Eminent Women Series 
 
 EDITED BY JOHN H. INGEAM 
 
 MES. SIDDONS. 
 
 (All rights reserved) 
 
MES. SIDDONS. 
 
 BY 
 
 MRS. A. KENNARD, 
 
 LONDON: 
 W. H. ALLEN & CO., 13 WATERLOO PLACE, S.W. 
 
 1887. 
 
 (.411 rights reserved. 
 
LONDON : 
 PRINTED BY W. H. ALLEN AND CO., 13 WATERLOO PLACE, 8.W. 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 IN spite of Mrs. Siddons's professed shrinking from 
 the celebrity that biographers would confer upon her, 
 and her preference for the " still small voice of tender 
 relatives and estimable friends," we know that she 
 bequeathed her Memoranda, Letters, and Diary to 
 the poet Campbell an intimate friend during her 
 latter years with a request that he would prepare 
 them for publication. How, with the ample mate- 
 rial at his command, Campbell wrote so bad a life, it 
 is difficult to conceive. He seemed conscious himself 
 that he was not doing justice to his subject. The 
 task of finishing it weighed on him like a nightmare. 
 To secure himself from interruption he would fix a 
 placard on the door of his chambers announcing that 
 " Mr. Campbell was engaged with the biography of 
 Mrs. Siddons, and was not to be disturbed." 
 
 Though performing the task unwillingly, he stub- 
 bornly refused to allow anyone else to attempt it. 
 When Mrs. Jameson contemplated writing a life of 
 the great actress he was most indignant, and expressed 
 himself as unable to understand how Mrs. Combe 
 (Cecilia Siddons) could patronise a life of her mother 
 
vi PREFACE. 
 
 by Mrs. Jameson, knowing that he had been appointed 
 the biographer. 
 
 Boaden's account of Mrs. Siddons is sketchy and 
 meagre, and his style, if possible, more pedantic and 
 ponderous than Campbell's. Crabb Robinson declared 
 it to be " one of the most worthless books of biography 
 in existence." 
 
 In writing an account of a woman like Mrs. Sid- 
 dons, or, indeed, of anyone whose life has been 
 passed entirely before the public, it is necessary to 
 divest the character as much as possible of the legen- 
 dary traditions adhering to it. It must be brought 
 down into the regions of ordinary life, and the only 
 way to accomplish this is to transcribe her actual 
 words and expressions written without thought of pub- 
 lication. We must therefore ask our readers to forgive 
 us for quoting so many of her letters in full. When 
 we attempt to shorten or interpolate, all their easy 
 charm and freshness seems to evaporate. 
 
 Mr. Percy Fitzgerald, in his Lives of the Kembles, 
 has incorporated Mrs. Siddons's history with that of 
 her brother, John Kemble, and written by far the best 
 biography yet done of the great actress. To him we 
 must express our deep obligation, and almost our con- 
 trition, for venturing to treat a subject already so ably 
 handled in his interesting volumes. We must also 
 express our gratitude to Mr. Alfred Morrison and Mr. 
 Thibaudeau for allowing us to make use of the valuable 
 documents contained in the Morrison collection of 
 autograph letters. 
 
 NINA A. KENNARD. 
 
 February, 1887. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER I. PARENTAGE AND CHILDHOOD . . 1 
 
 CHAPTEE II. MAKRIAGE 18 
 
 CHAPTEE III. " DAVEY " 88 
 
 CHAPTEE IV. WORK 48 
 
 CHAPTEE V. SUCCESS 67 
 
 CHAPTEE VI. DUBLIN AND EDINBURGH . . 81 
 
 CHAPTEE VII. CLOUDS 95 
 
 CHAPTEE VIII. LADY MACBETH . . . .115 
 
 CHAPTEE IX. FRIENDS 180 
 
 CHAPTEE X. 1782 TO 1798 .... 149 
 
 CHAPTEE XI. SHERIDAN 172 
 
 CHAPTEE XII. HERMIONE 186 
 
 CHAPTEE XIII. SORROWS 202 
 
 CHAPTEE XIV. WESTBOURNE FARM . . .216 
 CHAPTEE XV. RETIREMENT . .239 
 CHAPTEE XVI. OLD AGE 255 
 
MRS. SIDDONS. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 PARENTAGE AND CHILDHOOD. 
 
 THE lax morality prevailing in England at the time of 
 the Restoration, produced a literary and dramatic 
 school of art suited to the taste of the public. Con- 
 greve wrote Love for Love, and coolly remarked, when 
 accused of immorality, " that, if it were an immodest 
 play, he was incapable of writing a modest one." 
 
 The reaction from the almost overstrained energy 
 and chivalry of the Elizabethan age, which a century 
 of Stuart rule effected in the minds of Englishmen, had 
 brought them thus low. Manners were looked upon 
 as better than morals. Scepticism as better than belief, 
 as well when it concerned the tenets of the Bible as 
 the honour of their neighbours' wives. 
 
 The stage especially when the public has no other 
 intellectual outlet is invariably the test by which we 
 can discover the moral condition of a country. When 
 that condition is unnatural and feverish, propor- 
 tionally artificial and stimulating must be the mental 
 food presented to it, until the audience gradually 
 
 1 
 
2 | : / : : ; ; , . MRS. SIDDON8. 
 
 becomes incapable of digesting any other. The want 
 at the end of the seventeenth century] produced the 
 supply. A drama arose which was polished, dainty, 
 finished in detail, but from the stage of which virtue 
 was excluded like a poor relation, who, clad in fustian, 
 and shod with hob-nail boots, is not supposed to be fit 
 company for profligate gentlemen in gold-embroidered 
 coats and lace ruffles. 
 
 Shakespeare was too strong food for the digestive 
 capacities of an age whose poets preferred falsehood 
 to truth. Pepys speaks of Henry VIII. as a simple 
 thing made up " of a great many patches." The 
 Tempest, he thinks, " has no great art, but yet good 
 above ordinary plays." Othello was to him " a mean 
 thing," compared to the last new comedy. He is 
 good enough, however, to allow that he liked or dis- 
 liked Macbeth, according to the humour of the hour, 
 but there was a " divertissement " in it, which struck 
 him as being a droll thing in tragedy. 
 
 The fiery energy of Pitt was needed to galvanise 
 the paralysed enthusiasm, the fanatical earnestness of 
 John Wesley was needed to arouse the deadened moral 
 sense of England. Religion and patriotism come first 
 as important factors in the education of a people, but 
 they are closely followed by poetry and the drama. If 
 Pitt and Wesley did much to elevate the political and 
 religious tone, as much was done to elevate the literary 
 and dramatic by Samuel Johnson, Oliver Goldsmith, 
 David Garrick, and Sarah Siddons. 
 
 Our readers may be inclined to think we exaggerate 
 the importance of the stage, by thus classing poets and 
 players together ; but if we wish to appreciate the 
 influence wielded by players a hundred years ago, we 
 have but to examine the careers of these last two great 
 
PARENTAGE AND CHILDHOOD. 3 
 
 artists ; and if we wish to appreciate the moral reform 
 effected, we have but to turn to a list of the plays in 
 vogue at the time of the Restoration and the plays in 
 vogue twenty years after Garrick had been acting, 
 and ten years after Sarah Siddons's first appearance. 
 
 The reaction came, as do all reactions, with too great 
 intensity; vice was not only punished in its own 
 person, but the sins of the father were visited on the 
 children, with a harshness almost Semitic. Through 
 the fine-spun sentiment of The Fatal Marriage, and 
 the melodramatic heroism of The Grecian Daughter, 
 two of Mrs. Siddons' greatest parts, we trace the high 
 moral tone that cleared away eventually the foul . and 
 noisome" atmosphere hanging over the theatrical world. 
 Gloomy morality and dramatic pathos paved the way 
 for the return of the Winter's Tale and Hamlet. 
 
 Justly are the memories of David Garrick and 
 Sarah Siddons revered by Englishmen, not only because 
 they devoted their genius to the reinstatement of 
 England's greatest dramatist, but that, also, by their 
 strict adherence to an almost rigid decorum in public 
 behaviour and private life, they raised a profession 
 that had hitherto been despised and looked upon as 
 one unbefitting a modest woman, or an honourable 
 man, into a position of respectability and considera- 
 tion. 
 
 That these two great artists had faults, who can 
 wonder ? No reformation was ever yet accomplished 
 by the flaccid-minded ones, and we must remember 
 that many of the stories told of his vanity and mean- 
 ness and her hardness and reserve, were circulated by 
 their enemies on and off the stage, because of their 
 very rigidity and morality. In spite, however, of 
 some passing clouds, never was there a career so 
 
 1 * 
 
4 MBS. SIDDONS. 
 
 admired, a personality ^so adored in public life, as 
 that of Mrs. Siddons. ^Whenever she appeared, en- 
 thusiastic applause rang through the house, not only 
 on account of her pre-eminent genius, but because of 
 her untarnished private character. J Step by step we 
 propose to trace the career of this wonderful woman, 
 who, dowered with singular beauty and genius, and 
 placed amid all the temptations of a profession in 
 which so few of her sex remain pure, has shown an 
 example of unswerving rectitude and religious fervour, 
 unusual in any walk of life, keeping her to the last a 
 " great simple being," direct and truthful, noble and 
 industrious. She had faults, as we have said, but they 
 were so far outbalanced by her virtues that we can well 
 afford to forgive them ; always remembering that, 
 though only the daughter of a strolling actor, born 
 amidst the lowliest surroundings, she conceived an ideal 
 of her art which enabled her to raise the stage of her 
 country, from consisting simply in the delineation 
 of the coarsest gallantry, into a source of the highest 
 Amoral and artistic instruction. 
 
 Far from the strife of political parties or the vaga- 
 ries of fashionable dramatists, both she and Garrick, 
 with whose name we have coupled hers, were born in 
 the romantic country of Wales : he at Hereford ; she 
 in the small town of Brecon, by the shores of the 
 river Usk. The following copy of her certificate 
 of baptism, from the register-book in St. Mary's, 
 Brecon, is given in the Gentleman's Magazine in 1826 : 
 "Baptism, 1755, July 14th, Sarah, daughter of George 
 Kemble, a commedian (sic), and Sarah, his wife, was 
 baptised. Thomas Bevan, curate." Her father's name 
 was " Roger/' not " George," as given above. The 
 young couple's theatrical wanderings happened to 
 
PARENTAGE AND CHILDHOOD. 5 
 
 bring them, at the time of Mrs. Kemble's confinement, 
 to the little Welsh town, where they had put up in the 
 High Street at a public-house familiarly called "The 
 Shoulder of Mutton." In 1755 the inn was a pic- 
 turesque gable-fronted old house, with projecting upper 
 storey, exhibiting as sign-board a large shoulder of 
 mutton. It was much frequented by the farmers on 
 market-day for its good ale and its) legs of mutton, 
 which might regularly in those days be seen roasting 
 before the kitchen fire, on a spit turned by a dog in a 
 wheel. 
 
 Brecon is not without dramatic and historic interest, 
 and, as Mrs. Siddons afterwards was fond of pointing 
 out, is several times mentioned by Shakespeare. Buck- 
 ingham, in Richard IIL, says : 
 
 Oh ! let me think on Hastings, and begone 
 To Brecon whilst my fearful head is on. 
 
 Sir Hugh Evans also, that "remnant of Welsh flannel/' 
 in the Merry Wives of Windsor, was curate of the 
 priory of Brecon in the days of Queen Elizabeth ; and 
 from the intimacy which existed between Shakespeare 
 and the priors of the priory, Campbell tells us, " an 
 idea prevails that he frequently visited them at their 
 residence in Brecon, and that he not only availed him- 
 self of the whimsicalities of old Sir Hugh, but that he 
 was indebted for much of the romantic setting of the 
 Midsummer Night's Dream to the surrounding scenery, 
 where Puck and his fairy companions are familiar 
 household words, one of the glens in the neighbour- 
 hood being named Cwm Pwca, or the Valley of Puck." 
 Be this as it may, we cannot wonder at Mrs. Siddons' 
 desire to connect the places that played important 
 parts in her fortunes with the name of the great poet 
 whom she honoured so devotedly and so well. 
 
6 MBS. SIDDONS. 
 
 Roger Kemble, father of the little girl, was the 
 manager of a strolling company of actors, his thea- 
 trical " circuit " including the counties of Stafford- 
 shire, Gloucestershire, and Warwickshire. He wa& 
 born in Hereford in the year 1721, and it was said 
 that he began life as a " barber." John Kemble, when 
 convivial, would sometimes allude to this fact ; but, 
 indeed, in those days many actors are said to have been 
 " barbers/' the fact being that, when strolling, it wa 
 sometimes found convenient for one of the company 
 to combine the two professions. He was a Roman 
 Catholic, and was fond of tracing his descent from 
 an old English family, claiming as ancestors a Captain 
 Kemble, who fought at Worcester in the camp of the 
 Stuarts, and a Father Kemble, who died for the faith 
 a few years later. 
 
 Her mother was a Miss Ward, daughter also of an 
 actor and manager of a strolling company. Peg 
 Woffington, when only fifteen, played at his theatre 
 in Auniger Street, until Mr. Ward's strait-laced 
 severity drove the wild young Irish girl away. The 
 Wards seem, indeed, to have been almost Methodisticai 
 in their strict religious views. The following inscrip- 
 tion may be seen on their tomb at Leominster : 
 
 Here, waiting for the Saviour's great assize, 
 And hoping through His merits hence to rise 
 In glorious mode, in this dark closet lies 
 
 JOHN WARD, GENT., 
 Who died Oct. 30th, 1773, aged 69 years ; 
 
 Also 
 
 SARAH, HIS WWK, 
 Who died Jan. 30th, 1786, aged 75 years. 
 
 Mrs. Siddons was, therefore, 31 before her grand- 
 mother died. Tough, vigorous races, both Kembles 
 
PARENTAGE AND CHILDHOOD. 7 
 
 and Wards, full of religion and prejudices, which 
 they kept intact until they died. On one side we see- 
 the great actress inherited Irish blood. John "Ward 
 was an Irishman, and Sally, his daughter, was born 
 in Clonmel. Roger Kemble, a member of Ward's 
 company, aided by his good looks, courteous manners, 
 and fine black eyes, won the heart of Sally Ward. 
 The father strongly objected to the match; but, 
 finding opposition of no avail, at last reluctantly 
 consented, making the hackneyed joke afterward* 
 attributed to Roger Kemble himself, on the occasion 
 of Sarah's marriage with Siddons that "he wished 
 her not to become the wife of an actor, and she had 
 certainly complied with his request." 
 
 The young couple were married at Cirencester in 
 the year 1753. Sarah was their first child. John. 
 Philip, the second, was borii two years after his sister, 
 at Prescott in Lancashire. They had ten brothers and 
 sisters, and, although all of them except those who 
 died in very early youth went on the stage, none 
 reached the pre-eminence of the two eldest. They 
 were an intelligent, industrious family, blossoming into 
 genius in one member and very remarkable talent in 
 another. As Roger Kemble was a Catholic and his 
 wife a Protestant, it was agreed that the girls were 
 to be brought up in the mother's faith, the boys in 
 their father's. 
 
 The accounts given us of Mrs. Siddons' childhood 
 are meagre ; but, from numerous memoirs and racy 
 theatrical reminiscences, we can see what the life of 
 the travelling actor in England a hundred years ago 
 was like, with all its accompaniments of squalor and 
 humiliation. In these days, when actors and actresses 
 of no very great eminence are whirled about in first- 
 
8 MBS. SIDDONS. 
 
 class express carriages or in special trains from place 
 to place, it is difficult, in spite of accurate information, 
 to realise the hardships attending the profession then. 
 The travelling from town to town in all weathers, in 
 carts little better than those constituting a gipsy cara- 
 van; the parading through the streets, offering play-bills 
 and puffs. A resident of Warwick Walter Whiter, 
 the commentator on Shakespeare when Mrs. Siddons 
 had " become known all the world over," recalled as 
 one of the sights of his boyhood in the town, the 
 daylight procession of old Roger Kemble's company, 
 advertising and giving a foretaste of the evening's 
 entertainment. A little girl, the future Queen of 
 Tragedy, marched with them in white and spangles, 
 her train held by a handsome boy in black velvet, 
 John Philip Kemble, of the " all hail hereafter." 
 
 It is almost impossible to conceive the ignominy 
 the company was subjected to, when either the mayor 
 of the town which was often the case had forbidden 
 theatrical representation, or when, owing to the pranks 
 of some rowdy members of the troupe, the feeling of 
 the inhabitants was aroused against them collectively, 
 and they were obliged to cringe and supplicate for a 
 renewal of the favour of the changeable and narrow- 
 minded provincials. 
 
 Enough of the Puritan spirit still remained to induce 
 Government to frequently place restrictions on the 
 representations of the " Servants of Belial." A story 
 is told of the Kemble company evading the tax on 
 unlicensed houses, introduced by Sir Robert Walpole, 
 by selling tooth-powder at a shilling a box, and giving 
 the ticket ; a proceeding which reminds one of the old 
 smuggling trick of selling a sham sack of corn, and 
 making a present of the keg of brandy placed within it. 
 
PARENTAGE AND CHILDHOOD. 9 
 
 The representations of these strolling actors, Fitz- 
 "Gerald tells us, took place sometimes in a coach-house 
 or barn, or sometimes in a room of an inn ; even the 
 open inn-yard, with its galleries running round, was 
 now and then converted into a theatre. All sorts of 
 old clothes and decorations were borrowed, a few 
 candles stuck in bottles in front, and then the play 
 began. Very often the proceeds did not cover ex- 
 penses, and either debts were made or the owner of 
 the inn let them go scot-free in consideration of the 
 amusement they had afforded his guests. 
 
 The shifts and tribulations, related later by the 
 Kenables themselves, seem almost incredible. Stephen 
 Kemble, the wittiest of the family, described with 
 great humour a season of privation in a wretched 
 village, where the unfortunate actors could not muster 
 a farthing, and were in consequence dunned and abused 
 by their landladies. To avoid their persecution he lay 
 in bed two days, suffering the pangs of hunger, and 
 then was obliged to take refuge in a distant turnip- 
 field, where he persuaded a fellow-actor to accompany 
 him by boasting of the hospitality and size of the 
 establishment. 
 
 In one town the theatre was said to have been built, 
 the stage in Sussex, the audience in Kent, the two 
 being divided by a ditch, so as to enable the players to 
 evade their bailiffs by escaping into another county. 
 There is a certain humour and tragedy running 
 through all these theatrical histories, that makes us 
 laugh at one moment at the comical incidents re- 
 lated, and makes us sad the next to think of men 
 of talent often men of genius being subjected to 
 such degradation. 
 
 It is difficult to understand how Sarah and John 
 
10 MRS. 8IDDON8. 
 
 Kemble can have emerged from it so untainted by 
 its associations, and so far above its social and artistic 
 aims and ideals ; or how their stately manners and 
 stern ideas of morality and decorum can have been 
 fostered in such an atmosphere. In blaming them r 
 perhaps, later, for what their detractors called their 
 (< closeness " about money matters, we must remember 
 that the years of suffering and privation they had been 
 through, and the very laxity they saw around them, 
 was likely to crystallise strong natures like theirs 
 into hardness and rigidity, exaggerating, perhaps, 
 their ideas of theatrical dignity and self-respect. 
 
 There can be no doubt, in spite of all its draw- 
 backs, that, from a professional point of view, the 
 Bohemian existence of the strolling comedian was a 
 valuable discipline for artistic perception. The inti- 
 mate communion in which all lived together, gave 
 much more chance of expansion to rising genius than 
 the artificial barriers now erected between the leader 
 of a company and his subordinates. Not only was the 
 freemasonry existing between underling and superior 
 invaluable, but also the course of probation before 
 country audiences, who, uninfluenced by prestige or 
 fashion, spoke their mind without reserve. Young re- 
 cruits, who arrived ignorant and raw, thus obtained 
 the necessary ease of deportment and knowledge of 
 stage effects, uninfluenced by preconceived ideas. The 
 very fact, also, of so much depending on the individual 
 excellence of the actor, independently of scenery and 
 accessories, was a valuable stimulus. His expression, 
 his action, had to tell the story. 
 
 In passing his earliest years upon the stage, the 
 strolling actor obtained a power of identification with, 
 theatrical representation only to be thus acquired. 
 
PARENTAGE AND CHILDHOOD. II 
 
 The atmosphere he breathed from his earliest years- 
 was dramatic. _ When quite a child, Sarah Kembie 
 was announced as an " Infant phenomenon," at an 
 entertainment the company gave. As she appeared, 
 some confusion arose in the gallery which overpowered 
 all her attempts. Her mother immediately led her 
 down to the footlights, and made her recite the fable 
 of The Boys and Frogs, which at once lulled the 
 tumult and restored good humour. Thus early was the 
 actress taught to dominate her audience, an art that 
 stood her in good stead in after life. 
 
 Besides this early theatrical training, Sarah re- 
 ceived as good an education in the ordinary rudiments 
 of learning as it was possible for her energetic mother 
 to obtain for her. Mrs. Kembie sent .her child to 
 respectable day schools, we are told, in the country 
 towns to which their various wanderings brought the- 
 troupe. At Worcester, a schoolmistress of the name 
 of Harris received her among her pupils at Thornloe 
 House, refusing to accept any payment. An old lady, 
 living not long ago, recalled perfectly the contempt of 
 the young girls in the establishment for the " play 
 actors' daughter," until, some private theatricals being 
 set on foot, her histrionic taste and experience made 
 her services extremely valuable. She won universal 
 popularity by exhibiting a device for imitating a " sack 
 back " with thick sugar-loaf paper procured from the 
 grocer. But this education must have been desultory, 
 for Roger Kembie could not afford to dispense with, 
 the girl's assistance. 
 
 Besides the appearance mentioned above, we hear 
 of her acting as a child, in a barn at the back of the 
 " Old Bell Inn/' at Stourbridge, Worcestershire, when 
 some officers quartered in the neighbourhood gave 
 
12 MRS. SIDDON8. 
 
 their services. It is said that she burst into laughter 
 at the most tragic moment, and inflamed to fury the 
 military tragedian who acted with her. The play was 
 The Grecian Daughter. Another tradition tells us 
 that her first appearance in a regular five-act piece 
 "was as Leonora in The Padlock. 
 
 A play-bill of one of these early performances was 
 found not long ago, pasted on a brick wall in a shoe- 
 maker's shop, in one of the country towns of the 
 Kemble circuit. 
 
 Campbell tells that Roger Kemble determined not 
 to allow his children to follow his vocation ; we think, 
 however, this statement must be bracketed with the 
 legend of the ancestor at the battle of Worcester, for 
 we find him, as we have seen, making Sarah appear 
 when almost a baby, and taking John away from a 
 day school at Worcester, while still in frock and pina- 
 fores, to act in Havard's tragedy of Charles the First* 
 The characters were thus cast : James, Duke of Rich- 
 mond, by Mr. Siddons, who was now an actor in 
 Kemble's company ; James, Duke of York, by Master 
 John Kemble, who was then eleven years old; the 
 young princess by Miss Kemble, then about thirteen ; 
 Lady Fairfax, by Mrs. Kemble. Singing between the 
 acts by Mr. Fowler and Miss Kemble. In the April 
 following, we again find " Mr. Kemble's company 
 of Comedians " appearing in " a celebrated comedy," 
 called The Tempest, or the Enchanted Island, with 
 all the scenery, machinery, music, monsters, and the 
 decorations proper to be .given, entirely new. " The 
 performance will open with a representation of a tem- 
 pestuous sea (in perpetual agitation), and storm, in 
 which the usurper's ship is wrecked ; the wreck ends 
 -with a beautiful shower of fire ; and the whole to con- 
 
PARENTAGE AND CHILDHOOD. 19. 
 
 elude with a calm sea, on which appears Neptune, 
 poetick god of the ocean, and his royal consort, Am- 
 phitrite, in a chariot drawn by sea-horses, &c. &c." It 
 was in this performance, as Ariel, Chief Spirit, that, 
 at the age of thirteen, Sarah made her first success. 
 " She darted hither and thither," we are told, " with 
 such airy grace ; there was something so sprite-like in 
 her free swiftness of motion, she seemed to be so 
 entirely a creature born of the loves of a breeze and a 
 sunbeam, that the whole audience broke into frantic 
 applause at the end of the play, and her proud happy 
 father began dimly to foresee his daughter's future." 
 
 Later, we find a performance by the company of 
 Love in a Village announced, the names printed 
 thus : 
 
 Sir William Meadows, by Mr. K mb le. 
 
 Young Meadows, by Mr. S dd ns. 
 
 Rosetta, by Miss K mb le. 
 
 Madge, by Mrs. K mb le. 
 
 Housemaid, by Miss F. K mb le. 
 In the November following, John Philip was sent 
 to Sedgely Park near Wolverhampton, a Catholic 
 seminary. A short entry has been discovered in the 
 College books, stating that "John and (sic) Philip 
 Kemble came Nov. 3rd 1767, and brought 4 suits of 
 clothes, 12 shirts, 12 pairs of stockings, 6 pairs of 
 shoes, 4 hats, 2 Daily Companions, a Half Manual, 
 knives, forks, spoons, JEsop's Fables, combs, 1 brush, 
 8 handkerchiefs, 8 nightcaps " 
 "Jackabiit, July 28, 1771." 
 
 After four years' residence here, his father sent 
 him to the English College at Douai, to pursue a 
 regular divinity course, his intention being to put the 
 future Coriolanus into the priesthood. 
 
14 MBS. 8IDDONS. 
 
 Sarah still continued her studies, such as they were, 
 ^,t the various towns at which the " comedians " 
 pitched their tent in their wanderings to and fro. 
 She was taught vocal and instrumental music, and her 
 father, remarking that she had fine natural powers of 
 elocution, wished them cultivated by regular tuition 
 as a part of her education, with no view to the stage ; 
 for this purpose he was tempted to enter into an agree- 
 ment with an individual named William Combe, to 
 give her a course of lessons. 
 
 The itinerant players were generally looked upon 
 as a valuable addition to the inn parlour, and were 
 -welcome to a supper or a pot of ale in return for their 
 society and amusing talk. It was on one of these 
 ^occasions that Roger Kemble, who was a jovial and 
 popular companion, met Combe, and was so attracted 
 by his clever conversation, as to engage him as in- 
 structor to his daughter. Mrs. Kemble, evidently a 
 woman of considerable common sense and penetration, 
 (refused to ratify the appointment, however, and Roger 
 was obliged to get out of his promise by giving a per- 
 formance for the benefit of the adventurer, who, having 
 run through a fortune, was perfectly penniless. 
 
 To the last day of his life William Combe enter- 
 tained a rancorous dislike to the great actress, and 
 took pleasure in telling his friends maliciously how 
 sordid her early life had been, and how he himself re- 
 membered her, when a girl, standing at the wing of a 
 country theatre, beating snuffers against a candlestick 
 to represent the sound of a windmill, in some rude 
 pantomime. 
 
 Curiously enough, Milton's poetry more than Shake- 
 speare's was the object of Sarah's admiration in her 
 .youth. When but ten years old, Campbell tells us, 
 
PARENTAGE AND CHILDHOOD. 15 
 
 he pored over Paradise Lost for hours together. The 
 long, tiresome speeches between Adam and his wife, 
 Satan's address to the sun most children's despair 
 were her delight. The stately, ponderous verse suited 
 her genius. The poet also gives us a story which, he 
 tells, Mrs. Siddons left amongst her memoranda. 
 
 One day her mother promised to take her out with 
 a party of friends picnicking in the neighbourhood. 
 She was to wear a new pink dress, if the weather were 
 fine. On going to bed the evening before the great 
 event, she took her prayer-book with her, and opening 
 it, as she supposed, at the prayer for fine weather, fell 
 asleep with the book folded in her arms. At day- 
 break the child found, to her dismay, that she had 
 been holding the prayer for rain to her breast, and 
 that the rain Heaven having taken her at her word 
 was pelting against the windows. She went to bed 
 again, with the book opened at the right place, and 
 found the mistake remedied. When she awoke the 
 morning was as rosy as the dress she was to wear. 
 
