9ais,  227  ;  his  fare- 
well words  on  C.  Coquelin,  439 
Clarke,  Sir  Edward,  26 
Clarke,  John,  the  comedian,  20,  61, 
66 ;    his    relations    with    James 
Rogers,   20-2  ;    appearance,    20 ; 
his  bald-headed  admirer,  21  ;  at 
the   Prince  of  Wales's   Theatre, 
78  ;  takes  part  in  Society,  82  ;  his 
weakness  for  praise,  428 
Clarke,   J.    S.,   lessee  of  the  Hay- 
market  Theatre,  244 ;  terms  of  the 
sale,   244  ;   at  the  Garrick  Club 
supper,  329 
Clay,  Cecil,  391 
Clay,  Frederic,  391 
Clay,  James,  391 

Clayton,  John,  33  ;  at  the  Prince  of 
Wales's  Theatre,  78  ;  takes  part 
in  Caste,   98  ;   Good  for  Nothing, 
180 ;     Diplomacy,      221  ;      joint 
manager  of  the  Court   Theatre, 
227  ;  his  series  of  Pinero's  come- 
dies, 227  ;  takes  part  in  the  fare- 
well   performance  of    the    Ban- 
crofts, 265  ;  at  the  Garrick  Club 
supper,     329 ;     at    Marlborough 
House,  336 
Clayton,  Sir  Oscar,  396 
Clemenceau,  M.,  26 
Cockburn,  Lord  Chief  Justice,  131, 

368 
Coghlan,  Charles,  6,  33  ;  amount  of 
his  salary,  72  ;  at  the  Prince  of 
Wales's  Theatre,  78  ;  takes  part 
in  Caste,  97  ;  School,  108  ;  Money, 
129  ;  his  help  in  the  preparations 
for  the  production  of  The  School 
for  Scandal,  135  ;  his  part  in  it, 
136  ;  Masks  and  Faces,  148  ;  Man 
and  Wife,  169,  170;  refuses  to 
accept  his  part  in  Wrinkles,  200  ; 
takes  the  part  of  Shylock  in  The 
Merchant    of    Venice,    205 ;    his 


failure,  206-8  ;    Fedora,    235  ;  in 
the  farewell  performance  of  the 
Bancrofts,    265 ;    his    version   of 
A    Qmet    Rubber,    324 ;     at    the 
Garrick    Club    supper,    329 ;    at 
Marlborough  House,   336  ;   char- 
acter   of    his    acting,     420 ;     in 
America,  420 ;  letter  from,  420  ; 
death  at  Galveston,  421 
Coleridge,    Lord,    his    banquet    in 
honour     of     Sir    Henry    Irving, 
328 
Colleen  Bavm,  The,  20,  32 
Collette,  Charles,  at  the  Prince  of 
Wales's  Theatre,  78  ;  takes  part 
in  Ours,  90  ;  his  first  appearance 
as  an  actor,  198  ;  takes  part  in  the 
farewell  performance  of  the  Ban- 
crofts, 265 
Collins,  Wilkie,   131  ;  his  apprecia- 
tion of  the  acting  of  Lady  Ban- 
croft in  The  School  for  Scandal^ 
141  ;    Man   and    Wife,    166  ;    his 
reading  of  it,  167  ;  nervous  terror 
during  the  first  performance,  169  ; 
habit    of     taking    opium,     174 ; 
amount  of  the  dose,  174;  criticism 
on  Sir  S.  Bancroft's  performance 
of  his   part   in  Diplomacy,   223  ; 
on  retirement  of   the  Bancrofts, 
258  ;  letter  from,  396 
Comedies,  English,  revival  of,  120  ; 

dearth  of,  217 
Comedy  of  Errors,  The,  50 
Comedy  Theatre,  opened,  242 
Como,  Lake  of,  290 
Compton,  Edward,  145 
Compton,  Henry,  11,  32  ;  at  a  benefit 

at  Drury  Lane  Theatre,  144 
Conquest,   George,   at  the  Garrick 

Club  supper,  329 
Constantinople,  185 
Conway,   H.   B.,   at  the  Prince  of 
Wales's  Theatre,  78  ;  takes  part 
in  Money,  133  ;  Masks  and  Faces, 
157  ;  Good  for  Nothing,  180  ;  Plot 
and  Passion,  183  ;  ^  Lesson,  184  ; 
Duty,  229  ;  at  the  Garrick  Club 
supper,  329 
Cook,  Dutton,  on  the  opening  night 
at  the  Haymarket  Theatre,  134  ; 
on  Lady  Bancroft's  performance 
of  the  part  of  Lady  Teazle,  140  ; 
on  Sir  S.  Bancroft's  arrangement 
of  the  text   and   scenes   in   The 
Merchant  of  Venice,  211 
Cooke,  George  Frederick,  210  ;   his 

grave  in  New  York,  359 
Copyright  law,  none  between  Eng- 
land   and     the    United    States, 
97 


44^ 


INDEX 


Goquelin,  aini,  26 ;  present  at  the 
performance  of  School^  110;  of 
Fedoray  234  ;  tribute  on  the  acting 
of  Sir  S.  Bancroft,  335  ;  admira- 
tion for  Lady  Bancroft's  acting, 
438  ;  letter  from,  439  ;  character- 
istics, 439 

CoqueUn,  cadet,  present  at  the  per- 
formance of  School,  110  ;  his  im- 
pressions of  it,  111;  melancholia, 
111 

Coriolanua,  pronunciation  of  the 
word,  45  ;  production  of^  328 

Cork  Theatre,  35 

Corry,  Montagu,  423.     See  Rowton 

Corsican  Brothers,  The,  33,  85,  327 

Cotton,  Vincent,  66 

Courier  of  Lyons,  The,  50 

Court  Favour,  23,  52 

Court  Theatre,  85  ;  opened,  242 

Covent  Garden  Theatre,  96 

Coyne,  Stirhng,  412 

Craigie,  Mrs.,  293 

Craven,  Hawes,  paints  scenery  for 
the  comedy  Play,  102 

Creighton,  Dr.,  Bishop  of  London, 
363 

Creswick,  William,  at  the  Garrick 
Club  supper,  329 

Creyke,  Walter,  400 

Crimean  War,  illuminations  in 
celebration  of  peace,  28  ;  Sir  H. 
de  Bathe  in,  416 

Critchett,  Sir  Anderson,  174 

Critchett,  Mr.,  174,  368,  388;  his 
acts  of  kindness,  389 

Criterion  Theatre,  opened,  242 

Cromer,  Lord,  26 

Cupid  and  Psyche,  extravaganza,  15 

Cure  for  the  Heart-ache,  A,  45 

Curzon,  Lord,  at  the  imveiling  of 
the  memorial  to  Mrs.  Craigie, 
293 

Daily  Chronicle,  The,  on  the  Ban- 
crofts' reform  of  the  stage,  272 

Daily  News,  The,  on  the  Bancrofts' 
reform  of  the  stage,  272 

Daily  Post,  53 

Daily  Telegraph,  The,  on  the  per- 
formance of  Sir  S.  Bancroft  in 
Money,  129  ;  tribute  to  them, 
260  ;  on  their  career,  271  ;  an- 
notmces  the  revival  of  Diplomacy 
at  the  Garrick,  303  ;  on  Sir  S. 
Bancroft's  reading  of  A  Christmas 
Carol,  347  ;  foxmder  of,  370 

Daly,  Augustin,  360 ;  his  services 
to  the  stage,  411  ;  foundation- 
stone  laid  of  his  theatre,  411 

Daly's  Theatre,  opened,  242 


Daniel '  Rochat,    character    of     the 

play,  229 
Dante,  production  of,  328  ;  failure, 

340 
Daudet,   Alphonse,  present  at  the 

first  performance  of  Fedora,  234 
David  Oarrick,  51 
De  La  Rue,  Mr.  and  Mrs.,  at  Pon- 

tresina,  287 
Dead  Heart,  The,  production  of,  330, 

332  ;  the  duel  scene,  333 
Dearer  than  Life,  68 
Decazes,  Duchesse,  287 
Delaunay,  Louis,  the  jeune  premier, 

374 
Desclee,   Aim6e,   at  the  Princess's 

Theatre,  171  ;  her  early  death,  171 
Devonport,  37,  40 
Devonshire,  38 
Devonshire    House,   Jubilee  fancy 

dress  ball  at,  340 
Dewar,  Frederick,  61  ;  takes  part  in 

Society,    82  ;   Money,    129  ;   Man 

and  Wife,  169,  170 
Dibbles,  Tom,  his  part  in  Good  for 

Nothing,  180 
Dickens,  Charles,  on  the  acting  of 

Marie  Wilton  in  The  Maid  and  the 

Magpie,    16 ;   Nicholas   Nickleby, 

29  ;    Oreat   Expectations,    extract 

from,    35 ;     A    Christmas     Carol, 

344  ;  Readings  in,  344-66 
Dickens,  Henry  Fielding,  366 
Dietz,    Linda,    at    the     Prince    of 

Wales's  Theatre,  78  ;  takes  part 

in  Duty,  229 
Dillon,  Charles,  his  performance  of 

Belphegor,  7,  9,  30 ;  manager  of 

the  Lyceum,  7 
Dillon,  Mrs.,  9 
Diplomacy,  71  ;  adaptation  of,  219  ; 

suggested  titles,  220  ;  production, 

220  ;  cast,  221,  227,  303  ;  scenery, 

221  ;  success,  221,  224  ;  revival  of, 
227,  303;  performance  of,  at 
Balmoral,  314 

Diplunacy,  production  of  the 
parody,  at  the  Strand  Theatre, 
225 

Divorcons,  the  comedy,  230 

Doel,' James,  38,  355 

Drake,  Francis,  agrees  to  advance 
money  to  Marie  Wilton,  55,  57 

Drake,  Mrs.  Francis,  55,  62 

Drew,  John,  360 

Driunmond,  Sir  George,  355 

Drury  Lane  Theatre,  86 ;  benefit 
at,  144 ;  Shakespearian  produc- 
tions at,  175  ;  Ellen  Terry's 
jubilee  performance  at,  319 

Dublin  Theatre  Royal,  40 


INDEX 


449 


Dubois,  Henri,  story  of,  417 

DiifEerin,  Lord,  374 

Duke  of  York's  Theatre,  opened,  242 

Dumas,  Alexandre,  on  the  death  of 
Aimee  Desclee,  171 ;  his  chateau, 
226 ;  present  at  the  first  perform- 
ance of  Fedora,  234 

Diindreai-y,  Lord,  Sothern's  per- 
formance of,  37,  39  ;  imitation  of, 
by  Sir  S.  Bancroft,  39 

Dunraven,  Lord,  26 

Duplex,  George,  372 

Dupuis,  Adolphe,  his  opinion  of 
Odette,  232 

Duse,  Eleanora,  takes  part  in 
Fedora,  234 

Duty,  adaptation  of,  228  ;  cast,  229  ; 
niunber  of  performances,  229 

Dyas,  Ada,  takes  part  in  Man  and 
Wife,  171 

Earthquake  at  Pontresina,  287 

Edinburgh,  308 

Edward  VIL,  King,  26  ;  present  at 
the  performance  of  Play,  103 ; 
School,  106  ;  Man  and  Wife,  171  ; 
The  Merchant  of  Venice,  212  ;  the 
farewell  performance  of  the  Ban- 
crofts, 263,  266  ;  his  congratula- 
tions, 321  ;  gives  a  dinner  to 
actors,  336  ;  his  invitation  to  Sir 
S.  Bancroft,  349 

Egerton,  Sir  Edwin,  26 

Ellicott,  Dr.,  Bishop  of  Gloucester, 
consecrates  the  church  at  Pontre- 
sina, 284 

Elliot,  W.  G.,  takes  part  in  Lords 
and  Commona,  188  ;  in  the  fare- 
well performance  of  the  Ban- 
crofts, 265  ;  at  the  Garrick  Club 
supper,  329 

Emery,  Winifred,  34 

Endicott,  Miss,  at  Pontresina,  287 

Engadine,  173,  226,  282 

Epsom,  Hermit's  victory  at,  197 

Erskine,  Lord,  26 

Esher,  Lord,  Master  of  the  Rolls, 
410  ;  letters  from,  410,  411 

Esmeralda,  parody  of,  20 

Eugenie,  Empress,  present  at  the 
performance  of  Diplomacy  at 
Balmoral,  314 

Everill,  Frederick,  takes  part  in  The 
Overland  Route,  186 

Exhibition  of  1851,  27  ;  of  1862,  37 

Falconer,  Edmund,  32 
Fallieres,  President,  26 
Farrar,   Dr.,   Dean  of  Canterbury, 

354 ;    congratulations    to    Sir    S. 

