MRS. ALEC-TWEEDIE

AUTHOR OF “MEXICO AS I SAW IT,” “GEORGE HARLEY, F.R.S.,” ETC.

WITH TWENTY ILLUSTRATIONS

NEW YORK DODD MEAD AND COMPANY 1904

PRINTED BY HAZELL, WATSON AND VINEY, LD., LONDON AND AYLESBURY, ENGLAND.

[Pg v]

CONTENTS

Girlish Dreams of Success—Golden Glitter—Overcrowding—Few Successful—Weedon Grossmith—Beerbohm Tree—How Mrs. Tree made Thousands for the War Fund—The Stage Door Reached—Glamour Fades—The Divorce Court and the Theatre—Childish Enthusiasm—Old Scotch Body’s Horror—Love Letters—Temptations—Emotions—How Women began to Act under Charles I.—Influence of the Theatre for Good or Ill

Three Great Aristocracies—Born on the Stage—Inherited Talent—Interview with Mrs. Kendal—Her Opinions and Warning to Youthful Aspirants—Usual Salary—Starving in the Attempt to Live—No Dress Rehearsal—Overdressing—A Peep at Harley Street—Voice and Expression—American Friends—Mrs. Kendal’s Marriage—Forbes Robertson’s Romance—Why he Deserted Art for the Stage—Fine Elocutionist—Bad Enunciation and Noisy Music—Ellen Terry—Gillette—Expressionless Faces—Long Runs—Charles Warner—Abuse of Success

Miss Winifred Emery—Amusing Criticism—An Actress’s Home Life—Cyril Maude’s first Theatrical Venture—First Performance—A Luncheon Party—A Bride as Leading Lady—No [Pg vi] Games, no Holidays—A Party at the Haymarket—Miss Ellaline Terriss and her First Appearance—Seymour Hicks—Ben Webster and Montagu Williams—The Sothern Family—Edward Sothern as a Fisherman—A Terrible Moment—Almost a Panic—Asleep as Dundreary—Frohman at Daly’s Theatre—English and American Alliance—Mummers

Interview with Ibsen—His Appearance—His Home—Plays Without Plots—His Writing-table—His Fetiches—Old at Seventy—A Real Tragedy and Comedy—Ibsen’s First Book—Winter in Norway—An Epilogue—Arthur Wing Pinero—Educated for the Law—As Caricaturist—An Entertaining Luncheon—How Pinero writes his Plays—A Hard Worker—First Night of Letty

Captain Robert Marshall—From the Ranks to the Stage—£10 for a Play—How Copyright is Retained—I. Zangwill as Actor—Copyright Performance—Three First Plays (Pinero, Grundy, Sims)—Cyril Maude at the Opera—Mice and Men—Sir Francis Burnand, Punch, Sir John Tenniel, and a Cartoon—Brandon Thomas and Charley’s Aunt—How that Play was Written—The Gaekwar of Baroda—Changes in London—Frederick Fenn at Clement’s Inn—James Welch on Audiences

Sarah Bernhardt’s Dresses and Wigs—A Great Musician’s Hair—Expenses of Mounting—Percy Anderson—Ulysses—The Eternal City—A Dress Parade—Armour—Over-elaboration—An Understudy—Miss Fay Davis—A London Fog—The Difficulties of an Engagement

Reception on the St. James’s Stage—An Indian Prince—His Comments—The Audience—George Alexander’s Youth—How he missed a Fortune—How he learns a Part—A Scenic Garden—Love of the Country—Actors’ Pursuits—Strain of Theatrical Life—Life and Death—Fads—Mr. Maude’s Dressing-room—Sketches on Distempered Walls—Arthur Bourchier and his Dresser—John Hare—Early and late Theatres—A Solitary Dinner—An Hour’s Make-up—A Forgetful Actor—Bonne Camaraderie—Theatrical Salaries—Treasury Day—Thriftlessness—The Advent of Stalls—The Bancrofts—The Haymarket Photographs—A Dress Rehearsal

Sarah Bernhardt and her Tomb—The Actress’s Holiday—Love of her Son—Sarah Bernhardt Shrimping—Why she left the Comédie Française—Life in Paris—A French Claque—Three Ominous Raps—Strike of the Orchestra—Parisian Theatre Customs—Programmes—Late Comers—The Matinée Hat—Advertisement Drop Scene—First Night of Hamlet— Madame Bernhardt’s own Reading of Hamlet—Yorick’s Skull—Dr. Horace Howard Furness—A Great Shakesperian Library

An Interesting Dinner—Peace in the Transvaal—Beerbohm Tree as a Seer—How he cajoled Ellen Terry and Mrs. Kendal to Act—First-nighters on Camp-stools—Different Styles of Mrs. Kendal and Miss Terry—The Fun of the Thing—Bows of the Dead—Falstaff’s Discomfort—Amusing Incidents—Nervousness behind the Curtain—An Author’s Feelings