 Croker thinks it necessary, with all the weight of 
 Ms authority, to refute this childish reminiscence, by 
 pointing out that the prayers for rain and fine weather 
 are on the same page of the prayer-book. We repeat 
 the story principally because it shows the quaint 
 methodistical piety and almost childish superstition 
 which dwelt with Mrs. Siddons all through her 
 chequered career. There is little doubt this piety was 
 greatly owing to the principles inculcated by her 
 mother. 
 
 Mrs. Kemble was a stately, austere woman, with a 
 -certain amount of genius and much force of character, 
 and energetic and brave in her humble sphere of 
 life, in most difficult circumstances. She fought by 
 
16 MBS. SIDDONS. 
 
 the side of her husband a hard battle with poverty, 
 and maintained and educated a family of twelve chil- 
 dren. Spartan in her views of training youth, her 
 imperious despotism of character has often been 
 described as absolutely awful. It was the custom of 
 the time to rule a household with some sternness, but 
 her children trembled in her presence. In later days 
 she addressed a characteristic reproof to her son 
 John : " Sir, you are as proud as Lucifer/' He 
 and that majestic mother of his must indeed have 
 been a Coriolauus and Volumnia in every-day life. 
 Her voice had much of the measured emphasis of her 
 daughter's, and her portrait, the only one we know of, 
 that always hung in Mrs. Siddons' sitting-room, had 
 an intellectual, almost grand expression, reminding us 
 more of a good-looking Elizabeth Fry, with the tight- 
 fitting frilled cap, and soft muslin handkerchief 
 crossed around the throat, than what one might have 
 pictured Sally Kemble, the strolling actress. Though 
 extremely handsome when Roger Kemble first mar- 
 ried her, and subjected to all the temptations of an 
 actress's life, she never wavered in wifely devotion, and 
 would maintain to the last day of her life that in 
 some parts her Roger was "unparalleled/' Hers is 
 the only testimony to that effect, and we rather 
 imagine him to have been a very indifferent actor, 
 but a handsome good-tempered man with the manners 
 of a gentleman, and views of life beyond his humble 
 profession. 
 
 Proud, reserved, John Kemble paid, years after, 
 the best tribute to his memory, when, on hearing of 
 his death, he wrote to his brother from Madrid, on 
 31st December 1802 : " How sincerely I always loved 
 my father and respected his sound understanding, you 
 
PARENTAGE AND CHILDHOOD. 17 
 
 know too well for it to be necessary that I should 
 even mention what I feel this moment, on opening 
 your letter. God Almighty receive him into His 
 everlasting happiness, and teach me to be resigned 
 and resolute, to deserve to follow him when my ap- 
 pointed hour is come. My poor mother, though I 
 know she will exert becoming firmness of mind in this, 
 and every passage of her life, cannot but feel a melan- 
 choly void in losing the companion of her youth, the 
 associate of her advancing years, and the father of her 
 children. I regret from the very bottom of my heart 
 that I cannot, with the most dutiful affection, assure 
 her, at her feet, that what a grateful son can offer and 
 do shall never be wanting from me to promote her 
 content and ease and happiness. How, in vain, have 
 I delighted myself in thousands of inconvenient occur- 
 rences on this journey, with the thought of contem- 
 plating my father's cautious incredulity while I related 
 them to him ! Millions of things, uninteresting maybe 
 to anybody else, I had treasured up for his surprise 
 and scrutiny ! It is God's pleasure that he is gone 
 from us. The resignation I had long observed in him 
 to the will of Heaven, and his habitual piety, are no 
 small consolation to me ; yet I cannot help feeling a 
 dejected swelling at my heart, that keeps me in a flood 
 of tears for him, in spite of all I can do to stop them." 
 
 2 
 
18 MRS. SIDDONS. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 MARRIAGE. 
 
 L,As Sarah Kemble passed from childhood to early 
 womanhood, she continued to act the round of all the 
 company's plays, taking more important parts as she 
 grew older. The very atmosphere she breathed was 
 dramatic.^] To walk the stage was a second nature to 
 her. She was not, however, at the same time shut out 
 from common-place every-day matters. She helped 
 her mother in the household work, and went from a 
 rehearsal to the making of a pudding or the darning 
 of a pair of stockings. There is little doubt that this 
 free mixing in the simple family life of her home gave 
 a healthy balance to her mind. Like her mother, she 
 always kept her domestic life intact in the midst of her 
 professional occupations, and ever remained simple and 
 womanly. Her fine friends in later days would tell 
 how they had found her ironing a frock for one of 
 her children, or studying a new part while she rocked 
 the cradle of the last baby. 
 
 . C? At the age of sixteen, Sarah's beauty had attracted 
 the attention of her audiences. One or two squires of 
 the county places they visited offered her their homage; 
 but before she was seventeen her affections were 
 
MARRIAGE. 19 
 
 already engaged by a member of the troupe, an ex- 
 apprentice from Birmingham, ^ 
 
 We have already seen the name of Siddons figuring v 
 on the Kemble play-bills, when Sarah was only thirteen 
 years of age. We can imagine, therefore, all the 
 opportunities that the young people had of falling in 
 love, rehearsing together, acting together, with the 
 continual communion of interest brought about by 
 their profession. No wonder that even Mr. Evans, a 
 Welsh squire, with three hundred a year, who, en- 
 slaved by Sarah's singing of Robin, Sweet Robin, 
 offered her his hand, was ignominiously refused.. Her 
 parents, however, took a different view, and, allured 
 by the splendour of Mr. Evans's offer, revoked the 
 unwilling consent they had given to their daughter's 
 engagement to Siddons, and summarily dismissed him 
 from the company. 
 
 The indignant lover had recourse to a method of 
 revenge that seems as novel as it was ungentlemanly. 
 Being allowed a farewell benefit, he took the oppor- 
 tunity it was at Brecon of taking the audience into 
 his confidence, and, in doggrel of the worst description, 
 informed them of his woes : 
 
 Ye ladies of Brecon, whose hearts ever feel 
 For wrongs like to this I 'm about to reveal, 
 Excuse the first product, nor pass unregarded 
 The complaints of poor Colin, a lover discarded. 
 
 Yet still on his Phyllis his hopes were all placed, 
 That her vows were so firm they could ne'er be effaced ; 
 But soon she convinced him 't was all a mere joke, 
 For duty rose up, and her vows were all broke, 
 
 Dear ladies, avoid one indelible stain, 
 Excuse me, I beg, if my verse is too plain ; 
 But a jilt is the devil, as has long been confessed, 
 Which a heart like poor Colin's must ever detest. 
 
 2 * 
 
20 MBS. SIDDONS. 
 
 We only give three verses of the eleven, being as 
 much, we think, as our readers could submit to with 
 patience. 
 
 How a girl of any spirit could forgive a lover for 
 thus exposing their private affairs, and how a girl of 
 any artistic appreciation could forgive a lover such 
 bad verses, and take him back into her good graces, 
 is more than we can understand. Mrs. Kemble, her 
 mother, seemed to take the most correct view of the 
 situation, for, instead of excusing "the first product" 
 of the luckless poet, "his merits tho* small/' she 
 amply rewarded with a ringing box on the ears as he 
 left the stage. 
 
 Jones, a member of Roger Kemble's company, pre- 
 served some verses written by Sarah to her lover, 
 which show her to be as superior to him in taste and 
 poetic perception, as she afterwards proved herself in. 
 dramatic power : 
 
 Say not, Strephon, I 'm untrue, 
 When I only think of you ; 
 If you do but think of me 
 As I of you, then shall you be 
 Without a rival in my heart, 
 Which ne'er can play a tyrant's part. 
 Trust me, Strephon, with thy love 
 I swear by Cupid's bow above, 
 Nought shall make me e'er betray 
 Thy passion till my dying day : 
 If I live, or if I die, 
 Upon my constancy rely. 
 
 Siddons sufficiently relied on her constancy, in spite- 
 of his statements to "ye ladies of Brecon," to suggest 
 to his beloved an immediate elopement, which sugges- 
 tion she, as Campbell quaintly puts it, "tempering 
 amatory with filial duty," politely declined, and her 
 lover left. 
 
MARRIAGE. 21 
 
 As it was considered advisable to wean Sarah from 
 old associations she was sent away for a time, and 
 lived " under the protection " of Mrs. Greatheed, 
 of Guy's Cliff in Warwickshire. Some have main- 
 tained that she was nursemaid or housemaid ; but 
 the terms she was on with her mistress, who presented 
 her with a copy of Milton, precludes that idea, un- 
 less, by her smartness and industry, she, within 
 a very short period of her engagement, worked her- 
 self into a better position. Campbell also points out 
 that there were no children to be nursed in the 
 Greatheed family at that time. " Her station with 
 them," he continues, "was humble, but not servile, 
 and ner principal employment was to read to the elder 
 Mr. Greatheed." The secret history of the green 
 room informs us that she was maid to Lady Mary 
 Bertie, Samuel Greatheed's second wife ; and the 
 Duchess of Ancaster told Mrs. Geneste she well re- 
 membered Lady Mary once bringing this attractive 
 attendant with her on a visit. 
 
 It was remarked that she delighted in reciting frag- 
 ments of plays for the entertainment of the servants' 
 hall. Lord Robert Bertie was so fond of listening and 
 admiring her declamation, that Lady Mary had to beg 
 of him to desist, and " not encourage the girl to go on 
 the stage." Young Greatheed told Miss Wynn later 
 on that he had often heard Mrs. Siddons read Macbeth 
 when she was his mother's maid. 
 
 Lady Mary confessed years afterwards to " Conver- 
 sation " Sharp, that so queenly was the bearing of the 
 young girl, even at that early age, that she always felt 
 an irresistible inclination to rise from her chair when 
 her maid came to attend her. 
 
 We can imagine the romantic girl wandering through 
 
22 MBS. 8IDDON8. 
 
 the lonely glades, and amongst the stately elm-groves 
 of Guy's Cliff, or along the shores of the soft-flowing 
 Avon, Shakespeare's Avon, that glides at the foot of 
 the rocks between green meadows, dreaming of her 
 love, and reading the poet she loved so well, whose 
 birth-place and burial-place lay so near where she was. 
 She must have heard reminiscences told of the great 
 Jubilee that had taken place in 1769, only three years 
 before, when Mr. Garrick and a " brilliant company 
 of nobility and gentry," had come down to Stratford 
 to celebrate the Shakesperean centenary. She little 
 knew then that it was in a repetition of the Jubilee pro- 
 cession on the boards of Drury Lane she was destined 
 to make her first bow to a London audience. There 
 is a tradition that she met Garrick during her stay at 
 Guy's Cliff. It is not impossible, as, after the Jubilee, 
 he was a constant guest of the Greatheeds. The state- 
 ment hardly tallies, however, with his writing some- 
 time later to Moody to the effect that there " was a 
 woman Siddons " acting at Liverpool, who might suit 
 the Drury Lane company, and asking him to go and 
 have a look at her. He might easily, however, have 
 failed to connect the girl Sarah Kemble with the 
 woman Mrs. Siddons. 
 
 It redounds much to the credit both of the Great- 
 heeds and the actress, that afterwards, in spite of the 
 change of circumstances, Mrs. Siddons ever remained 
 a firm friend of the family. We find Miss Berry in 
 1822, forty-seven years later, writing in her journal : 
 
 " Guy's Cliff, Tuesday, Jan. 1st. Mrs. Siddons and 
 her daughter arrived. 
 
 " Wednesday, 2nd. Mrs. Siddons read Othello^ 
 the two parts of lago and Othello, quite a merveille." 
 
 We find Bertie Greatheed standing sponsor for her 
 
MARRIAGE. 23 
 
 daughter Cecilia in 1794; and, greatest test of true 
 friendship, writing a tragedy, The Regent, which failed 
 disastrously. 
 
 In spite of stern parents and social obstacles, "Love 
 will be ever Lord of all." William Siddons came 
 several times to Guy's Cliff to see her. There, almost 
 within sight of Shottery, where Shakespeare enacted 
 his love story with Anne Hathaway, Sarah Kemble 
 enacted hers. Wandering amidst the scented fields 
 through which Shakespeare wandered, William Siddons 
 again pleaded his cause, and was forgiven his bad 
 verses and untimely confidences for the sake of his 
 persistency. 
 
 The Kembles, seeing the attachment was serious, 
 at last gave their consent, and in her nineteenth year 
 Sarah Kemble became Mrs. Siddons. 
 
 The marriage took place at Trinity Church, Coventry, 
 November 26th, 1773, and on the 4th of October fol- 
 lowing, the first child, Henry, was born, at Wolver- 
 hampton. 
 
 Mr. Siddons was just the man to fascinate a young 
 and high-spirited girl. Good-looking, calm, sedate, 
 even-tempered, not over-burdened with brain-power, 
 and not too much will of his own. One might apply 
 to him what Johnson said of Sheridan's father, " He 
 is not a bad man, no, Sir ; were mankind to be divided 
 into good and bad, he would stand considerably within 
 the ranks of the good." " A damned rascally player," 
 the Rev. Henry Bate says forcibly, " but a civil 
 fellow." We are told that he had not only that 
 invention which in provincial theatres is the first of 
 requisites, but he also possessed the second, a quick 
 study, in almost unequalled perfection. He could make 
 himself master of the longest dramatic character be- 
 
24 MBS. SIDVONS. 
 
 tween night and night, and deliver it with the accuracy 
 that seems to result only from long application ; but so 
 slight was the impression made, that it escaped from 
 his memory in as few hours as he had employed 
 to learn it. It was said later, by members of his 
 wife's company, that though Siddons was a bad actor 
 himself, he was an excellent judge, always drilling his 
 wife, and very cross at any failure. His position as 
 husband of the " great Mrs. Siddons," continually 
 cast into the shade by her superiority, was an un- 
 thankful one, but we must confess that he filled it 
 with commendable equanimity. 
 
 Their love wore better than the tinsel finery amidst 
 which it began. CThe happy domestic life that suc- 
 ceeded was undoubtedly a great safe-guard amidst 
 the dangers and difficulties of her life, saving her 
 from much that *ST1;he ruin of her less protected 
 sisters.^ We are told that in the days of her success, 
 when her would-be admirers and lovers were legion, 
 her husband's ear was the one to which she con- 
 fided all the incidents of attempted gallantry, inva- 
 riably attending an actress's life ; and many were the 
 hearty laughs they indulged in together over them. 
 Perhaps now and then there was too great an inclina- 
 tion to make use of him. We find the poor man 
 writing to managers as their obedient humble servant, 
 making piteous appeals to Garrick, and put forward to 
 dun Sheridan for the amount due to his wife ; but at 
 first they seem to have shared all the trials and 
 struggles of their profession together. 
 
 Wolverhampton was their first stage after their 
 marriage. The reigning Mayor seems to have nou- 
 rished a prejudice against all actors. He had closed 
 the King's Head Yard, and declared contemptuously 
 
MAEBIAGE. 25 
 
 that " neither player, puppy, nor monkey/* should per- 
 form in the town. After a popular demonstration, he 
 was induced to rescind this harsh interdict ; and by the 
 Christmas of 1773, Roger Kemble was giving two 
 stock dramas, The West Indian and The Padlock. 
 Sarah appeared for the first time as Mrs. Siddons, at 
 a farewell " Bespeak." An address, written by herself, 
 and spoken on this occasion, has been found and 
 published by an inhabitant of Wolverhampton : 
 
 Ladies and Gentlemen, my spouse and I 
 Have had a squabble, and I '11 tell you why. 
 He said I must appear ; nay, vowed 'twas right 
 To give you thanks for favours shown to-night. 
 
 / * * * * * 
 
 He still insisted, and, to win consent, 
 Strove to o'ercome me with a compliment ; 
 Told me that I the favourite here had reigned, 
 While he but small or no applause had gained. 
 " Pen me some lines where I may talk and swagger, 
 Of poisons, murders, done by bowl or dagger; 
 Or let me, with my brogue and action ready, 
 Give them a brush, my dear, of Widow Brady," 
 
 * * * * * 
 
 First, for a father, who on this fair ground, 
 Has met with friendship seldom to be found, 
 May th* All-Good Power your every virtue nourish, 
 Health, wealth, and trade in Wolverhampton flourish I" 
 
 This doggrel is almost on a par with Mr. Siddons's 
 effusion to the Ladies of Brecon. 
 
 In the year following Mr. and Mrs. Siddons made 
 their way to Cheltenham, then a town consisting of 
 but one street, " through the middle of which ran a 
 clear stream of water, with stepping-stones that served 
 as a bridge/' Already, however, its merits as a water- 
 ing place had been noised abroad, and some of the 
 " people of quality " had begun to find their way there. 
 Seeing the play of Venice Preserved announced for 
 
26 MBS. SIDDONS. 
 
 representation at the theatre, some of the fashionables 
 took tickets, hoping to be highly diverted with the 
 badness of the rustic performance. The man at the 
 box-office, who had listened to their thoughtless 
 remarks, reported them to Mrs. Siddons, who was to- 
 act the part of Belvidera. The young actress felt 
 oppressed at the idea of the ordeal she was to be sub- 
 jected to. Ridicule was all her life the one thing the 
 tragic muse could not face ; and from the moment of first 
 coming on she was conscious of the antagonistic influ- 
 ence in one of the boxes, and imagined she heard 
 sounds of suppressed laughter. She left the theatre 
 after the play, deeply mortified. Next day, Mr. Sid- 
 dons met Lord Aylesbury in the street, who inquired 
 after Mrs. Siddons's health. He then expressed his 
 admiration of her acting the night before, and declared 
 that the ladies of his party had wept so excessively 
 that they were laid up with headaches. Mr. Siddons 
 rushed home to gladden his wife's heart with the news. 
 The actress owed one of the truest friendships of her 
 life to this incident, for Miss Boyle, Lord Aylesbury's 
 step-daughter, came to call on her the same day to 
 express her delight in person, and from that time 
 never allowed the intimacy to drop. This lady seems 
 to have possessed considerable artistic gifts in several 
 ways, having, as Campbell tells us with much emphasis, 
 written An Ode to a Poppy, which was thought full of 
 merit in her day. What was of more importance to 
 the young actress, however, than her new friend's 
 qualifications for writing " odes " was her power of 
 making costumes for different parts with her own 
 hands, and her generosity in supplying " properties " 
 from her own wardrobe. There were some, however, 
 that even the Honourable Miss Boyle did not possess. 
 
MARRIAGE. 27 
 
 For the male habiliments of the Widow Brady, the 
 young actress found on the night of the performance 
 that no provision had been made. The story goes that 
 a gentleman politely left the box where he was seated, 
 lent her his coat, and stood in the side- scenes with a 
 petticoat over his shoulders until his property was 
 restored to him. Whether this courteous individual 
 was Lord Aylesbury we are not told, but we know that 
 he was one of Miss Boyle's party. 
 
 The particular fascination of Mrs. Siddons's acting 
 in those early days was its simplicity and pathos, 
 which, united with remarkable beauty and power of 
 expression, gained the hearts of all rustic audiences. 
 Her talent, however, seems to have been singularly 
 immature, considering the continual practice she had 
 enjoyed, almost from her cradle, in stage affairs. 
 Rachel reached the summit of her power at seven- 
 teen, Mrs. Siddons not until she was thirty. She 
 herself confesses later, in the account she gives of her 
 first reading ^of Macbeth : " Being then only twenty 
 years of age, I believed, as many others do believe, 
 that little more was necessary than to get the words 
 into my head ; for the necessity of discrimination, and 
 the development of character, at that time of my life, 
 had scarcely entered into my imagination/' 
 
 The power of drawing tears, however, was already 
 hers, and rumours of the charm and beauty of the 
 young actress had been wafted to London, reaching 
 even the ears of the great Garrick himself. Mrs. 
 Siddons tells us, in her Autograph Recollections i 
 " Mr. King, by order of Mr. Garrick, who had heard 
 some account of me from the Aylesbury family, came 
 to Cheltenham to see me in the Fair Penitent. I knew 
 neither Mr. King nor his purpose at the time." Neither 
 
28 MBS. S1DDONS. 
 
 did she know of the second emissary whom Garrick 
 sent, the Rev. Henry Bate, who in 1781 took the name 
 of Dudley, and was afterwards made a canon and a 
 baronet; a bruising, muscular clergyman of the old 
 school, who fought duels one moment and wrote 
 "" slashing " articles on every subject, " human and 
 divine/' the next. He was well known as a theatrical 
 censor and critic of considerable acumen. We know 
 him by Gainsborough's portrait, standing in a garden 
 with his dog. It is said that a political opponent 
 remarked that the man wanted " execution " and 
 the dog " hanging." We find Garrick continually 
 sending him on theatrical errands. We give the 
 letters he wrote about Mrs. Siddons very nearly in 
 their entirety, on account of their characteristic quaint 
 humour and shrewd power of observation; and also 
 because they to a certain degree exonerate Garrick 
 from some of the charges brought against him by Mrs. 
 Siddons : 
 
 MY DEAK FRIEND, 
 
 After combatting the various difficulties of one of the cussidest 
 cross-roads in this kingdom, we arrived safe at Cheltenham on Thurs- 
 day last, and saw the theatrical heroine of that place in the character 
 of Rosalind. Though I beheld her from the side wing of the stage 
 (a barn about three yards over), and consequently under almost every 
 disadvantage, I own she made so strong an impression upon me, that 
 I think she cannot fail to be a valuable acquisition to Drury Lane. 
 Her figure must be remarkably fine, although marred for the present. 
 Her face (if I could judge from where I saw it) is one of the most 
 strikingly beautiful for stage effect that I ever beheld, but I shall 
 surprise you more when I assure you that these are nothing to her 
 action and general stage deportment, which are remar 1 ' ibly pleasing 
 and characteristic ; in short, I know no woman who marks the diffe- 
 rent passages and transitions with so much vari< -y, and at the same 
 time propriety of expression. In the latter humbug scene with 
 Orlando previous to her revealing herself, she did more with it than 
 anyone I ever saw, not even your divine Mrs. Barry excepted. It is 
 
MARRIAGE. 29 
 
 necessary after this panegyric, however, to inform you that her voice 
 struck me at first as rather dissonant, and I fancy, from the private 
 conversation I had with her, that in impassioned scenes it must be 
 somewhat grating ; however, as I found it wear away as the business 
 became more interesting, I am inclined to think it only an error of 
 affectation, which may be corrected, if not totally removed. She 
 informed me she has been upon the stage from her cradle. This, 
 though it surprised me, gave me the highest opinion of her judgment, 
 to find she had contracted no strolling habits, which have so often 
 been the bane of many a theatrical genius. She will most certainly 
 be of great use to you, at all events, on account of the great number 
 of characters she plays, all of which, I will venture to assert, she 
 fills with propriety, though I have yet seen her but in one. She is, as 
 you have been informed, a very good breeches figure, and plays in 
 Widow Brady, I am informed, admirably. I should not wonder, from 
 her ease, figure, and manner, if she made the proudest she of either 
 house tremble in genteel comedy nay, beware yourself, Great Little 
 Man, for she plays Hamlet to the satisfaction of the Worcestershire 
 critics. 
 
 The moment the play was over I wrote a note to her husband (who 
 is a damned rascally player, though seemingly a very civil fellow) 
 requesting an interview with him and his wife, intimating at the same 
 time the nature of my business. You will not blame me for making 
 this forced march in your favour, as I learnt that some of the Covent 
 Garden Mohawks were intrenched near the place and intended carry- 
 ing her by surprise. At the conclusion of the farce they waited upon 
 me, and, after I had opened my commission, she expressed herself 
 happy at the opportunity of being brought out under your eye, but 
 declined proposing any terms, leaving it entirely with you to reward 
 her as you thought proper. 
 
 You will perceive that at present she has all that diffidence usually 
 the first attendant on merit ; how soon the force of Drury Lane 
 examples, added to the rising vanity of a stage heroine, may transform 
 her, I cannot say. It happens very luckily that the company comes 
 to Worcester for the race week, when I shall take every opportunity 
 of seeing her, and if I find the least reason to alter my opinion 
 (perhaps too hastily formed), you shall immediately have my recanta- 
 tion. My wife, whose judgment in theatrical matters I have a high 
 opinion of, joins with me in these sentiments respecting her merit. I 
 should have wrote to you before, but no post went out from anywhere 
 near here but this night's. 
 
 " I shall expect to hear from you by return of the post, as Siddons 
 will call upon me to know whether you look upon her as engaged. 
 
30 MRS. SIDDONS. 
 
 My wife joins me in respects to Mrs. Garrick and yourself. I remain, 
 my dear Sir (after writing a damned jargon, I suppose, of unintelligible 
 stuff in haste), 
 
 Ever yours most truly, 
 
 H. BATE. . 
 
 Worcester, 12th August, 1775. 
 P. S. Direct to me at the " Hop Pole." 
 To David Garrick, Esq., Adelphi, London. 
 
 Mr DEAR FRIEND, Worcester, Aug. 19th, 1775, 
 
 I received your very friendly letter, and take the first post 
 from hence to answer it. I found it unnecessary to make the intima- 
 tion you desired to the husband, since he requires only to be employed 
 in any manner you shall think proper ; and as he is much more 
 tolerable than I thought him at first, it may be no very difficult 
 matter to station] him so as to satisfy the man, without burdening 
 the property. I saw him the other evening in Young Marlow in 
 Goldsmith's Comedy, and then he was far from despicable ; neither his 
 figure nor face contemptible. A jealousy prevailing through the 
 theatre, upon a suspicion of their leaving them, the acting manager 
 seems determined that I shall not see her again in any character 
 wherein she might give me a second display of her theatrical powers. 
 I am resolved, however, to continue the siege till they give her some- 
 thing capital, knowing that must speedily be the case, or the garrison 
 must fall by famine. 
 
 She has already gone six months, so that pretty early in December 
 she will be fit for service ; as you certainly mean to open the ensuing 
 campaign, by charging in person at the head of your lines, I conceive 
 she will come at a very favourable crisis to take a second command, 
 when the retreat from the field may be politically necessary. I am 
 strongly for her first appearance in JRosalind; but you may judge 
 better, perhaps, after a perusal of the list on the other side ; the 
 characters marked under [in italics'] are those which she prefers to 
 others : 
 
 Jane Shore. Juliet. Violante. 
 
 Alicia. Cordelia. Rosalind. 
 
 Roxana. Horatia. Mrs. Strickland. 
 
 Grecian Daughter. Imogen. Clarinda. 
 
 Matilda. Marianne. Miss Aubrey. 
 
 Belvidera. Lady Townley. Charlotte. 
 
 Calista. Portia. Widow Brady. 
 
 Monimia. Mrs. Belville. 
 
MARRIAGE. 31 
 
 Yon are certainly right respecting a memorandum between you ; 
 the moment, therefore, I receive one from you, it shall be conveyed 
 to them at Cheltenham, where they return next week, and they have 
 promised to return me an answer immediately at Birmingham, for 
 which place I shall set off the instant I have received your letter in 
 any way to town, in order to conclude this business finally, and to the 
 satisfaction of all parties. I am desired to request your answer to 
 the three following particulars : 
 
 1st. As they are ready to attend your summons at any time, 
 Whether they are not to be allowed something to subsist upon when 
 they come to town previous to her appearance ? 
 
 2nd. Whether you have any objection to employ him in any situa- 
 tion in which you may think him likely " to be useful " ? 
 
 3rd. When you chuse they should attend you ? 
 
 As to the first, without you are inclined to have them at the 
 opening of the house, perhaps her remaining in the country, in 
 their own company, where they do very well, may ease you of some 
 expense ; but of this you must be the best judge. With respect to 
 him, I think you can have no objection to take him upon the terms 
 he proposes himself. I forgot to tell you that Mrs. Siddons is 
 about twenty years of age. It would be unjust not to remark one 
 circumstance in favour of them both ; I mean the universal good 
 character they have preserved here for many years, on account of 
 their public as well as private conduct in life. I beg you to be very 
 particular in your answer to the three queries, and likewise expressly 
 to mention the time you wish to see them, that they may arrange 
 their little matters accordingly. 
 
 In a postscript he adds : 
 
 She is the most extraordinary quick study I ever heard of. This 
 
 cannot be amiss, for, if I recollect right, we have a sufficient number 
 
 of the leaden-headed ones at D. Lane already. 
 