Bancroft,  321 


Farren,  Ellen,  18,  34 ;  her  perform- 
ance of  the  part  of  Lady  Teazle, 
140 

Farren,  William,  11,  32 

Faucit,  Helen,  30 ;  takes  part  in 
Money,  127.     See  Martin 

Faulkner,  Georgiana  Jane,  2 

Faulkner,  Samuel,  proprietor  of  The 
Morning  Chronicle,  2 

Faust,  327 

Fechter,  Charles,  33 

Fedora,  first  performance  of,  at  the 
Vaudeville,  233,  234  ;  at  the  Hay- 
market  Theatre,  236 ;  success, 
236  ;  revival  of,  316 

Fergusson,  Sir  William,  44,  375  ;  on 
the  performance  of  Masks  and 
Faces,  156 ;  on  the  amount  of 
opiimi  taken  by  WUkie  Collins, 
174  ;  letter  from,  376 

Fernandez,  James,  at  the  Garrick 
Club  supper,  329 

Feuillet,  Octave,  Le  Village,  181 

Field,  Allan,  237 

Fife,  Duke  of,  363 

Filon,  M.  Augustin,  on  the  scene  of 
the  "  Owl's  Roost  "  in  Society,  82 

Fisher,  David,  at  the  Garrick  Club 
supper,  329 

Fisher,  Sir  John,  26,425  ;  his  axiom, 
256 

Fitzclarence,  "  Dolly,"  66 

Fitzmaurice,  Lord,  his  friendship 
with  the  Bancrofts,  286 ;  at 
Pontresina,  286 

Flowers  of  the  Forest,  The,  35 

Foote,  Miss,  19.     See  Harrington 

Foote,  Lydia,  at  the  Prince  of 
Wales's  Theatre,  78  ;  takes  part 
in  Caste,  93  ;  Play,  102  ;  Man  and 
Wife,  169  ;  How  She  Loves  Him, 
193 

Forbes,  Archibald,  the  war  corre- 
spondent, 406  ;  letter  from,  406 

Forbes-Robertson,  Johnston,  33 ; 
at  the  Prince  of  Wales's  Theatre, 
78 ;   takes  part  in   Money,    133, 

316  ;  The  Rivals,  163  ;  Katharine 
and  Petruchio,  181  ;  Lords  and 
Commons,  188  ;  Diplomacy,  227, 
303  ;  Duty,  229  ;  in  the  farewell 
performance  of  the  Bancrofts, 
265  ;  at  Balmoral,  311  ;  presented 
to  Queen  Victoria,  312  ;  services 
lent  to  Living,  317  ;  withdrawal, 

317  ;  takes  part  in  Ours,  318  ;  his 
portrait  of  Stunuel  Phelps,  380 

Ford,  Onslow,  the  sculptor,  430 
Forester,  Lord  and  Lady,  154 
Forster,  John,  16 
Fox,  Hon.  Charles  James,  108 

29 


450 


INDEX 


Fra  Diavolo,  39 

Freeman,  wardrobe-keeper    at    the 

Dublin  Theatre  Royal,  45 
Frith,  W.  P.,  his  appreciation  of  the 

acting  in  The  School  for  Scandal, 

142 
Frohman,  Charles,  255 
Frohman,  Daniel,  360 
Frou-Frou,&t  the  Princess's  Theatre, 

171 

Gaiety  Theatre,  prices  of  admission 

raised,  73  ;    opened,  242 
Garrick,  David,  43 
Garrick  Club,  dinner  given  to  Sir  H. 

Irving  at,  329  ;    Sir  S.  Bancroft 

elected  a  member  of  the,  372 
Garrick  Theatre  opened,  242  ;    re- 
vival   of    Diplomacy,     303  ;      of 

Money,  316 
Geneva,  368 
George  III.,  King,  27 
Germany,    Emperor    Frederick   of, 

present  at  the  Jubilee  of  1887,  310 
Giddens,  George,  takes  part  in  A 

Riverside  Story,  279 
Gilbert,  Sir  William  S.,  production 

of  his  play  Sweethearts,  177  ;  his 

skill  in  reading  his  plays,  187  ;  on 

the  retirement  of  the  Bancrofts, 

258  ;  on  Lady  Bancroft's  accident, 

308 
Gilbert,  Mrs.,  411 
Gillette,  William,  360 
Gladstone,   W.    E.,   his  opinion  of 

Charles  Kean,  44  ;  on  his  visit  to 

the  Haymarket  Theatre,  159 
Glasgow,  308  ;  Reading  at,  354 
Glenesk,   Lord,   329,    353,   438  ;   at 

Balmoral,  312  ;  on  the  retirement 

of  the  Bancrofts,  438 
Globe  Theatre,  opened,  242 
Gloucester,  Dean  of,  363 
Glover,  Mrs.,  takes  part  in  Money, 

127 
Glyn,  Miss,  the  tragic  actress,  6  ;  at 

Manchester,  5 
Godwin,  E.  W.,  205 
Goldschmidt,  Madame,  282  ;   letter 

from,  283 
Goldschmidt,  Otto,  282,  285,  437 
Goldsmith,  Oliver,  his  comedy  The 

Goodnatured  Man,  105  ;  Tfie  Vicar 

of  Wakefield,  117 
Gooch,  Arthiir,  takes  part  in  Play, 

104 
Good  for  Nothing,  the  comic  drama, 

23,  180  ;  cast,  180  ;   performance 

of,  at  Pontresina,  285 
Goodall,  Frederick,  R.A.,  427 
Gordon,  George,  scenic  artist  to  the 


Prince  of  Wales's  Theatre,    134, 

201,  205  ;  in  Venice,  201 
Goschen,    Lord,    286  ;    congratula- 
tions to  Sir  S.  Bancroft,  321 
Gosford,  Lord,  26 
Got,  Edmund,  373  ;  present  at  the 

first  performance  of  Fedora,  234 
Gould,    Nut  combe,    takes    part    in 

Fedora,  317 
Grain,   Richard  Corney,   200,    371, 

412  ;  at  the  Garrick  Club  supper, 

329  ;  letter  from,  413 
Granby,  actor  and  stage-manager  of 

Dublin  Theatre  Royal,  40 
Granville,  Lord,  374  ;  present  at  the 

farewell  performance  of  the  Ban- 
crofts, 266 
Green  Bushes,  The,  12,  35 
Grenfell,  Field-Marshal  Lord,  26 
Greville,  Sir  George,  attache  under 

Lord  Lyons,  221 
Grey,  Sir  Edward,  354 
Grisi,  193 
Grossmith,  George,  at  the  Garrick 

Club  supper,  329 
Grote,  Mrs.,  85 
Grove,  Sir  George,  426  ;  letter  from, 

426 
Gulliver^s  Travels,  pani  ^mime  of,  at 

Manchester,  4 

Hading,  Jane,  18 

Hall,  Sir  Charles,  349  ;  Recorder  of 
the  City  of  London,  417  ;  his 
recipe  for  a  salad,  417 

Halliday,  Andrew,  66 

Halsbury,  Lord,  355 

Hamlet,  35 

Hann,  Walter,  186 

Hannen,  Lord,  425 ;  President  of 
the  Divorce  Court,  426 

Happy  Pair,  A,  11 

Hare,  Gilbert,  takes  part  in  Dip- 
lomacy at  the  Garrick  Theatre, 
303  ;  and  at  Balmoral,  311 

Hare,  John,  33  ;  his  friendship  with 
Sir  S.  Bancroft,  49  ;  takes  part  in 
the  Comedy  of  Errors,  50  ;  David 
Garrick,  51  ;  Money,  53,  125  ;  at 
the  Prince  of  Wales's  Theatre, 
62,  77;  amount  of  his  salary,  72; 
takes  part  in  Society,  82  ;  his  pro- 
duction of  Olivia,  85  ;  takes  part 
in  Ours,  87  ;  Caste,  93,  101  ;  Play, 
102;  School  for  Scandal,  136 
leaves  the  Haymarket,  143  ;  tri 
bute  to  Sir  S.  Bancroft,  144 
takes  part  in  Man  and  Wife,  169, 
170;  How  She  Loves  Him,  193 
Tame  Cats,  198  ;  his  wish  to  revive 
A    Scrap   of   Paper,    214 ;    joint 


INDEX 


451 


manager  of  St.  James's  Theatre, 
227,  243,  256  ;  on  the  retirement 
of  the  Bancrofts,  259  ;  takes  part 
in  their  farewell  performance, 
265  ;  revival  of  Diplomacy  at  the 
Garrick  Theatre,  303,  304  ;  torn* 
in  the  provinces,  308  ;  revival  of 
Money,  316;  at  the  Garrick  Club 
supper,  329 ;  at  Marlborough 
House,  336 
Harford,  WiUiam,  205 
Harrington,  Dowager  Countess  of, 
her  appearance,  19 ;  kindness  to 
Marie  Wilton,  19  ;  letter  from,  60 
Harris,  Sir  Augustus,  418  ;  at  the 

Garrick  Club  supper,  329 
Harris,  John,  lessee  of  the  Dublin 

Theatre  Royal,  40 
Harte,  Bret,  411 

Hawkins,  Sir  Henry,  11.  See  Bramp- 
ton 
Hawtrey,  Charles,  33 
Haymarket  Theatre,  11  ;  comedies 
at,  32  ;  performance  of  Society  at, 
86  ;  Caste,  100 ;  School,  109  ;  profit 
on,  109  ;  closed  on  the  night  of 
T.  W.  Robertson's  fimeral,  117  ; 
production  of  Money  at,  133 ; 
rehearsals,  133  ;  opening  night, 
133  ;  alarm  of  fire,  228  ;  altera- 
tions in  the  building,  237  ;  terms 
of  the  sale,  244  ;  cost  of  rebuild- 
ing, 245,  275  ;  abolition  of  the 
pit,  246,  248-51  ;  scheme  of  the 
proscenium,  247  ;  riot  on  the 
opening  night,  248-51  ;  criticisms 
on  the  theatre,  252  ;  profits,  255, 
257,  275  ;  farewell  season  of  the 
Bancrofts,  262  ;  date  of  their  last 
performance,  262  ;  programme, 
262  ;  applications  for  seats,  263  ; 
playbill,  265  ;  farewell  perform- 
ance, 266-70 ;  nightly  expenses, 
275  ;  revival  of  Fedora  at,  316  ; 
last  appearance  of  the  Bancrofts 
in  0ur8,  318  ;  cast,  318 
Hazlitt,  on  the  homage  received  by 

Mrs.  Siddons,  276 
Heads  or  Tails,  the  comedietta,  180 
Healy,  Father,  story  of,  434 
Heir  at  Law,  The,  47 
Holier,    Lady    St.,    present   at   the 
farewell  performance  of  the  Ban- 
crofts,    266 ;     presents    Princess 
Christian's  gift  to  Lady  Bancroft, 
307 
Helier,  Lord  St.,  present  at  the  fare- 
well performance  of  the  Bancrofts, 
266  ;  letter  of  congratulation,  433 
Henri,    Blanche,    takes  part   in   A 
Lesson,  184 


Henry  VIIL,  32,  327,  328 ;  revival 

of,  85 

Her  Majesty's  Theatre  and  Opera 
House,  burnt  down,  193 

Herbert,  Miss,  18,  47 

Hicks  Theatre,  opened,  242 

His  House  in  Order,  238 

His  Majesty's  Theatre,  opened,  242 

Hoare,  Sir  Samuel,  26 

Hobbes,  John  Oliver.  See  Craigie, 
Mrs. 