How W. S. Gilbert loves a Joke—A Brilliant Companion—Operas Reproduced without an Altered Line—Many Professions—A Lovely Home—Sir Arthur Sullivan’s Gift—A Rehearsal of Pinafore—Breaking up Crowds—Punctuality—Soldier or no Soldier—Iolanthe—Gilbert as an Actor—Gilbert as Audience—The Japanese Anthem—Amusement

Origin of Pantomime—Drury Lane in Darkness—One Thousand Persons—Rehearsing the Chorus—The Ballet—Dressing-rooms—Children on the Stage—Size of “The Lane”—A Trap-door—The Property-room—Made on the Premises—Wardrobe-woman—Dan Leno at Rehearsal—Herbert Campbell—A Fortnight Later—A Chat with the Principal Girl—Miss Madge Lessing

Sir Henry Irving’s Position—Miss Geneviève Ward’s Dress—Reformations in Lighting—The most Costly Play ever Produced—Strong Individuality—Character Parts—Irving earned his Living at Thirteen—Actors and Applause—A Pathetic Story—No Shakespeare Traditions—Imitation is not Acting—Irving’s Appearance—His Generosity—The First Night of Dante—First Night of Faust—Two Terriss Stories—Sir Charles Wyndham

Novels and Plays—Little Lord Fauntleroy and his Origin—Mr. Hall Caine—Preference for Books to Plays—John Oliver Hobbes—J. M. Barrie’s Diffidence—Anthony Hope—A [Pg ix] London Bachelor—A Pretty Wedding—A Tidy Author—A First Night—Dramatic Critics—How Notices are Written—The Critics Criticised—Distribution of Paper—“Stalls Full”—Black Monday—Do Royalty pay for their Seats?—Wild Pursuit of the Owner of the Royal Box—The Queen at the Opera

Novelist—Dramatist—Scene-painter—An Amateur Scenic Artist—Weedon Grossmith to the Rescue—Mrs. Tree’s Children—Mr. Grossmith’s Start on the Stage—A Romantic Marriage—How a Scene is built up—English and American Theatres Compared—Choosing a Play—Theatrical Syndicate—Three Hundred and Fifteen Plays at the Haymarket

A Star’s Dressing-room—Long Flights of Stairs—Miss Ward at the Haymarket—A Wimple—An Awkward Predicament—How an Actress Dresses—Herbert Waring—An Actress’s Dressing-table—A Girl’s Photographs of Herself—A Greasepaint Box—Eyelashes—White Hands—Mrs. Langtry’s Dressing-room—Clara Morris on Make-up—Mrs. Tree as Author—“Resting”—Mary Anderson on the Stage—An Author’s Opinion—Actors in Society

A Voice Trial—How it is Done—Anxious Faces—Singing into Cimmerian Darkness—A Call to Rehearsal—The Ecstasy of an Engagement—Proof Copy; Private—Arrival of the Principals—Chorus on the Stage—Rehearsing Twelve Hours a Day for Nine Weeks without Pay

Why Women go on the Stage—How to prevent it—Miss Florence St. John—Provincial Company—Theatrical Basket—A Fit-up Tour—A Theatre Tour—Répertoire Tour—Strange Landladies—Bills—The Longed-for Joint—Second-hand Clothes—Buying a Part—Why Men Deteriorate—Oceans of Tea—E. S. Willard—Why he Prefers America—A Hunt for Rooms—A Kindly Clergyman—A Drunken Landlady—How the Dog Saved an Awkward Predicament

Easy to Make a Reputation—Difficult to Keep One—The Theatrical Agent—The Butler’s Letter—Mrs. Siddons’ Warning—Theatrical Aspirants—The Bogus Manager—The Actress of the Police Court—Ten Years of Success—Temptations—Late Hours—An Actress’s Advertisement—A Wicked Agreement—Rules Behind the Scenes—Edward Terry—Success a Bubble

Plain but Fascinating—The Swell in the Stalls—Overtures—Persistence—Introduction at Last—Her Story—His Kindness—Happiness crept in—Love—An Ecstasy of Joy—His Story—A Rude Awakening—The Result of Deception—The Injustice of Silence—Back to Town—Illness—Sleep

[Pg xi]

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

MISS CONSTANCE COLLIER AS PALLAS ATHENE IN “ULYSSES”

MRS. KENDAL AS MISTRESS FORD IN “MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR”

MR. W. H. KENDAL

MR. J. FORBES-ROBERTSON

MISS WINIFRED EMERY AND MR. CYRIL MAUDE IN “THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL”