 Then come letters from Siddons, in answer to some 
 from Bate, concluding an engagement. We can see 
 the trembling anxiety of the young couple. " They 
 were in much concern," he says, " at not hearing 
 sooner," as from the line he had shown him in Mr. 
 Garrick's handwriting, he had been sure of Mrs. Sid- 
 
 dons's engagement. They had, in consequence, given 
 .his partners in management at Cheltenham notice of 
 
32 MRS. SIDDONS. 
 
 his intention to go ; if anything had happened, there- 
 fore, to prevent their engagement, it would have 
 " proved a very unlucky circumstance/* He then 
 touches on a very necessary point their pressing need 
 of money to tide them over Mrs. Siddons's expected 
 confinement. " Mr. Garrick," he says, " has conferred 
 an eternal obligation by his kind offer of the cash." 
 
 In his next letter, dated Gloucester, November 9th, 
 1775, he writes : "From my former accounts of Mrs. 
 Siddons's time, you '1 be surprised when I tell you she 
 is brought to bed ; she was unexpectedly taken ill when 
 performing on the stage, and early the next morning 
 produc'd me a fine girl. They are both, thank Heaven, 
 likely to do well; but I am afraid, Sir, notwithstanding 
 this, I shan't be able to leave this much sooner than 
 the time I last mentioned/' He then alludes to 
 twenty pounds borrowed in Garrick's name to meet 
 pressing demands. 
 
 This " fine girl " was Mrs. Siddons' daughter Sarah, 
 whose premature death later nearly broke her mother's- 
 heart. 
 
33 
 
 CHAPTEE III. 
 
 DAVEY." 
 
 you ever heard," asked Garrick, in an un- 
 published letter to Moody, then at Liverpool, " of a 
 woman Siddons, who is strolling about somewhere near 
 you ? " Four months later, by the help of the Rev. 
 Henry Bate's favourable report of her powers, she 
 made her first appearance at Drury Lane. The 
 Golden Gates of the Temple of Fame were thrown 
 open. The young priestess had but to enter, one 
 would have thought, and light the sacred flame ; but 
 genius is not to be bound by expediency or opportu- 
 nity. 
 
 It was in 1775, the year when Garrick gave up the 
 management, that Mrs. Siddons appeared on the 
 boards of Drury Lane. She had reached the highest 
 point of her ambition she was to act with the greatest 
 actor of his time before a dramatic audience rendered 
 fastidious and critical by great traditions. 
 
 This *?the most unfortunate portion of her life to 
 recount. Failure and disappointment attended every 
 step she made ; and this failure and disappointment, 
 although it did not in the least discourage her in 
 
 3 
 
34 MBS. SIDDON8. 
 
 the prosecution of her art, hurried her into bitterness 
 and an unjust feeling of rancour against Garrick, 
 which an examination of the circumstances of the 
 case in no way warrants. One of the Kemble weak- 
 nesses was a proud sensitiveness to anything like 
 slight or neglect, and these slights were as often as 
 not phantoms of their own imaginations. 
 
 It gives one a mournful sense of injustice to see 
 the charge of jealousy she openly brings repeated by 
 the earlier biographer who wrote about her when we, 
 who have fuller light thrown upon the great actor's 
 life by the publication of his correspondence, know 
 how free he was from the besetting sins of his craft. 
 To be popular, a man must have the faults of those 
 among whom he is placed. Garrick was called stingy 
 because he did not throw away his money like his col- 
 leagues ; stiff, because he was a moral man amidst a 
 laxity of manners that has become proverbial ; jealous, 
 because he placed the honour of his art and his theatre 
 above personal considerations. He was an object of 
 envy because of his unparalleled success. The two 
 clouds which veiled the nobility of his character love 
 of money and love of fine friends vanished like mists 
 in the sunshine if he were really called upon to help a 
 case of distress or take notice of an old friend. These 
 faults were harped upon, however, by Johnson, Foote, 
 and hosts of others. Well might Garrick, in the even- 
 ing of his days, sitting on the terrace of his house at 
 Twickenham, make the, for him, bitter observation, tr I 
 have not always met gratitude in a play-house/' 
 
 It was at the time, no doubt, a salve to Mrs. Siddons's 
 disappointment to listen to the specious Mr. Sheridan's 
 insinuation of Garrick's jealousy ; but it is a curious 
 fact, if Sheridan were sincere in his statements, that 
 
"DAVEY." 35 
 
 when he succeeded Garrick as manager he never 
 endeavoured to re-engage her; indeed > on the con- 
 trary, abruptly and discourteously closed all negotia- 
 tions and cancelled all agreements made both with the 
 actress and her husband for a reappearance at Drury 
 Lane. 
 
 We will allow the reader, however, to judge the 
 story upon its own merits. 
 
 After the favourable reports of King and Bate, 
 Garrick, as we have seen by the Bate letters, engaged 
 Mrs. Siddons and her husband. The energy that after- 
 wards distinguished her to such an extraordinary extent 
 was now exhibited. 
 
 Although not at all strong her eldest girl, and 
 second child, as we have seen, having only been born 
 on the 5th of November 1775 in the beginning of 
 December she began making preparations for her 
 journey to London, no joke in those days when, 
 " starting two hours before day, or as late at night/* 
 it took three days to reach Bristol. 
 
 Five days, Mrs. Delaney tells us, travelling over 
 the same road the Siddons had now to face, it took 
 to reach her father's place in Gloucestershire. " Every 
 half hour flop we went into a slough, not overturned, 
 but stuck. Out we were hauled, and the coach with 
 much difficulty was set up again." 
 
 Full of hope and excitement, however, the young 
 actress, accompanied by husband and babies, prepared 
 for their expedition. No pilgrim approaching the 
 shrine of Mecca was ever more enthusiastic than she 
 approaching the bourne of all actors of that day, 
 Drury Lane. Yet already, through all her delight, we 
 hear a note of dissatisfaction that is displeasing. Gar- 
 rick had arranged to give her five pounds a week, a 
 
 3 * 
 
36 MBS. SIDDONS. 
 
 munificent salary for a beginner in those days. Mrs. 
 Abington and Mrs. Yates only received ten. She had 
 heard the charge of stinginess made against him, and, 
 parrot-like, repeated it, without really considering if in 
 her own case it were true. 
 
 We will relate the story, however, in her own words, 
 taken from Recollections written many years after, but 
 full of as much bitterness as though penned while still 
 smarting under her reverse. 
 
 " Happy to be placed where I presumptuously 
 augured that I should do all that I have since achieved, 
 if I could but once gain the opportunity, I instantly 
 paid my respects to the great man. I was at that time 
 good-looking ; and certainly, all things considered, an 
 actress well worth my poor five pounds a week. His 
 praises were most liberally conferred upon me/' We 
 are told by Campbell that he complimented her in this 
 interview for not having the regular " tie- turn-tie " or 
 sing-song of the provincial actress. " But," she goes 
 on, " his attentions, great and unremitting as they 
 were, ended in worse than nothing. How was all this 
 admiration to be accounted for consistently with his 
 subsequent conduct ? Why, thus, I believe : he was 
 retiring from the management of Drury Lane, and, I 
 suppose, at that time wished to wash his hands of all 
 its concerns and details. However this may be, he 
 always objected to my appearance in any very promi- 
 nent character, telling me that Mrs. Yates and Miss 
 Young would poison me if I did. I, of course, thought 
 him not only an oracle but my friend ; and, in conse- 
 quence of his advice, Portia, in the Merchant of Venice, 
 was fixed upon for my debut, a character in which it 
 was not likely that I should excite any great sensation. 
 I was, therefore, merely tolerated." 
 
"DAVEY." 37 
 
 We here beg to mention that it can hardly be correct 
 that Mrs. Siddons thought she would make no impres- 
 sion in Portia, as she had underlined Portia in the list 
 she gave Mr. Bate of her favourite parts, and we find 
 her choosing it later as the character in which to 
 appear before Horace Walpole when desirous of 
 propitiating the pitiless critic. But we will continue 
 to relate the unfortunate story of this period in her 
 own words. 
 
 " The fulsome adulation that courted Garrick in the 
 theatre cannot be imagined ; and whosoever was the 
 luckless wight who should be honoured by his distin- 
 guished and envied smiles, of course, became an object 
 of spite and malevolence. Little did I imagine that 
 I myself was now that wretched victim. He would 
 sometimes hand me from my own seat in the green- 
 room to place me next to his own He also," 
 
 she goes on, " selected me to personate Venus at the 
 revival of the Jubilee. This gained me the malicious 
 appellation of Garrick's ' Venus/ and the ladies who so 
 kindly bestowed it on me rushed before me in the last 
 scene, so that if he (Mr. Garrick) had not brought us 
 forward with him with his own hands, my little Cupid 
 and myself, whose appointed situations were in the very 
 front of the stage, might have as well been in the 
 Island of Paphos at that moment." 
 
 Thomas Dibdin, the Cupid on this occasion, after- 
 wards told Campbell that, as it was necessary for him 
 to smile in the part of his godship, Mrs. Siddons kept 
 him in good humour by asking him what sort of sugar- 
 plums he liked best, and promising him a large supply 
 of them. After the performance she kept her word. 
 This is a characteristic trait; most young actresses 
 under the circumstances would have been rather occu- 
 
38 MBS. SIDDONS. 
 
 pied with the effect of their own beauty on the audience 
 than of the smiles of their Cupids. 
 
 At last the day came on which her fate was to be 
 decided. It fell in Christmas week, 1775, and the 
 audience present is described as " numerous and 
 splendid." 
 
 The following is a copy of the play-bill : 
 
 (Not acted these two years.) 
 
 By Her Majesty's Company at the Theatre Royal in Drury Lane. 
 This day will be performed 
 
 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 
 
 Shylock . . Mr. KING. Antonio . . Mr. REDDISH. 
 
 Gratiano . . Mr. DODD. 
 Lorenzo (with songs) . . Mr. VERNON. 
 
 &c. &c. 
 Then Jessica (with a song) . . Miss JABRETT. 
 
 Nerissa . . Mrs. DA VIES. 
 Portia, by a Young Lady (her first appearance). 
 
 The result can best be known by the judgment of 
 the newspaper critics. One says : " On before us 
 tottered rather than walked a very pretty, delicate, 
 fragile-looking young creature, dressed in a most unbe- 
 coming manner, in a faded salmon-coloured sack and 
 coat, and uncertain whereabouts to fix either her eyes 
 or her feet. She spoke in broken, tremulous tones ; 
 and at the close of each sentence her voice sank into a 
 ' horrid whisper ' that was almost inaudible. After 
 her first exit, the judgment of the pit was unanimous 
 as to her beauty, but declared her awkward and pro- 
 vincial." 
 
 In the famous Trial scene she regained her courage, 
 
 and delivered the great speech to Shylock with 
 
 . " critical propriety," but with a faintness of utterance 
 
 which seemed the result of physical weakness rather 
 
 than of want of spirit or feeling. Another paper, who 
 
"DAVEY." 39 
 
 " understood that the new Portia had been the heroine 
 of one of those petty parties of travelling comedians 
 which wander over the country/' owned that she had a 
 fine stage-figure ; her features were expressive ; she was 
 uncommonly graceful ; but her voice was deficient in 
 variety of tone and clearness. This, however, might 
 be the effect of a cold or nervousness. Her words 
 were delivered with good sense and taste, only there 
 was no fire or spirit in the performance. " Nothing," 
 the critic ends, " is so barren of either profit or fame 
 as a cold correctness." 
 
 Knowing the Kemble failing of over-study and self- 
 restraint, this seems a fair enough criticism. She 
 represented Portia again a few nights later, but her 
 name did not appear on the bills. She showed more 
 confidence, and succeeded a little better, but does not 
 seem to have got a hold of her audience. 
 
 Garrick was at this time employed in mounting an 
 abridgment by Colman of Ben Jonson's Epicane, and 
 trusting, we conclude, to the statement of his friend 
 Mr. Bate, that the debutante had " a very good 
 breeches-figure," he selected her for the heroine's part. 
 The result was a failure. Critics complained of " the 
 confusion, when Mrs. Siddons, disguised in the piece 
 as a woman, revealed herself at the end as a boy." 
 The Morning Post, edited by Parson Bate, was the 
 only paper that spoke in favour of the attempt. 
 
 The next part she was put into was by this same 
 Bate, The Blackamoor White-washed. We can see 
 how Garrick was forced by the exigencies of his obli- 
 gations to Bate to put this play on the stage ; the only 
 mistake he made was in subjecting the young actress 
 to the risks and chances of the first representation, 
 which, in consequence of the slashing pen and vigorous 
 
40 MKS. SIDDONS. 
 
 fists of its author, was not likely to be received with 
 unalloyed approbation. Unfortunately he did not 
 understand the proud timidity of the girl on whom 
 he had laid the task. His other ladies did not mind, 
 a rebuff, and would do anything for a critic who 
 praised them, as Mr. Bate had praised " Portia." As 
 to a theatrical riot, they rather enjoyed it than other- 
 wise, if it were not turned against them personally. 
 Though treated to many a one afterwards, Mrs. Siddons 
 never forgot this first experience. A band of prize- 
 fighters, supposed to be supporters of the parson's, 
 burst into the pit, and, striking out right and left, 
 silenced the would-be detractors of the play. On the 
 next night both sides mustered in force, and the scene 
 defied description. Officers in the boxes fought with 
 gentlemen from the pit and galleries. The ladies were 
 driven from the boxes, leaving them in possession of 
 the combatants. Garrick, who appeared to try and 
 appease the mob, had an orange flung at him, and a 
 lighted candle passed close to King, who came from 
 the author to announce the withdrawal of the piece. 
 Even this statement had not the effect of restoring 
 quiet until past midnight, when, weary with their 
 exertions, the rioters dispersed. Next day all the 
 papers abused the Julia of the piece, who had not been 
 allowed a chance of making herself heard. " Mrs. 
 Siddons, having no comedy in her nature," one said, 
 " rendered that ridiculous which the author evidently 
 intended to be pleasant." 
 
 On the 15th of February, Garrick again allowed her 
 to appear; this time in Mrs. Cowley's Runaway a 
 slight but telling part, which caused one of her critics 
 to say that she dropped into the walking gentlewoman, 
 and was not permitted a long walk before she became 
 
"DAVEY." 41 
 
 the " Runaway ." Garrick then paid her the compli- 
 ment of entrusting her with the acting of Mrs. 
 Strickland to his Ranger in the old comedy of The 
 Suspicious Husband. One lady confesses to being 
 moved to tears by Mrs. Siddons in this part, but the 
 majority of the audience and the newspapers seem to 
 have passed her over in complete silence. 
 
 Garrick now began his farewell performances. He 
 selected her to act the Lady Anne to his Richard 
 III. a selection which was an honour coveted by most 
 of the ladies of the company. The actor surpassed 
 his finest days ; the young actress was almost petrified 
 by the ferocity and fire of his gaze. She forgot, in 
 her flurry, his important order that she should stand 
 so that his face might be presented to the audience. 
 The look she received made her almost faint with 
 terror, and no doubt betrayed her fright in her acting. 
 The critics pronounced that she was " lamentable," 
 and the public were utterly indifferent. jThis was her 
 last appearance. And so ended her first disastrous 
 season at Drury Lane.^/We think every unbiassed 
 person in reading the account of it will entirely absolve 
 Garrick of the charges brought against him. Other 
 causes were at work which the offended actress did not 
 take into consideration. 
 
 Garrick could not forgive crudeness, want of finish. 
 He himself had stepped on the London stage with as 
 much natural ease, and in his representation of 
 Richard III. had taken the town as completely by 
 storm the first time as the last time he acted it. He 
 never made allowances for timidity, and grew impatient 
 at want of confidence. "We know he utterly despaired 
 of Mrs. Graham, afterwards the great Mrs. Yates, 
 when he first saw her in the part of Marcia ; and Miss 
 
42 MRS. SIDDONS. 
 
 Barton, afterwards Mrs. Abington, he allowed to leave 
 Drury Lane at first because he could not, he said, give 
 her a fitting part. The Kemble genius, on the other 
 hand, was a plant of tardy growth, needing much cul- , 
 tivation and many years to bring it to perfection. 
 
 Garrick was above all a manager who had the honour 
 of his theatre at heart. He had held the helm at 
 Drury Lane for years, guiding the fortunes of the 
 company through stormy waters safely into the haven 
 of financial and artistic success such as no theatre had 
 ver enjoyed before ; but at what a cost ! Tormented 
 by the jealousies, insolence, and greed of his leading 
 ladies, disheartened by the envy and treachery of 
 his oldest friends, he must have been glad to con- 
 template retirement from the turmoil, to enjoy un- 
 disturbed the competency he had been able to save 
 from a long life spent in the service of his art and 
 the public. He had but one year more of thraldom, 
 but the harness had begun to gall almost beyond 
 endurance. When he came home ill and worn out 
 after protracted rehearsals, he found petulant letters 
 to be answered, when he went back to the theatre 
 hostile attacks to be avoided, while outside were ranged 
 secret and declared foes, jealous of his success, anxious 
 to find a flaw in his honour or his genius. Suddenly 
 he bethought him of a method, tried before with suc- 
 cess, to curb the fiery tempers of the ladies within 
 " his kingdom/' He had heard of a lovely young 
 actress, member of a company strolling in the pro- 
 vinces. He determined to engage her and use her as 
 a foil against the rebellious members of his female 
 staff, for the last year of office. It was not likely 
 that, coming from humble surroundings and hard work, 
 she would aiflict him with many airs and graces ; and 
 
" DAVEY." 43 
 
 before time had been given her to spoil, his term as 
 manager would have ceased. Garrick had never been 
 given much cause to think highly of women during 
 his long life as an actor his own wife always ex- 
 cepted and he most likely put Sarah Siddons on 
 the same level as the others sordid, like Miss Pope; 
 jealous, like Mrs. Yates ; or ill-tempered, like Mrs. 
 Clive well able to take care of herself, and not gifted 
 with those two rare qualities amongst theatrical ladies, 
 modesty or sensitiveness. How could he guess, even 
 with all his perspicacity and experience, that this 
 young creature whose life hitherto had been spent 
 strolling from place to place with the vagabonds and 
 adventurers her profession threw her with was proud, 
 sensitive, timid, nourishing the very highest ideal of 
 her art, and indifferent to any homage given to her 
 person and not to her intellectual power of interpreting 
 the works of the great poets of her country ? How 
 could he tell that beneath the pretty exterior of this 
 young and trembling recruit lay hidden the fiery soul 
 of the majestic, terrific Lady Macbeth ? He treated 
 her with an amount of consideration and courtesy un- 
 usual even with him, sending her boxes for all his 
 great performances, when Cabinet Ministers were im- 
 ploring places and had to be refused. He would hand 
 her from the green-room and put her in the place of 
 honour beside him ; and gave her parts which accord- 
 ing to his judgment, formed hastily on what he had 
 had an opportunity of seeing, best suited her. And 
 how was he rewarded? By a resentment nourished 
 the whole of a lifetime, and by a charge persistently 
 stated and repeated by her friends, that the great 
 " Roscius " was jealous of an unskilled, untrained, 
 country actress ! Why, then, had he not shown jealousy 
 
44 MBS. SIDDONS. 
 
 of Mrs. Abington, Mrs. Clive, or, still more, of the 
 gentlemen of his company, Barry and Smith, the 
 Romeo and Charles Surface of their day. There are 
 so few figures in public life complete and admirable 
 as David Garrick's, so far removed above the petti- 
 ness and egotism accompanying success, that it is with 
 pain we read Mrs. Siddons's accusations, and think the 
 only way to excuse her is to show the anguish expe- 
 rienced by both her husband and herself in the miser- 
 able sequel to the sad story of failure and disappoint- 
 ment, and to ascribe her injustice to the misery of 
 lives embittered and prospects blighted, for the time, 
 making her ever afterwards see the facts of the case 
 through a distorted medium. We will relate in her 
 own words what now took place : 
 
 " He (Garrick) promised Mr. Siddons to procure me 
 a good engagement with the new managers, and de- 
 sired him to give himself no trouble about the matter, 
 but to put my cause entirely into his hands. He 
 let me down, however, after all these protestations, 
 in the most humiliating manner, and, instead of 
 doing me common justice with those gentlemen, rather 
 depreciated my talents. This Mr. Sheridan afterwards 
 told me ; and said that when Mrs. Abington heard of 
 my impending dismissal, she told them they were all 
 acting like fools. When the London season was over, 
 I made an engagement at Birmingham for the ensuing 
 summer, little doubting of my return to Drury Lane 
 for the next winter ; but, whilst I was fulfilling my 
 engagement at Birmingham, to my utter dismay and 
 astonishment, I received an official letter from the 
 prompter of Drury Lane, acquainting me that my 
 services would be no longer required. It was a 
 stunning and cruel blow, overwhelming all my ambi- 
 
"DAVEY." 45 
 
 tious hopes, and involving peril even to the subsis- 
 tence of my helpless babes. It was very near destroying 
 me. My blighted prospects, indeed, induced a state 
 of mind that preyed upon my health, and for a year 
 and a half I was supposed to be hastening to a de- 
 cline. For the sake of my poor children, however, 
 I roused myself to shake off this despondency, and 
 my endeavours were blest with success, in spite of 
 the degradation I had suffered in being banished from 
 Drury Lane as a worthless candidate for fame and 
 fortune" 
 
 Siddons wrote piteously to Garrick on the 9th of 
 February 1776, soliciting his " friendship " and " en- 
 deavour " for their continuance in Drury Lane. " I 
 account we have been doubly unfortunate at our 
 onset in the theatre, first that particular circum- 
 stances prevented us from joining it at a proper time, 
 and thereby rendered it impossible for us to be 
 mingled in the business of the season, where our 
 utility might have been more observed; second, that 
 we are going to be deprived of you as manager, and 
 left to those who, perhaps, may not have an oppor- 
 tunity this winter of observing us at all : these con- 
 siderations, Sir, have occasioned this address, with 
 hopes you will lay them before Mr; Lacy and those 
 gentlemen your successors ; and as there has been no 
 agreement with regard to salary between you and us, 
 it may now be necessary to propose that article, thereby 
 to acquaint them with what we shall expect, which (as 
 we are so young in the theatre) is no more than what 
 we can decently subsist on and appear with some 
 credit to the profession. That is, for Mrs. Siddons 
 three pounds a week, for myself two; this, I flatter 
 myself, we shall both be found worthy of for the first 
 
46 MRS. 81DDON8. 
 
 year ; after that (as it may be presumed we shall be 
 more experienced in our business) shall wish to rise as 
 our merits may demand. I am, Sir, with many apologies 
 for this freedom, your most obedient and very humble ' 
 servant, WM. SIDDONS." 
 
 It shows how disastrous the effect of her acting must 
 have been that, in spite of the smallness of their 
 demands, Lacy, Sheridan & Co. refused to entertain 
 their proposal. 
 
 It is a curious fact, if, as she says, the treatment 
 she received at Garrick's hands was unjust, that at 
 this juncture the managers of the rival theatre of 
 Covent Garden, who had already been in treaty with 
 her, and thought themselves unhandsomely dealt with 
 when Garrick secured her, did not come forward 
 now. It is clear that the anxiety of the ^Covent 
 Garden managers for her assistance was extinguished 
 by her performance ; those talents which they were 
 ready before her appearance to contest with Garrick, 
 they subsequently resigned without an effort to the 
 obscurity of a strolling company. We have a curious 
 corollary to her statement, "that Mrs. Abington 
 told them they were all acting like fools," in the 
 lately published Memoirs of Crabbe Robinsqn, in which 
 he relates a conversation he held in 1811 with Mrs. 
 Abington on the subject of Mrs. Siddons. She was 
 by no means warm, he says, in her praise. She ob- 
 jected to the elaborate emphasis given to very insignifi- 
 cant words. "That was brought in by them," she 
 added, with truth, alluding to the weakness of the 
 family. Perhaps the fair Abington's praise at first was 
 as conclusive a sign of failure as Sheridan's dismissal. 
 
 Good-natured Pivey Clive was more honest in saying 
 nothing at the time; but on going with Mrs. Garrick 
 
"DAVEY." 47 
 
 to see her later, when she was in the heyday of her 
 success, she pronounced the young actress, in her own 
 characteristic fashion, to be " all truth and daylight." 
 
 We never hear Garrick's name mentioned again with 
 hers, except in a note in connection with two folio 
 Shakespeares of 1623. " In 1776," Payne Collier says, 
 " Garrick had presented the volume (one of the folio 
 copies with the autographs of David Garrick and Sarah 
 Siddons) to Mrs. Siddons as a testimony of her merits, 
 and of his obligation." So far Payne Collier. Another 
 writer, commenting on this note, demonstrates that it 
 is not likely that Garrick presented so great a treasure 
 as the folio Shakespeare of 1623 to Mrs. Siddons, 
 especially as the words " a testimony of her merits and 
 his obligation " was an addition of Payne Collier. He 
 then relates the circumstances of her first appearance. 
 Garrick, he says, amongst other things, noticed some 
 awkward action of her arms, and said " if she waved 
 them about in that fashion she would knock off his 
 wig," upon which she retorted to the person who told 
 her, " He was only afraid I should overshadow hi 
 nose." A mutual feeling not likely to lead to such a 
 gift. It would be interesting, therefore, to know 
 through what hands the volume passed from Garrick 
 to Mrs. Siddons, and from Mrs. Siddons to Lilly the 
 bookseller. With the great actor's wife she was after- 
 wards on terms of friendship ; and when Mrs. Garrick 
 died, she left her in her will a pair of gloves which were 
 Shakespeare's, " and were presented to my late dear 
 husband by one of the family [during the Jubilee at 
 Stratford-on-Avon." And so"Davey " vanishes from 
 her life. 
 
48 MBS. SIDDONS. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 WOEK. 
 
 THE rebuff she had sustained at Drury Lane called out 
 all that was finest in Mrs. Siddons' nature. The blow 
 had been " stunning and cruel," as she says ; but the 
 resolute valiant nature she had inherited from her 
 mother soon reasserted itself. In spite of delicate 
 health, which Wilkinson, who acted with her in 
 Evander, feared " might disable her from sustaining 
 the fatigues of duty/' we find her moving from place 
 to place, unintermitting in study, attaining a step 
 higher each new representation she essayed, persistently 
 raising her audience to her level, not descending to 
 theirs. 
 
 She no longer led the " vagabond " life of her early 
 strolling days, but still one of constant anxiety and 
 unrest. The young actress returned to the provinces 
 with the prestige of having acted with the great 
 Garrick, and of having even excited the jealousy of 
 " Roscius " by her dramatic power a report indus- 
 triously circulated by her friends and managers, and, 
 no doubt, confirmed by the actress herself. So uncon- 
 sciously does self-interest colour our opinions. 
 
WORK. 49 
 
 In saying that she no longer led the " vagabond " 
 life of her early days, we mean that instead of wan- 
 dering, as strolling players were obliged to do, from 
 town to town, trusting to the chances of the hour, 
 pitching their tent in a barn or an inn, and trusting to 
 the caprice and humours of the public officials of the 
 places they came to, she now secured fixed engage- 
 ments at the best provincial theatres, which, owing to 
 the difficulties and expenses of a journey to London, 
 were attended during the season by many of the county 
 magnates, and the lesser stars following and surround- 
 ing the brighter planets. 
 
 Bath stood at the head of these provincial theatres. 
 York, Hull, Manchester, Hereford, Liverpool, Wor- 
 cester, and many others came next in order of merit. 
 
 The first engagement she received on quitting Drury 
 Lane was at Birmingham, where she remained the 
 whole summer of 1776, acting parts of the highest 
 standing. Here she enjoyed the privilege of having 
 Henderson as coadjutor, who, Campbell tells us, was 
 so struck by her merits, that he wrote immediately to 
 Palmer, the manager of the Bath Theatre, urging him 
 in the strongest terms to engage her. Palmer was 
 unable to follow this advice just then, but did so later. 
 