Hodson,  Henrietta,  6,  18  ;  at  tjie 
Prince  of  Wales's  Theatre,  78 

Hogarth,  Goorgiana,  366 

Holborn  Theatre,  opened,  242 

Holker,  Lord  Justice,  53,  375 

Holland,  Hon.  Sydney,  354 

Honey,  George,  20  ;  amount  of  his 
salary,  72 ;  at  the  Prince  of 
Wales's  Theatre,  78  ;  takes  part 
in  Caste,  93,  98  ;  his  sudden  illness, 
99  ;  death,  100 ;  takes  part  in 
Money,  129 

Hood,  Tom,  66,  372 

Houghton,  Lord,  92,  382  ;  story  of, 
383 

How  She  Loves  Him,  comedy  of, 
191  ;  rehearsals,  192  ;  production, 
193;  cast,  193;  failure,  194; 
withdrawn,  195 

Howard,  Sir  Charles,  his  souvenir  of 
the  old  Prince  of  Wales's  Theatre, 
59  ;  honour  of  knighthood  con- 
ferred, 321 

Howe,  Henry,  11,  32;  at  the  Garrick 
Club  supper,  329 

Huddleston,  Baron,  393 

Hughes,  Annie,  takes  part  in  A 
Riverside  Story,  279 

Hughes,  Hon.  Mary,  takes  part  in 
Pattes  de  Mouche,  at  Balmoral, 
312 

Huxley,  Professor,  at  Pontresina, 
287 

Bbert,  Sir  Courtenay,  26 

Lnperial,  Prince,  his  birth,  27  ; 
present  at  the  performance  of 
Diplomacy,  224 

Imperial  Theatre,  opened,  242 

Inglefield,  Admiral  Sir  Edward,  88, 
406 

Lrving,  Sir  Henry,  33  ;  at  Liverpool, 
54  ;  revival  of  Henry  VIII.,  85  ; 
on  the  alterations  in  the  Hay- 
market  Theatre,  247  ;  takes  part 
in  the  farewell  performance  of  the 
Bancrofts,  262,  267  ;  recital  of  the 
"  Valedictory  Ode,"  267  ;  charac- 
teristics, 323,  325  ;  appearance, 
324 ;    in  Paris,  325 ;  his  success 


452 


INDEX 


in  The  Two  Rosea,  326;  at  the 
Lyceum,  326 ;  judgment  in  the 
choice  of  plays  discussed,  326 ; 
production  of  Much  Ado  About 
Nothing,  326  ;  banquets  given  to, 
328,  338  ;  farewell  supper  at  the 
Garrick  Club,  329  ;  return  from 
America,  330 ;  his  wish  to  act 
with  Sir  S.  Bancroft,  330  ;  takes 
part  in  The  Dead  Heart,  332  ;  the 
duel  scene,  333 ;  criticisms  on  the 
acting,  334  ;  his  eulogy  of  Sir  S. 
Bancroft,  335  ;  portraits,  336, 
337  ;  at  Marlborough  House,  336  ; 
generosity,  337;  honour  of  knight- 
hood conferred,  339  ;  address  from 
members  of  the  theatrical  pro- 
fession, 339  ;  at  the  Jubilee  fancy 
dross  ball  at  Devonshire  House, 
340;  failing  health,  340;  death, 
341  ;  funeral,  341  ;  letters  from 
439 

James,  Charles  Stanfield,  82 
James,  David,  20  ;    takes  part  in 

Caste,  100  ;    The  Overland  Route, 

186  ;   in  the  farewell  performance 

of  the   Bancrofts,    265  ;     at   the 

Garrick    Club    supper,    329 ;     at 

Marlborough  House,  336 
Jefferson,  Joseph,  his  performance 

of  Rip  van  Winkle,  31,  122  ;   his 

pictures,  381  ;    letter  from,  382  ; 

love  of  nature,  382 
Jephson,  Captain  Mounteney,  414 
Jerrold,  Douglas,  44  ;    on  Edmund 

Kean's      acting     the     part      of 

Shylock,   210 
Jeune,  Mr.  and  Mrs.,  266.    See  St. 

Helier 
Jewish  Hospital,  Reading  for,  349 
Johnson,  Dr.,  extract  from,  on  the 

distribution     of     acts     in     The 

Merchant  of  Venice,  204 
Johnstone,  Sir  Frederick,  26 
Johnstone,  Walter,  188 
Josephs,    Fanny,    18,    61  ;     at   the 

Prince  of  Wales's  Theatre,   78  ; 

takes    part    in    The    School    for 

Scandal,  136 
Jubilee  of  1887,  310 
Julien,   conductor  of  the  band  at 

the  Surrey  Gardens,  29 
Julius  Coesar,  327 

Katharine  and  Petruchio,  produced 

at  the  Haymarket,  181 
Kean,  Charles,  36  ;  his  plays  at  the 

Princess's     Theatre,      30,     327  ; 

retires    from    the    management, 

82  ;  farewell  address,  32  ;  at  the 


Dublin  Theatre  Royal,  41  ;  com- 
pliments Sir  S.  Bancroft  on  his 
acting,  41  ;  appearance,  41  ; 
characteristics  of  his  acting,  41  ; 
as  a  comedian,  41  ;  stories  of, 
42  ;  dislike  of  noise,  42  ;  love  of 
praise,  43  ;  resolute  courage, 
44  ;  illness  and  death,  44  ;  his 
acting  of  the  part  of  Shylock, 
209 

Kean,  Mrs.  Charles,  32 ;  on  the 
acting  of  Mrs.  Bancroft  in  Sweet- 
hearts, 178 

Kean,  Edmund,  38,  372  ;  his 
acting  of  the  part  of  Shylock, 
209 

Keeley,  Mrs.,  18,  411  ;  present  at 
the  farewell  performance  of  the 
Bancrofts,  264 

Keeley,  Louise,  390 

Keeley,  Mary,  12,  390 

Kelvin,  Lord,  425 

Kemble,  Charles,  at  Manchester,  5 

Kemble,  Fanny,  her  love  of  the 
Alps,  281 

Kemble,  Henry,  at  the  Prince  of 
Wales's  Theatre,  78  ;  takes  part 
in  Caste,  100  ;  Masks  and  Faces, 
157  ;  London  Assurance,  161  ; 
Heads  or  Tails,  180 ;  Good  for 
Nothing,  180  ;  To  Parents  and 
Guardians,  183;  Peril,  215; 
in  the  farewell  performance  of 
the  Bancrofts,  265  ;  his  charac- 
teristics, 434  ;   last  words,  434 

Kemble,  John,  210 ;  on  the  pro- 
nunciation of  the  word  Corio- 
lanu^,  46 ;  his  Villa  Beausite, 
281  ;   grave,  281 

Kendal,  Mrs.,  6,  34;  her  first 
meeting  with  Sir  S.  Bancroft,  39  ; 
at  the  Prince  of  Wales's  Theatre, 
78  ;  takes  part  in  London  Assur- 
ance, 161  ;  Peril,  215,  217  ; 
Diplomacy,  221  ;  in  the  farewell 
performance  of  the  Bancrofts, 
265 

Kendal,  W.  H.,  33  ;  his  first  meet- 
ing with  Sir  S.  Bancroft,  36 ; 
at  the  Prince  of  Wales's  Theatre, 
78  ;  at  a  benefit  at  Dr\iry  Lane 
Theatre,  144 ;  takes  part  in 
London  Assurance,  161  ;  The 
Vicarage,  181  ;  Peril,  215,  217  ; 
Diplomacy,  221  ;  joint  manager 
of  St.  James's  Theatre,  227,  243, 
256  ;  takes  part  in  the  farewell 
performance  of  the  Bancrofts, 
265  ;  at  the  Garrick  Club  supper, 
329 ;  at  Marlborough  House, 
336 


INDEX 


453 


Kenilworth,  performance  of,  20 
Kerr,     Frederick,     takes    part    in 

Ours,  318 
Kilmorey,      Lord,     purchases     St. 

James's  Theatre,  243 
King   Arthur^    performance   of,    at 

the  Lyceum  Theatre,  317 
King    John,    performance    of,    5  ; 

proposed  revival  of,  327 
King  of  the  Peacocks,  The,  29 
King  Richard  II.,  proposed  revival 

of,  327 
King^s    Rival,    The,     comedy    of, 

387 
Kirby,  the  hall-keeper  of  the  Prince 

of  Wales's  Theatre,  63 
Knight,  Joseph,   66,   430;    on  the 

influence  of  T.    W.   Robertson's 

works,  121  ;    letter  from,  431 
Knole,  visits  to,  134 
Knollys,  Lord,  349 

Laboucher©,   Rt.   Hon.   Henry,   his 

love  for  Cadenabbia,  29 1 
Lacy,  Walter,  378  ;    takes  part  in 

Money,    127  ;     his    criticism    on 

The  School  for  Scandal,  142  ;    at 

the   Garrick    Club   supper,    329  ; 

letter  of  congratulation,  379 
Lady  of  Lyons,  The,  31,  175 
Lamartine,     Miss,     takes    part    in 

Diplomacy,  221 
Lang,  Anton,  his  part  of  Christus 

in  the  Passion  Play,  300 
Lang,  Matheson,  54 
Langtry,  Mrs.,  takes  part  in  Ours, 

92  ;    her  appearance,  92  ;    in  the 

farewell      performance      of     the 

Bancrofts,  265 
Larkin,    Sophie,    at   the   Prince  of 

Wales's  Theatre,  78  ;    takes  part 

in  Caste,  93 
Lascelles,  Sir  Frank,  26 
Lathom,  Earl  of,  354,  363 
Laurier,  Sir  Wilfrid,  26,  355 
Leclercq,    Rose,    takes   part    in   A 

Riverside  Story,  279  ;    Ours,  318 
Legault,  Maria,  present  at  the  first 

performance  of  Fedora,  234 
Lehmann,     Frederick,      131  ;      his 

story  of  Wilkie  Collins,  173 
Lehmann,  Mrs.  Frederick,  131 
Leighton,   Lord,    64 ;     at  the  per- 
formance of  Play,  103  ;  present  at 
the  farewell  performance  of  the 
Bancrofts,  266  ;   letter  from,  407 
Leiningen,  Prince,  his  love  of  the 

drama,  389  ;    letter  from,  389 
Lemaitre,  Frederic,  at  the  Queen's 

Theatre,  56 
Lemon,  Mark,  26,  101 


Leslie,    Frederick,    at   the   Garrick 

Club  supper,  329 
Lesson,  A,  183 
Lesueur,     his    part    in    Partie    de 

Picquet,  324 
Leupold,  Madame,  story  of,  288 
Levy,  J.  M.,  330,  370 ;    founder  of 

The  Daily  Telegraph,  370 
Lewis,    Sir    George   and    Lady,    at 

Pontresina,  287 
Lights  of  London,  The,  432 
Lincoln,  Dean  of,  363 
Lind,  Jenny,  193,  282.     See   Gold- 

schmidt 
Little  Treasure,  The,  23,  24 
Litton,    Marie,    at    the    Prince    of 

Wales's  Theatre,  78 
Liverpool,  24,  32,  47,  308  ;  Reading 

at,  355 
Loch,  Lord,  354 
Lockwood,    Sir    Frank,    338,    354, 

415;      letter    from,     416;      his 

caricatures,  416 
Lolotte,  the  comedy,  183 
Londesborough,  Lord,  403  ;    letter 

from,  403 
London,  The,  shipwrecked,  46 
London     Assurance,      comedy     of, 

revival,    160;     authorship,    161; 

cast,  161  ;    selections  from,  262 
Longfellow,  story  of,  394 
Lords   and    Commons,    comedj'    of, 

187  ;  rehearsals,  187  ;   cast,  188  ; 

result,  188 
Louis  XI.,  327 
Louise,  Princess,  407 
Lyceum    Theatre,    7,    29,    30,    85  ; 

King  Arthur  at,  317 
Lyons  Mail,  The,  50,  327 
Lyric  Theatre,  opened,  242 
Lysons,  Sir  Daniel,  405 
Lytton,  Lord,  his  comedy  Money, 

53,  126  ;    letter  from,  128  ;    pre- 
sent   at    the    first    performance, 

130  ;   approval  of  it,  131  ;  death, 

131 
Lytton,  Lord  ("  Owen  Meredith  "), 

131,  133  ;  present  at  the  farewell 
performance    of    the    Bancrofts, 

266 
Lyveden,  Lord,  187.     See  Vernon 

Macbeth,  327  ;   performance  of,  5 
McCarthy,  Justin,  extract  from  his 

Portraits  of  the  Sixties,  120,  273  ; 

on  the  acting  of  the  Bancrofts, 

273,  274 
McConnell,  W.  R.,  53 
MacCormac,  Sir  William,  309 
Mackenzie,  Sir  Morell,  145,  397 
Macnamara,  Lady  Sophia,  407 


454 


INDEX 


Macready,  his  interview  with  Marie 
Wilton,  4  ;  farewell  performance, 
29  ;  takes  part  in  Money,  127  ; 
death,  174 ;  funeral,  175 ;  last 
visit  to  a  theatre,  175  ;  the 
pioneer  of  artistic  Shakespearian 
productions  at  Drtiry  Lane,  175  ; 
anecdotes  of,  176;  on  the  difficulty 
of  acting  the  part  of  Shylock, 
210 

Macready  as  I  Knew  Him,  175 

McVicker,  Miss  (Mrs.  E.  Booth),  her 
illness  and  death,  386 

Maddick,  Dr.  Distin,  59 

Maid  and  the  Magpie,  The,  16,  39 

Malet,  Sir  Edward,  435 ;  letter 
from,  435 

Malibran,  193 

Malmesbury,  Lord,  364 

Maloja,  282 

Malta,  voyage  to,  184 

Man  and  Wife,  production  of,  166  ; 
rehearsals,  168 ;  audience  pre- 
sent on  the  first  night,  168  ;  cast, 
169  ;  criticisms  of  the  press,  170  ; 
favour  shown  by  the  Royal 
Family,  171  ;  financial  result, 
172 ;  number  of  performances, 
173 

Manchester,  308  ;  Theatre  Boyal,  4 

Manchester,  Dean  of,  354 

Mannings,  the  criminal  trial  of, 
28 

Mansion  House,  Egyptian  Hall, 
Reading  at,  363 

Marconi,  Signor,  418 

Marius,  C,  at  the  Garrick  Club 
supper,  329 

Marks,  Henry  Stacey,  386 ;  his  panel 
paintings  the  "  Seven  Ages,"  386 ; 
portrait,  386 

Marly-le-Roi,  226,  229 

Martin,  Sir  George,  honour  of 
knighthood  conferred,  321 

Martin,  Lady,  30.   See  Faucit,  Helen 

"  Mary's  Place,  Fortune  Gate," 
incident  of,  62 

Mascagni,  418 

Masks  and  Faces,  revival  of,  146, 
157  ;  changes,  147  ;  rehearsals, 
148 ;  scenery,  149,  157 ;  criti- 
cisms on  the  acting,  149,  153-6  ; 
success  of  the  performance,  158  ; 
financial  result,  158  ;  selections 
from,  262 

Massinger,  Philip,  extract  from, 
440 

Mathew,  Lord  Justice,  434 

Mathews,  Charles,  32,  368  ;  at  the 
Dublin  Theatre  Royal,  40  ;  anec- 
dotes of,  40  ;  his  request  to  Mrs. 