MR. AND MRS. SEYMOUR HICKS

DR. HENRIK IBSEN

MR. ARTHUR W. PINERO

DRAWING OF COSTUME FOR JULIET

MR. GEORGE ALEXANDER

MADAME SARAH BERNHARDT AS HAMLET

MR. BEERBOHM TREE AS FALSTAFF

MISS ELLEN TERRY AS QUEEN KATHERINE

MR. W. S. GILBERT

SIR HENRY IRVING

MR. ANTHONY HOPE

MR. WEEDON GROSSMITH

MRS. BEERBOHM TREE

MRS. PATRICK CAMPBELL

MR. GEORGE GROSSMITH

BEHIND THE FOOTLIGHTS

CHAPTER I THE GLAMOUR OF THE STAGE Girlish Dreams of Success—Golden…

“I WANT to go on the stage,” declared a girl as she sat one day opposite her father, a London physician, in his consulting-room.

The doctor looked up, amazed, deliberately put down his pen, cast a scrutinising glance at his daughter, then said tentatively:

“Want to go on the stage, eh?”

“Yes, I wish to be an actress. I have had an offer—oh, such a delightful offer—to play a girl’s part in the forthcoming production at one of our best theatres.”

Her father made no comment, only looked again[Pg 2] steadily at the girl in order to satisfy himself that she was speaking seriously. Then he took the letter she held out, read it most carefully, folded it up—in what the would-be actress thought an exasperatingly slow fashion—and after a pause observed:

“So this is the result of allowing you to play in private theatricals. What folly!”

The girl started up—fire flashed from her eyes, and her lips trembled as she retorted passionately:

“I don’t see any folly, I only see a great career opening before me. I want to go on the stage and make a name.”

The doctor looked more grave than ever, but replied calmly:

“You are very young—you have only just been to your first ball; you know nothing whatever about the world or work.”

“But I can learn, and intend to do so.”

“Ah yes, that is all very well; but what you really see at this moment is only the prospect of so many guineas a week, of applause and admiration, of notices in the papers, when at one jump you expect to gain the position already attained by some great actress. What you do not see, however, is the hard work, the dreary months, nay years, of waiting, the many disappointments that precede success—you do not realise the struggle of it all, or the many, many failures.”

She looked amazed. What possible struggle could there be on the stage? she wondered.

[Pg 3]

“Is this to be the end of my having worked for you,” he asked pathetically, “planned for you, given you the best education I could, done everything possible to make your surroundings happy, that at the moment when I hoped you were going to prove a companion and a comfort, you announce the fact that you wish to choose a career for yourself, to throw off the ties—I will not call them the pleasures—of home, and seek work which it is not necessary for you to undertake?”

“Yes,” murmured the girl, by this time almost sobbing, for the glamour seemed to be rolling away like mist before her eyes, while glorious visions of tragedy queens and comic soubrettes faded into space.

“I will not forbid you,” he went on sadly but firmly—“I will not forbid you, after you are twenty-one, for then you can do as you like; but nearly four years stretch between now and then, and during those four years I shall withhold my sanction.”

Tears welled up into her eyes. Moments come in the lives of all of us when our nearest and dearest appear to understand us least. Even in our youth we experience unreasoning sadness.

“I do not wish,” he continued, rising and patting her kindly on the back, “to see my daughter worn to a skeleton, working when she should be enjoying herself, taking upon her shoulders cares and worries which I have striven for years to avert—therefore I must save you from yourself. During the next four years I will try to show you what going[Pg 4] on the stage really means, and the labour it entails.”

She did not answer, exultation had given place to indignation, indignation to emotion, and the aspirant to histrionic fame felt sick at heart.

That girl was the present writer—her father the late Dr. George Harley, F.R.S., of Harley Street.

During those four years he showed me the work and anxiety connection with the stage involves, and as it was not necessary for me to earn my living at that time, I waited his pleasure, and, finally, of my own free will abandoned the girlish determination of becoming an actress. Wild dreams of glory and success eventually gave place to more rational ideas. The glamour of the footlights ceased to shine so alluringly—as I realised that the actor’s art, like the musician’s, is ephemeral, while the work and anxiety are great in both.

The restlessness of youth was upon me when I mooted the project, and an injudicious word then would have sent me forth at a tangent, probably to fail as many another has done before and since.

There may still be a few youthful people in the world who believe the streets of London are paved with gold—and there are certainly numbers of boys and girls who think the stage is strewn with pearls and diamonds. All the traditions of the theatre are founded in mystery and exaggeration; perhaps it is as well, for too much realism destroys illusion.

Boys and girls dream great dreams—they fancy[Pg 5] themselves leading actors and actresses, in imagination they dine off gold, wear jewels, laces, and furs, hear the applause of the multitude—and are happy. But all this, as said, is in their dreams, and dreams only last for seconds, while life lasts for years.

One in perhaps a thousand aspirants ever climbs to the top of the dramatic ladder, dozens remain struggling on the lower rung, while hundreds fall out weary and heart-sore before passing even the first step. Never has the theatrical profession been more overcrowded than at the present moment.