 The only direct communication we have from her 
 during this time of work and struggle is a letter to 
 Mrs. Inchbald, whose friendship with the Kembles 
 had begun in 1776. Charges were, indeed, "tremen- 
 dous circumstances " to her who, at the best of times 
 in those early days, only enjoyed a salary of three 
 pounds a week. Her observations about " exotics " are 
 amusing, she herself figuring so largely later in that 
 character, to the dread of all provincial actresses : 
 
 " I played Hamlet in Liverpool, to near a hundred 
 
 4 
 
50 MRS. SIDDONS. 
 
 pounds, and wish I had taken it to myself ; but the 
 fear of charges, which, you know, are most tremendous 
 circumstances, persuaded me to take part of a benefit 
 with Barry, for which I have since been very much- 
 blamed ; but he, I believe, was very much satisfied 
 and, in short, so am I. Strange resolutions are formed 
 in our theatrical ministry ; one of them I think very 
 prudent this little rogue Harry is chattering to such 
 a degree, I scarce know what I am about. [Her eldest 
 boy was then four.] But to proceed : Our managers 
 have determined to employ no more exotics ; they have 
 found that Miss Yonge's late visit to us (which you 
 must have heard of) has rather hurt than done them 
 service ; so that Liverpool must, from this time forth, 
 be content with such homely fare as we small folks can 
 
 furnish to its delicate sense Present our kind 
 
 compliments to Mr. and Mrs. Wilkinson, and tell the 
 former I never mention his name but I wish to be 
 regaling with him over a pinch of his most excellent 
 Irish snuff, which I have never had a snift of but in 
 idea since I left York." It is difficult to conceive the 
 divine Melpomene taking snuff, though she did so all 
 her life; but in that day it was the fashion for 
 everyone to snuff. 
 
 L. Early in 1777 she played at Manchester, where she 
 made so great an impression that the shrewd and 
 enterprising Tate Wilkinson, lessee of the York 
 Theatre, offered her an engagement. Her range of cha- 
 racters now included " the Grecian Daughter," Alicia, 
 Jane Shore, Matilda, Lady Townley all the Jtearful 
 dramas of the day, which the young actress brought 
 into fashion instead of the artificial comedy of the pre- 
 ceding age. At Manchester, w^-are^steaished to-feenr, 
 one of her most applauded characters was Hamlet~r\ 
 
WORK. 51 
 
 Her playing this great play in strolling days, as Mr. 
 Bate tells us,/' was^mostlikely only a girlish freak." 
 
 piJer acting itnoC^ishowstnat she was cultivating her 
 dramatic genius in every direction, working out of the 
 restricted domain of Jane Shore, the Grecian Daughter, 
 and Calista, no longer content to move her audience by 
 her pathos and grace, but determined to bring them 
 to her feet by her intellectual poweO It is curious 
 that, though many years afterwards she acted it in 
 Dublin, she never could be persuaded to appear in it 
 in London. Her dislike to anything approaching male 
 attire was almost morbid, and even in Rosalind she 
 vastly amused the town by her costume " mysterious 
 nondescript garments," that were neither male nor 
 female, devised to satisfy a prudery which in such a 
 character was wholly out of place. 
 
 E At York, where Mrs. Siddons acted for Tate Wil- 
 kinson, the manager, from Easter to Whitsuntide 
 1777, she enjoyed an unequivocal success J " All 
 lifted up their eyes with astonishment that such a 
 voice, such a judgment, and such acting, should have 
 been neglected by a London audience, and by the first 
 actor in the world ! " another hit at Garrick made by 
 Wilkinson, who, generously aided by Garrick at the 
 beginning of his career, had turned against his bene- 
 factor, and never missed an opportunity of detracting 
 from his merits. 
 
 The most critical local censors were lavish in their 
 praise, though all remarked " how ill and pale she 
 was, and wondered how she got through her parts/* 
 She acted the round of her characters. Her attitudes 
 and figure were vastly admired ; she was thought " so 
 elegant/' ^Wilkinson endeavoured to secure her per- 
 manently as a member of his company, and in his 
 
 4 * 
 
52 MBS. SIDDONS. 
 
 Memoirs tells how he endeavoured to tempt her by 
 fine clothes, providing for one of her parts a most 
 " elegant sack-back, all over silver trimmings. He 
 did not understand any more than Garrick the nature 
 of the woman with whom he had to deal. On the 
 17th May she acted Semiramis for her benefit, and 
 the York season closed. ** Palmer, of the Bath Theatre, 
 had not forgotten Henderson's strong recommenda- 
 tion, and, finding at last an opening, he concluded an 
 engagement with her. 
 
 Bathjwas first in importance among the provincial 
 theatres. The audience, indeed, was very largely 
 composed of the London " fashionables," who came to 
 drink the waters ; no " sack-backs/' therefore, " all over 
 silver trimmings/' were allowed to interfere with her 
 determination, for, although in her petulant moments 
 she was wont to declare that she preferred the country, 
 and had been treated so cruelly in London she never 
 would play there again, in her heart she was resolved 
 to rule supreme on those boards she had once trod 
 with Garrick. 
 
 " I now made an engagement at Bath," she says in 
 her Memoranda. " There my talents and industry 
 were encouraged by the greatest indulgence, and, I 
 may say, with some admiration. Tragedies which had 
 been almost banished, again resumed their proper 
 interest; but still I had the mortification of being 
 obliged to personate many subordinate characters in 
 comedy, the first being, by contract, in the possession 
 of another lady. To this I was obliged to submit, or 
 to forfeit a portion of my salary, which was only three 
 pounds a week. Tragedies were now becoming more 
 and more fashionable. This was favourable to my 
 cast of powers ; and, whilst I laboured hard, I began 
 
WORK. 53 
 
 to earn a distinct and flattering reputation. Hard 
 labour, indeed, it was ! for, after the rehearsal at 
 Bath, and on a Monday morning, I had to go and act 
 at Bristol on the evening of the same day, and reach- 
 ing Bath again, after a drive of twelve miles, I was 
 obliged to represent some fatiguing part there on 
 the Tuesday evening. When I recollect all this 
 labour of mind and body, I wonder that I had 
 strength and courage to support it, interrupted as I 
 was by the care of a mother, and by the childish 
 sports of my little ones, who were often most unwil- 
 lingly hushed to silence for interrupting their mother's 
 studies.'' 
 
 Prom the pages of Horace Walpole, Mrs. Montagu, 
 and Fanny Burney, we can bring the Pan-tiles of 
 Tunbridge Wells or the parade at Bath, with their 
 periwigs, powder-patches, and scandal, distinctly before 
 us. Let us stand for a moment on the parade, and 
 watch the noteworthy people, muses, poets, statesmen, 
 who have assembled there, in 1778, to drink the 
 water. Royal dukes and princesses might be seen 
 sauntering about, playing whist and E. O. in the 
 evening, and taking " three glasses of water, a toasted 
 roll, a Bath cake, and a cold walk in the mornings." 
 Next to them, the celebrated Duchess of Devonshire, 
 loveliest of the lovely, gayest of the gay, attracts most 
 notice. Her dazzling beauty, and those eyes the Irish 
 labourer at the Fox Election said he could light his 
 pipe at, are said to have taken away the readiness of 
 hand and happiness of touch of the young painter 
 " reported to have some talent," named Gainsborough, 
 while painting her this year at Bath. 
 
 After the Queen of Beauty comes the Queen of the 
 Blues, Mrs. Montagu, " brilliant in clothes, solid in 
 
54 MRS. SIDDONS. 
 
 judgment, critical in talk, with the air and manner of 
 a woman accustomed to being distinguished and of 
 great parts." She writes in her letters of hating 
 " ye higgledy-piggledy of the watering-places," but- 
 seems happy enough combating for precedence " with 
 the only other candidate for colloquial eminence " she 
 thought worthy to be her peer short, plump, brisk 
 Mrs. Thale ; on the one side a placid, high-strained 
 intellectual exertion, on the other an exuberant 
 pleasantry, without the smallest malice in either. 
 All the " Johnsonhood," as Horace Walpole calls the 
 circle, musters round the two brilliant ladies, the Great 
 Bear in the centre, for he and Boswell are stopping at 
 the Pelican Inn. The conversation turns on Evelina, 
 the universal topic of the day ; Johnson declaring he 
 had sat up all night to read it, much to Fanny Burney's 
 delight, who, thirsting for flattery, sits with observant 
 eyes and sarcastic little mouth, that belies the prudishly- 
 folded hands and prim air. Moving about from group 
 to group is the brilliant Sheridan, walking with his 
 father and wife, and surrounded by the Linley family, 
 to whom the lovely Cecilia is recounting the honours 
 heaped on them in London. 
 
 Unnoticed among all these great people is a little 
 lame Scottish boy, destined to be the greatest of them 
 all. Mrs. Siddons most likely saw and knew the little 
 fellow then, who afterwards became so true a friend, 
 for Walter Scott, in his autobiography, tells us he was 
 frequently taken to Bath for his lameness, and, after 
 he had bathed in the morning, got through a reading- 
 lesson at the old dame's near the parade, and had had 
 a drive over the downs, his uncle would sometimes take 
 him to the old theatre. On one occasion, witnessing 
 As You Like It, his interest was so great that, in the 
 
WORK. 55 
 
 middle of the wrestling scene in the first act, he 
 screamed out, " A'n't they brothers ? " 
 
 Amongst this " higgledy-piggledy," we are sud- 
 denly struck by a beautiful young creature, whose 
 arrival seems to cause a nutter among the fashionables. 
 She is accompanied by a handsome fair man and two 
 beautiful children. This is the new actress who is 
 turning every head. From Lawrence's coloured crayon 
 drawing, done of her during this stay at Bath, we can 
 form a distinct idea of what she was like. He has 
 drawn her three-quarter face, black velvet hat and 
 plume, white muslin cavalier tie, brown riding spencer 
 with big buttons and lappels turned back. Under the 
 shadow of the hat is the refined, noble face, with 
 delicate, arched eyebrows, aquiline nose, finely modelled 
 mouth, and round cleft chin. She is not yet the tragic 
 muse of Reynolds, nor the full-orbed, fashionable beauty 
 of Gainsborough, but a lovely young Diana, with frank, 
 large, out-looking eyes, and a pretty air of defiance and 
 resolution, the brightness undimmed by the anxiety 
 And hard work of later days ; the young beauty is 
 evidently determined to conquer the universe. 
 
 It was a world strangely at issue with her own ideas 
 into which she had stepped a dandified, ceremonious 
 world, full of witty and wicked ladies and gentlemen, 
 who played cards and backed horses ; but, mercifully 
 for her, a world at the same time full of childish 
 enthusiasm, an age of pallor and fainting and hysterics. 
 Orown men and women sitting up at night weeping and 
 laughing over the woes and escapades of Clarissa 
 Harlowe and Evelina; ladies writing to Richardson: 
 " Pray, Sir, make Lovelace happy ; you can so easily 
 do it. Pray reform him ! Will you not save a 
 soul?" 
 
56 MRS. 8IDDON8. 
 
 The same vivid interest was taken in dramatic 
 situations. It was a common thing for women and, 
 indeed, men also to be carried out fainting ; and as 
 to the crying and sobbing, it was generally audible all 
 over the house. In a pathetic piece, Miss Burney 
 describes two young ladies, who sat in a box above 
 her, being both so much shocked at the death of 
 Douglas that "they both burst into a loud fit of 
 roaring, and sobbed on afterwards for almost half the 
 farce." Needless to say, therefore, the enthusiasm a 
 beautiful young actress like Mrs. Siddons would create. 
 It was not, however, immediate ; she was obliged, as 
 we have seen, to personate subordinate characters,, 
 and was obliged to act in comedy that did not suit 
 her. 
 
 Thursdays were the nights of the Cotillon balls at 
 Bath, and of the assemblies at Lady Miller's, of Bath 
 Easton vase celebrity, which are alluded to by Horace 
 Walpole : " They hold a Parnassus fair every Thursday, 
 before the balls, give out rhymes and themes, and all 
 the flux at Bath contend for the prizes. A Roman 
 vase, dressed with pink ribbons and myrtles, receives 
 the poetry, which is drawn out every festival. Six 
 judges of these Olympic games retire and select the 
 brightest compositions, which the respective successful 
 ten candidates acknowledge." 
 
 These events always emptied the theatre, and it wa 
 one of the young actress's grievances that for a time 
 she was put forward no doubt owing to the claims 
 of the leading ladies on these occasions. Gradually, 
 however, her attraction increased, and on various occa- 
 sions she succeeded in drawing the frequenters of the 
 balls to the theatre. She brought tragedies into fashion, 
 and in The Mourning Bride, Juliet, the Queen in 
 
WORK. 5T 
 
 Hamlet, Jane Shore, Isabella, succeeded in gaining 
 suffrages of her Bath audience. 
 
 We find the " tonish " young men, on the occasion 
 of her benefit, presenting her with sixty guineas tf in 
 order to secure tickets, as they were afraid the demand 
 for them would be so great by-and-bye." " Was it 
 not elegant? " she asks. One of these benefits pro- 
 duced to her one hundred and forty-six pounds a 
 handsome sum in those days. Before two years of 
 her four years' stay at Bath had elapsed, we see her 
 the favourite and friend of all the great people in the 
 place. The Duchess of Devonshire showed her parti- 
 cular favour ; and subsequently, when her engagement 
 at Drury Lane hung in the balance, threw the weight 
 of her influence, which was supreme, into the scale. 
 
 We cannot help remarking, in spite of the accusa- 
 tions so frequently brought against her of her love of 
 fine friends, that those who clustered about her in. 
 those early Bath days occupied the same position 
 in her heart thirty years later. One of these, a Dr. 
 Whalley, and his wife, were true and devoted friends 
 all her life, and her letters to him contribute some of 
 the most valuable materials we have for writing her 
 life. Dr. Thomas Sedgwick Whalley was a gentleman 
 of taste and good income, derived from his own private 
 estates, and the rich stipend of an unwholesome Lin- 
 colnshire living, which a kind-hearted bishop had given 
 him on condition he never resided on it. He enjoyed 
 some literary celebrity as the author of a long narra- 
 tive poem, Edwy and Edilda. He occupied one of 
 the finest houses on the Crescent; was intimate with 
 Mrs. Piozzi ; corresponded with the voluminous letter- 
 writer, Miss Seward ; and was, in fact, a fine specimen 
 of the dilettante gentleman of the old school. 
 
58 MRS. SIDDONS. 
 
 Little Burney's sharp-pointed pen describes Whalley 
 exactly : 
 
 One of the clergymen was Mr. W , a young man who has a 
 
 house on the Crescent, and is one of the best supporters of Lady , 
 Miller's vase at Bath Easton. He is immensely tall, thin, and hand- 
 some, but affected, delicate, and sentimentally pathetic ; and his 
 conversation about his own " feelings," about " amiable motives," 
 and about the wind which, at the Crescent, he said in a tone of 
 dying horror, " blew in a manner really frightful ! " diverted me the 
 whole evening. But Miss Thrale, not content with private diversion, 
 laughed out at his expressions, till I am sure he perceived and under- 
 stood her merriment. 
 
 Later she mentions : 
 
 In the evening we had Mrs. Lambart, who brought us a tale called 
 Edwy and Edilda, by the sentimental Mr. Whalley, and unreadably 
 soft and tender and senseless is it. 
 
 He was of the soft and tender school; Miss 
 Seward's heart " vibrates to every sentence of his last 
 charming letter " ; they indulge in the " communica- 
 tion of responsive ideas " ; and on leaving Bath she 
 thus addresses him : 
 
 Edwy, farewell ! To Lichfield's darkened grove, 
 With aching heart and rising sighs, I go. 
 
 Yet bear a grateful spirit as I rove, 
 
 For all of thine which balm'd a cureless woe. 
 
 We cannot tell whether the " communication of 
 responsive ideas " with so many fair ladies aroused 
 Mrs. Whalley's jealousy ultimately, or whether incom- 
 patibility of temper was the cause, but in 1819 Mrs. 
 Piozzi writes : 
 
 I hear wondrous tales of Doctor and Mrs. Whalley ; half the town 
 saying he is the party aggrieved, and the other half lamenting th 
 lady's fate. Two wiseacres sure, old acquaintances of forty years' 
 standing, and both past seventy years old ! 
 
 When Mrs. Siddons first knew them at Bath, there 
 
WORK. 59 
 
 was evidently nothing of that sort. She writes to him 
 from Bristol : 
 
 " I cannot express how much I am honoured by 
 your friendship ; therefore you must not expect words, 
 but as much gratitude as can inhabit the bosom of a 
 human being. I hope, with a fervency unusual upon 
 such occasions, that you will not be disappointed in 
 your expectations of me to-night ; but sorry am I to 
 say I have often observed that I have performed worst 
 when I most ardently wished to do better than ever. 
 Strange perverseness ! And this leads me to observe 
 as I believe I may have done before that those 
 who act mechanically are sure to be in some sort 
 right; while we who trust to nature if we do not 
 happen to be in the humour (which, however, Heaven 
 be praised ! seldom happens) are dull as anything 
 can be imagined, because we cannot feign. But I 
 hope Mrs. Whalley will remember that it was your 
 commendations which she heard, and judge of your 
 praises by the benevolent heart from which they pro- 
 ceed, more than as standards of my deserving. Luckily 
 I have been able to procure places in the front row, 
 next to the stage-box, on the left-hand of you as you 
 go in. These, I hope, will please you." 
 
 Meantime, Henderson, who had before so strongly 
 recommended her to the Bath manager, came down 
 for one or two nights and acted Benedict to her 
 Beatrice; returned to London so full of her praises 
 that the managers of Drury Lane made her the 
 offer of an engagement in the summer of 1782. 
 "After my former dismissal from thence," she says 
 later in her Memoranda, " it may be imagined that 
 this was to me a triumphant moment." 
 
 At the same time, she was loth to leave her appre- 
 
60 MRS. 8IDDON8. 
 
 ciative friends at Bath, and, curiously enough, hesitated 
 at the last moment about accepting ; so that Whalley's 
 congratulatory poem on her engagement at Drury Lane, 
 contributed to Lady Miller's " Roman Vase," was a 
 little premature. At last, however, her departure was 
 formally announced, and she took her farewell benefit. 
 She acted in the Distressed Mother and The Devil to 
 Pay, and then came forward and recited some lines of 
 her own composition, of which we give the reader only 
 a short sample, as the " Virgin Muse " does not soar 
 very high : 
 
 Have I not raised some expectation here ? 
 
 " Wrote by herself ? What ! authoress and player ? 
 
 True, we have heard her " thus I guess'd you 'd say 
 
 " With decency recite another's lay ; 
 
 But never heard, nor ever could we dream, 
 
 Herself had sipp'd the Heliconian stream. " 
 
 Perhaps you farther said Excuse me, pray, 
 
 For thus supposing all that you might say 
 
 " What will she treat of in this same address ? 
 
 Is it to show her learning ? Can you guess ? " 
 
 Here let me answer : No. Far different views 
 
 Possess'd my soul, and fired my virgin Muse. 
 
 'Twas honest gratitude, at whose request 
 
 Sham'd be the heart that will not do its best ! 
 
 She then informs them they must part ; that, if only 
 she meets as much kindness elsewhere, 
 
 Envy, o'ercome, will hurl her pointless dart, 
 And critic gall be shed without its smart. 
 
 Nothing would drag her from Bath, she says, but 
 one thing ; here she went to the wing and led forward 
 her children : 
 
 These are the moles that bear me from your side, 
 Where I was rooted where I could have died. 
 
 The moles now numbered three, her second daughter 
 
WORK. 61 
 
 and third child, Maria, having been born on 1st July 
 1779. 
 
 Stand forth, ye elves ! and plead your mother's cause, 
 Ye little magnets, whose soft influence draws 
 Me from a point where every gentle breeze 
 Wafted my bark to happiness and ease 
 Sends me adventurous on a larger main, 
 In hopes that you may profit by my gain. 
 Have I been hasty ? Am I, then, to blame ? 
 Answer, all ye who own a parent's name ! 
 Thus have I tired you with an untaught muse, 
 Who for your favour still most humbly sues ; 
 That you for classic learning will receive 
 My soul's best wishes, which I freely give 
 For polished periods round, and touched with art, 
 The fervent offering of my grateful heart. 
 
 So Mrs. Siddons made her bow. When she next 
 appeared at Bath it was as the greatest tragic actress 
 then on the stage. 
 
 Towards the end of August, she set out determined 
 to make her way slowly to London, acting at various 
 country theatres as she went along. Her letters 
 written to the Whalleys are full of fun, and show 
 she had the pen of a ready writer. 
 
 " You will be pleased to hear," she says, " that 
 Mrs. Carr was very civil to me gave me a com- 
 fortable bed, and I slept very well. We were five of 
 us in the machine, all females but one, a youth of 
 about sixteen, and the most civilized being you can 
 conceive a native of Bristol, too. 
 
 "One of the ladies was, I believe verily, a little 
 insane. Her dress was the most peculiar, and manner 
 the most offensive, I ever remember to have met with ; 
 her person was taller and more thin than you can 
 imagine ; her hair raven black, drawn as tight as pos- 
 sible over her cushion before and behind ; and at the 
 top of her head was placed a solitary fly-cap of the last 
 
62 MBS. SIDDONS. 
 
 century, composed of materials of about twenty sorts, 
 and as dirty as the ground ; her neck, which was a 
 thin scrag of a quarter of a yard long, and the colour 
 of a walnut, she wore uncovered, for the solace of all 
 beholders ; her Circassian was an olive-coloured cotton 
 of three several sorts, about two breadths wide in the 
 skirt, and tied up exactly in the middle in one place 
 only. She had a black petticoat spotted with red, and 
 over that a very thin white muslin one, with a long 
 black gauze apron, and without the least hoop. I 
 never in my life saw so odd an appearance ; and my 
 opinion was not singular, for wherever we stopped 
 she inspired either mirth or amazement, but was quite 
 innocent of it herself. On taking her seat among us 
 at Bristol, she flew into a violent passion on seeing 
 one of the windows down. I said I would put it up, 
 if she pleased. ' To be sure/ said she ; ' I have no 
 ambition to catch my death ! ' No sooner had she 
 done with me, but she began to scold the woman who 
 sat opposite to her for touching her foot. ' You have 
 not been used to riding in a coach, I fancy, good 
 woman.' She met in this lady a little more spirit 
 than she found in me, and we were obliged to her for 
 keeping this unhappy woman in tolerable order for 
 the remainder of the day. Bless me ! I had almost 
 forgot to tell you that I was desired to make tea at 
 breakfast. Vain were my endeavours to please this 
 strange creature. She had desired to have her tea in 
 a basin, and I followed her directions as near as it was 
 .possible in the making her tea ; but she had no sooner 
 tasted it than she bounced to the window and threw it 
 out, declaring she had never met with such a set of 
 awkward, ill-bred people. What could be expected in 
 a stage-coach, indeed? She snatched the canister 
 
WORK. 69 
 
 from me, poured a great quantity into the basin, with 
 sugar, cream, and water, and drank it all together. 
 Did you ever hear of anything so strange ? When we 
 sat down to dinner, she seemed terrified to death lest 
 anybody should eat but herself. 
 
 The remaining part of our journey was made 
 almost intolerable by her fretfulness. One minute 
 she was screaming out lest the coachman should over- 
 turn us ; she was sure he would, because she would 
 not give him anything for neglecting to keep her trunk 
 dry ; and, though it was immoderately hot, we were 
 obliged very often to sit with the windows up, for she 
 had been told that the air was pestilential after sunset, 
 and that, however people liked it, she did not choose 
 to hazard her life by sitting with the windows open. 
 All were disposed, for the sake of peace, to let her 
 have her own way, except the person whom we were 
 really obliged to for quieting her every now and then. 
 She had been handsome, but was now, I suppose, sixty 
 years old. I pity her temper, and am sorry for her 
 situation, which I have set down as that of a disap- 
 pointed old maid. 
 
 " At about seven o'clock we arrived at Dorchester. 
 On my stepping out of the coach, a gentleman very 
 civilly gave me his hand. Who should it be but Mr. 
 Siddons ! who was come on purpose to meet me. He 
 was very well, and the same night I had the pleasure 
 of seeing my dear boy, more benefited by the sea than 
 can be conceived. He desires me to thank Mr. 
 Whalley for the fruit, which he enjoyed very much. 
 We have got a most deplorable lodging, and the water 
 and the bread are intolerable ; ' but travellers must be 
 content.' Mr. Whalley was so good as to be inte- 
 .rested about my bathing. Is there anything I could 
 
34 MRS. SIDDONS. 
 
 refuse to do at his or your request ? I intend to bathe 
 to-morrow morning, cost what pain it will. I expected 
 to have found more company here. 
 
 " I went to Dorchester yesterday to dine with Mr. 
 Beach, who is on a visit to a relation, and has been 
 laid up with the gout, but is recovering very fast. He 
 longs to see Langford, and I am anxious to have him 
 see it. I suppose Mr. Whalley has heard when Mr. 
 Pratt comes. [Mr. Pratt was a Bath bookseller who 
 had given her lessons in elocution ; and afterwards, 
 when she was not allowed by the manager of Drury 
 Lane to act in his tragedy, declared he would write an 
 ode on Ingratitude and dedicate it to her.] Pray pre- 
 sent the kindest wishes of Mr. Siddons, little Harry, and 
 myself. I hope Mr. Whalley will do me the favour to 
 choose the ribbon for my watch-string. I should like 
 it as near the colour of little dear Paphy's ear as 
 possible. I did not very well comprehend what Lady 
 Mary (Knollys) said about the buckles. Will you 
 please to give her my respectful compliments, 
 and say I beg her pardon for having deferred 
 speaking to her on that subject to so awkward 
 a time, but hope my illness the last day I had the 
 honour of seeing her ladyship will be my excuse. 
 I hope I shall be favoured with a line from you, 
 and that her ladyship will explain herself more 
 fully then. Harry has just puzzled me very much. 
 When going to eat some filberts after dinner, I told 
 him you desired he would not eat them ; ' But,' says 
 he, c what would you have done if Mr. Whalley had 
 desired you would ? ' I was at a stand for a little 
 while, and at last he found a means to save me from 
 my embarrassment by saying, ' But you know Mr. 
 Whalley would not desire you to eat them if he thought 
 
WORK. 65 
 
 they would hurt you.' ' Very true, Harry,' says I ; 
 so it ended there." 
 
 The following shows that the engagement with the 
 London manager was not yet completely ratified ; she 
 was probably standing out for better terms, which he 
 was not inclined to give. 
 
 " I look forward with inexpressible delight to our 
 snug parties, and I have the pleasure to inform you 
 that I shall not go to London this winter. Mr. Linley 
 thinks my making a partial appearance will neither 
 benefit myself nor the proprietors. Mrs. Crawford 
 threatens to leave them very often, he says, but I 
 suppose she knows her own interest better. I should 
 suppose she has a very good fortune, and I should be 
 vastly obliged to her if she would go and live very 
 comfortably upon it. I '11 give her leave to stay and 
 be of as much service to my good and dear friend's 
 tragedy as she possibly can, and then let her retire 
 as soon as she pleases. I hope I shall not tire you ; 
 Mr. Siddons is afraid I shall, and in compliance to 
 him (who, with me, returns his grateful acknowledg- 
 ments for all your kindnesses) , I conclude with, I hope, 
 an unnecessary assurance, that I am ever your grateful 
 and affectionate servant, S. SIDDONS. 
 
 "P.S. Please to present our joint compliments to 
 Mr. Whalley, Mrs. Whalley, and Miss Squire, and, in 
 short, the whole circle, not forgetting Mrs. Reeves, to 
 whom I am much obliged. In an especial manner, I 
 beg to be remembered to the cruel beauty, Sappho. 
 She knows her power, and therefore treats me like a 
 little tyrant. Adieu ! God for ever bless you and 
 yours ! The beach here is the most beautiful I ever 
 saw." 
 
 She alludes above to Whalley's tragedy Morval, 
 
 5 
 
66 MRS. 8IDDON8. 
 
 which was acted later with her as heroine. It was a 
 complete failure, and was only performed three nights. 
 Mrs. Siddons became fond of Weymouth, and often 
 returned there in after years. Miss Burney, in her 
 Memoirs, tells us of being there once on duty with the 
 King and Royal Family. They met the actress, who 
 made a sweeping curtsey, walking on the sands with 
 her children. The King commanded a performance 
 at the theatre, but the Royal Family having gone away 
 on an expedition, did not get back in time, and kept 
 everyone waiting. The King and Queen arriving at 
 last, sent a page home for their wigs, so as not to keep 
 the audience waiting any longer. 
 