Bancroft,     106 ;      farewell     per- 
formance    before     leaving     for 

Australia,    107  ;     speech   at   the 

banquet,  107 
Mathews,  Mrs.  Charles,  18,  32 
Matinees,  commencement  of,  71 
Maude,  Cyril,  33 
Maurice,    Edmund,    takes   part    in 

the  farewell  performance  of    the 

Bancrofts,  265 
Maurice,  Sir  Frederick,  26 
Maurier,  George  Du,  374,  401 
May,     Phil,     his    drawing    of    the 

Garrick  Club  supper,  330 
Mayr,  Josef,  his  part  of  Christus  in 

the    Passion    Play,    300;     letter 

from,  302 
Mead,    T.,    at    the    Garrick    Club 

supper,  329 
Meath,  Lord,  26 
Medicine  Man,  The,  production  of, 

328 
Meilhac    and    Hal6vy,    their    play 

Frou-Frou,  118 
Mellon,    Mrs.    Alfred,    411  ;     at    a 

benefit  at  Drury  Lane  Theatre, 

144 
Merchant  of  Venice,  The,  45,  327  ; 

preparations  for  the  production, 

201-6  ;   sequence  of  scenes,  204  ; 

music,  205  ;  views  of  Venice,  205  ; 

reception     of     the     play,     206 ; 

failure,  206  ;    beauty  of  the  pro- 
duction,     208  ;       difficulties     of 

acting  the  part  of  Shylock,  209  ; 

withdrawn,  212  ;  financial  result, 

213 
"  Meredith,  Owen,"  131,  133.     See 

Lytton 
Merivale,  Herman,  undertakes  the 

adaptation  of  Fedora,  235  ;  letter 

from,  418 
Merry     Wives     of    Windsor,     The, 

162 
Middy  Ashore,  The,  17 
Midleton,  Lord,  354 
Midsummer  NighVs  Dream,,  A,  23 
Miles,  Frank,  his  drawing  of  Mrs. 

Langtry,  92 
Millais,  Sir  John,  92 ;    his  picture 

the   "  Black   Brunsv/icker,"    87  ; 

portrait  of  Lady  Nina  Campbell, 

131  ;  of  Irving,  336  ;  letter  from, 

409 
Millett,  Maud,  takes  part  in  Money, 

316 
Milton,     John,     on    «*  the    inward 

prompting,"  121 
Minitet  de  la  cour,  its  introduction 

in  The  School  for  Scandal,  135 
Mitchinson,  Bishop,  354 


INDEX 


455 


Modjeska,  Helena,  18  ;  takes  part 
in  Odette,  230 ;  her  superb 
acting,  232 

Molesworth,  Lady,  402 

Mollison,  William,  54 

Monckton,  Lawiy,  takes  part  in 
Diplomacy  at  the  Garrick 
Theatre,  303  ;  at  Balmoral, 
311 

Monckton,  Lionel,  his  weird  story 
of  William  Terriss,  85 

Money,  the  comedy,  53  ;  produc- 
tion, 126  ;  rehearsals,  128  ;  cast, 
129,  316  ;  success,  129  ;  number 
of  performances,  131,  134;  re- 
vival, 132  ;  at  the  Haymarket 
Theatre,  248  ;  opening  night, 
248  ;  financial  result,  255 ;  se- 
lections from,  262 ;  at  the 
Garrick  Theatre,  316 

Montague,  H.  J,,  at  the  Prince 
of  Wales's  Theatre,  78  ;  takes 
part  in  Society,  84  ;  Play,  102  ; 
School,  105  ;  his  sudden  death, 
108  ;  personal  charm,  108  ;  at  a 
benefit  at  Drury  Lane  Theatre, 
144  ;  takes  part  in  How  She 
Loves  Him,  192,  193 ;  Tame 
Cats,  198 

Monte  Carlo,  296-8  ;  the  Casino 
at,  297 

Montgomery,  H.  W.,  61  ;  takes 
part  in  Tame  Cats,  198 

Montreal,  355 

Moore,  Louisa,  at  the  Prince  of 
Wales's  Theatre,  78 

Morgan,  Pierpont,  128 

Morning  Chronicle,  The,  2 

Morning  Post,  The,  criticism  on 
Marie  Wilton's  acting,  11  ;  on 
the  Bancrofts'  reform  of  the 
stage,  271  ;  on  Sir  S.  Bancroft's 
reading  of  A  Christmas  Carol, 
361-3 

Morteratsch  glacier,  284 

Morton,  Maddison,  his  farce  My 
Own  Victim,,  51 

Mounet-Sully,  M.,  26 

Mowat,  Sir  Oliver,  355 

Mozart,  his  last  work  Die  Zauber' 
fiote,  114 

M.P.,  the  comedy  of,  113-6;  its 
success,  114;  demand  for  seats, 
115;    criticisms  on,  115 

MiMch  Ado  about  Nothing,  41  ; 
production  and  success  of,  326 

Mundella,  Rt.  Hon.  A.  J.,  at 
Pontresina,  287,  408 ;  letter 
from,  408 

Murray,  Mrs.  Gaston,  at  the  Prince 
of  Wales's  Theatre,  78 


Murray,  Leigh,  29,  30  ;   his  fimd  of 

anecdote,  49  ;     letter  from,    50  ; 

takes  part  in  The  Rivals,  163 
Murray,  Mrs.  Leigh,  at  the  Prince 

of  Wales's   Theatre,    78  ;    takes 

part  in  Play,  102  ;    Money,  129  ; 

The    School    for    Scandal,     136  ; 

Man  and   Wife,   169  ;    How  She 

Loves  Him,,  193 
My  Own  Victim,  51 

Napoleon,  Emperor,  66 

Nazareth,  Sisters  of,  Reading  in  aid 

of,  346-8 
Nethersole,   Miss   Olga,   takes  part 

in    Diplomacy    at    the    Garrick 

Theatre,  303 
Nevill,   Lady  Dorothy,  present  at 

the  farewell  performance  of  the 

Bancrofts,  266 
Neville,  Henry,  at  the  Garrick  Club 

supper,     329 ;      at    Marlborough 

House,  336 
New  Court  Theatre,  opened,  242 
New  Theatre,  opened,  242 
New  Way  to  pay  Old  Debts,  A,  45 
New  York,   31,   355  ;     changes  in, 

359 
Newc£istle-on-Tyne,     Reading     at, 

354 
Newton,  Sir  Alfred,  363 
Niagara,  falls  of,  358 
Nineteenth   Century,   extract   from, 

210 
Nisbett,  Mrs.,  56  ;    manager  of  the 

Queen's  Theatre,  66 
Norfolk,  Duke  of,  363 
Norton,  Mrs.,  406 
Norwich,  Dean  of,  354 
Nos  Intimes,  translation  of,  215 
Notorious  Mrs.  Ebbsmith,  The,  317 
Novelty  Theatre,  opened,  242 

Ober-Ammergau,  Passion  Play  at, 

298-301 
Odette,  performance  of,  229  ;  adap- 
tation,    230 ;      rehearsals,     230 ; 

success,  232  ;  financial  result,  233 
Ohnet,  Georges,  present  at  the  first 

performance  of  Fedora,  234 
Oliver,  Miss  Patty,  18  ;   couplet  on, 

18 
Olivia,  at  the  Court  Theatre,  85 
Oilier,  Mr.,  his  proposal  to  Sir  S. 

Bancroft,  220 
Olympic  Theatre,  30 
Opera    Comique   Theatre,    opened, 

242 
Orpheus  and  Eurydice,  parody  of,  20 
Orsay,  Count  d',  66 
Osborne,  321 


456 


INDEX 


Othello,  45 

Ottawa,  355 

Ouchy,  280 

Ouida,  last  letter  from,  293 

Ouless,  his  portrait  of  H.  S.  Marks, 
386 

Our  American  Cousin,  31 

Ours,  the  play,  86-93 ;  realistic 
effects,  87  ;  success  of  its  revival, 
87,  92  ;  number  of  performances, 
93,  104 ;  at  the  Haymarket 
Theatre,  318  ;   cast,  318 

Overland  Route,  The,  revival  of,  184  ; 
scene  of  the  shipwreck,  186  ;  cast, 
186  ;   financial  result,  187 

Oxenford,  John,  his  review  of  the 
play  Society,  81  ;  dramatic  critic 
to  The  Times,  95  ;  criticism  of 
School,  105 

Paget,  Sir  George,  26 

Paris,  226  ;  the  Th6atre  Fran^ais, 
294 

Parratt,  Sir  Walter,  26 

Parry,  John,  147,  412 

Partie  de  Picquet,  324 

Partridge,  Bernard,  his  drawing  of 
the  duel  scene  in  The  Dead  Heart, 
333 

Pasquale,  Signer,  builds  "  The 
King's  Concert  Rooms,"  56 

Pattes  de  Mou^he,  translation  of, 
214 ;  version  of,  performed  at 
Balmoral,  311 

Payable  on  Demand,  30 

Pellegrini,  Carlo,  412 ;  his  carica- 
tures, 103 ;  portrait  of  Sir  S. 
Bancroft,  103 

Pender,  Sir  James,  26 

Pere  la  Chaise,  incident  at,  295 

Peril,  71  ;  production  of,  216  ; 
cast,  215 ;  criticisms  on  the 
acting  of,  216 ;  scenery,  217  ; 
financial  success,  217  ;  afternoon 
performances,  218 

Perugini,  Mr.  and  Mrs.,  309;  Mrs., 
366 

Phelps,  Samuel,  30  ;  his  services  to 
the  stage,  36  ;  plays  the  part  of 
Virginius,  36  ;    his  portrait,  380 

Phillips,  Kate,  at  the  Prince  of 
Wales's  Theatre,  78  ;  takes  part 
in  A  Riverside  Story,  279 

Piatti,  Signer,  292 

Pierson,  Blanche,  present  at  the 
first  performance  of  Fedora,  234 

Pigott,  Edward  Smyth,  Licenser  of 
Plays,  279,  398 

Pinero,  Arthur  W.,  takes  part  in 
Ours,  92  ;  his  help  in  the  pro- 
duction   of     The     Rivals,     162 ; 


undertakes  the  part  of  Sir 
Anthony,  163  ;  last  engagement, 
163  ;  letter  of  farewell,  165 ; 
takes  part  in  Plot  and  Passion, 
183  ;  his  comedy  Lords  and 
Commons,  187  ;  skill  in  reading 
his  play,  187  ;  series  of  humor- 
ous comedies  at  the  Court 
Theatre,  227 ;  takes  part  in 
Odette,  230  ;  his  play  The  Thun- 
derbolt, 238  ;  The  Second  Mrs. 
Tanqueray,  238  ;  His  House  in 
Order,  238  ;  on  the  retirement 
of  the  Bancrofts,  259  ;  takes  part 
in  their  farewell  performance, 
265  ;  photograph  of,  at  Pon- 
tresina,  287  ;  The  Notorious  Mrs. 
Ebbsmith,  317  ;  at  the  Garrick 
Club  supper,  329 

Pit,  abolition  of  the,  in  the  Hay- 
market  Theatre,  246,  248-51 

Planch6,  his  comedy  Court  Favour, 
23,  52  ;  extravaganza,  The  King 
of  the  Peacocks,  29 

Plat,  Sir  Charles  du,  349 

Playfair,  Mrs.,  430 

Playfair,  Nigel,  430 

Playfair,  Sir  WiUiam,  430 

Playwriters,  accusations  of  plagi- 
arism, 238 

Play,  the  comedy  of,  102-4 

Plot  and  Passion,  30 ;  revival  of, 
183 

Plymouth,  37,  38  ;   Reading  at,  355 

Pollock,  Sir  Frederick,  374 ;  his 
Life  of  Macready,  175 

Pollock,  Lady,  Macready  as  I  knew 
Him,  175 

Pollock,  Walter,  his  revision  of  the 
play  The  Dead  Heart,  333 

Ponsonby,  Sir  Henry,  312 

Ponsonby,  Sir  Spencer,  letter  from, 
58 

Pontresina,  282 ;  entertainments 
at,  283  ;   earthquake,  287 

Pope,  Samuel,  53 

Porter's  Knot,  The,  30 

Poynter,  Sir  Edward,  363 

Price,  Nancy,  54 

Prince  of  Wales's  Theatre,  58 ; 
souvenir  of,  59  ;  the  company, 
61  ;  appearance  of  the  house,  62  ; 
the  first  programme,  63  ;  altera- 
tions, 64  ;  changes  inaugurated, 
69-73  ;  method  of  paying  actors, 
69  ;  commencement  of  matinees, 
71  ;  increase  of  salaries,  72 ; 
prices  of  admission  raised,  73  ; 
tributes  on  the  management  of, 
74-7  ;  distinguished  comedians, 
77 ;     financial   result,    78 ;     last 