Many people with a wild desire to act prove failures on the stage, their inclinations are greater than their powers. Rarely is it the other way; nevertheless Fanny Kemble, in spite of her talent, hated the idea of going on the stage. At that time acting was considered barely respectable for a woman (1829). She was related to Sarah Siddons and John Kemble, a daughter of Charles and Fanny Kemble, and yet no dramatic fire burned in her veins. She was short and plain, with large feet and hands, her only charm her vivacity and expression. Ruin was imminent in the family when the girl was prevailed upon after much persuasion to play Juliet. Three weeks later she electrified London. Neither time nor success altered her repugnance for the stage, however. When dressed as Juliet her white satin train lying over the chair, she recalled the scene in the following words:

“There I sat, ready for execution, with the palms of my hands pressed convulsively together, and the tears I in vain endeavoured to repress welling up[Pg 6] into my eyes, brimming slowly over, down my rouged cheeks.”

There is a well-known actor upon the stage to-day who feels much as Fanny Kemble did.

“I hate it all,” he once said to me. “Would to Heaven I had another profession at my back. But I never really completed any studies in my youth, and in these days of keen competition I dare not leave an income on the stage for an uncertainty elsewhere.”

To some people the stage is an alluring goal, religion is a recreation, while to others money is a worship. The Church and the Stage cast their fascinating meshes around most folk some time during the course of their existences. It is scarcely strange that such should be the case, for both hold their mystery, both have their excitements, and man delights to rush into what he does not understand—this has been the case at all times and in all countries, and, like love and war, seems likely to continue to the end of time.

We all know the stage as seen from before the footlights—we have all sat breathless, waiting for the curtain to rise, and there are some who have longed for the “back cloth” to be lifted also, that they might peep behind. In these pages all hindrances shall be drawn away, and the theatre and its workings revealed from behind the footlights.

As every theatre has its own individuality, so every face has its own expression, therefore one can only generalise, for it is impossible to treat each theatrical house and its customs separately.

[Pg 7]

The strong personal interest I have always felt for the stage probably originated in the fact that from childhood I had heard stories of James Sheridan Knowles writing some of his plays, notably The Hunchback, at my grandfather’s house, Seaforth Hall, in Lancashire. Charles Dickens often stayed there when acting for some charity in Liverpool. Samuel Lover was a constant visitor at the house, as also the great American tragedian, Charlotte Cushman. Her beautiful sister Susan (the Juliet of her Romeo) married my uncle, Sheridan Muspratt, author of the Dictionary of Chemistry. From all of which it will be seen that theatrical stories were constantly retailed at home; therefore when I was about to “come out,” and my father asked if I would like a ball, I replied:

“No, I should prefer private theatricals.”

This was a surprise to the London physician; but there being no particular sin in private theatricals, consent was given, “provided,” as he said, “you paint the scenery, make your own dresses, generally run the show, and do the thing properly.”

A wise proviso, and one faithfully complied with. It gave an enormous amount of work but brought me a vast amount of pleasure.

Mr. L. F. Austin, a clever contributor to the Illustrated London News, wrote a most amusing account of those theatricals—in which he, Mr. Weedon Grossmith, and Mrs. Beerbohm Tree assisted—in his little volume At Random. Sir William Magnay, then a well-known amateur, and now a novelist,[Pg 8] was one of our tiny company. Sweethearts, Mr. W. S. Gilbert’s delightful little comedy, was chosen for the performance, but at the last moment the girl who should have played the maid was taken ill. Off to Queen’s College, where I was then a pupil, I rushed, dragged Maud Holt—who became Mrs Tree a few weeks later—back with me, and that same night she made her first appearance on any stage. Very shortly afterwards Mrs. Beerbohm Tree adopted acting as a profession, and appeared first at the Court Theatre. Subsequently, when her husband became a manager, she joined his company for many years.

We all adored her at College: she was tall and graceful, with a beautiful figure: she sang charmingly, and read voraciously. In those days she was a great disciple of Browning, and so was Mr. Tree; in fact, the poet was the leading-string to love and matrimony.

Mrs. Beerbohm Tree considers that almost the happiest moments of her life were spent in reciting The Absent-minded Beggar for the War Fund. It came about in this wise. She had arranged to give a recitation at St. James’s Hall on one particular Wednesday. On the Friday before that day she saw announced in the Daily Mail that a new poem by Rudyard Kipling on the Transvaal war theme would appear in the Tuesday issue. This she thought would be a splendid opportunity to declaim a topical song at the concert, so she wrote personally to the editor of the paper, and asked him if he could possibly let her have an advance copy of the poem, so that[Pg 9] she might learn and recite it on Wednesday, as the Tuesday issue would be too late for her purpose.