67 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 SUCCESS. 
 
 AT last -all difficulties were arranged betweecLlihe ^ 
 manager -of Drucy- Lane, ami Ml'lj. Siddons, and^ti^^ay Uro& 
 dawned on which she was agam destined to make her 
 bow before a London audience. Tt was the 10th Octo- 
 ber 1782. Important changes had taken place in the 
 theatre since the fatal December seven years before. 
 The proud pre-eminence of Drury Lane had passed 
 away ; the magic circle of theatrical genius that Gar- 
 rick kept together by his personal influence had been 
 broken up and dispersed under Sheridan's erratic 
 management Mrs. Abington, Mrs. Yates, and Miss 
 Young had deserted to other companies. So tluit. the 
 fine selection of plays*} *ep-ready__ withthe same set 
 of players at hand to act them, ensuring a perfection 
 never achieved before, vjyere now mounted without care 
 of thought, and acted by whomever the capricious 
 manager chose to select for the moment,J Old trained 
 hands, accustomed to the methodical rule of Garrick, 
 would not submit to be transferred from part to 
 part, receiving no due notice beforehand, and, above 
 all, they would not submit to the irregularity in the 
 money arrangements which had begun almost imme- 
 
 5 * 
 
68 MBS. SIDDON8. 
 
 diately after the impecunious Irishman took the reins 
 of government. There were hardly any names of note 
 now to be seen on the bills except those of Smith, 
 Palmer, and King, and they openly talked of deserting - 
 the sinking ship. 
 
 There is something almost heroic, therefore, in the 
 appearance of the young actress on the boards of 
 Drury Lane at this particular juncture. CAlpjie and 
 unaided, against enormous odds, she savefTthe famous 
 theatre, endeared ~to every 4over - -of-d^amatic art, from 
 artistic and financial ruin.--^ She had hitherto proved 
 herself to have indomitable industry and energy, to 
 have all the qualities of a hard-working, painstaking 
 artist; now she was suddenly to flash forth in all the 
 splendour of her genius and power. And yet how 
 simple and womanly she remained. There was no 
 undue reliance on her own gifts, in spite of the in- 
 discriminate praise that had been heaped on her at 
 Bath by too zealous friends. She turned a deaf ear 
 to Miss Seward " all asterisks and exclamations,'* 
 and to Dr. Whalley " all sighs and admiration " ; 
 but listened to the wise suggestions of Mr. Linley 
 and of old Sheridan, the father of Richard Brinsley 
 Sheridan, himself a retired actor with full knowledge 
 of the stage and its requirements. She and they 
 were afraid her voice was not equal to filling a large 
 London theatre. " But we soon had reason to think," 
 she tells us, " that the bad construction of the Bath 
 theatre, and not the weakness of my voice was the 
 cause of our mutual fears/' 
 
 Isabella, in Southerne's pathetic play of The Fatal 
 Marriage, was the part Sheridan recommended her to 
 choose for her first appearance, and the selection 
 showed his appreciative knowledge both of her powers 
 
SUCCESS. 69 
 
 and of the audience she was to act to ; the combined 
 tenderness, grief and indignation showing the variety 
 and range of expression of which she was capable^4 
 Hamilton painted a picture of her in this part, dressed 
 in deep black, holding her boy by the hand, and appeal- 
 ing for help to her father-in-law, that even now brings 
 the tears to one's eyes as one looks at it. Her son 
 Henry, then eight years old, acted with her. It is 
 said that, observing his mother at rehearsal in the 
 agonies of the dying scene, he took the fiction for 
 reality, and burst into a flood of tears. She herself 
 for the fortnight before her appearance suffered from 
 nervous agitation more than can be imagined. The 
 whole account of her mental state is best told in her 
 own words. 
 
 " No wonder I was nervous before the memorable 
 day on which hung my own fate and that of my little 
 family. I had quitted Bath, where all my efforts had 
 been successful, and I feared lest a second failure in 
 London might influence the public mind greatly to my 
 prejudice, in the event of my return from Drury Lane, 
 disgraced as I formerly had been. In due time I was 
 summoned to the rehearsal of Isabella. Who can 
 imagine my terror ? I feared to utter a sound above 
 an audible whisper ; but by degrees enthusiasm cheered 
 me into a forgetfuiness of my fears, and I uncon- 
 sciously threw out my voice, which failed not to be 
 heard in the remotest part of the house by a friend 
 who kindly undertook to ascertain the happy circum- 
 stance. 
 
 " The countenances, no less than tears and flattering 
 encouragements of my companions, emboldened me 
 more and more, and the second rehearsal was even more 
 affecting than the first. Mr. King, who was then 
 
TO MBS. SIDDONS. 
 
 manager, was loud in his applause. This second re- 
 hearsal took place on the 8th October 1782, and on the 
 evening of that day I was seized with a nervous hoarse- 
 ness, which made me extremely wretched ; for I dreaded 
 being obliged to defer my appearance on the 10th, 
 longing, as I most earnestly did, at least to know the 
 worst. I went to bed, th erefore, in a state of dreadful 
 suspense. Awaking the next morning, however, 
 though out of restless, unrefreshing sleep, I found^ 
 upon speaking to my husband, that my voice was 
 very much clearer. This, of course, was a great 
 comfort to me; and, moreover, the sun, which had 
 been completely obscured for many days, shone 
 brightly through my curtains. I hailed it, though 
 tearfully, yet thankfully, as a happy omen ; and even 
 now I am not ashamed of this (as it may, perhaps, be 
 called) childish superstition. On the morning of the 
 10th my voice was, most happily, perfectly restored ; 
 and again ' the blessed sun shone brightly on me.' On 
 this eventful day my father arrived to comfort me, and 
 to be a witness of my trial. He accompanied me to 
 my dressing-room at the theatre. There he left me ; 
 and I, in one of what I call my desperate tranquil- 
 lities, which usually impress me under terrific 
 circumstances, there completed my dress, to the 
 astonishment of my attendants, without uttering one 
 word, though often sighing most profoundly/' 
 
 The young actress had been puffed industriously 
 before by Sheridan in the play-bills, and he had, no 
 doubt, circulated in his dexterous way that the cause 
 of her previous failure had been Garrick's jealousy, as, 
 indeed, we know he told the actress herself. 
 
 There was a certain amount of expectancy and dis- 
 cussion. The house was full of all that was most 
 
SUCCESS. 71 
 
 brilliant, intellectual, and " tonish " in the London of 
 that day. They had all come with powdered heads, 
 gold -laced coats, and diamond-encircled throats to see 
 a pretty woman act an affecting play ; but they were 
 hardly prepared for the passion and pathos that for 
 the time being shook them out of their artificial lace 
 handkerchief grief and bowed the powdered heads 
 with genuine emotion. She was well supported 
 Smith, Palmer, Farren, Packer, and Mrs. Love acting 
 with her, to say nothing of the veteran Roger Kemble, 
 her father, who was, she tells us, little less agitated 
 than herself. Her husband did not even venture 
 to appear behind or before the scenes, his agitation 
 was so great. 
 
 "At length I was called to my fiery trial. The 
 awful consciousness that one is the sole object of atten- 
 tion to that immense space, lined, as it were, with 
 human intellect from top to bottom and all around, 
 may, perhaps, be imagined, but can never be described, 
 and can never be forgotten." 
 
 If that night were never to pass from the memory 
 of Mrs. Siddons, neither would it ever pass from the 
 memory of those who were present, or never be erased 
 from the annals of the English stage, of which that 
 beautiful and pathetic face and form was to be for 
 many years the chief pride. 
 
 The story of Isabella, or the Fatal Marriage, is 
 simple in construction, the interest centring in one 
 figure, that of the heroine. Biron, son of a proud 
 and worldly-minded man, marries a girl beneath him 
 in station, contrary to his father's wish. A son is 
 born, but Biron has hardly had time to rejoice over his 
 birth before he is called away to the war, and, after 
 some months, is reported as killed in battle. The wife 
 
72 MRS. SIDDONS. 
 
 appears with the child in the first scene, appealing in 
 vain, for pity's sake, to her father-in-law to give her 
 something to support her and the infant. As the 
 bailiff enters to arrest her for debt, Villeroy (whose 1 
 attentions she had repelled, grieving as she was for her 
 husband) comes forward, frees her from the impor- 
 tunities of her creditors, and induces her, for her 
 child's sake, to marry him. Hardly is she Villeroy 's 
 wife before Biron returns. In despair, she kills her- 
 self. 
 
 There were moments, sentences that became tradi- 
 tional after this first night, as when, in reply to the 
 question put to her on the arrival of the creditors as to 
 what she would do, she answered, " Do ! Nothing ! " the 
 very tone of the words told all her story. Miss Gordon 
 fainted away on hearing the cry " Biron ! Biron ! " 
 while we know Madame de StaeTs account in Corinne 
 of the hysterical laugh when Isabella kills herself at 
 the end. 
 
 It was an extraordinary evening. The house was 
 carried away in a storm of emotion; men were not 
 ashamed to sob, and many women went into violent 
 hysterics. It is difficult, indeed, for us now to under- 
 stand such agitation ; we fritter away our sentiment on 
 the ordinary business of life : 
 
 The town in those days mostly lay 
 Betwixt the tavern and the play. 
 
 The penny press had not yet come within the radius 
 of everyone, and men depended on the theatre for 
 . their fictitious excitement. A new play, a young actor 
 or actress, were greater subjects of interest than even 
 Mr. Pitt's or Mr. Fox's last speech, which they only 
 heard of piecemeal. 
 
SUCCESS. 73 
 
 Mrs. Siddons had the good fortune still to play to 
 audiences who were in the full enjoyment of their 
 natural and critical powers of appreciation. She bent 
 all her powers to calling forth their emotions. She 
 touched them to the quick with her pathos and power. 
 The audience surrendered at discretion to the summons 
 of the young enchantress. Her own simple account 
 of it all is very attractive ; and afterwards, in the his- 
 tory of her life, when a little hardness, or a rather too 
 abrupt assertion of superiority, is to be regretted, we 
 turn to this spontaneous, almost girlish account of her 
 first triumph through which we can see the smiles 
 beaming, the tears glistening with pleasure and 
 relief. 
 
 " I reached my own quiet fireside," she says, " on 
 retiring from the scene of reiterated shouts and 
 plaudits. I was half dead ; and my joy and thankful- 
 ness were of too solemn and overpowering a nature to 
 admit of words, or even tears. My father, my hus- 
 band, and myself sat down to a frugal neat supper 
 in a silence uninterrupted except by exclamations of 
 gladness from Mr. Siddons. My father enjoyed his 
 refreshments, but occasionally stopped short, and, 
 laying down his knife and fork, lifting up his venerable 
 face, and throwing back his silver hair, gave way to tears 
 of happiness. We soon parted for the night ; and I, 
 worn out with continually broken rest and laborious 
 exertion, after an hour's retrospection (who can con- 
 ceive the intenseness of that reverie ?), fell into a sweet 
 and profound sleep, which lasted to the middle of the 
 next day. I arose alert in mind and body/' 
 
 And so the seven long years spent in tempering 
 her genius, in working to gain strength and confi- 
 dence, had borne their result, for we will not allow, as 
 
74 MRS. SIDDONS. 
 
 Mr. Fitzgerald says, that her present success was owing 
 to the absence " of the restraint from the patronizing 
 instruction of Garrick," or any other exterior circum- 
 stance. The change had come from within, not from 
 without. Hers was essentially a genius of tardy 
 growth, both physically and mentally she did not reach 
 her full development until the time when most 
 actresses have enjoyed seven or eight years' success. 
 She had worked, and, like all other workers, had 
 reaped her reward ; though, unlike the common run of 
 workers, having genius to back her, the reward she 
 reaped was not only a temporary success, but fame. 
 The memory of this night has been handed down to 
 us in company with Garrick's first appearance in 
 Richard III. and Edmund Kean's in Shylock in 1814. 
 
 The critics next day were unanimous in her praise/j 
 Some found the voice a little harsh, the passion a little 
 too " restless and fluttering/' but all were agreed that 
 a great event had occurred in the dramatic world. It 
 is of little use repeating the praise and criticism, all 
 that can be done in a reviewal of her artistic life ; we 
 are more interested in the personal history of the 
 woman who had thus stirred up the waters that had 
 threatened to become stagnant since the retirement of 
 Garrick. It is natural for us rather to like to hear 
 personal anecdotes of those who appear publicly before 
 us than pages of hackneyed verbiage on their acting 
 and appearance. 
 
 She wrote to Dr. Whalley one of those genuine, spon- 
 taneous letters that show how she was misunderstood 
 by those who thought her hard and reserved : " My 
 dear, dear friend, the trying moment is passed, and I 
 am crowned with a success which far exceeds even my 
 hopes. God be praised ! I am extremely hurried, 
 
SUCCESS. 75> 
 
 being obliged to dine at Linley's ; have been at the 
 rehearsal of a new tragedy in prose, a most affecting 
 play, in which I have a part I like very much. I 
 believe my next character will be Zara in the Mourning 
 Bride. My friend Pratt was, I believe in my soul, as 
 much agitated, and is as much rejoiced as myself. As 
 I know it will give you pleasure, I venture to assure 
 you I never in my life heard such peals of applause. 
 I thought they would not have suffered Mr. Packer ta 
 end the play. Oh ! how I wished for you last night, 
 to share a joy which was too much for me to bear 
 alone ! My poor husband was so agitated that he 
 durst not venture near the house. I enclose an epi- 
 logue which my good friend wrote for me, but which 
 I could not, from excessive fatigue of mind and body, 
 speak. Never, never let me forget his goodness to me. 
 I have suffered tortures for (of?) the unblest these 
 three days and nights past, and believe I am not in 
 perfect possession of myself at present; therefore 
 excuse, my dear Mr. Whalley, the incorrectness of 
 this scrawl, and accept it as the first tribute of love 
 (after the first decisive moment) from your ever 
 grateful and truly affectionate, S. SIDDONS." 
 
 On the next night her success was even greater. 
 The lobbies were lined with crowds of ladies and 
 gentlemen "of the highest fashion." Lady Shel- 
 burne, Lord North the politician, Lady Essex, Mr. 
 Sheridan and the Linley family weeping in his box, 
 and hosts of others. 
 
 She very soon began to reap substantial benefits from 
 her success. 
 
 " I should be afraid to say/' she continues, " how 
 many times Isabella was repeated successively, with 
 still increasing favour. I was now highly gratified 
 
76 MBS. SIDDONS. 
 
 by a removal from my very indifferent and incon- 
 venient dressing-room to one on the stage-floor, 
 instead of climbing a long staircase ; and this room 
 (oh, unexpected happiness!) had been Garrick's 
 dressing-room. It is impossible to conceive my grati- 
 fication when I saw my own figure in the self-same 
 glass which had so often reflected the face and form of 
 that unequalled genius not, perhaps, without some 
 vague, fanciful hope of a little degree of inspiration 
 from it." 
 
 For eight nights the play was acted, and still every 
 time she appeared the tide of popular favour ran 
 higher. The box office was besieged by people wanting 
 tickets, and the most ridiculous stories were told of 
 the crush. Two old men stationed themselves to play 
 chess outside at all hours, so as to secure tickets. 
 Footmen lay stretched out asleep from dawn to buy 
 places for their mistresses. Years afterwards, when at 
 a great meeting at Edinburgh, Mrs. Siddons' health 
 was proposed, Sir Walter Scott described the scene on 
 one of those far-famed nights : the breakfasting near 
 the theatre, waiting the whole day, the crushing at the 
 doors at six o'clock, the getting in and counting their 
 fingers till seven. But the very first step, the first 
 word she uttered, was sufficient to overpay everyone 
 their weariness. The house was then electrified, and 
 it was only from witnessing the effects of her genius 
 that one could guess to what a pitch theatrical excel- 
 lence may be carried. " Those young fellows," added 
 Sir Walter, " who have only seen the setting son of 
 this distinguished performer, beautiful and serene as it 
 is, must give us old fellows, who have seen its rise, 
 leave to hold our heads a little higher." 
 (_After Isabella, the actress appeared in Murphy's 
 
SUCCESS. 77 
 
 Grecian Daughter, a very /indifferent play, but one 
 
 iT.'^-^^'J'Mt- . fWrtf*} 
 
 into which 1 she Dreatnecniie and beauty by the power 
 ' 1 3~-**~*~k t~& - 
 
 of her intuition. 
 
 Not yet had the ninety-one of the past century 
 dawned upon civilisation with its Goddess of Reason, 
 its scanty classic draperies, and its sandalled, bare- 
 footed beauties. Toupees, toques, bouffantes, hoops, 
 sacques, and all the paraphernalia of horse-hair, 
 powder, pomatum, and pins were still in the ascendant. 
 Not yet had Charlotte Corday sacrificed her life for the 
 liberty of her people ; but the muttering of the coming 
 storm was heard in the distance, and, with the prescience 
 of genius, the young actress anticipated its advent, 
 and amazed her audience by the simple beauty of her 
 classic draperies, and shook them with excitement by 
 her rapturous appeals to Liberty. 
 
 There was a glorious enthusiasm about her delivery 
 of certain portions. She came to perish or to conquer. 
 She seemed to grow several inches taller. Her voice 
 gained tones undreamt of before : 
 
 Shall he not tremble when a daughter comes, 
 Wild with her griefs, and terrible with wrongs? 
 The Man of blood shall hear me ! Yes, my voice 
 Shall mount aloft upon the whirlwind's whig. 
 
 Her scorn was magnificent. Her reply to Dionysius, 
 when he asks her to induce her husband to withdraw 
 his army 
 
 Thinkest thou then 
 
 So meanly of my Phocion ? Dost thou deem him 
 Poorly wound up to a mere fit of valour, 
 To melt away in a weak woman's tears ? 
 Oh, thou dost little know him. 
 
 At the last line, Boaden tells us, there was a trium- 
 phant hurry and enjoyment in her scorn, which the 
 
78 MRS. SIDDONS. 
 
 audience caught as electrical and applauded in rapture, 
 for at least a minute : 
 
 A daughter's arm, fell monster, strikes the blow ! 
 Yea, first she strikes an injured daughter's arm 
 Sends thee devoted to the infernal gods ! 
 
 After this she acted Jane Shore. " Mrs Siddons," 
 as one of the critics remarked on this performance, 
 " has the air of never being an actress ; she seems un- 
 conscious that there is a motley crowd called the pit 
 waiting to applaud her, or that a dozen fiddlers are 
 waiting for her exit." Her " Forgive me, but forgive 
 me," when asking pardon of her husband, convulsed 
 the house with sobs. Crabb Eobinson, while wit- 
 nessing this harrowing performance, burst into a peal 
 of laughter, and, upon being removed, was found to be 
 in strong hysterics. -^ Cf ^ 
 
 A^tei^Jane s ^h^e;^h^rapp^aTe^h--as Calista, Belvi- 
 dera, and Zara. All were received with the same 
 enthusiasm. ^ 
 
 C On the 5th June she acted Isabella for the last time 
 that season, having performed in all about eighty 
 nights, and on- atfof theffl~for4;he-faeir5ftt ~6f others ; 
 and during that short time she may be said to have 
 completely revolutionised the English stage. Nothing 
 now was applauded but tragedy. The farces which 
 before had won a laugh, were now not listened to. 
 The young actress so completely depressed the spirits of 
 the audience, that the best comic actor seemed unable 
 to raise them. Already she was preparing the way for 
 the stately solemnity of John Kemble and the Revival 
 of Shakespearean Tragedy^ 
 
 The town went " born mad," as Horace Walpole 
 said, after her. The papers wrote about her con- 
 tinually, her dress, her movements. Nothing else 
 
SUCCESS. 79 
 
 seemed to have the same interest. Her salary, origi- 
 nally five pounds a week, was raised to twenty pounds 
 before the end of the season, and her first benefit 
 realised eight hundred pounds. 
 
 On this latter occasion she addressed a letter to the 
 public : 
 
 " Mrs. Siddons would not have remained so long 
 without expressing the high sense she had of the great 
 honours done her at her late benefit, but that, after 
 repeated trials, she could not find words adequate to 
 her feelings, and she must at present be content with 
 the plain language of a grateful mind; that her heart 
 thanks all her benefactors for the distinguished and, 
 she fears, too partial encouragement which they be- 
 stowed on this occasion. She is told that the splendid 
 appearance on that night, and the emoluments arising 
 from it, exceed anything ever recorded on a similar 
 account in the annals of the English stage ; but she 
 has not the vanity to imagine that this arose from 
 any superiority over many of her predecessors or 
 some of her contemporaries. She attributes it wholly 
 to that liberality of sentiment which distinguishes 
 the inhabitants of this great metropolis from those 
 of any other in the world. They know her story 
 they know that for many years, by a strange fatality, 
 she was confined to move in a narrow sphere, in which 
 the rewards attendant on her labours were propor- 
 tionally small. With a generosity unexampled, they 
 proposed at once to balance the account, and pay off 
 the arrears due, according to the rate, the too partial 
 rate, at which they valued her talents. She knows 
 the danger arising from extraordinary and unmerited 
 favours, and will carefully guard against any approach 
 of pride, too often their attendant. Happy shall she 
 
80 MRS. SIDDONS. 
 
 esteem herself, if by the utmost assiduity, and con- 
 stant exertion of her poor abilities, she shall be able 
 to lessen, though hopeless ever to discharge, the vast 
 debt she owes the public." 
 
 Mrs. Siddons was always too fond of taking the 
 public into her confidence. Everything in this letter 
 can be taken for granted ; and it would have been 
 more dignified to have kept silence. 
 
 More pleasing and natural are the letters written to 
 her friends. She wrote thus to Dr. Whalley about this 
 time : 
 
 " Just at this moment are you, my dear Sir, 
 sitting down to supper, and ' every guest 's a friend/ 
 Oh ! that I were with you, but for one half-hour. 
 ' Oh ! God forbid ! ' says my dear Mrs. "Whalley ; ' for 
 he would talk so loud and so fast, that he would throw 
 himself into a fever, and die of unsatisfied curiosity 
 into the bargain.' Do I flatter myself, my dear Sir? 
 Oh no ! you have both done me the honour to assure 
 me that you love me, and I would not forego the 
 blessed idea for the world ... I did receive all your 
 letters, and thank you for them a thousand times. 
 One line of them is worth all the acclamations of 
 ten thousand shouting theatres." 
 
 And so closes this wonderful year in the great 
 actress's life the one to which she always looked back 
 as the climax of her happiness and good fortune. 
 
81 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 DUBLIN AND EDINBURGH. 
 
 IRISHMEN have a natural theatrical instinct, and Dublin, 
 at the time of which we write, was to a certain degree 
 valued as a censor in dramatic affairs as highly as 
 London. A Dublin audience often ventured to dissent 
 from the judgments of the metropolis, and, as in the 
 case of Mrs. Pritchard, who, Campbell quaintly tells 
 us, "electrified the Irish with disappointment," to 
 entirely reverse them. Most of the best Drury Lane 
 players had begun their career at the Smock Alley 
 theatre, and many of them had Irish blood in their 
 veins. The theatre was the finest in the kingdom 
 next to Drury Lane, boasting the innovation of a 
 drop scene, representing the Houses of Parliament, 
 instead of the conventional green curtain. 
 
 The same causes which placed the provincial towns 
 of England in an important position, so far as social 
 and dramatic affairs were concerned, operated still 
 more effectually in the case of Dublin. To cross to- 
 London in those days was as long and tedious a 
 journey as to go to New York in ours ; and none even of 
 the nobility thought of doing, so every year. The 
 
 6 
 
82 MBS. 8IDDON8. 
 
 vice-regal court was, therefore, really a court, sur- 
 rounded by a certain amount of brilliancy and 
 splendour. Ever since the days of Peg Woffington 
 and the Miss Gunnings, Irish beauties had dared to 
 set the fashion ; and we read in a letter written from 
 Dublin, by a leader of fashion of the day, that it is 
 of no use English women coming over unless they 
 are prepared to " make their waists of the circum- 
 ference of two oranges, no more " ; their " heads a 
 foot high, exclusive of feathers, and stretching to a 
 pent-house of most horrible projection behind, the 
 breadth from wing to wing considerably broader than 
 your shoulders ; and as many different things in your 
 cap as in Noah's ark. . . . Verily," the lady ends, 
 " I never did see such monsters as the heads now in 
 vogue; I am a monster, too, but a moderate one." 
 
 Round the small court fluttered young equerries who 
 wrote plays, and were devoted to the drama. Actors 
 and actresses themselves, if at all within the pale of 
 respectability, were admitted to the vice-regal circle. 
 Mrs. Inchbald was intimate with many of the fashion- 
 able and literary ladies. Daly, the manager of the 
 theatre, was a regular habitue of the "Castle"; and 
 John Kemble, who had arrived in Ireland some time 
 before his sister, had been introduced by the equerry 
 Jephson to the " set," including Tighe, Courtenay, 
 and others. 
 
 All this society was thrown into a ferment of excite- 
 ment when it was announced that the beautiful young 
 actress, who had turned all heads in London, was 
 coming to Dublin. Kemble was interviewed and pestered 
 with inquiries on the subject. Indeed, his prestige for 
 the time was vastly increased by his relationship. At 
 a dinner at the Castle, Lord Inchiquin gave as a toast, 
 
DUBLIN AND EDINBURGH. 83 
 
 " The matchless Mrs. Siddons," and sent her brother 
 a ring containing her miniature set in diamonds. 
 
 Daly had gone over himself to engage her ; and it 
 was said she had refused all provincial offers in Eng- 
 land for the sake of winning the hearts of the Irish 
 critics. All seemed propitious, and the way prepared 
 for the coming of the conquering heroine. Events, 
 however, did not turn out as expected. There, where 
 the vivacious, impudent, good-natured Peg Woffington, 
 with her " bad " voice and swaggering way, became a 
 popular idol, the queenly Siddons, with her imperious, 
 tragic manner, extorted praise for her acting, no doubt, 
 but never won their hearts. In spite of the Irish 
 blood in her veins, she had no fellow-feeling for the 
 people ; and an antagonism sprang up between her 
 and her Dublin audience from the first. She disliked 
 the dirt, ostentation, insincerity, and frivolity of Irish- 
 men, and refused to acknowledge their kind-hearted- 
 ness and genuine artistic appreciation. 
 
 By her letters we can see the impression the country 
 made on her. She started in the beginning of July, 
 accompanied by a small party, which consisted of 
 Brereton, her husband, and her sister. On the 14th 
 she writes to her friend Whalley : 
 
 " I thank you a thousand and a thousand times for 
 your letter ; but you don't mention having heard from 
 me since you left England. We rejoice most sincerely 
 that you are arrived without any material accident, 
 without any dangerous ones I mean, for, to be sure, 
 some of them were very materially entertaining. Oh ! 
 how I laugh whenever the drowsy adventure comes 
 across my imagination, for ' more was meant than 
 met the ear.' I am sure I would have given the 
 world to have seen my dear Mrs. Whalley upon 
 
 6 * 
 
84 MRS. SIDDONS. 
 
 the little old tub. How happy you are in your 
 descriptions ! So she was very well ; then very 
 jocular she must be. I think her conversation, thus 
 enthroned and thus surrounded, must have been the 
 highest treat in all the world. Some parts of your 
 tour must have been enchanting, How good it was of 
 you to wish me a partaker of your pastoral dinner t 
 Be assured, my dear, dear friends, no one can thank you 
 more sincerely, or be more sensible of the honour of 
 your regard, though many may deserve it better. 
 What a comfortable thing to meet with such agreeable 
 people ! But society and converse like yours and dear 
 Mrs. Whalley's must very soon make savages agreeable. 
 How did poor little Paphy bear it ? Did she remon- 
 strate in her usual melting tones ? I am sure she was 
 very glad to be at rest, which does not happen in a 
 carriage, I remember, for any length of time. I can 
 conceive nothing so provoking or ridiculous as the 
 Frenchman's politeness, and poor Vincent's perplexity. 
 You will have heard, long ere this reaches you, that 
 
 our sweet D is safely delivered of a very fine girl, 
 
 which, I know, will give you no small pleasure. Now 
 for myself. Our journey was delightful; the roads 
 through Wales present you with mountains unsur- 
 mountable, the grandest and most beautiful prospects 
 to be conceived; but I want your pen to describe 
 them. 
 