INDEX 


457 


performance  under  the  Bancrofts 
at,  92  ;  criticism  on  the  acting  of 
the  company,  130  ;  reasons  for 
leaving,  241  ;  nightly  expenses, 
275  ;   cost  of  alterations,  275 

Prince's  Theatre,  opened,  242 

Princess's  Theatre,  30,  32,  171  ; 
plays  at,  327 

Prinsep,  Valentine,  his  sketch  of 
*'  The  Minuet,"  135  ;  presents  to 
Lady  Bancroft,  431  ;  letter  from, 
432 

Probyn,  Sir  Dighton,  349 

Proctor,  Mrs.,  108  ;  letter  from,  109 

Proscenium,  scheme  of  the,  in  the 
Haymarket  Theatre,  246 

Punch,  publication  of,  26  ;  sketches 
in,  101,  240 

Punch's  Playhouse,  29 

Pyne,  Louisa,  96 

Pyne  and  Hari;ison  Company  in 
Liverpool,  48 

Quain,    Sir    Richard,    400 ;     letter 

from,  401 
Quebec,  355 
Queen's  Theatre,   242  ;    rented  by 

Marie    Wilton,    56 ;     its    former 

lessees,  66  ;    change  of  title,  68  ; 

prophecy  on,  66  ;   titles,  67 
Quiet  Rubber,  A,  324 
Quilter,  Sir  Cuthbert,  26 

Ragatz,  287 

Ray,  J.  W.,  at  the  Prince  of  Wales's 
Theatre,  78 

Rayne,  Lin,  at  the  Prince  of  Wales's 
Theatre,  78  ;  takes  part  in  The 
School  for  Scandal,  136 ;  The 
Merchant  of  Venice,  208 

Reade,  Charles,  his  comedy  Masks 
and  Faces,  146  ;  consents  to 
changes,  147  ;  his  share  of  the 
work,  148  ;  varied  nature,  148  ; 
criticism  on  the  acting,  149  ;  last 
visit  to  the  theatre,  160  ;  death, 
160  ;  on  his  comedy  The  King's 
Rival,  387 

Reay,  Lord,  354 

Red  Rover,  The,  29 

Reeves,  Sims,  49,  96 

Regent  Street,  the  Colonnade  in,  28 

Regnier,  his  theory,  324 

Rehan,  Ada,  164,  340 ;  lays  the 
foundation-stone  of  Daly's 
Theatre,  411 

Reid,  Sir  George,  26 

Reid,  Sir  James,  takes  part  in 
Pattes  de  Mov^he,  at  Balmoral, 
312 

Retribution,  47 


Revu«  des  Deux  Mondes,  criticism  on 
the  management  of  the  Prince  of 
Wales's  Theatre,  74 

Rejmolds,  Miss,  11,  32 

Richelieu,  45 

Rignold,  George,  6 

Ring  Theatre,  Vienna,  burnt  down, 
237 

Rip  Van  Winkle,  122 

Ripon,  Bishop  of,  354 ;  congratu- 
lations to  Sir  S.  Bancroft,  321 

Rivals,  The,  production  of,  162 ; 
cast,  163 

Riverside  Story,  A,  277-9 

Riviere,  Briton,  373  ;  at  Pontre- 
sina,  287 

Riviere,  Hugh,  his  portrait  of  Sir 
S.  Bancroft,  373 

Robertson,  Madge,  6,  18.  See 
Kendal,  Mrs. 

Robertson,  Thomas  William,  66 ; 
production  and  success  of  his 
comedy  Society,  80-3  ;  charac- 
teristics, 81,  83  ;  appearance,  81  ; 
return  to  nature,  83  ;  his  play 
Ours,  86  ;  praise  of  the  perform- 
ance, 88  ;  refuses  more  payment, 
90  ;  amount  of  fees  received  for 
his  comedies,  91  ;  Caste,  93  ;  loss 
of  his  copyright  fees,  97  ;  Play, 
102  ;  School,  104  ;  failing  health, 
113,  114  ;  his  last  comedy,  M.P., 
113;  sufferings,  116;  last  visit 
to  the  theatre,  116;  notes  for 
plays,  117  ;  at  Torquay,  117  ; 
death  and  funeral,  117  ;  on  the 
treatment  of  managers,  118; 
style,  118;  peculiarities  on  first 
nights,  118  ;  tributes  as  a  drama- 
tist, 119-23  ;  the  secret  of  his 
success,  122 ;  characteristics, 
122  ;  lovable  nature,  122  ;  skill 
in  reading  his  plays,  187  ;  second 
marriage,  191 

Robson,  Frederick,  37  ;  his  power 
of  acting,  30  ;   death,  38 

Rochester,  Dean  of,  363 

Rogers,  James,  20 ;  his  relations 
with  J.  Clarke,  20-2 ;  appear- 
ance, 20  ;   illness,  22  ;   death,  23 

Rogers,  Rev.  William,  343  ;    letter 
from,  344  ;    illness,  344 ;    death, 
345  ;  memorial  to,  345  ;  portrait, 
345 
Romeo  and  Juliet,  24 
Romer,  Robert,  stories  of,  14,  15 
Rope  Railway  to  Blackwall,  28 
Rorke,     Kate,     takes    part    in    A 
Riverside  Story,  279  ;   Diplomacy, 
303 ;    at  Balmoral,    311  ;    takes 
part  in  Money,  316 


458 


INDEX 


Rosebery,  Lord,  345 

Roselle,  Amy,  at  the  Prince  of 
Wales's  Theatre,  78  ;  takes  part 
in  Caste,  98 

Rowton,  Lord,  159,  340,  423  ;  letter 
of  congratulation,  423 

Roxburghe,  Duchess  of,  308 

"  Royal  Milkmaid,"  performance 
of,  8,  10 

Rush,  the  criminal  trial  of,  28 

Ruskin,  J.,  on  the  play  Ours,  91 

Russell,  Charles,  Lord  Russell  of 
Killowen  and  Lord  Chief  Justice 
of  England,  53  ;  on  proposing 
Irving's  health,  338  ;  presides  at 
the  Reading  for  the  Rogers 
Memorial,  345  ;  his  speech,  345  ; 
presides  at  the  Reading  for  the 
Sisters  of  Nazareth,  346-8  ;  his 
dominating  personality,  426 ; 
letter  from,  427 

Russell,  Sir  Edward,  his  praise  of 
Sir  S.  Bancroft's  acting,  53 

Russell,  Rt.  Hon.  George,  on  the 
characteristics  of  Lord  Beacons- 
field,  323 

Russell,  Henry,  his  patriotic  songs, 
371 

Russell,  Sir  William  Howard,  436  ; 
letter  from,  437 

Russia,  Emperor  and  Empress  of, 
present  at  the  performance  of 
Man  and  Wife,  171 

Ruy  Bias,  33 

Ryder,  John,  at  the  Garrick  Club 
supper,  329 

Sadler's  Wells  Theatre,  30 

St.  James's  Theatre,  242  ;    bought 

by  Lord  Kilmorey,  243 
St.  Mary's  Eve,  34 
St.  Merit  z,  282,  289  ;    amusements 

at,  289 
St.      Paul's      Cathedral,      General 

Thanksgiving  service  in  1872,  310 
Saker,     Edward,     takes     part     in 

Money,  53 
Sala,  George  Augustus,  his  wish  to 

see  The  Merchant  of  Venice,  211  ; 

marvellous     handwriting,     399  ; 

lines  on  his  birthday,  399 
Salad,  recipe  for  a,  417 
Salaries  of  actors,  increase  of,  72,  99 
Salisbury,    Lady,    present    at    the 

farewell  performance  of  the  Ban- 
crofts, 266 
Salisbury,  Lord,  his  letter  to  Sir  S. 

Bancroft   conferring  the  honour 

of  knighthood,  320 
Salvini,  212  ;    his  acting  compared 

with  G.  V.  Brooke,  46 


Samary,  Jeanne,  story  of,  374 

Sambourne,  Linley,  his  sketch  of 
a  scene  in  Caste,  101 

Sandringham,  310,  349 

Santley,  Charles,  96 

Sarcey,  Francisque,  present  at  the 
first  performance  of  Fedora,  234 

Sardou,  Victorien,  his  play  Patrie, 
118  ;  Pattes  de  Mouche,  214,  311  ; 
Nos  Intimes,  215  ;  Dora,  218  ; 
letter  from,  225  ;  appearance, 
226  ;  characteristics,  227  ;  Les 
Bourgeois  de  Pont-Arcy,  228 ; 
Daniel  Rochet,  229  ;  Odette,  929  ; 
Divorcons,  230 ;  Fedora,  233 ; 
accused  of  plagiarism,  238 ; 
charge  against  Sir  S.  Bancroft, 
238-40  ;   death,  240 

Sargent,  J.  S.,  his  portrait  of  Sir 
H.  Irving,  337 

Saturday  Review,  The,  criticism  on 
the  Bancrofts'  acting,  222,  273 

Saunders,  Charlotte,  21 

Savoy  Theatre,  opened,  242 

Saxe-Weimar,  Prince  Edward  of, 
354 

Scala  Theatre,  opening  of,  59,  242 

Schleswig-Holstein,  Prince  Chris- 
tian Victor  of,  his  illness  at 
Pontresina,  285 

School,  comedy  of,  104^13  ;  experi- 
ment of  a  matinee,  71  ;  nimaber 
of  performances,  104  ;  criticisms 
on,  106,  110;  revivals,  108-10; 
profit  on,  at  the  Haymarket,  109, 
255 

School  for  Scandal,  The,  73,  134; 
preparations  for  its  production, 
134  ;  introduction  of  new  fea- 
tures, 135  ;  cast,  136  ;  scenes, 
136-8  ;    criticisms  on,  139-43 

Schumann,  Madame,  293 

Scott,  Clement,  his  description  of 
the  scenes  in  The  School  for 
Scandal,  136-40 ;  his  apprecia- 
tion of  the  Bancrofts'  acting  in 
Masks  and  Faces,  158  ;  adapta- 
tion of  The  Vicarage,  181  ;  nom 
de  guerre  of  "  Savile  Rowe,"  215  ; 
adaptation  of  the  play  Peril,  215  ; 
Diplomacy,  219  ;  criticism  on, 
223  ;  adaptation  of  Odette,  230  ; 
on  the  opening  night  of  the 
Haymarket  Theatre,  250 ;  his 
"  Valedictory  Ode,"  266  ;  ser- 
vices to  the  stage,  422  ;  letter 
from,  422 

Scrap  of  Paper,  A,  214  ;  perform- 
ance of,  at  Balmoral,  311 

Seaman,  Owen,  26 

Second  Mrs.  Tanqueray^  The,  238 


INDEX 


459 


Sedgwick,  Amy,  at  a  benefit  at 
Drury  Lane  Theatre,  144 

Selby,  Mrs.,  20 

Selfe,  Sir  Lucius,  honour  of  knight- 
hood conferred,  321 

Semon,  Sir  Fehx,  honour  of  knight- 
hood conferred,  321 

Serious  Family,  The,  39,  49 

Shaftesbury  Theatre,  opened,  242 

Shakespeare,  W.,  extract  from,  160  ; 
his  Taming  of  the  Shrew,  181  ; 
The  Merchant  of  Venice,  201 

Shakespearian  Tercentenary,  24,  48 

Shand,  Lady,  424 

Shand,  Lord,  424 

Shaw,  Bernard,  his  Doctor's  Dilem- 
ma, 193 

Shaw,  Sir  Eyre  Massey,  193,  384  ; 
letter  from,  385 

Shee,  Henry,  at  Pontresina,  287 

Sheffield,  Reading  at,  363 

Sheridan,  R.  B.,  The  School  for 
Scandal,  134  ;    The  Rivals,  162 

Sheringham,  309 

Siddons,  Mrs.,  276 

Sign  of  the  Cross,  The,  432 

Silver  King,  The,  432 

Simplon,  the,  280 

Simpson,  Mercer,  lessee  of  Theatre 
Royal,  Birmingham,  34 

Simpson,  Palgrave,  his  comedietta 
Heads  or  Tails,  180 

Sketchley,  Arthur,  66,  97 

Smalley,  George,  360 

Smith,  Albert,  390 

Smith,  Alfred,  12 

Smithfield  Market,  Old,  the  pens 
in,  28 

Society,  comedy  of,  its  production 
and  success  at  the  Prince  of 
Wales's  Theatre,  80-4 ;  scene 
of  the  "  Owl's  Roost,"  80-2  ; 
nmnber  of  performances,  82 ; 
revivals,  84,  86  ;  its  last  appear- 
ance at  the  Haymarket  Theatre, 
86 

Sonnamhula  !,  La,  63 

Sothern,  Edward  Askew,  383  ; 
takes  the  part  of  Lord  Dundreary, 
31,  37,  39  ;  at  the  Dublin  Theatre 
Royal,  46  ;  revival  of  the  drama 
Retribution,  47  ;  interest  in  Mr. 
Bancroft,  47  ;  takes  part  in 
David  Garrick,  51  ;  Used  Up,  51  ; 
My  Own  Victim,  51  ;  his  love 
of  practical  jokes,  51  ;  in  North 
Wales,  51  ;  on  the  abolition  of 
the  pit,  253  ;  failing  health,  254  ; 
death,  254 ;  opinion  on  Mrs. 
Bancroft's  acting,  254  ;  his  prac- 
tical joke  on  Mr.  Bancroft,  383 


Southampton,  321  ; 

Southport,  Reading  at,  355 

Spliigen,  the,  280 

Stafford  House,  Reading  at,  351 

Stalls,  increase  in  the  price  of,  73 

Standard  Theatre,  Shoreditch,  per- 
formance of  Caste  at,  98 

Standard,  The,  on  the  Bancrofts' 
acting,  272 

Stanley,  Lady,  414 

Stanley,  Sir  Henry  M.,  414 ;  at 
Pontresina,  287 

Stelvio,  the,  280 

Stephen,  Sir  A.  Condie,  437  ;  letter 
from,  437 

Stephenson,  B.  C,  his  adaptation  of 
the  play  Nos  Intimes,  215  ; 
Diplomacy,  219 

Still  Waters  run  Deep,  39,  91 

Stirling,  Arthur,  at  the  Garrick 
Club  supper,  329 

Stirling,  Mrs.,  takes  part  in  The 
Vicar  of  Wakefield,  29  ;  amount 
of  her  salary,  72  ;  takes  part  in 
Caste,  100  ;  The  Rivals,  163  ; 
Lords  and  Com,mons,  188  ;  her 
acting  when  ill  and  old,  189 ; 
death,  190 ;  takes  part  in  the 
farewell  performance  of  the  Ban- 
crofts, 265 

Strand  Theatre,  15,  29,  32,  52 

Strathcona,  Lord,  354 

Strickland,  takes  part  in  Moneys 
127 

Sugden,  Charles,  at  the  Prince  of 
Wales's  Theatre,  78  ;  takes  part 
in  London  Assurance,  161  ;  Peril, 
215  ;  Diplomacy,  221  ;  in  the 
farewell  performance  of  the 
Bancrofts,  265  ;  at  the  Garrick 
Club  supper,  329 

Sullivan,  Sir  Arthur,  takes  part  in 
Box  and  Cox  at  Pontresina,  285  ; 
his  coloured  waistcoat,  285 ; 
incident  of,  286  ;  memories  of, 
424 

Sullivan,  Barry,  49 ;  declines  in- 
vitation to  the  Garrick  Club 
supper,  329 

g     rey  Theatre,  29 

Sutherland,  Sir  Thomas,  Chairman 
of  the  P.  &  O.  Company,  186 

Swanborough,  Miss,  manager  of  the 
Strand  Theatre,  15 

Sweeney  Todd,  34 

Sweethearts,  71  ;  production  of, 
177 ;  proposed  titles,  177 ;  re- 
vival, 180 

Swinburne,  Algernon  Charles,  198 

Switzerland,  hoHdays  in,  280 

Syra,  185 


460 


INDEX 


Talbot,  Sir  Reginald,  26 

Talfourd,  Frank,  his  Ion,  11 

Talfourd,  Judge,  11 

Tame  Cats,  comedy  of,  198;  produc- 
tion, 198  ;    cast,  198  ;  failure,  198 

Taylor,  Mrs.  Tom,  380 

Taylor,  Tom,  editor  of  Punch,  26, 
379  ;  amount  of  payment  re- 
ceived for  his  plays,  91  ;  criticism 
on  M.P.,  116  ;  on  T.  W. 
Robertson,  119 ;  his  comedy 
Masks  and  Faces,  145  ;  share  of 
the  work,  148  ;  An  Unequal 
Match,  182  ;  reduces  To  Parents 
and  Guardians  to  one  scene,  183  ; 
Plot  and  Passion,  183  ;  The 
Overland  Route,  184  ;  his  faculty 
for  Anglicising  French  plays,  214  ; 
letter  from,  380 

Telbin,  Wilham,  163  ;  paints 
scenery  for  The  Overland  Route, 
186,  188  ;   for  Odette,  232 

Temple,  Leofric,  53 

Terriss,  Ellaline,  85 

Terriss,  Wilham,  33  ;  at  the  Prince 
of  Wales's  Theatre,  78,  85  ;  his 
interview  with  Sir  S.  Bancroft, 
84  ;  career  and  death,  85  ;  takes 
part  in  the  farewell  performance 
of  the  Bancrofts,  263,  265  ;  at 
the  Garrick  Club  supper,  329 

Terry,  Edward,  opens  his  theatre 
in  the  Strand,  242  ;  at  the 
Garrick  Club  supper,  329 

Terry,  Ellen,  6,  18,  32,  34  ;  at  the 
Prince  of  Wales's  Theatre,  71,  77  ; 
her  tribute  on  the  Bancrofts' 
management,  77  ;  takes  part  in 
Ours,  92  ;  Money,  132  ;  on  the 
varied  nature  of  Charles  Reade, 
148  ;  takes  part  in  Masks  and 
Faces,  149  ;  The  Merchant  of 
Venice,  202,  203 ;  criticism  on 
her  acting,  208  ;  amount  of  her 
salary,  211  ;  takes  part  in  the 
farewell  performance  of  the 
Bancrofts,  265  ;  her  stage  jubilee 
performance  at  Drury  Lane 
Theatre,  319  ;  takes  part  in 
Much  Ado  about  Nothing,  326  ; 
on  Irving's  appearance  at  the 
Jubilee  fancy  dress  ball,  340 

Terry,  Frederick,  takes  part  in 
Money  at  the  Haymarket  Thea- 
tre, 133 

Terry,  Kate,  6,  18 

Terry,  Marion,  at  the  Prince  of 
Wales's  Theatre,  78  ;  takes  part 
in  Money  at  the  Haymarket 
Theatre,  133  ;  Masks  and  Faces, 
167  ;  Duty,  229 


Thackeray,  W.  M.,  his  masterpiece, 
Vanity  Fair,  126 

Thames  Tunnel,  completion,  28 

Theatre  Fran9ais,  374 

Theatres,  prices  of  admission  raised, 
73  ;  behind  the  scenes,  189 ; 
new,  opened,  242 

Thiere,  Miss  le,  at  the  Prince  of 
Wales's  Theatre,  78 ;  takes  part 
in  Diplomacy,  221 

Thirty  Years  of  a  Gambler's  Life,  34 

Thompson,  Sir  Henry,  175,  354, 
421  ;  present  at  the  farewell 
performance  of  the  Bancrofts, 
266  ;  his  "  Octaves,"  422  ;  essay 
The  Unknown  God,  422 

Thompson,  Lydia,  takes  part  in 
Used  Up,  51  ;  at  the  Prince  of 
Wales's  Theatre,  78 

Thunderbolt,  The,  238 

Ticket-of-Leave  Man,  The,  47,  91 

Times,  The,  on  the  revival  of  Ours, 
92  ;  on  Mrs.  Bancroft's  acting  in 
Caste,  94  ;  review  of  School,  105  ; 
on  closing  the  Prince  of  Wales's 
Theatre  on  the  night  of  T.  W. 
Robertson's  fimeral,  117  ;  on  the 
performance  of  Sir  S.  Bancroft 
in  Money,  129  ;  on  the  produc- 
tion of  The  School  for  Scandal, 
141  ;  on  the  abolition  of  the  pit, 
260  ;  tribute  to  the  Bancrofts, 
259,  270  ;  on  the  part  of  Abbe 
Latour,  334 

Titiens,  193 

To  Parents  and  Guardians,  45,  182  ; 
reduction  of,  to  a  single  scene,  183 

Toole,  J.  L.,  his  friendship  for  Lady 
Bancroft,  8  ;  at  a  benefit  at 
Drury  Lane  Theatre,  144  ;  offers 
to  take  part  in  the  farewell  per- 
formance of  the  Bancrofts,  262  ; 
his  speech,  267  ;  practical  jokes 
on  the  Bancrofts,  294,  295  ;  at 
the  Garrick  Club  supper,  329 ; 
banquet  given  to,  335  ;  at 
Marlborough  House,  336 ;  his 
drolleries,  428  ;  letter  from,  429  ; 
death  of  his  son,  430  ;  death,  430 

Toole's  Theatre,  opened,  242 

Toronto,  355 

Torquay,  Reading  at,  355 

Trafalgar  Square  Theatre,  242 

Tredegar,  Lord,  363 

Tree,  Herbert  Beerbohm,  33  ;  his 
revival  of  Fedora  at  the  Hay- 
market Theatre,  316 ;  his  part 
in  it,  316 ;  Ours,  318  ;  at  the 
Garrick  Club  supper,  329 

Tree,  Mrs.,  takes  part  in  Ours,  318 

Trial  of  Effie  Deans,  The,  37 


INDEX 


461 


Tussaud,   Madame,   her   Waxwork 

Exhibition,  30 
Two  Roses,  The,  comedy  of,  326 

Umbria,  the,  360 

Unequal  Match,  An,  revival  of,  182 

United    States,    no    copyright    law 

with  England,  97 
Unlimited  Confidence,  23 
Used  Up,  61 

Vandenhoff,  George,  on  Mrs.  Ban- 
croft's performance  of  Peg 
Woffington,  156 

Vaudeville  Theatre,  opened,  242 

Vaudeville,  Theatre  du,  Paris,  218 

Vaughan,  Cardinal,  his  letter  to 
Sir  S.  Bancroft,  348 

Venice,  201 

Vernon,  Percy,  takes  part  in  The 
Overland  Route,  187 

Vestris,  Madame,  at  the  Lyceum, 
29  ;   at  the  Queen's  Theatre,  56 

Vezin,  Hermann,  at  the  Garrick 
Club  supper,  329  ;  at  Marl- 
borough House,  336 

Vezin,  Mrs.  Hermann,  at  the  Prince 
of  Wales's  Theatre,  78  ;  takes 
part  in  Duty,  229 

Vicar  of  Wakefield,  The,  29 

Vicarage,  The,  adaptation,  181  ; 
cast,  181  ;  performance  of,  at 
Pontresina,  285 

Victoria,  Queen,  her  sympathy  on 
Lady  Bancroft's  accident,  308  ; 
present  at  the  Thanksgiving 
service  in  St.  Paul's  Cathedral, 
310  ;  her  wish  to  see  Diplomacy 
at  Balmoral,  311  ;  receives  Sir 
S.  Bancroft,  312  ;  delight  in  the 
performance,  314  ;  receives  Lady 
Bancroft,  314;  gifts  to  them, 
315  ;  her  wish  to  see  the  Ban- 
crofts act  again,  319  ;  garden- 
parties  at  Buckingham  Palace, 
321  ;  fimeral,  322  ;  lines  on,  322 
Vie  Humoristique,  La,  extract  from, 
111 

Vincent,  Sir  Howard,  436  ;  letter 
from,  436 

Vining,  George,  47 
Virginius,  45 

Vitu,  Auguste,  present  at  the  first 
performance  of  Fedora,  234 

Waldorf  Theatre,  opened,  242 
Wales,  Prince  of,  his  illness  in  1872, 

310.     See  Edward  VII.,  King 
Wales,  George,  Prince  of,  at  a  meet- 
ing of   King  Edward's  Hospital 
Fund,  360 


Wallace,  Sir  Donald  Mackenzie,  26 

Wallack,  Lester,  49 

Waller,  Lewis,  33 

War  to  the  Knife,  63,  166 

Ward,  Artemus,  66,  122 

Ward,  Beatrice,  her  portrait  of 
Lady  Bancroft,  287 

Ward,  Leslie,  287 

Warner,  Charles,  at  the  Garrick 
Club  supper,  329 

Watson,  J.  D.,  his  pictures  in  the 
Haymarket  Theatre,  247 

Webb,  Charles,  50 

Webb,  Henry,  50 

Webster,  Benjamin,  lessee  of  the 
old  Adelphi  Theatre,  11,  12; 
takes  part  in  Money,  30,  32,  1 27  ; 
his  last  appearance  in  it,  132  ; 
at  a  benefit  at  Drury  Lane 
Theatre,  144  ;  on  the  authorship 
of  London  Assurance,  161 