 " We got very safe to Holy head, and then I felt as 
 if some great event was going to take place, having 
 never been on the sea. I was awed, but not terrified ; 
 feeling myself in the hands of a great and powerful 
 God ' whose mercy is over all His works.' The sea 
 was particularly rough ; we were lifted mountains high, 
 and sank again as low in an instant. Good God ! how 
 
DUBLIN AND EDINBURGH. 85 
 
 tremendous, how wonderful ! A pleasing terror took 
 hold on me, which it is impossible to describe, and I 
 never felt the majesty of the Divine Creator so fully 
 before. I was dreadfully sick, and so were my poor 
 sister and Mr. Brereton. Mr. Siddons was pretty 
 well ; and here, my dear friend, let me give you a little 
 wholesome advice : allways (you see I have forgot to 
 spell) go to bed the instant you go on board, for by 
 lying horizontally, and keeping very quiet, you cheat 
 the sea of half its influence. We arrived in Dublin 
 the 16th June, half-past twelve at night. There is not 
 a tavern or a house of any kind in this capital city of 
 a rising kingdom, as they call themselves, that will 
 take a woman in ; and, do you know, I was obliged, 
 after being shut up in the Custom-house officer's room, 
 to have the things examined, which room was more 
 like a dungeon than anything else after staying here 
 above an hour and a half, I tell you, I was obliged, 
 sick and weary as I was, to wander about the streets 
 on foot (for the coaches and chairs were all gone off 
 the stands) till almost two o'clock in the morning, 
 raining, too, as if heaven and earth were coming to- 
 gether. A pretty beginning ! thought I ; but these 
 people are a thousand years behind us in every respect. 
 At length Mr. Brereton, whose father had provided a 
 bed for him on his arrival, ventured to say he would 
 insist on having a bed for us at the house where he was 
 to sleep. Well, we got to this place, and the lady of 
 the house vouchsafed, after many times telling us that 
 she never took in ladies, to say we should sleep there 
 that night." 
 
 The actress's first appearance was made in Isabella, 
 on the 21st June 1783. The theatre was crowded 
 to suffocation, and guineas and half-guineas were paid 
 
86 MRS. 8IDDONS. 
 
 for seats in the pit and gallery; but after the first 
 night the enthusiasm seemed to die away, and Mrs. 
 Crawford, at Crow Street Theatre, who had been 
 completely dethroned by Mrs. Siddons in London, 
 now boldly ventured to come forward in opposition to 
 her rival, and, to her own astonishment, as well as that 
 of everyone else, soon commanded larger houses. The 
 critics also soon began their attacks, taking the form 
 of ridicule, a method of warfare very trying to a person 
 of her proud, sensitive nature. 
 
 " On Saturday, Mrs. Siddons, about whom all the 
 world has been talking, exposed her beautiful, adaman- 
 tine, soft, and comely person, for the first time, in the 
 Theatre Royal, Smock Alley. The house was crowded 
 with hundreds more than it could hold, with thousands 
 of admiring spectators that went away without a sight. 
 She was nature itself ; she was the most exquisite work 
 of art. Several fainted, even before the curtain drew 
 up. The fiddlers in the orchestra blubbered like 
 hungry children crying for their bread and butter; 
 and when the bell rang for music between the acts, 
 the tears ran from the bassoon player's eyes in such 
 showers that they choked the finger-stops, and, making 
 a spout of the instrument, poured in such a torrent 
 upon the first fiddler's book, that, not seeing the over- 
 ture was in two sharps, the leader of the band actually 
 played in two flats; but the sobs and sighs of the 
 groaning audience, and the noise of the corks drawn 
 from the smelling-bottles, prevented the mistake being 
 discovered. The briny pond in the pit was three feet 
 deep, and the people that were obliged to stand upon 
 the benches, were in that position up to their ankles in 
 tears. An Act of Parliament against her playing will 
 certainly pass, for she has infected the volunteers, and 
 
DUBLIN AND EDINBURGH. 87 
 
 they sit reading The Fatal Marriage, crying and roar- 
 ing all the time. May the curses of an insulted 
 nation pursue the gentlemen of the College, the gen- 
 tlemen of the Bar, and the peers and peeresses that 
 hissed her on the second night. True it is that Mr. 
 Garrick never could make anything of her, and pro- 
 nounced her below mediocrity; true it is the London 
 audience did not like her; but what of that ? " 
 
 Her consciousness of the antagonism that existed 
 against her in the press and amongst the public made 
 her stay in the capital by no means either pleasant or 
 successful, and she was glad to start with the party 
 which Daly had got together to go the round of the 
 country. It consisted of the manager and his future 
 wife, Miss Barsanti, the two Kembles, Miss Younge, 
 Digges, Miss Philipps, and Mrs. Melnotte, wife of 
 Pratt Melnotte, of Bath celebrity. 
 
 An amusing account of the tour has been left by 
 Bernard the actor, who happened to be in Ireland at 
 the time. The solemn Kembles certainly seem out of 
 place in the rollicking fun, and we can imagine Mrs. 
 Siddons's stately disgust when a gentleman from the 
 pit called out, " Sally, me jewel, how are you?" or, 
 as occurred several times, when a general dance took 
 place in the gallery as soon as the orchestra began. 
 
 Mrs. Siddons does not seem to have had any occasion 
 for changing later the first opinion she formed of the 
 country, for we find her writing confidentially to Mr. 
 Whalley from Cork, on the 29th of August, that she 
 thinks the city of Dublin a sink of tilthiness. " The 
 noisome smells, and the multitudes of shocking and 
 most miserable objects, made me resolve never to stir 
 out but to my business. I like not the people either ; 
 they are all ostentation and insincerity, and in their 
 
88 MRS. SIDDONS. 
 
 ideas of finery very like the French, but not so cleanly ; 
 and they not only speak, but think coarsely. This 
 is in confidence; therefore, your fingers on your lips, 
 I pray. They are tenacious of their country to a' 
 .degree of folly that is very laughable, and would call 
 me the blackest of ingrates were they to know my 
 sentiments of them. I have got a thousand pounds 
 among them this summer. I always acknowledge myself 
 obliged to them, but I cannot love them. I know but 
 one among them that can in any degree atone for the 
 barbarism of the rest, who thinks there are other 
 means of expressing esteem besides forcing people to 
 eat and to drink, the doing which to a most offensive 
 degree they call Irish hospitality. I long to be at. 
 home, sitting quietly in the little snug parlour, where 
 I had last the pleasure, or rather the pain, of seeing 
 you that night. For the first time in my life I wished 
 not to see you. I dreaded it, and with reason. I 
 knew (which was the case) I should not recover that 
 cruel farewell for several days. 
 
 " Oh ! my dear friend, do the pleasures of life com- 
 pensate for the pangs? I think not. Some people 
 place the whole happiness of life in the pleasures of 
 imagination, in building castles ; for my part, I am not 
 one that builds very magnificent ones. Nay ; I don't 
 build any castles, but cottages without end. May the 
 great Disposer of all events but permit me to spend the 
 evening of my toilsome, bustling day in a cottage, where 
 I may sometimes have the converse and society which 
 will make me more worthy those imperishable habita- 
 tions which are prepared for the spirits of just men 
 made perfect ! Yes, let me take up my rest in this 
 world near my beloved Langford. You know this has 
 been my castle any time these four years. And I am 
 
DUBLIN AND EDINBURGH. 89 
 
 making a little snug party. Mr. Nott and my dear 
 sister I have secured, and make no doubt of gaining 
 ^ few others. Is not this a delightful scheme ? 
 
 " I have played for one charity since I have been 
 here (I am at Cork, I should tell you), and am to play 
 for another to-morrow your favourite Zara, in the 
 Mourning Bride. I am extremely happy that you like 
 your little companion so well [alluding to a miniature 
 -of herself she had sent him], I have sat to a young 
 man in this place, who has made a small full-length of 
 me in Isabella, upon the first entrance of Biron. You 
 will think this an arduous undertaking, but he has 
 succeeded to admiration. I think it more like me than 
 any I have ever yet seen. I am sure you would have 
 been delighted with it. I never was so well in ray life 
 as I have been in Ireland ; but, God be praised, I shall 
 set out for dear England next Tuesday. 
 
 " This letter has been begun this month, and finished 
 by a line or two at a time, so you'll find it a fine scrawl, 
 and I am still so mere a matter-of-fact body as to 
 despair of giving you the least entertainment. I can 
 boast no other claim to the honour and happiness of 
 your correspondence than a very sincere affection for 
 you both, joined with the most perfect esteem for your 
 most amiable qualities and great talent. Say all that 's 
 
 kind for me to my dear Mrs. W , and believe me, 
 
 ever your most affectionate 
 
 "S. SIDDONS." 
 
 " Cork, August 29th. 
 
 " I hope you will give me the pleasure of hearing 
 from you soon." 
 
 "London, October 7th, 1783. 
 "For God's sake, my dear friends, pray for my 
 
90 MRS. 8IDDONS. 
 
 memory. I had forgot to pay the postage, as you 
 kindly desired, and this poor letter has been wandering 
 about the world ever since I left Cork. 
 
 " It was opened in Ireland, you see, so I must never 
 show my face there again. The King commands- 
 Isabella to-morrow, and I play Jane Shore on Satur- 
 day. I have affronted Mrs. Jackson by not being able 
 to procure her places. I am extremely sorry for it, as 
 I had the highest esteem for herself, and her friend- 
 ship to you had tied her close to my heart. I have 
 done all I could to reinstate myself in her favour, but 
 in vain. Poor Mr. Nott has been in great trouble ; he 
 has lost a brother lately that was more nearly allied 
 than by blood, and for whose loss he is inconsolable. 
 He is not in town, but I hope soon to see him. Adieu \ 
 Mr. Siddons, &c., desire kindest wishes. The last 
 letter I wrote to you I was very near serving in the 
 same manner. Is it not a little alarming ? I fear I 
 shall be superannuated in a few years." 
 
 Her acrimony is almost incomprehensible. After 
 the expressions used in the above letter we can quite 
 understand how she made herself unpopular. She 
 might have wished secrecy kept, but she was not the 
 woman to hide what she felt. She is unjust also in 
 the statemant that Irishmen " not only think but speak 
 coarsely." On this, as on other occasions, she allowed 
 her wounded vanity to dim her power of observation. 
 The punishment, however, came sharp and sudden, and 
 destroyed her happiness for many a day. 
 
 While Mrs. Siddons was acting in Dublin, Jackson, 
 the manager of the Edinburgh Theatre, opened com- 
 munications with her with a view to an engagement. 
 Finding it difficult to come to terms, he at last travelled 
 over himself, but the history of the negotiation from 
 
DUBLIN AND EDINBURGH. 91 
 
 beginning to end makes us understand Mrs. Siddons's 
 unpopularity with all her managers. There is too 
 resolute an adherence to her own interests, too 
 much of a calm, cold superiority. She " haggled " and 
 bargained over every step, until Jackson almost gave 
 the whole business up in despair. Encouraged, how- 
 ever, FitzGerald tells us, by a purse of 200, which 
 some noblemen and gentlemen of Scotland had liberally 
 made up to assist him in making the engagement, he 
 at last assented to her terms. The Siddons' demands 
 for nine nights' performance, besides a " clear benefit," 
 was 400. They soon, however, heard of the 200 
 subscription, and Mr. Siddons then wrote to know if 
 that sum was to be included in the 400, or if it were 
 to come under the head of an extra emolument. The 
 manager was explicit in his statement that the 200 
 was intended for his benefit. On this Mrs. Siddons 
 announced that she did not wish for any given sum, 
 but would take half the clear receipts. Poor Jackson 
 was obliged to agree to this breach of contract, as he 
 had already gone so far with his patrons in Edinburgh. 
 The history of the negotiation, however, is not pleasant 
 reading for Mrs. Siddons's admirers, especially when we 
 find later that she contrived to have the 200 sub- 
 scription paid over to her without the knowledge of 
 the manager, and that at the end of her engagement 
 Jackson found himself a loser. The " charges of the 
 house " were put too low. Actors like Pope, King, 
 and Miss Farren had always allowed something hand- 
 some on settlement. Nothing was to be obtained from 
 Mrs. Siddons. 
 
 The average profit would have been about 25 a 
 night. From Dublin she returned to London, and 
 acted her second season there ; it was even more bril- 
 
92 MBS. SIDDONS. 
 
 liant than her first, and rendered noteworthy both by 
 her first appearance with her brother, John Kemble, in 
 The Gamester, who from that time frequently acted 
 with her, and by her acting of Isabella in Measure for r 
 Measure, in which part she made her first success in a 
 Shakespearean character in London. She looked the 
 novice of St. Clare to perfection. In the spring she 
 made her way northwards to keep her engagement with 
 the Edinburgh manager, and on Saturday, 22nd May, 
 1784, she appeared on the stage of the Royalty Theatre, 
 in Belvidera. The well-known impassibility of the Edin- 
 burgh audience affected Mrs. Siddons with an intole- 
 rable sense of depression. 
 
 After some of her grandest outbursts of passion, to 
 which no expression of applause had responded, ex- 
 hausted and breathless, she would pant out in despair, 
 under her breath, " Stupid people, stupid people ! " 
 This habitual reserve she soon found, however, gave 
 way at times to very violent exhibitions of enthusiasm, 
 the more fervent from its general expression once, 
 indeed, the whole of the sleep-walking scene in Macbeth 
 was so vehemently applauded that, contrary to all rule, 
 she had to go over it a second time before the piece was 
 allowed to proceed. 
 
 Afterwards, when by these ebullitions of real feeling 
 she had proved her audience's appreciation, she could 
 afford to tell stories of their stolidity when she first 
 appeared amongst them. The second night, dis- 
 heartened at the cold reception of her most thrilling 
 passages, after one desperate effort she paused for a 
 reply. It came at last, when the silence was broken 
 by a single voice exclaiming, " That's no bad ! '' a 
 tribute which was the signal for unbounded applause. 
 ~One venerable old gentleman, who was taken by his 
 
DUBLIN AND EDINBURGH. 9 
 
 daughter to see the great actress in Venice Preserved, 
 sat with perfect composure through the first act and 
 into the second, when he asked his daughter, " Which 
 was the woman Siddons ? " As Belvidera is the only 
 female part in the play, she had no difficulty in answer- 
 ing. Nothing more occurred till the catastrophe ; he 
 then inquired, " Is this a comedy or a tragedy ? "" 
 " Why, bless you, father, a tragedy." " So I thought, 
 for I am beginning to feel a commotion." This in- 
 stance was typical of the whole of the audience and 
 once they began to " feel a commotion," there was no- 
 longer any doubt about their expression of it. The 
 passion, indeed, for hysterics and fainting at her per- 
 formances ran into a fashionable mania. A distin- 
 guished surgeon, familiarly called " Sandy Wood/' who, 
 with his shrewd common-sense, had a way of seeing 
 through the follies of his fashionable patients, was- 
 called from his seat in the pit, where he was to be 
 found every evening Mrs. Siddons acted, to attend 
 upon the hysterics of one of the excitable ladies who 
 were tumbling around him. On his way through the 
 crowd a friend said to him, alluding to Mrs. Siddons, 
 "This is glorious acting, Sandy." Looking round at 
 the fainting and screaming ladies in the boxes, Wood 
 
 answered, " Yes, and a d d deal o't, too." Some 
 
 verses in the Scot's Magazine give a picture of the 
 scene, the pit being described as "all porter and 
 pathos, all whisky and whining," while 
 
 " From all sides of the house, hark ! the cry how it swells, 
 While the boxes are torn with most heart-piercing yells ! " 
 
 The enthusiasm to see her was so great, that one day 
 there were more than 2,500 applications for about 600- 
 seats. The oppression and heat was so great in the 
 
94 MRS. 8IDDON8. 
 
 crowded and ill-veutilated theatre, that an epidemic 
 that attacked the town was humorously attributed to 
 this cause, and was called " the Siddons fever." All 
 that was most cultured and intellectual in Edinburgh 
 came to do her homage Blair, Hume, Beattie, Mac- 
 kenzie, Home, all attended her performances. She 
 made by her engagement, the share of the house, 
 benefit, and subscription, more than one thousand 
 pounds. And this success was not only among the 
 educated classes, the pit and gallery paid their tribute 
 besides. Campbell tells us how a poor servant-girl 
 with a basket of greens on her arm, one day stopped 
 near her in the High Street, and hearing 1 her speak, 
 said, " Ah, weel do I ken that sweet voice, that made 
 me greet sae sair the streen/' 
 
 Before she left she was presented with a silver tea- 
 urn, as a mark of " esteem " for superior genius and 
 unrivalled talents. She refers to this visit later in her 
 grandiloquent style. " How shall I express my grati- 
 tude for the honours and kindness of my northern 
 friends ? for, should I attempt it, I should be thought 
 the very queen of egotists. But never can I forget the 
 private no less than public marks of their gratifying 
 suffrages." 
 
95 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 CLOUDS. 
 
 ON the 15th June she tore herself away from all these 
 " private " and " public marks of gratifying suffrages/ 
 and again paid a visit to Dublin, which at the begin- 
 ning was more successful than her former one, but 
 towards the end was clouded with untoward circum- 
 stances, which militated against her for the whole of 
 her professional career. 
 
 This time she became the guest of her former 
 friend Miss Boyle, now become Mrs. O'Neil of 
 Shane's Castle. The Lord-Lieutenant welcomed her 
 as if she were some " great lady of rank," and she 
 tells us how she was received "by all the first 
 families with the most flattering hospitality, and the 
 days I passed with them will be ever remembered 
 among the most pleasurable of my life." She paid 
 a visit to Shane's Castle. "I have not words to 
 describe the beauty and splendour of this enchanting 
 place, which, I am sorry to say, has since been 
 levelled to the earth by a tremendous fire. Here 
 were often assembled all the talent, and rank, and 
 beauty of Ireland. Among the persons of the Leinster 
 family whom I met here was poor Lord Edward 
 
96 MBS. SIDDONS. 
 
 Fitzgerald, the most amiable, honourable, though mis- 
 guided youth I ever knew. 
 
 "The luxury of this establishment almost inspired 
 the recollections of an Arabian Night's entertainment* 
 Six or eight carriages, with a numerous throng of 
 lords and ladies on horseback, began the day by 
 making excursions around this terrestrial paradise, 
 returning home just in time to dress for dinner. The 
 table was served with a profusion and elegance to 
 which I have never seen anything comparable. The 
 sideboards were decorated with adequate magnificence, 
 on which appeared several immense silver flagons 
 containing claret. A fine band of musicians played 
 during the whole of the repast. They were stationed 
 in the corridors, which led into a fine conservatory, 
 where we plucked our dessert from numerous trees of 
 the most exquisite fruits. The foot of the conservatory 
 was washed by the waves of a superb lake, from which 
 the cool and pleasant wind came, to murmur in con- 
 cert with the harmony from the corridor. The graces 
 of the presiding genius, the lovely mistress of the 
 mansion, seemed to blend with the whole scene." 
 
 These Arabian Nights' entertainments, delightful as 
 they may have been, were calculated to make her very 
 unpopular with her profession. Stories about her fine- 
 lady airs were freely circulated, to which her own want 
 of tact, and the injudicious behaviour of her husband, 
 gave a certain foundation. 
 
 One of these that was actually believed, and copied 
 into the London papers, was to the effect that, having 
 been persuaded to visit the studio of a certain Mr. 
 Home, a local artist, he asked her to sit to him. 
 " Impossible," was the reply, " I can hardly find time 
 to sit to Sir Joshua Reynolds." The offended artist 
 
CLOUDS. 97 
 
 insinuated that her refusal would not ruin him ; upon 
 which she was said to have boxed his ears and stormed 
 out of the house. This is so palpably ill-natured, and 
 from a knowledge of Mrs. Siddons's character so im- 
 probable, that we only give it, among a mass of other 
 evidence, to show how the feeling against her gradually 
 arose, which, to a certain extent, was destined to 
 pursue her through life. Mr. Siddons's good sense 
 did not materially aid her. On one occasion, dining, in 
 company with John Kemble, at the house of a Dublin 
 merchant, their host expressed a great wish to be 
 introduced to the young actress. " I should like to 
 very much, but do not know how to break the matter 
 to her/' was the husband's reply, which, we must 
 confess, was not calculated to increase the geniality of 
 feeling entertained for her in general society. She 
 managed also to offend the manager, Mr. Daly, who 
 by all accounts was not an agreeable person, for we 
 read in Bernard's Reminiscences that he was an 
 extremely vain, jealous-tempered man, proud of his 
 acting and good looks. Mrs. Siddons insinuates that 
 his dislike arose to her scornful rejection of attentions 
 he endeavoured to press upon her. However that may 
 be, the following is her own account of the manner in 
 which he first showed his enmity, and gives a curious 
 insight into the wretched bickerings and heart-burnings 
 of the profession : 
 
 " The manager of the theatre also very soon began 
 to adopt every means of vexation for me that he 
 could possibly devise, merely because I chose to sug- 
 gest at rehearsal that his proper situation, as Fal- 
 conbridge in King John, was at the right hand of 
 the King. During the scene between Constance 
 and Austria, he thought it necessary that he should, 
 
 7 
 
98 MKS. SIDDONS. 
 
 though he did it most ungraciously, adopt this ar- 
 rangement; but his malevolence pursued me unre- 
 mittedly from that moment. He absurdly fancied 
 that he was of less consequence when placed at so 
 great a distance from the front of the stage, at the 
 ends of which the kings were seated ; but he had little 
 or nothing to say, and his being in the front would 
 have greatly interrupted and diminished the effect of 
 Constance's best scene. He made me suffer, how- 
 ever, sufficiently for ,my personality by employing all 
 the newspapers to abuse and annoy me the whole 
 time I remained in Dublin, and to pursue me to 
 England with malignant scandal; but of that anon. 
 The theatre, meantime, was attended to his heart's, 
 content indeed, the whole of this engagement was as 
 profitable as my most sanguine hopes could have 
 anticipated." 
 
 Presently, however, she was to be put on her 
 trial for a more serious charge. The unfortunate 
 actor, Digges, while rehearsing with her, was struck 
 down with paralysis. Lee Lewes, who endeavours to 
 defend her in all this business, tells us that her 
 engagement was then drawing to a close, and she 
 was announced to play at Cork a few days after. 
 Asked to perform in a benefit for the poor man, she 
 replied that she was sorry she had but one night to 
 spare, and had already promised to play for the 
 Marshalsea pensioners. Thinking better of this deter- 
 mination, however, later, she despatched "a mes- 
 senger" to Digges, saying she had reconsidered the 
 matter, and would be glad to perform for him. Digges 
 expressed his gratitude, and the night and play were 
 fixed ; but, according to her own evidence, everything 
 was done to annoy her and prevent the carrying out 
 
CLOUDS. 99 
 
 of her charitable intentions. This is her account of 
 the business : 
 
 " When my visit to Shane Castle was over, I 
 entered into another engagement in Dublin. Among 
 the actors was Mr. Digges, who had formerly held a 
 high rank in the drama, but who was now by age 
 and infirmity reduced to a subordinate and morti- 
 fying situation. It occurred to me that I might be of 
 some use to him if I could persuade the manager to 
 give him a night, and the actors to perform for him, at 
 the close of my engagement ; but when I proposed my 
 request to the manager (Daly declares, as we shall see, 
 that the proposal came from him, and not from her), 
 he told me it could not be, because the whole company 
 would be obliged to leave the Dublin theatre in order 
 to open the theatre at Limerick, but that he would 
 lend the house for my purpose if I could procure a 
 sufficient number of actors to perform a play. By 
 indefatigable labour, and in spite of cruel annoyances 
 Mr. Siddons and myself got together, from all the 
 little country theatres, as many as would enable us to 
 attempt Venice Preserved. Oh ! to be sure it was a 
 scene of disgust and confusion. I acted Belvidera, 
 without having ever previously seen the face of one 
 of the actors for there was no time for even one 
 rehearsal but the motive procured us indulgence. 
 Poor Mr. Digges was most materially benefited by 
 this most ludicrous performance, and I put my disgust 
 into my pocket since money passed into his. Thus 
 ended my Irish engagement, but not so my persecu- 
 tion by the manager, at whose instance the newspapers 
 were filled with the most unjust and malignant reflec- 
 tions on me. All the time I was on a visit of some 
 length to the Dowager Duchess of Leinster, uncon- 
 
 7 * 
 
100 MKS. SIDDONS. 
 
 scious of the gathering storm, whilst the public mind 
 was imbibing poisonous prejudices against me. Alas 
 for those who subsist by the stability of public favour ! " 
 The above was written by Mrs. Siddons in later days,, 
 and is eminently unsatisfactory from every point of 
 view. The dragging in of the Dowager Duchess of 
 Leinster, when we want a plain statement of facts, is 
 irritating, and the complaint against public favour at 
 the end is stilted and artificial. No doubt the manager 
 was unfriendly, but her first impulse was not a generous 
 one, and she laid herself open to ill-natured construc- 
 tions being put on her conduct. The real story we 
 take to be this : Digges (to whom she was not par- 
 ticularly inclined to be friendly, owing to her attri- 
 buting to him the authorship of the satirical criticisms 
 on her acting when she first arrived in Ireland) was 
 struck down by illness, in a manner and under circum- 
 stances to arouse the deep sympathy of the members of 
 his profession, ever charitable to one another. Daly, 
 the manager, before communicating with Digges, asked 
 Mr. Siddons if his wife would give her services for a 
 benefit. He, instigated of course by her, refused the 
 request. On this refusal, not unjustly, were based all 
 the charges brought against her. Daly then offered to 
 pay for her services ; this also was refused, and nothing 
 further was done until Mrs. Siddons, finding the 
 whole affair unfavourably canvassed, sent Mr. Siddons 
 to inform Digges that she had arranged to play for his 
 benefit. This graciousness came too late ; the rumour 
 of her refusal had already got abroad, and very un- 
 favourable comments were made both by the press and 
 the public. The annoyance also caused her by the 
 inefficient representation of Venice Preserved might 
 have been avoided if she had at once acceded to Daly's 
 
CLOUDS. 101 
 
 request. As it was, the whole company had been 
 obliged to leave for the opening of the Limerick 
 Theatre. She and Mr. Siddons, therefore, were 
 obliged to get together a scratch company, and give 
 the benefit after the season was over, which could not 
 have been nearly so advantageous to the object of the 
 charity. Money was made, but not so much as if she 
 had acted in the middle of the season. We can hardly 
 believe she was actuated in all this by love of money ; 
 it is more likely that the proud resentment she felt 
 when unfavourably criticised in any way had interfered 
 with her kindlier impulse. 
 
 In the case of Brereton, the same unfortunate sensi- 
 tiveness seems to have been at work. Brereton was 
 the leading actor of her troupe, always played lover 
 to her heroine, and, it was said, had at one time made 
 his love in so earnest a fashion, that the beautiful 
 actress had, as in the case of Daly, to check his 
 ardour, or, as Boaden expresses it, "in kindling his 
 imagination the divinity unsettled his reason, and in 
 clasping the goddess he became sensible of the charms 
 of the woman." However this may be, Brereton was 
 by no means friendly, and never missed an oppor- 
 tunity of covertly attacking her. When asked, there- 
 fore, to play for his benefit, she actually deducted ten 
 pounds from the profits as her own emolument. Percy 
 Fitzgerald seems inclined to think that "all this 
 wretched muddle was the work of Mr. Siddons, who, 
 considering the charitable taxes laid on her, and the 
 many benefits she had to assist, found himself obliged, 
 like most husbands of money-getting actresses, to 
 bargain and chaffer for her gifts as if they were wares, 
 and get as much money as they could be made to 
 bring in." 
 
102 . . . t ,, .... M$S, SWDONS. 
 
 But we think that at no time of their married 
 life had Siddons enough influence to induce her to do 
 anything against her better judgment, and we doubt 
 very much whether he was ever allowed to complete a 
 bargain of any kind, although his name was frequently 
 used. What aroused the sympathy of the public 
 more warmly in the cause of Brereton was the madness 
 that subsequently fell upon him. 
 