Weldon,  Harry,  400 

Wellington,  Duke  of,  his  funeral, 
27  ;   statue,  28 

West,  Mrs.  Comwallis,  92 

Westminster  Abbey,  310 

Westminster,  Duke  of,  363  ;  con- 
gratulations to  Sir  S.  Bancroft,  321 

Whistler,  James  McNeill,  413  ;  his 
breakfasts,  413  ;  Ten  o' Clock, 
413  ;  characteristics,  413  ;  his 
portrait  of  Irving,  413 

White,  Mrs.  Buckingham,  takes 
part  in  Tame  Cats,  198 

White,  Rev.  Henry,  404  ;  present 
at  the  farewell  performance  of  the 
Bancrofts,  266  ;  his  sermons,  405 

Wicklow,  County,  48 

Wigan,  Alfred,  47,  374  ;  his  per- 
formance of  Shylock  and  Hamlet, 
48  ;  takes  part  in  Money,  53  ; 
at  a  benefit  at  Drury  Lane 
Theatre,  144 

Wigan,  Mrs.  Alfred,  takes  part  in 
Money,  53 

Wilberforce,  Archdeacon,  26 

Wilcox,  Ella  Wheeler,  her  descrip- 
tion of  The  Queen's  Last  Ride, 
322 

Wilde,  Oscar,  408 ;  letter  from, 
409 

Willard,  E.  S.,  33  ;    takes  part  in 
Ours,  318  ;    at  the  Garrick  Club 
supper,  329 
William  Tell,  the  burlesque,  20 
Williams,     Montagu,     his     varied 

career,  390 
Wilson,  Sir  Rivers,  355 
Wilton,  Marie.     See  Bancroft,  Lady 
Wilton,    Mrs.,    her    marriage,     3  ; 
talent  for  teaching  elocution,  3 


462 


INDEX 


Wilton,  Robert  Pleydell,  2  ;  his 
passion  for  the  drama,  2  ; 
marriage,  3  ;  acts  with  E.  Kean, 
209 

Wilton,  Thomas  Egerton,  Earl  of,  2 

Windsor,  Dean  of,  363 

*'  Windsor  Strollers,"  their  per- 
formance of  Play,  103 

Wingfield,  Hon.  Lewis,  his  portrait 
of  the  boy  "  Biafra,"  136 ;  designs 
the  stage  costumes,  157,  400  ;  on 
the  dress  of  the  Abb6  Latour,  332 

Winning  Hazard,  A,  61,  63 

Winter,  William,  his  tribute  to 
actors,  179 

Wise,  Miss,  2 

Wise,  Rev.  William,  2 

Wolff,  Albert,  present  at  the  first 
performance  of  Fedora,  234 

Wolff,  Johannes,  at  Balmoral,  312 

Wolseley,  Lord,  363 

Wood,  Arthur,  at  the  Prince  of 
Wales's  Theatre,  78 

Wood,  Mrs.  John,  18,  34  ;  at  the 
Prince  of  Wales's  Theatre,  78  ; 
takes  part  in  The  Overland  Route, 
186  ;  Duty,  229  ;  in  the  farewell 
performance  of  the  Bancrofts, 
265 

Woolgar,  Miss,  12,  18,  30,  32 

Wordsworth,  W.,  lines  from,  122 

Wright,  Edward,  at  the  Adelphi 
Theatre,  12  ;  his  model  farm  at 
Surbiton,  12 

Wrinkles,  the  play  of,  199 ;  its 
failure,  200 


Wrottesley,  Mrs.,  takes  part  in 
Play,    104 

Wyndham,  Charles,  his  first  meet- 
ing with  Sir  S.  Bancroft,  52  ; 
takes  part  in  Man  and  Wife,  171  ; 
in  the  farewell  performance  of  the 
Bancrofts,  265  ;  at  Marlborough 
House,  336 

Wyndham's  Theatre,  opened,  242 

Yates,  Edmund,  32,  56,  103  ;  his 
criticism  of  School,  106  ;  on 
transferring  School  to  the  Hay- 
market,  109  ;  on  Sir  S.  Bancroft's 
acting  the  part  of  a  "  dandy," 
194 ;  first  meeting  with  him, 
197 ;  his  comedy  Tame  Cats, 
198  ;  verdict  on  it,  199  ;  on  the 
rimioiired  failure  of  Fedora,  235  ; 
present  at  the  farewell  perform- 
ance of  the  Bancrofts,  266 ; 
incident  of,  at  Pontresina,  286 ; 
at  the  performance  of  Money, 
316  ;  sudden  death,  316  ;  power 
of  relating  stories,  403 

Yates,  Mrs.,  56,  316 

York,  Dean  of,  354 

Yorke,  Hon.  A.,  311  ;  takes  part 
in  Pattes  de  Mouche  at  Bal- 
moral, 312 

Yoimg,  Sophie,  at  the  Prince  of 
Wales's  Theatre,  78  ;  takes  psirt 
in  Diplomacy,  225 

Younge,  Frederick,  at  the  Prince 
of  Wales's  Theatre,  78  ;  takes 
part  in  Caste,  93 


Printed  by  Satell,  Walton  dc  Viney,  Ld.,  London  and  Aylesbury 


THE     LETTERS     OF     ROBERT     SCHUMANN, 

MUSICIAN  AND  COMPOSER,  1810— 1856.  Selected  and 
Edited  by  Dr.  Karl  Storck.  Translated  by  Miss  Hannah 
Bryant  (Mrs.  Atkinson).  With  2  Portraits.  Demy  8vo. 
9s.  net. 

"  Every  admirer  of  the  music  of  Robert  Schumann,  and  every  man  or  woman  who  has 
come  in  any  way  under  the  spell  of  his  lovable  personality,  should  secure  without  dela^ 
this  delightful  volume  of  '  Letters'  .  .  .  Most  musicians  know  something  of  Schumann  s 
love-story,  of  his  long  and  patient  fidelity,  of  the  devotion  of  the  girl  who  afterwards 
became  his  wife,  and  the  tragedy  which  closed  the  all  too  few  years  of  one  of  the  hapipiest 
of  marriages.  There  is  nothing  in  fiction  to  equal  it  in  beauty  or  in  poignancy.  It  all 
comes  back  as  we  read  the  pages  of  this  fascinating  book— a  book  to  be  grateful  for,  a 
book  that  will  be  loved."— Pa//  Mall  Gazette. 

JOHANNES  BRAHMS.  The  Herzogenberg  Corre- 
spondence. Edited  by  Max  Kalbeck  and  Translated  by 
Miss  Hannah  Bryant  .(Mrs.  Atkinson).  With  Portrait. 
Demy  8vo.     los.  6d.  net. 

"  A  volume  which  all  Brahms's  lovers  should  obtain  .  .  .  the  letters  are  of  deep  interest 
in  widening  the  knowledge  of  Brahms's  curious  personality,  while  the  comments  and 
criticisms  on  his  and  contemporary  music  make  engrossing  reading." — Sheffield  Daily 
Telegraph. 

NOTES  FROM  A  PAINTER'S  LIFE.  Including 
the  Founding  of  two  Galleries.  By  C.  E.  Halli:.  With 
Illustrations.     Square  demy  8vo.     6s.  net. 

This  book  gives  a  short  account  of  the  establishment  and  careers  of  the  Grosvenor  and 
of  the  New  Galleries,  written  by  an  Artist  who  has  acted  as  one  of  the  directors  of  both 
institutions  from  1877  to  the  present  time.  It  also  contains  anecdotes  of  many  distin* 
guished  people,  especially  Painters,  Sculptors,  and  Musiciaus,  with  whom  the  Author  has 
come  in  contact,  and  includes  sketches  of  life  in  Paris,  Rome,  and  Venice,  and  notes  on 
the  Art  questions  of  the  day. 

GIUSEPPE  BARETTI.  With  an  Account  of  his 
Literary  Friendships  and  Feuds  in  Italy  and  in  England  in  the 
Days  of  Dr.  Johnson.  By  Lacy  Collison-Morley.  With  an 
Introduction  by  the  late  F.  Marion  Crawford.  With 
Photogravure  Portrait.     Demy  8vo. 

This  volume  is  based  chiefly  upon  the  letters  of  Baretti  to  his  numerous  Italian  friends, 
which  contain  interesting  information  about  Dr,  Johnson,  'the  Thrales  and  their  circle, 
and  [clearly  bring  out  the  contrast  between  the  conditions  of  literary  life  in  Italy  and 
England  at  this  period.  Baretti  mixed  in  the  best  literary  society  in  both  countries,  and 
has  long  held  a  recognised  position  in  the  history  of  Italian  literature.  The  book  con- 
tains full  details  of  the  stabbing  affair  in  the  Haymarket  and  of  Baretti's  famous  trial. 
The  late  Mr.  Marion  Crawford  wrote  the  introduction. 

GENTLEMEN  ERRANT.  The  Travels  and  Ad- 
ventures of  Four  Noblemen  in  Europe  in  the  Fifteenth  and 
Sixteenth  Centuries.  By  Mrs.  Henry  Cust.  Illustrated. 
Demy  8vo.     12s.  net. 

'•  These  are  four  goodly  gentlemen.  All  the  credulity,  brutality,  rough  humour,  pomp, 
and  slaughter  of  their  time  are  presented  in  these  pages.  Mrs.  Cust  has,  to  use  an 
extravagant  metaphor,  succeeded  in  driving  the  worm  of  meticulous  scholarship  and  the 
high-stepping  stud  of  romance  in  double  harness.  Vivid  as  they  are,  her  tales  are  true 
metal  and  have  an  infinite  charm."-  -Observer. 


6/-  NOVELS 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  A  PLAIN  MAN.     By  Ellen 
Glasgow. 

Miss  Ellen  Glasgow  enjoys  the  reputation  of  being  the  greatest  of  the  women 
authors  of  America.  She  is  not  a  prolific  writer — often  producing  only  one  book 
in  two  years — and  is  a  true  artist  in  that  she  works  for  love  of  her  art  and  not 
for  gain. 

The  half-dozen  books  which  she  has  produced,  although  the  scene  of  almost  all 
of  them  is  laid  in  Virginia,  show  the  versatility  of  her  genius  and  her  deep  and 
sympathetic  insight  into  human  nature. 

"The  Romance  of  a  Plain  Man"  deals  with  the  relations  of  one  of  the  *'  Po 
white  trash  "  who  attains  to  wealth  with  a  daughter  of  one  of  the  old  Virginian 
families— more  aristocratic  and  exclusive  and  refined  than  almost  any  other  society 
in  the  world.  Like  some  of  our  own  greatest  writers,  Miss  Glasgow  is  a  poet  as 
well  as  a  novelist.  Her  volume  "The  Freeman,  and  other  Poems"  attracted 
great  attention  both  here  and  in  America.  She  is  a  Southerner,  with  all  those 
qualities  and  traditions  which  make  a  special  bond  of  sympathy  between  English- 
men and  Virginians. 

FRANK  BURNET.     By  Dorothy  V.  Horace  Smith, 

Author  of  "  Miss  Mona." 

The  scene  of  this  novel  is  laid  in  an  English  Midland  village.  The  interest 
centres  about  the  vicarage,  manor,  and  forge.  It  is  a  present-day  tale,  dealing, 
however,  not  with  present-day  topics,  but  rather  with  those  fundamental  questions 
of  life  and  love  and  happiness  which  are  for  all  times. 

THE  HAVEN.     By  Eden  Phillpotts. 

The  scene  of  this  story  is  laid  in  a  Devon  fishing-village.  It  is  a  story  of  life, 
its  toils  and  pleasures,  its  attractions  and  hardships  on  land  and  at  sea.  It  tells 
of  a  strong,  God-fearing  fisherman  and  his  family — of  his  son  who,  though  the 
descendant  of  generations  of  sea-farers,  hates  and  dreads  the  sea  and  turns  farmer. 

THE  SCORE.  Miserere  Nobis,  and  the  Courage  of 
Her  Convictions.  By  Lucas  Malet,  Author  of  "  Sir  Richard 
Calmady." 

MUCH   ADO   ABOUT  SOMETHING.     By   C.  E. 

Lawrence,  Author  of  "  Pilgrimage." 

This  is  a  modern  novel  with  satirical  touches,  very  different  from  this  Author's 
previous  works.  The  scene  is  London,  the  characters  types  of  Londoners  who  fall 
under  a  potent  influence  and  are  affected  by  it.  The  subject  is  treated  with 
geniality  and  fancy,  and  in  a  measure  gives  us  the  **giftie"  of  seeing  ourselves 
as  certain  *'  powers"  may  see  us. 

FIONA.     By  Lady  Napier   of  Magdala,   Author  of 

"  A  Stormy  Morning." 