 The best side of her character was ever called out 
 by adversity. It was perhaps undignified to defend 
 herself as she did or, rather, as Siddons did in her 
 name by an exculpatory letter to the papers, appeal- 
 ing to the two actors, Digges and Brereton, to declare 
 whether she had, or had not, played for them when 
 asked. Two letters were thus extorted from them 
 declaring that she had done all that was necessary to 
 satisfy the calls of charity, &c. Nothing could be 
 conceived more fatal to her cause than all this bandy- 
 ing of evidence. The idol men set up to worship they 
 generally delight to drag down and trample under foot 
 if they dare. In this case, however, they might 
 insult and humiliate, but they could not drag their 
 victim from the high estate she had achieved. 
 
 Her very high qualities as a wife and mother, her 
 decorum of conduct, so different to others of her pro- 
 fession, seemed to add a zest to the acrimony with 
 which they assaulted her. The first part in which she 
 appeared on the London boards after her return from 
 Dublin was Mrs. Beverley in the Gamester to her bro- 
 ther's Stukeley. Hardly had the curtain been raised, 
 before a storm of hooting and hissing broke forth, and 
 she whom they had late proclaimed a queen, who had 
 seen the town enslaved at her feet, now stood " the 
 object of public scorn." She did the best thing she 
 
CLOUDS. 103 
 
 could by remaining with perfect composure facing 
 them, but in those few dreadful moments she dis- 
 counted all the adulation and success she had enjoyed. 
 How intense the suffering was we can see by the 
 account written years after. 
 
 " I had left London/' she tells us, " the object 
 of universal approbation, but, on my return, only a 
 few weeks afterwards, I was received, on my first 
 night's appearance, with universal opprobrium, accused 
 of hardness of heart, and total insensibility to every- 
 thing and everybody except my own interest. Un- 
 happily, contrary winds had for some days pre- 
 cluded the possibility of receiving from Dublin such 
 letters as would have refuted those atrocious calum- 
 nies, and saved me from the horrors of this dreadful 
 night, when I was received with hissing and hoot- 
 ing. Amidst this afflicting clamour I made several 
 attempts to be heard, when at length a gentle- 
 man stood forth in the middle of the front of the 
 pit, impelled by benevolent and gentlemanly feeling, 
 who, as I advanced to make my last attempt at being 
 heard, accosted me with these words : ' For Heaven's 
 sake, Madam, do not degrade yourself by an apology, 
 for there is nothing necessary to be said ! ' I shall 
 always look back with gratitude to this gallant man's 
 solitary advocacy of my cause ; like Abdiel, ' faithful 
 found; among the faithless, faithful only he.' His 
 admonition was followed by reiterated clamour, when 
 my dear brother appeared, and carried me away from 
 this scene of insult. 
 
 " The instant I quitted it I fainted in his arms; and, 
 on my recovery, I was thankful that my persecutors 
 had not had the gratification of beholding this weak- 
 ness. After I was tolerably restored to myself, I was 
 
104 MBS. SIDDONS. 
 
 induced, by the persuasions of my husband, my 
 brother, and Mr. Sheridan, to present myself again 
 before that audience by whom I had been so savagely 
 treated, and before whom, but in consideration of my 
 children, I would have never appeared again. The 
 play was The Gamester, which commences with a scene 
 between Beverley and Charlotte. 
 
 " Great and pleasant was my astonishment to find 
 myself, on the second rising of the curtain, received 
 with a silence so profound that I was absolutely awe- 
 struck, and never yet have I been able to account for 
 this surprising contrast ; for I really think that the 
 falling of a pin might have been then heard upon 
 the stage." 
 
 On her entrance the second time, Mrs. Siddons 
 summoned enough courage to address the audience : 
 
 "Ladies and gentlemen, the kind and flattering 
 partiality which I have uniformly experienced in this 
 place would make the present interruption distressing 
 to me indeed, were I in the slightest degree conscious 
 of having deserved your censure. I feel no such con- 
 sciousness. 
 
 " The stories which have been circulated against me 
 are calumnies. When they shall be proved to be true, 
 my aspersors will be justified ; but, till then, my 
 respect for the public leads me to be confident that I 
 shall be protected from unmerited insult." 
 
 These words, spoken by the Muse of Tragedy, with 
 her stately dignity and flaming eyes, had an instan- 
 taneous effect. She withdrew ; the curtain fell. 
 
 King, the actor, came forward to beg the indulgence 
 of the audience for a few moments j and when she 
 appeared again, pale but calm, not an attempt at in- 
 terruption was heard. On several occasions after, an 
 
CLOUDS. 105 
 
 attempt was made to renew the interruption; but the 
 orderly portion of the audience was strong enough to 
 quell it. She acknowledged the applause when she 
 came on, and endeavoured to appear perfectly indif- 
 ferent to the hissing ; but all the triumphant confidence 
 of the first days of success seemed to have deserted 
 her for the time, and she was again the uncertain, tot- 
 tering debutante. Her splendid genius was, however, 
 but dimmed, and all her suffering but lent to serve as 
 a stepping-stone to a higher level than she had yet 
 attained. We must give here some letters she wrote 
 to her friends, the Whalleys, as giving an insight into 
 that brave heart of this wonderful woman, whose " vic- 
 torious faith upheld her " in this and many subsequent 
 trials. What wonder, however, that in later years she 
 grew hard and proud the first bloom of trust and 
 belief was rubbed off in these her first encounters with 
 the rough judgment of the mob. From henceforth 
 the confiding girlish Ophelia and Juliet vanish from 
 the scene, and Lady Macbeth, with her fierce reliance 
 on intellectual power alone, and indignant scorn of 
 all human judgment, appears. She wrote to the 
 Whalleys : 
 
 DEAREST FRIENDS, 
 " I hardly dare hope that you will remember 
 me. I know I don't deserve that you should; but 
 I know, also, that you are too steadfast and too 
 good to cast me off for a seeming negligence to 
 which my heart and soul are averse, and the ap- 
 pearance of which I have incessantly regretted. What 
 can I say in my defence ? I have been very unhappy; 
 now 'tis over I will venture to tell you so, that you 
 may not ' lose the dues of rejoicing/ 'Envy, malice, 
 
106 MRS. SIDDONS. 
 
 detraction, all the fiends of hell have compassed me 
 round about to destroy me ' ; ' but blessed be God who 
 hath given me the victory/ &c. .1 have been charged 
 with almost everything bad, except incontinence, ancl 
 it is attributed to me as thinking a woman may be 
 guilty of every crime in the catalogue of crimes, pro- 
 vided she retain her chastity. 
 
 " God help them and forgive them, they know but 
 little of me. I daresay you will wonder that a favourite 
 should stand her ground so long ; and in truth so do I. 
 I have been degraded ; I am now again the favourite 
 servant of the public, and I have kept the noiseless- 
 tenor of my temper in these extremes. My spirit has 
 been grieved, but my victorious faith upholds me. I 
 look forward to a better world for happiness, and am 
 placed in this in mercy to be a candidate for that. But 
 what makes the wound rankle deeper is that ingrati- 
 tude, hypocrisy, and perfidy have barbed the darts. 
 But it is over, and I am happy. Good God ! what would 
 I give to see you both, but for an hour ! How many 
 thousand, thousand times do I wish myself with yon, 
 and long to unburthen my heart to you. I can't bear 
 the idea of your being so long absent. I know you 
 will expect to hear what I have been doing ; and I wish 
 I could do this to your satisfaction. Suffice it to say 
 that I have acted Lady Macbeth, Desdemona, and 
 several other things this season with the most un- 
 bounded approbation ; and you have no idea how the 
 innocence and playful simplicity of the latter have 
 laid hold on the hearts of the people. I am very 
 much flattered by this, as nobody ever has done 
 anything with that character before. My brother 
 is charming in Othello ; indeed, I must do the public 
 the justice to say that they have been extremely 
 
CLOUDS. 107 
 
 indulgent, if not partial, to every character I have- 
 performed. 
 
 " I have never seen Mr. Pratt since I heard from 
 you, but he discovers his unworthiness to my own 
 family ; he abuses me, it seems, to one of my sisters 
 in the most complete manner. How distressing is it 
 to be so deceived ! Our old Mary, too, whom you 
 must remember, has proved a very viper. She has 
 lately taken to drinking, has defrauded us of a great 
 deal of money given her to pay the tradespeople, and 
 in her cups has abused Mr. Siddons and me beyond all 
 bounds ; and I believe in my soul that all the scan- 
 dalous reports of Mr. Siddons's ill-treatment of me 
 originated entirely in her. One may pay for one's ex- 
 perience, and the consciousness of acting rightly is a 
 comfort that hell-born malice cannot rob us of. Lady 
 Langham has done me the honour to call with her 
 daughter. Her drawings are very wonderful things 
 for such a girl. In the compositions she has drawn 
 me in Macbeth asleep and awake ; but I think she has 
 been unsuccessful in this effort. Next week I shall 
 see your daughter and the rest. Sarah is an elegant 
 creature, and Maria is as beautiful as a seraph. Harry 
 grows very awkward, sensible, and well-disposed ; and, 
 thank God, we are all well. I can stay no longer than 
 to hope that you are both so, and happy (see how dis- 
 interested I am !) ; that Reeves and the dear Paphy 
 are so too ; and that you will love me, and believe me,, 
 with the warmest and truest affection, unalterably and 
 gratefully yours, 
 
 "S. SIDDONS." 
 
 " My whole family desire the kindest remembrances^ 
 We have bought a house in Gower Street, Bedford 
 
108 ME8. SIDDON8. 
 
 Square; the back of it is most effectually in the 
 country and delightfully pleasant. 
 
 " God bless you, my dear Mrs. Whalley ! How per- 
 fectly do I see you at this moment ; and you, too, my 
 dear friend, for it is impossible to separate your images 
 in my mind. Pray write to me soon, and give me 
 another instance of your unwearied kindness. Adieu !" 
 
 We can see how bruised and sore her heart is. For 
 the moment she thinks all are conspiring to betray 
 her. 
 
 The Mr. Pratt she alludes to was a Bath bookseller 
 and dramatist, much admired by his townsmen. This 
 admiration was not shared by the managers of Drury 
 Lane, who would not allow Mrs. Siddons to act in his 
 drama the first year she appeared. She had already 
 sacrificed herself to a failure, The Fatal Interview, 
 which had really injured her professional reputation. 
 Pratt maintained, however, she might have done him 
 this service had she been so minded. She herself 
 writes kindly of the aspirant to fame, but we can see 
 his cause of irritation. 
 
 " Yoiir letter," she writes in 1783 to Dr. Whalley, 
 *' to poor Pratty is lying on the table by me, and I am 
 selfish enough to grudge it him from the bottom of my 
 heart, and yet I will not; for just now, poor soul, he 
 wants much comfort ; therefore, let him take it, and God 
 bless him with it ! " 
 
 And again : 
 
 " The Fatal Interview has been played three times, 
 and is quite done with ; it was the dullest of all repre- 
 sentations. Pratty's Epilogue was vastly applauded 
 indeed. I shall take care how I get into such 
 another play; but I fancy the managers will take 
 
CLOUDS. 109 
 
 care of that, too. They won't let me play in Pratty's 
 comedy" 
 
 All this shows us how often she was the victim of 
 undeserved resentment on the part of slighted authors, 
 and how, very often, the fact of doing a kindness got 
 her into trouble. She had accepted The Fatal Interview , 
 and now Pratt thought himself aggrieved that she 
 would not do the same for him. Most likely at any 
 other time she would have shrugged her shoulders at 
 Pratt's machinations, but everything now hurt her 
 wounded sensibilities. 
 
 " I must beg you will not mention (I believe I am 
 giving an unnecessary caution) anything I have told 
 you concerning Mr. Pratt. I would not wish him to- 
 know, by any means, that I have been informed of his 
 last unkindness, because it might prevent his asking me 
 to do him a favour, which I shall be at all times ready 
 to grant, when in my power. I must tell you that after 
 the very unkind letter he sent me, in answer to mine 
 requesting the ten pounds, I never wrote to or heard 
 from him until about three months ago, when he wrote 
 to me as if he had never offered such an indignity, 
 recommending a work he had just finished to my 
 attention. He did not tell me what this work was, but 
 I had heard it was a tragedy. To be made a convenient 
 acquaintance only, did not much gratify me; but, 
 however, I wrote to say he knew the resolution I had 
 been obliged to make (having made many enemies by 
 reading some, and not being able to give time to read 
 all tragedies) to read nobody's tragedy, and then no 
 one could take offence ; but that if it were accepted by 
 the managers, and there was anything that I could be 
 of service to him in (doing justice to myself), that I 
 should be very happy to serve him. I have heard 
 
110 MBS. SIDBONS. 
 
 nothing of him since that time till within these few 
 days, when he wrote to my sister Fanny, accusing me 
 of ingratitude, and calling himself the ladder upon 
 which I have mounted to fame, and which I am kicking 
 down. 
 
 " What he means by ingratitude I am at a loss to 
 guess, and I fancy he would be puzzled to explain ; our 
 obligations were always, I believe, pretty mutual. 
 However, in this letter to Fanny, he says he is going to 
 publish a poem called Gratitude, in which he means to 
 show my avarice and meanness, and all the rest of my 
 amiable qualities to the world, for having dropped him. 
 as he calls it, so injuriously, and banishing him my 
 house. Now, as 1 hope for mercy, I permitted his visits 
 at my house, after having discovered that he was taking 
 every possible method to attach my sister to him, which, 
 you may be sure, he took pains to conceal from us, 
 and I had him to my parties long after I made this 
 discovery. 
 
 " In short, till he chose to write this letter, which I 
 disdained to reply to, he called as usual. He had the 
 modesty to desist from calling on us from that time, 
 and now has the goodness to throw this unmerited 
 obloquy on me. I am so well convinced that a very 
 plain tale will put him down, that his intentions give 
 me very little concern. I am only grieved to see such 
 daily instances of folly and wickedness in human 
 nature. 
 
 " It is worth observing, too, that at the very time he 
 chose to write this agreeable letter, I was using my 
 best influences with Mr. Siddons to lend him the 
 money I told you of before. I find he thinks it is not 
 very prudent to quarrel with me, but has the effrontery 
 to think that I should make advances toward our recon- 
 
CLOUDS. Ill 
 
 cilement; but I will die first. 'My towering virtue, 
 from the assurance of my merit, scorns to stoop so 
 low.' If he should come round of himself (for I have 
 learnt that best of knowledge to forgive) I will, out of 
 respect for what I believe he once was, be of what 
 service I can to him, for I believe he meant well at one 
 time, when I knew him first, and the noblest vengeance 
 is the most complete. Once more, your fingers on 
 your lips, I pray." 
 
 We should like to see less mention of benefits be- 
 stowed, the ten pounds not mentioned ; but this letter 
 is a good specimen of the manner in which she was 
 worried by applicants, and shows how impossible it 
 was for her to satisfy them all. 
 
 The next is a regular eighteenth-century four-pager, 
 but is so characteristic, and so sincere and full of affec- 
 tion, that we cannot help quoting it at the end of this 
 chapter, as the best assurance of her possession of that 
 heart her enemies declared she did not possess. 
 
 " Mrs. Wapshawe has been so good as to bestow 
 half an hour upon me. She speaks of you as I should 
 speak of you as if she could not find words, and as if 
 her sentiments could not enough honour you both. If 
 you could look into the hearts of people, trust me, my 
 beloved and ever lamented friends, you would be con- 
 vinced that mine yearns after you with increasing and 
 unutterable affection. See there now how have I 
 expressed myself? That is always the way with me : 
 when I speak or write to you, it is always so inade- 
 quately, that I don't do justice to myself; for I thank 
 God that I have a soul capable of loving you, and trust 
 I shall find an advocate in your bosom to assist my 
 inability and simpleness. You know me of old for a 
 matter-of-fact woman. 
 
112 MBS. SIDDONS. 
 
 " Mrs. Wapshawe has revived my hopes. She tells- 
 me that you will return sooner than I hoped. Now 
 I'll begin my cottage again. It has been lying in heaps 
 a great while, and I have shed many tears over thje 
 ruins ; but we will build it up again in joy. You know 
 the spot that I have fixed upon, and I trust I have not 
 forgotten the plan ! 
 
 " Oh ! what a reward for all that I have suffered, to 
 retire to the blessings of your society ; for, indeed, my 
 dear friends, I have paid severely for my eminence, and 
 have smarted with the undeserved pain that should 
 attend the guilty only ; but it is the fate of office, and 
 the rough brake that virtue must go through; and 
 sweet, ' sweet are the uses of adversity.' I kiss the 
 rod. 
 
 "Mrs. Wapshawe was quite delighted with Mr. 
 Beach's picture of you; but she tells me that you 
 wear coloured clothes and lace ruffles; and I valued 
 my picture more, if possible, for standing the test of 
 such a change as these (to me unusual) ornaments must 
 necessarily make in you. I think I shall long to strip 
 you of these trappings. 
 
 " I am so attached to the garments I have been used 
 to see you wear, and think they harmonize so well with 
 your face and person, that I should wish them like their 
 dear wearer, who is without change. I am proud of 
 your chiding, though God knows how unwillingly I 
 would give you a moment's pain; nay, more, He knows 
 that I neither go to bed, nor offer prayers for blessings 
 at His hands, in which your welfare does not make an 
 ardent petition. But why should I wound your friendly 
 bosoms with the relation of my vexations ? I knew 
 you too well to suppose you could hear of my distresses 
 without feeling them too poignantly. 
 
CLOUDS. 113 
 
 "I resolved to write when I had overcome my 
 enemies. You shall always share my joys, but suffer 
 me to keep my griefs from your knowledge. Now I 
 am triumphant, the favourite of the public again ; and 
 now you hear from me. 
 
 " A strange capricious master is the public. How- 
 ever, one consolation greater than any other, except 
 one's own approbation, has been that those whose 
 suffrages I esteemed most have, through all my 
 troubles, clasped me closer to their hearts ; they have 
 been the touchstone to prove who were really my 
 friends. You will believe me when I affirm that your 
 friendship, and my dear Mrs. Whalley's, is an honour 
 and a happiness I would not forego for any earthly 
 consideration. Tell my dearest Mrs. Whalley that 
 neither avocations nor indolence would have prevented 
 your hearing from me long ago but for the reasons 
 already mentioned. I wrote to you last Sunday, when 
 I had not received your dear letters ; so you will do 
 me the justice to remember that I was not reminded of 
 you but by my own heart, which, while it beats, will 
 ever love you both with the warmest and truest affec- 
 tion; however, as she is so seldom mistaken, we shall 
 have the honour and glory of laughing at her. Would 
 to God I could laugh with, or cry with, or anything 
 with you, but for half an hour ! To say the truth, 
 though, your tender reproaches gave me a melancholy 
 which I could not (and I don't know if I wished it) 
 shake off. Pray let me hear from you very soon, and 
 very often. I shall be a better woman, and more 
 worthy of your invaluable friendship, the more I con- 
 verse with you. Surely the converse of good and 
 gentle spirits is the nearest approach to Heaven that 
 we can know ; therefore, once more I beg that I may 
 
114 MRS. SIDDONS. 
 
 often hear from you, and, if you do love me, do not 
 think so unworthily of me as to suppose my affection 
 can, in the nature of things, ever know the least abate- 
 ment. I conjure you both to promise me this, for J 
 cannot bear it indeed, I can't ! " 
 
115 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 LADY MACBETH. 
 
 CONTEMPORANEOUS critics are unanimous in declar- 
 ing Lady Macbeth to be Mrs. Siddons's finest imper- 
 sonation, and it is with this role that we always 
 connect the Great Actress. She made the part her 
 own, and identified herself with it in the memories 
 of all who saw her. It is essentially in Lady Mac- 
 beth that Shakespeare proves himself so thoroughly 
 Anglo-Saxon ; the whole conception of the person is 
 Teutonic. The idea of the remorse-haunted mur- 
 deress, with her despairing fatalism and unswerving 
 ambition, is more nearly allied to "Vala," in the 
 Scandinavian mythology, than anything in the tra- 
 gedies of Sophocles or Euripides, and this it is that 
 rendered Mrs. Siddons so perfect an embodiment of the 
 character. She was essentially Teutonic in her gran- 
 deur, her stateliness, and, at the same time, sustained 
 energy and vitality. Rachel had moments of super- 
 human grandeur and ferocity, but they only flashed 
 for a moment ; hers was the turning-point of passi on 
 
 8 * 
 
116 MBS. SIDBONS. 
 
 of the Latin race, but not the voluminous grandeur, 
 gaining strength, like a mighty river, as it rolls 
 along, which distinguishes the heroic emotions of the 
 Teuton. 
 
 In studying the annals of genius, it is interesting to 
 observe how circumstances working from within force 
 it on and bring it to completion, how circumstances 
 working from without mould it into form, tempering 
 the fine metal until it is supple and adaptable, but 
 breaking the inferior metal by the sheer weight of their 
 inexorable pressure. 
 
 Had Mrs. Siddons remained the brilliant, beautiful 
 girl, with life undimmed by clouds, without expe- 
 rience of the bitterness and sorrow of life, she never 
 could have acted Lady Macbeth. In her impetuous 
 indignation at first, she herself said that never again 
 would " she present herself before that audience that 
 had treated her so savagely '' ; but the greater spirit 
 within reasserted itself, and her genius emerged from 
 the trial strengthened and expanded by a larger range 
 of emotion and experience. 
 
 With her increased knowledge of life, the actress was 
 enabled to form a more vivid conception of the cha- 
 racter. She was naturally intensely masterful, deter- 
 mined, and ambitious, undaunted in peril. She had 
 toiled, and attained the highest point of her ambition. 
 She had known the incentives of distinction, worldly 
 power, applause, yet she remained a woman, passionate 
 and wayward in her affections to the last ; and this is 
 the view, seen through the medium of her own cha- 
 racter, that she took of Lady Macbeth, and it was 
 through her lofty impersonation of ambition in its 
 highest and most sublimated form that she moved 
 her audience to terror, and by this womanly tenderness 
 
LADY MA CBETH. 117 
 
 that she moved them to sympathy and pity for the 
 murderess of Banquo. 
 
 Mrs. Siddons had studied the part of Lady Macbeth 
 when little more than a girl. She gives us a graphic 
 account of the first time she learnt it for the purposes 
 of stage representation : 
 
 (t It was my custom to study my characters at night, 
 when all the domestic care and business were over. 
 On the night preceding that in which I was to appear 
 in this part for the first time, I shut myself up as 
 usual, when all the family were retired, and commenced 
 my study of Lady Macbeth. As the character is very 
 short, I thought I should soon accomplish it. Being 
 then only twenty years of age, I believed, as many 
 others do believe, that little more was necessary than 
 to get the words into my head ; for the necessity of 
 discrimination, and the development of character, at 
 that time of my life, had scarcely entered into my 
 imagination. But to proceed. I went on with tolerable 
 composure, in the silence of the night (a night I never 
 can forget), till I came to the assassination scene, 
 when the horrors of the scene rose to a degree that 
 made it impossible for me to get farther. I snatched 
 up my candle, and hurried out of the room in a 
 paroxysm of terror. My dress was of silk, and the 
 rustling of it, as I ascended the stairs to go to bed, 
 seemed to my panic-struck fancy like the movement 
 of a spectre pursuing me. At last I reached my 
 chamber, where I found my husband fast asleep. I 
 clapt my candlestick down upon the table, without the 
 power of putting the candle out, and I threw myself 
 on my bed without daring to stay even to take off my 
 clothes. At peep of day I rose to resume my task ; 
 but so little did I know of my part when I appeared 
 
118 MES. 8IDDON8. 
 
 in it at night, that my shame and confusion cured me 
 of procrastinating my business for the remainder of 
 my life." 
 
 People afterwards were inclined to find her formal , 
 and sententious, and even denied her sensibility off the 
 stage ; but it is impossible to read the account of the 
 manner in which she entered into her parts, and how 
 they took hold of her in her early days of work, without 
 feeling that she had depths of pathos and sympathy in 
 her disposition undreamt of by those who met her later 
 when, under a dignified tragic manner, she had hidden 
 her youthful spontaneity of feeling. We have only 
 need of the evidence of the actors she acted with to 
 see how deeply she entered into her part. 
 
 Miss Kelly said that when, as Constance, Mrs. Sid- 
 dons wept over her, her collar was wet with her tears. 
 Tom Davies is said to have declared that in the third 
 act of the Fair Penitent she " turned pale under her 
 rouge/' She tells us herself that " when called upon 
 to personate the character of Constance, I never, from 
 the beginning of the play to the end of my part in it, 
 once suffered my dressing-room door to be closed, in 
 order that my attention might be constantly fixed on ! 
 those distressing events which, by this means, I could 
 plainly hear going on upon the stage, the terrible 
 effects of which progress were to be represented by me. 
 Moreover, I never omitted to place myself, with Arthur 
 in my hand, to hear the march, when, upon the recon- 
 ciliation of England and France, they enter the gates 
 of Angiers to ratify the contract of marriage between 
 the Dauphin and the Lady Blanche, because the 
 sickening sounds of that march would usually cause 
 the bitter tears of rage, disappointment, betrayed 
 confidence, baffled ambition, and, above all, the 
 
LADY MACBETH. 119 
 
 agonizing feelings of maternal affection to gush into 
 my eyes." 
 
 As a set-off against the above statement, we have 
 Cumberland's description of Mrs. Siddons coming off 
 the stage in the full flush of triumph having harrowed 
 her audience with emotion and walking up to the 
 mirror in the green room to survey herself with per- 
 fect composure. 
 
 We imagine there is no law to be laid down on the 
 subject of the amount of feeling an actor really puts 
 into the part he is enacting. It must vary. Conven- 
 tionality must, with the greatest of them, now and 
 then take the place of emotion ; or, as Talma expresses 
 it, the " Metier must now and then take the place of 
 Le vrai." 
 
 We know the story of how once, when Garrick was 
 playing King Lear, Johnson and Murphy kept up an 
 animated conversation at the side- wing during one of 
 his most important scenes. When Garrick came over 
 the stage, he said, " You two talk so loud you destroy 
 all my feelings." " Prithee/' replied Johnson, " do not 
 talk of feelings; Punch has no feeling" a remark 
 which is borne out by another account of Garrick 
 as Lear rising from the dead body of his daughter 
 Cordelia, where he had been convulsing the audience 
 with sobs, running into the green-room gobbling like a 
 turkey to amuse Kitty Clive and Mrs. Abington. 
 
 Mrs. Siddons is said to have made the statement that, 
 after playing the part of Lady Macbeth for thirty years, 
 she never read it over without discovering in it something 
 new. In her Remarks, however, on the character, 
 left amongst her memoranda, we do not find any parti- 
 cular depth or originality in her conception, and we 
 doubt if she ever improved much on her first ideal. 
 
120 MBS. SIDDONS. 
 
 As to her notion that Lady Macbeth was a small, 
 fair, blue-eyed woman, delicate and fragile, it could 
 have been but a *' caprice " of later days, originating 
 in her endeavour to find new readings and impressions; 
 
 A short analysis of some of her opinions on the 
 character may be interesting. 
 
 " In this astonishing creature," she says, " one sees 
 a woman in whose bosom the passion of ambition has 
 almost obliterated all the characteristics of human 
 nature ; in whose composition are associated all the 
 subjugating powers of intellect, and all the charms and 
 graces of personal beauty. You will probably not 
 agree with me as to the character of that beauty ; yet, 
 perhaps, this difference of opinion will be entirely 
 attributable to the difficulty of your imagination dis- 
 engaging itself from that idea of the person of her 
 representative which you have been so long accustomed 
 to contemplate. According to my notion, it is of that 
 character which, I believe, is generally allowed to be 
 most captivating to the other sex fair, feminine, nay, 
 perhaps, even fragile 
 
 i Fair as the forms that, wove in Fancy's loom, 
 
 Float in light visions round the poet's head. 
 
 " Such a combination only respectable in energy 
 and strength of mind, and captivating in feminine 
 loveliness could have composed a charm of such 
 potency as to fascinate the mind of a hero so daunt- 
 less, a character so amiable, so honourable as Macbeth, 
 to seduce him to brave all the dangers of the present 
 and all the terrors of a future world ; and we are con- 
 strained, even whilst we abhor his crimes, to pity the 
 infatuated victim of such a thraldom. 
 