This  novel  deals  with  various  phases  and  problems  of  modern  life  and  society 
and  the  troubles  and  experiences  of  the  heroine  Fiona, 


6/.  NOVELS 


LITTLE  DEVIL  DOUBT.  By  Oliver  Onions, 
Author  of  "The  Compleat  Bachelor,"  "Tales  from  a  Far 
Riding,"  "The  Odd  Job  Man." 

THE   SHUTTLES   OF  THE   LOOM.     By  K.   M. 

Edge,  Author  of  "  Ahana." 
This  novel  deals  with  the  life  and  work  of  a  Forest  Officer  in  Southern  India. 
It  is  concerned  with  the  claim  made  by  India  upon  those  who  serve  her  faithfully, 
and  the  powerful  closing  scenes  take  place  in  and  near  the  great  Vengaimalai 
forests.  A  strong  love  interest  is  maintained  throughout.  The  life  of  the  hero, 
John  Grange,  contains  elements  of  tragedy,  but  readers  will  close  the  book  with 
an  exalted  idea  of  suffering  and  of  human  nature,  for  the  author  shows  very 
directly  and  simply  that  each  thread  of  circumstance  worked  upon  the  loom  of 
life  has  its  place  in  the  glorious  pattern  evolved  by  the  **  Fixed  Power  for  Good" 
that  moves  towards  ultimate  perfection. 

THE  ARCHDEACON'S  FAMILY.  By  Maud 
Egerton  King. 

*•  A  refreshing  novel  to  come  across  in  these  arid  days.  It  reminds  one  of  the 
mid- Victorian  novel,  and  particularly  of  Thackeray,  with  a  dash  of  Meredith,  for 
Mrs.  King  is  not  afraid  to  launch  out  into  the  moralisings  of  the  one  and  the 
epigrams  of  the  other.  With  the  finest  of  fine  irony  she  dissects  and  lays  bare  the 
innermost  soul  of  educated  superiority.  .  .  .  Altogether  a  novel  to  be  read  at  one's 
leisure  and  with  the  zest  that  really  good  writing  can  give." — Dundee  Courier. 

MISS  ESPERANCE  AND  MR.  WYCHERLY.     By 

Mrs.  L.  Allen  Harker. 

**  If  you  want  to  give  yourself  a  delightful  treat,  get  *Miss  Esperance  and 
Mr.  Wycherly '  and  enjoy  every  word  of  it.  The  book  so  absolutely  charmed 
me  that  the  moment  I  had  finished  it  I  turned  back  to  the  first  page  and  read  it 
through  again.  ...  I  shall  read  it  a  third  time  very  soon." — Truth. 

SEPTIMUS.     By  William  J.  Locke. 

"  If  you  want  a  perfectly  delightful  book,  get  W.  J.  Locke's  'Septimus.*" — 
Truth. 

**  A  whimsical,  delightful  story,  full  of  quaint  humour." — Westminster  Gazette. 

"  .  .  .a  lively,  jolly,  entertaining  book,  written  in  high  spirits,  and  eminently 
adapted  to  raise  the  reader's  spirits  as  high  as  the  writer's." — Daily  Chronicle, 

lONE  CHALONER.     By  the  Earl  of  Iddesleigh. 

"An  interesting  historical  novel  ...  as  a  faithful  picture  of  social  life  in  the 
reign  of  George  II.  the  work  is  excellent,  and  Lord  Iddesleigh,  having  taken  for 
the  period  of  his  new  novel  the  exciting  times  of  the  Highland  invasion  of 
England  by  the  Young  Pretender  in  174S,  gives  a  really  good  description  of  the 
state  of  terror  prevailing  in  London  during  the  march  southward  of  the  brave 
but  undisciplined  Highlanders." — Court  Jfournal. 

3  30 


6/-  NOVELS 


BEYOND  THE  SKYLINE.     By  Robert  Aitken. 

**  '  Beyond  the  Skyline '  contains  several  dramatic  episodes  which  compel  atten- 
tion as  little  masterpieces.  Mr.  Aitken  is,  frankly,  a  follower  of  Mr.  Kipling.  .  .  . 
He  writes  in  a  robust  and  striking  manner,  which  carries  conviction. — Bystander, 

THE    WATERS    OF    JORDAN.     By    Horace    A. 
Vachell. 

'*  Mr.  Vachell  has  improved  upon  his  previous  work  as  to  characterisation, 
construction,  and  expression  in  the  earnest  protest — under  the  guise  of  an  in- 
teresting story — against  mercenary  marriages." — Athenceum. 

"...  tells  the  tale  of  false  love  and  true,  with  the  penalties  which  a  strong 
man  pays  for  an  aberration.  .  .  .  Blended  with  the  tragic  part  of  the  book  is  a 
wholesome  atmosphere  of  country  life  and  sport.  ...  a  capital  book." — Fitld. 

THE  GENTLEMAN.     By  Alfred  Ollivant. 

**  We  feel  persuaded  that  we  have  here  another  Stevenson — another  *  Treasure 
Island.' " — Sphere. 

THE  CHILDREN  OF   THE   NILE.     By  Marma- 

DUKE   PiCKTHALL. 

**  Mr.  Pickthall  has  brought  to  his  task  a  sense  of  humour  which  is  delicious. 
In  some  ways  the  book  is  more  fascinating  than  that  good  book  '  Said  the  Fisher- 
man,' for  it  has  more  interest  to  English  readers.  .  .  .  will  rank  among  his  great 
successes.     It  certainly  deserves  to  do  %o>''— Daily  Telegraph, 

JACK  SPURLOCK— PRODIGAL.  By  G.  H.  Lorimer. 

"...  delightful  freshness  and  spontaneity  .  .  .  the  gifts  of  heart  and  head 
which  have  gone  in  a  very  unusual  combination  to  the  writing  of  Mr.  Larimer's 
new  book  make  it  perfectly  irresistible." — Morning  Leader. 

"...  funnier  and  better  writing  than  the  *  Letters.' " — Manchester  Guardian, 

FISHERS  OF  THE  SEA.     By  J.  E.  Patterson. 

"  Mr.  Patterson  is  to  be  congratulated  upon  the  subject." — Athenceum. 
**  Displays  remarkable  power.     He  has  undoubted  genius." — World. 

A    STORMY    MORNING.      By   Lady   Napier    of 
Magdala. 

"  It  is  just  because  Lady  Napier  sets  the  characters  in  her  story  amid  scenes 
which  she  describes  con  amore^  and  because,  writing  with  all  the  enthusiasm  of  a 
true  sportswoman  of  the  hunting-field  and  the  moors,  she  well-nigh  drives  the 
strong  sweet  air  of  the  north  into  one's  nostrils,  and  fills  one's  ears  with  the  music 
of  speeding  hoofs  over  grassy  lands,  the  pop  of  guns,  ^nd  the  rhythm  of  oars,  that 
her  new  novel  is  bound  to  delight/'— ^<7r/<ar, 

4 


6/-  NOVELS 


THREE  MISS  GRAEMES.     By  S.  Macnaughtan. 

"Miss  Macnaughtan's  quiet  humour  is  irresistible.  ...  A  singularly  bright, 
witty,  and  good-natured  picture  of  latter-day  life  in  London."— Z>a?/y  Telegraph, 

A  LAME  DOG'S  DIARY.     By  S.  Macnaughtan. 


THE     EXPENSIVE    MISS    DU    CANE.      By    S. 

Macnaughtan. 

DEAN'S  HALL.     By  Maude  Goldring. 

**  Genuinely  good  novel.  .  .  .  Neither  is  the  story  too  serious  in  its  tense  and 
tragic  scenes,  for  humour  leaveneth  up  the  whole.  Time  and  place  and  people 
are  all  delightfully  blended  together." — Daily  Chronicle, 

GRAHAM   OF   CLAVERHOUSE.      By  Ian    Mac- 

LAREN. 

**  Some  critics  have  suggested  that  this  book  is  too  much  of  a  biography  and  too 
little  of  a  novel.  In  our  view  it  is  the  tenderest,  saddest,  and  most  beautiful  of 
Ian  Maclaren's  later  books." — British  Weekly. 

CAROLINE.     By  Clementina  Black. 

**  The  book  is  written  throughout  with  firmness  and  delicacy.  ...  *  Caroline  * 
is  unusually  strong,  tender,  well-proportioned,  and  in  every  sense  artistic." — 
Liverpool  Post. 

RODWELL.     By  Miss  V.  Hawtry. 

"Like  the  previous  stories  of  the  Author,  *  Rodwell'  at  once  arrests  attention 
by  the  solidity,  sincerity,  and  literary  finish  of  the  workmanship.  The  book  is 
indeed  full  of  portraits,  drawn  with  a  careful  and  discriminating  hand  from  an 
ample  knowledge  of  and  insight  into  character  and  motives." — Scotsman. 


MOTHERS  IN  ISRAEL.     By  J.  S.  Fletcher. 

"As  for  the  *  Mothers  in  Israel,'  words  fail  to  indicate  with  what  charm  and 
with  what  a  sense  of  actuality  and  of  conviction  they  are  placed  before  us." — 
Liverpool  Daily  Post. 

*'  *  Mothers  in  Israel  '  is  without  equal.  It  has  all  that  a  Yorkshire  story  should 
have— breadth,  humour,  strength,  and  heartiness— and  it  can  be  recommended 
cordially."—  Yorkshire  Daily  Post. 

5 


2/6  NET  NOVELS 

IRRESOLUTE  CATHERINE.     By  Violet  Jacob. 

**  Capitally  written,  and  the  story  breezily  told.  ...  as  healthy  and  refreshing 
as  a  summer  gale." — Pall  Mall  Gazette. 

A  FISH  OUT  OF  WATER.     By  F.  F.  Montresor. 

**  Exceedingly  clever." — Spectator. 

"  An  excellent  story,  well  conceived  and  brightly  written." — Daily  Mail. 

THE  GORGEOUS  ISLE.     By  Gertrude  Atherton. 

"The  scene  is  laid  in  the  West  Indian  island  of  Nevis,  and  the  tropical 
atmosphere  pervading  it,  and  rendered  with  the  author's  usual  vividness,  is  not  its 
least  attraction.  It  deals  with  a  situation  which  is  fresh  and  powerfully  handled." 
— Athenaum. 

THE  LOWEST  RUNG.     By  Mary  Cholmondeley. 

A  Reviewer,  writing  in  The  Westminster  Gazette  in  defence  of  the  Short 
Story,  says:  "Above  all,  let  him  take  'The  Lowest  Rung'  and  'The  Hand  on 
the  Latch '  from  Miss  Mary  Cholmondeley's  latest  volume,  and  fling  them  down 
as  his  last  and  most  convincing  proof. 

"  Of  these  last  two  stories  it  is  difficult  to  speak  too  highly,  for,  of  their  kind, 
they  are  so  nearly  perfect." 

A  COUNTY   FAMILY.     Storer  Clouston. 

**  Every  one  who  reads  this  capital  tale  will  be  sure  of  an  evening's  amusement, 
without  the  trouble  and  expense  of  going  to  the  theatre  to  find  it." —  Westminster 

Gazette. 

THE    BISHOP    AND     THE     BOGIE-MAN.      By 

Joel  Chandler  Harris. 

"A  real  child's  adventure.  Real  and  charming  too  is  the  conception  of 
Adelaide's  imaginary  companion,  Cally-Lou,  who  acquires  a  great  reputation 
among  the  little  girl's  friends  and  admirers.  This  is  a  story  which  no  one  who  is 
fond  of  children  should  miss." — Morning  Post. 

THE   SECRET  RIVER.     By  Miss  R.  Macaulay. 

"...  this  little  book  merits  very  serious  consideration.  It  is  a  beautiful 
attempt,  in  the  form  of  a  story,  to  realise  the  other  vision-world  that  is  round  and 
about  us,  a  world  that  is,  at  rare  moments,  suddenly  revealed  and  then  suddenly 
again  withdrawn.  ...  It  was  no  easy  thing  to  carry  out,  and  Miss  Macaulay  is  to 
be  congratulated  on  her  success  ...  it  has  style  and  discipline,  and  a  very 
excellent  restraint." — Standard, 

THE     IMPENDING     SWORD.      By    Horace    A. 
Vachell. 

The  scene  of  this  story  is  laid  in  California,  where  man  is  still  primal  in  his 
loves  and  hates.  It  is  not  a  problem  novel,  but  a  tale  of  adventure,  cumulative 
in  interest  till  the  last  line,  and  permeated  with  a  love  interest  also.  The  novel, 
both  in  technique  and  subject,  is  entirely  different  from  "The  Hill"  and 
"Brothers";  but  on  that  very  account,  perhaps,  the  more  likely  to  challenge 
interest  as  being  a  new  departure. 


JOHN  MURRAY,  Albemarle  Street,  London,  W. 


PN  Bancroft,  Mftrie  Effie  (Wilton) 

259s  Lady 


B3A3 

Robarts  Library 

DUE    DATE: 

Apr.  25,  1992 

Fines  50^;! 
per  day 

iiiilllilipililiilll^^^K 


^pEfgi^pftp^-pri