 " His letters, which have informed her of the pre- 
 dictions of those preternatural beings who accosted 
 
LADY MACBETH. 121 
 
 him on the heath, have lighted up into daring and 
 desperate determinations all those pernicious slumbering 
 fires which the enemy of man is ever watchful to 
 awaken in the bosoms of his unwary victims. To his 
 direful suggestions she is so far from offering the least 
 opposition, as not only to yield up her soul to them, 
 but, moreover, to invoke the sightless ministers of 
 remorseful cruelty to extinguish in her breast all those 
 compunctious visitings of nature which otherwise 
 might have been mercifully interposed to counteract, 
 and, perhaps, eventually to overcome, their unholy 
 instigations. But, having impiously delivered herself 
 up to the excitement of hell, the pitifulness of heaven 
 itself is withdrawn from her, and she is abandoned to 
 the guidance of the demons whom she invoked. 
 Lady Macbeth, thus adorned with every fascination of 
 mind and person, enters for the first time, reading a 
 part of those portentous letters from her husband. 
 
 " ' They met me in the day of success ; and I have 
 learnt by the perfectest report they have more in them 
 than mortal knowledge. When I burnt with desire 
 to question them further, they made themselves into 
 thin air, into which they vanished. Whilst I stood 
 wrapt in the wonder of it, came missives from the 
 King, who all-hailed me "Thane of Cawdor," by 
 which title before these sisters had saluted me, and 
 referred me to the coming on of time with " Hail, 
 King that shall be ! " This ~L t have thought good to 
 deliver thee, my dearest partner of greatness, that 
 thou mightest not lose the dues of rejoicing, by 
 being ignorant of what greatness is promised. Lay- 
 it to thy heart, and farewell/ 
 
 "Now vaulting ambition and intrepid daring, re- 
 kindle in a moment all the splendours of her dark blue 
 
122 MBS. 8IDDON8. 
 
 eyes. She fatally resolves that Glamis and Cawdor 
 shall be also that which the mysterious agents of the 
 Evil One have promised." 
 
 Lady Macbeth then gives the wonderful analysis of 
 her husband's character, " Yet I do fear thy nature is 
 too full of the milk of human kindness to catch the 
 nearest way " ; proving him to be of a temper so 
 irresolute as to require " all the efforts, all the excite- 
 ment, which her uncontrollable spirit and her unbounded 
 influence over him can perform." 
 
 " When Macbeth appears, she seems so insensible to 
 everything but the horrible design which has probably 
 been suggested to her by his letters, as to have entirely 
 forgotten both the one and the other. It is very re- 
 markable that Macbeth is frequent in expressions of 
 tenderness to his wife, while she never betrays one 
 symptom of affection towards him, till, in the fiery 
 furnace of affliction, her iron heart is melted down to 
 softness/' This was the side by which Mrs. Siddons 
 had taken such a grasp of the character of Lady 
 Macbeth. It was by bringing into prominence this 
 softer side of her character that, while thrilling her 
 audience with horror, she at the same time brought 
 tears to their eyes with an immense awe-struck pity. 
 She always held their interest by the human touches 
 which she brought into as much prominence as 
 possible. 
 
 Alluding to the lines : 
 
 I have given suck, and know 
 How tender 'tis to love the babe that milks me, 
 
 he says : " Even here, horrified as she is, she shows 
 herself made by ambition, but not by nature, a per- 
 fectly savage creature. The very use of such a tender 
 allusion in the midst of her dreadful language, per- 
 
LADY MACBETH. 123 
 
 suades one unequivocally that she has really felt the 
 maternal yearnings of a mother towards her babe, and 
 that she considered this action the most enormous that 
 ever required the strength of human nerves for its 
 perpetration. Her language to Macbeth is the most 
 potently eloquent that guilt could use. It is only in 
 soliloquy that she invokes the powers of hell to 
 unsex her. To her husband she avows, and the 
 naturalness of her language makes us believe her, that 
 she had felt the instinct of filial as well as maternal 
 love. But she makes her very virtues the means of a 
 taunt to her lord : ' You have the milk of human 
 kindness in your heart/ she says (in substance) to 
 him, ' but ambition, which is my ruling passion, would 
 be also yours if you had courage. With a hankering 
 desire to suppress, if you could, all your weaknesses of 
 sympathy, you are too cowardly to will the deed, and 
 can only dare to wish it. You speak of sympathies 
 and feelings. I, too, have felt with a tenderness which 
 your sex cannot know ; but I am resolute in my 
 ambition to trample on all that obstructs my way to a 
 crown. Look to me, and be ashamed of your weakness." 
 
 " In the tremendous suspense of these moments " 
 (when Duncan sleeps), Mrs. Siddons again tells us, 
 "while she recollects her habitual humanity, one trait 
 of tender feelings is expressed : ' Had he not re- 
 sembled my father as he slept, I had done it.' " 
 
 Through many pages Mrs. Siddons thus gives us her 
 views of the character of Lady Macbeth ; sometimes 
 verging on a pomposity that is almost Johnsonese. 
 Her later criticisms of the parts in which she acted, 
 bear out the statement that hers was not an intel- 
 lectual power that strengthened or expanded after the 
 " middle of the road of life." This year, 1785, saw 
 
124 MRS. SIDDONS. 
 
 her great triumph. But we doubt if she had not 
 already mastered the idea of chilling and terrifying 
 her audience when, as she describes, she worked 
 herself into a paroxysm of terror on first studying 
 the part as a young girl. The physical power and 
 confidence to communicate that terror were hers now, 
 but the intellectual comprehension had been there 
 before, and certainly did not increase; on the con- 
 trary, it deteriorated with years. The power of fresh 
 comprehension passed away, and with it the elasticity 
 and variety of her earlier effects ; and from being singu- 
 larly simple and direct, she became stagey and artificial. 
 An artist gets certain words to utter; he gets the 
 skeleton sketch, as it were, of the character he has to 
 portray, but the emphasis and passion he puts into 
 them, which go direct from his heart to the heart of 
 his audience, must be his, and his alone, and must be 
 as little as possible the effect of study or deliberation. 
 Thus the ingredients of terror, ambition, and wifely 
 and maternal love, were the uncomplex emotions at 
 first impressed on Mrs. Siddons's brain by the study 
 of the part; and those were the predominating in- 
 fluences by which she swayed her audience to the 
 last day she acted it. 
 
 Many are the records that we have of this great 
 performance all the world has heard of the Lady 
 Macbeth of Mrs. Siddons but, alas ! how insufficient 
 are they to give us an idea of the wondrous reality. 
 The weird-like tones, that sent an involuntary shudder 
 through the house; the bewildered melancholy; and, 
 lastly, the piteous cry of the strong heart broken, 
 have come down to us as traditions ; but the grandeur 
 of her majesty, the earnest accents as the demon of 
 the character took possession of her, must ever remain 
 
LADY MACBETH. 125 
 
 an unknown sensation to us. One who saw her once 
 act it from the side scenes, with the disillusion of red 
 ochre, that was daubed on by her maid under his 
 yes ; her whisper, which Christopher North eloquently 
 termed " the escaping sighs and moans of the bared 
 soul " ; her face, the terrible mixture of hope, appre- 
 hension, and resolution, gave him a sickly feeling of 
 reality. His tongue clave to the roof of his mouth, in 
 spite of the evidence of his eyes that the assassination 
 was a piece of mechanical trickery in which the paint- 
 pot played a conspicuous part. If a detective had 
 made his appearance at the moment, he declares he 
 would immediately have given himself up as particeps 
 criminis, accessory before and after the event. The 
 whole fiction, so inimitably played and so powerfully 
 described, had kicked fact and reason off the throne. 
 
 But we must return to the first night. It was the 
 2nd of February. All the intellect and fashion of the 
 town were present : Burke, Fox, Wyndham, Gibbon, 
 in the front row, and, above all, Sir Joshua Reynolds, 
 who took a particular interest in her performance of 
 the character. He had a seat in the orchestra, where 
 he was privileged to sit on account of his deafness. 
 He had constantly urged her to act Lady Macbeth 
 before, and had designed her dress for the sleep- 
 walking scene. Needless to say that her usual ner- 
 vousness was magnified tenfold. All had declared her 
 incapable of rendering the grander plays of Shake- 
 speare. She had reached, they maintained, the highest 
 point which she was capable of attaining, and her 
 straining higher was simply presumption. She knew, 
 therefore, that if she had been criticised before, the 
 observations now would be much more severe. The 
 representation of the other parts also did not satisfy 
 
126 MRS. SIDDONS. 
 
 her. Smith, popularly known as " Gentleman Smith " 
 because he generally did the light and airy part of 
 lover in comedy parts, was the Macbeth, Brereton the 
 Macduff, and Bensley the Banquo ; and the memory of 
 the popularity of Mrs. Pritchard in the part, seemed 
 to stand between her and her audience. She had 
 already begged Dr. Johnson to let her know his 
 opinion of Mrs. Pritchard, whom she had never seen, 
 and she tells us in her Autograph Recollections that he 
 answered : 
 
 " r Madam, she was a vulgar idiot ; she used to speak 
 of her " gownd," and she never read any part in a play 
 in which she acted except her own. She no more 
 thought of the play out of which her part was taken 
 than a shoemaker thinks of the skin out of which the 
 piece of leather of which he is making a pair of shoes 
 is cut.' Is it possible, thought I, that Mrs. Pritchard, 
 the greatest of all the Lady Macbeths, should never 
 have read the play ? and I concluded that the Doctor 
 must have been misinformed ; but I was afterwards 
 assured by a gentleman, a friend of Mrs. Pritchard, 
 that he had supped with her one night after she 
 had acted Lady Macbeth, and that she declared she 
 had never perused the whole tragedy. I cannot 
 believe it." 
 
 It would seem difficult to such a worker as Mrs. 
 Siddons to conceive the possibility of a woman not 
 mastering the whole play if she had to act the part of 
 Lady Macbeth, but we think Dr. Johnson must have 
 been too severe when he called an actress who for years 
 had held the stage with Garrick "a vulgar idiot." And 
 there is little doubt that the tradition of her acting 
 in the part of Lady Macbeth still had a firm hold 
 on the memory of the audience. As a proof of this 
 
LADY MACBETH. 127 
 
 we will here quote an incident that occurred the first 
 night : 
 
 " Just as I had finished my toilette, and was pon- 
 dering with fearfulness my first appearance in the 
 grand fiendish part, comes Mr. Sheridan knocking at 
 my door, and insisting, in spite of all my entreaties 
 not to be interrupted at this tremendous moment, to 
 be admitted. He would not be denied admittance, for 
 he protested he must speak to me on a circumstance 
 which so deeply concerned my own interest, that it 
 was of the most serious nature. Well, after much 
 squabbling I was compelled to admit him, that I might 
 dismiss him the sooner, and compose myself before the 
 play began. 
 
 " But what was my distress and astonishment when 
 I found that he wanted me, even at this moment of 
 anxiety and terror, to adopt another mode of acting 
 the sleeping scene ! He told me that he had heard 
 with the greatest surprise and concern that I meant to 
 act it without holding the candle in my hand; and 
 when I argued the impracticability of washing out that 
 ' damned spot ' that was certainly implied by both her 
 own words and those of her gentlewoman, he insisted 
 that if I did put the candle out of my hand it would 
 be thought a presumptuous innovation, as Mrs. 
 Pritchard had always retained it in hers. My mind, 
 however, was made up, and it was then too late to 
 make me alter it, for I was too agitated to adopt 
 another method. My deference for Mr. Sheridan's 
 taste and judgment was, however, so great, that, had he 
 proposed the alteration whilst it was possible for me to 
 change my own plan, I should have yielded to his 
 suggestion; though even then it would have been 
 against my own opinion, and my observation of the 
 
128 MRS. SIDDONS. 
 
 accuracy with which somnambulists perform all the 
 acts of waking persons. 
 
 "The scene, of course, was acted as I had myself 
 conceived it, and the innovation, as Mr. Sheridan 
 called it, was received with approbation. Mr. Sheridan 
 himself came to me after the play, and most in- 
 genuously congratulated me on my obstinacy/' 
 
 Let us try to recall the vision of Mrs. Siddons as 
 she acted Lady Macbeth that night. It was in 1785. 
 She was thirty years of age. The l ' timid tottering 
 girl," who had first appeared as Portia on that stage, 
 was now a queenly woman, in the full meridian of her 
 stately beauty. Success had developed her intel- 
 lectually and physically, and she walked the stage in 
 the plenitude of her power, almost like some super- 
 human being. 
 
 Her dress in the first and second acts was a heavy 
 black robe, with a broad border, which ran from her 
 shoulders down to her feet, of the most vivid crimson, 
 over which fell a long white veil. In the third she 
 changed this costume for another black dress, with 
 great gold bands lacing it across, and gold ornaments 
 round her neck and in her hair. Both of these dresses 
 strike us as being " stagey," but she never had the art 
 of dressing herself ; so great, however, was her power, 
 that all minor accessories of dress and scenery were 
 forgotten. For the sleep-walking scene Sir Joshua had 
 designed clouds of white drapery swathing the pale 
 drawn face ; they lent an appalling weirdness to her 
 appearance, whilst the glassy stare she managed to 
 throw into her eyes completed the horror. 
 
 The audience were spellbound ; they only saw that 
 woe-worn face, and heard that voice, broken with 
 agony and remorse. It was a night of nights, for her 
 
LADY MACBETH. 129 
 
 and them, and yet no applause, no success, turned her 
 from concentration on the purpose and issue of her 
 art. 
 
 " While standing up before my glass/' she tells us, 
 " and taking off my mantle, a diverting circumstance 
 occurred to chase away the feelings of the anxious 
 night, for, while I was repeating, and endeavouring 
 to call to mind the appropriate tone and action to the 
 following words, e Here 's the smell of blood still,' my 
 dresser innocently exclaimed, ' Dear me, Ma'am, how 
 very hysterical you are to-night ! I protest and vow, 
 Ma'am, it was not blood, but rose-pink and water; for 
 I saw the property-man mix it up with my own 
 eyes/" 
 
 These were, indeed, the palmy days of the English 
 stage. With a self-collected, courageous energy, 
 artists then saw and recognised the greatest, and 
 strained every nerve to attain it. Scenic effect was 
 of minor importance; the development of mental 
 action, the portrayal of passion, were the end and aim 
 of the actor's art, to which everything else was sub- 
 sidiary. They spent years upon the evolving of one 
 heroic conception, not with regard to its details of 
 upholstery and scene-painting, but with regard to the 
 presentment of the poet's imagination which they 
 undertook to represent. 
 
130 MRS. SIDLONS. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 FRIENDS. 
 
 NEEDLESS to say that in those days, when genius was 
 worshipped and the entrance to the most exclusive 
 circles of society accorded to talent of every descrip- 
 tion, the social homage paid to Mrs. Siddons was of 
 the most enthusiastic description, passing sometimes 
 the bounds of good taste. The door of the lodgings 
 she occupied in the Strand the first year she acted was 
 soon beset by various persons quite unknown to her, 
 some of whom actually forced their way into her 
 drawing-room, in spite of remonstrance or opposition., 
 
 This was as inconvenient as it was offensive ; for as 
 she usually acted three times a week, and had, besides, 
 to attend the rehearsals, she had but little time to 
 spend unnecessarily. None were more capable, how- 
 ever, than she of keeping vulgar curiosity at a re- 
 spectful distance. She gives us a comic account of 
 an interview that took place between her and some of 
 these intrusive individuals : 
 
 " One morning, though I had previously given 
 orders not to be interrupted, my servant entered the 
 room in a great hurry, saying, ' Ma'am, I am very 
 
FRIENDS. 131 
 
 sorry to tell you there are some ladies below who say 
 they must see you, and it is impossible for me to pre- 
 vent it. I have told them over and over again that 
 you are particularly engaged, but all in vain, and now, 
 Ma'am, you may actually hear them on the stairs/ I 
 felt extremely indignant at such unparalleled imperti- 
 nence, and, before the servant had done speaking to 
 me, a tall, elegant, invalid-looking person presented 
 herself (whom, I am afraid, I did not receive very 
 graciously), and after her four more, in slow suc- 
 cession. A very awkward silence took place. Pre- 
 sently the first lady spoke. * You must think it 
 strange,' she said, ' to see a person entirely unknown 
 to you intrude in this manner upon your privacy ; but, 
 you must know, I am in a very delicate state of 
 health, and my physician won't let me go to the 
 theatre to see you, so I am come to look at you here.' 
 She accordingly sat down to look, and I to be looked 
 at, for a few painful moments, when she arose and 
 apologised." There is something awful that sends a 
 cold shiver through us as the Tragic Muse tells us, 
 "I was in no humour to overlook such insolence, 
 and so let her depart in silence." We can picture 
 her contemptuous scorn under the circumstances. But 
 it was not only in her own home she had to pay the 
 penalty of fame ; the theatre was mobbed outside 
 every evening by a crowd anxious to see her walk 
 across the pavement to her carriage ; her dresses were 
 copied, and the dressmakers to whom she went were 
 importuned to make for all the fashionable ladies. 
 Not only in these early days, but all her life, Mrs. 
 Siddons kept a position unexampled for one of her 
 profession. The house she occupied in Gore Street 
 during her second season was, when she entertained, 
 
 9 * 
 
132 MBS. SIDDONS. 
 
 filled with all that was brilliant in literature and 
 fashion ; and later at Westbourne Cottage, and when 
 she was in Pall Mall, Campbell tells us of rows of 
 "coaches and chairs " standing outside her door. In- 
 vitations to most of the great houses in London 
 poured in upon her, and she herself gives a comic 
 account of the manner in which she was mobbed by 
 her fashionable devotees at an assembly at the erratic 
 Miss Monkton's (afterwards Lady Cork), one of the 
 "Blues" who made oddity of dress, appearance, and 
 manner a study, and the running after "notorious 
 folk " a science. 
 
 The young actress had steadily declined many invi- 
 tations, feeling that the moments snatched from her 
 profession ought to be devoted to the care of her chil- 
 dren. Miss Monkton, however, insisted on her coming 
 one Sunday evening, assuring her that there would 
 only be some half-a-dozen friends to meet her. 
 
 "The appointed Sunday evening came. I went to 
 her very nearly in undress, at the early hour of eight, 
 on account of rny little boy, whom she desired me 
 to bring with me, more for effect, I suspect, than for 
 his beaux yeux. I found with her, as I had been 
 taught to expect, three or four ladies of my acquain- 
 tance; and the time passed in agreeable conversa- 
 tion, till I had remained much longer than I had 
 apprehended. 
 
 "I was, of course, preparing speedily to return 
 home, when incessantly repeated thunderings at the 
 door, and the sudden influx of such a throng of people 
 as I had never before seen collected in any private 
 house, counteracted every attempt that I could make 
 for escape. I was therefore obliged, in a state of in- 
 describable mortification, to sit quietly down till I know 
 
FEIENDS. 133 
 
 not what hour in the morning; but for hours before my 
 departure the room I sat in was so painfully crowded 
 that the people absolutely stood on the chairs, round 
 the walls, that they might look over their neighbours' 
 heads to stare at me ; and if it had not been for the 
 benevolent politeness of Mr. Erskine, who had been 
 acquainted with my arrangement, I know not what 
 weakness I might have been surprised into, especially 
 being tormented, as I was, by the ridiculous interroga- 
 tions of some learned ladies who were called ' Blues/ 
 the meaning of which title I did not at that time 
 appreciate ; much less did I comprehend the meaning 
 of the greater part of their learned talk. These pro- 
 found ladies, however, furnished much amusement to 
 the town for many weeks after nay, I believe I might 
 say for the whole winter. Glad enough was I at length 
 to find myself at peace in my own bed-chamber." 
 
 Dr. Doran makes this scene take place at Mrs. 
 Montagu's; but besides the victim's own account of this 
 remarkable evening, that gives such a picture of the 
 times, we have those of Cumberland and of Miss 
 Burney. Cumberland, in the Observer, disguising the 
 people under feigned names, tells us : 
 
 I now joined a cluster of people who had crowded round an actress 
 who sat upon a sofa leaning on her elbow in a pensive attitude, and 
 seemed to be counting the sticks of her fan, whilst they were vieing 
 with each other in the most extravagant encomiums. 
 
 "You were adorable last night in Belvidera," says a pert young 
 parson with a high toupee. " I sat in Lady Blubber's box, and I can 
 assure you she, and her daughters, too, wept most bitterly. But then 
 ithat charming inad scene but, by my soul, it was a chefd'teuvrel 
 Pray, Madam, give me leave to ask you, was you really in your 
 senses ? " * 
 
 " I strove to do it as well as I could," answered the actress. 
 
 " Do you intend to play comedy next season ? " says a lady, stepping 
 up to her with great eagerness. 
 
134 MRS. SIDDONS. 
 
 " I shall do as the manager bids me," she replied. 
 
 " I should be curious to know," says an elderly lady, " which part, 
 Madam, you yourself esteem the best you play ? " 
 
 " I shall always endeavour to make that which I am about the best." 
 
 An elegant and enchanting young woman of fashion now took her, 
 turn of interrogating, and, with many apologies, begged to be informed 
 by her if she studied those enchanting looks and attitudes before a 
 
 " I never study anything but my author." 
 
 " Then you practise them at rehearsals ? " rejoined the questioner. 
 
 " I seldom rehearse at all." 
 
 '' She has fine eyes," says a tragic poet to an eminent painter. 
 
 Vanessa now came up, and, desiring leave to introduce a young muse 
 to Melpomene, presented a girl in a white frock, with a fillet of flowers 
 tied round her hair, which hung down her back in flowing curls. The 
 young muse made a low obeisance, and, with the most unembarrassed 
 voice and countenance, whilst the poor actress was covered in blushes, 
 and suffering torture from the eyes of all in the room, broke forth as. 
 follows : 
 
 " thou, whom Nature calls her own, 
 
 Pride of the stage and favourite of the town ! " 
 
 Miss Burney, who was present, also contributes her; 
 account of what took place : 
 
 My father and I were both engaged to Miss Monckton's ; so was- 
 Sir Joshua, who accompanied us. We found Mrs. Siddons, the actress, 
 there. She is a woman of excellent character, and, therefore, I am very 
 glad she is thus patronised, since Mrs. Abington, and so many frail 
 fair ones, have been thus noticed by the great. She behaved with great' 
 propriety, very calm, modest, quiet, and unaffected. She has a very 
 fine countenance, and her eyes look both intelligent and soft. She has, 
 however, a steadiness in her manner and deportment by no means 
 engaging. Mrs. Thrale, who was there, said : 
 
 " Why, this is a leaden goddess we are all worshipping ; however, 
 we shall soon gild it." 
 
 A lady who sat near me then began a dialogue with Mr. Erskine,. 
 who had placed himself exactly opposite to Mrs. Siddons, and they 
 debated together upon her manner of studying her parts, disputing 
 upon the point with great warmth, yet not only forbearing to ask Mrs. 
 Siddons herself which was right, but quite overpowering her with 
 their loquacity when she attempted, unasked, to explain the matter. 
 Most vehement praise of all she did followed, and the lady turned to- 
 me and said : 
 
FRIENDS. 135 
 
 "What invitation, Miss Burney, is here for genius to display itself? 
 Everybody, I hear, is at work for Mrs. Siddons ; but if you would 
 work for her, what an inducement to excel you would both of you have. 
 Dr. Burney ' ' 
 
 " Oh, pray, Madam," cried I, " don't say to him " 
 
 " Oh, but I will. If my influence can do you any mischief you may 
 depend upon having it." 
 
 She then repeated what she had said to my father, and he instantly 
 said: 
 
 " Your ladyship may be sure of my interest." 
 
 I whispered afterwards to know who she was, and heard she was 
 Lady Lucan.* 
 
 It is amusing to see how conceited Fanny Burney 
 always must turn every incident to herself. When 
 she did work for Mrs. Siddons, the play was received 
 with roars of laughter, and acted but one night. 
 
 We find a clue in the above description to Mrs. 
 Siddons's unpopularity. Little Burney, with the 
 frizzled head, and Mrs. Thrale, who " skipped about 
 like a young kid, all vivacity and sprightliness," could 
 not understand the ' ' steadiness in her manner/' and 
 her dignified way of checking intrusive admirers. No 
 one appreciated admiration and love from her intimate 
 friends more than Mrs. Siddons, but to the adoration 
 of general society she was icy cold. 
 
 Sir Joshua Reynolds frequently went to see her act, 
 and she was a welcome guest at the house in Leicester 
 Fields. 
 
 " He approved/' she writes, " very much of my 
 costumes, and of my hair without powder, which at 
 that time was used in great profusion, with a reddish 
 brown tint, and a great quantity of pomatum, which, 
 
 * It was the same Lady Lucan who was said once to have asked 
 the actress: "Pray, Madam, when you are to prepare yourself in * 
 character, what is your primary object of attention, the superstructure, 
 as it may be called, or the ' foundation ' of the part? " 
 
136 MRS. SIDDONS. 
 
 well kneaded together, modelled the fair ladies' tresses 
 into large curls like demi-cannon. My locks were 
 generally braided into a small compass, so as to ascer- 
 tain the size and shape of my head, which to a 
 painter's eye was, of course, an agreeable departure 
 from the mode. My short waist, too, was to him a 
 pleasing contrast to the long stiff stays and hoop 
 petticoats which were then the fashion, even on the 
 stage, and it obtained his unqualified approbation. 
 He always sat in the orchestra; and in that place were 
 to be seen O glorious constellation ! Burke, Gibbon, 
 Sheridan, and Windham." 
 
 It was at Reynolds's she first met Edmund Burke. 
 The story goes that she was reading Milton for the 
 benefit of the company, when she heard the great 
 orator's deep melodious tones repeat, as she closed the 
 book, the lines beginning with "The angel ceased." 
 That wonderful face, full of fiery power, was to be seen 
 amongst those surrounding her. He was afterwards 
 frequently present while she sat to Reynolds for her 
 portrait. She ever counted mercurial Sheridan as a 
 friend, in spite of the way in which he treated her. 
 She loved his beautiful, gentle wife, and some of her 
 happiest hours were spent in their society. She there 
 put off all her stateliness, and became the joyous- 
 hearted young girl of the old Bath days. 
 
 Sir Thomas Lawrence cherished all his life a feeling 
 that was almost akin to adoration for Mrs. Siddons's 
 genius and beauty. He painted her and John Kemble 
 in every dress and every pose. He was engaged subse- 
 quently to two of her daughters, first one and then the 
 other. He proposed to the eldest daughter, Sarah ; 
 was accepted ; but, before long, became miserable and 
 dejected, and at last confessed to Mrs. Siddons that he 
 
. FRIENDS. 137 
 
 had mistaken his feelings that her younger daughter, 
 and not the elder, was the object of his affection. 
 Fanny Kemble says : 
 
 Sarah gave up her lover, and he became engaged to the second, 
 Maria. Both, however, died of consumption. Maria, the youngest, 
 an exceedingly beautiful girl, died first, and on her death-bed made 
 her sister promise that she would never marry Lawrence. The death 
 of her daughters broke off all connection between Sir Thomas 
 Lawrence and my aunt, and from that time they never saw or had any 
 intercourse with one another. Yet not long after this Mrs. Siddons, 
 dining with us one day, asked my mother how the sketch Lawrence 
 was making of me was getting on. After my mother's reply, my aunt 
 remained silent for some time, and then, laying her hand on my 
 father's arm, said: " Charles, when I die, I wish to be carried to my 
 grave by you and Lawrence." 
 
 Lawrence reached his grave when she was yet tottering on the brink 
 of hers. 
 
 On my twentieth birthday, which occurred soon after my first 
 appearance, Lawrence sent me a magnificent proof plate of my aunt as 
 the "Tragic Muse," beautifully framed, and with this inscription: 
 " This portrait, by England's greatest painter, of the noblest subject 
 of his pencil, is presented to her niece and worthy successor by her 
 most faithful humble friend and servant, Lawrence." When my 
 mother saw this, she exclaimed at it, and said : "I am surprised he 
 ever brought himself to write those words ' worthy successor.' " 
 
 A few days after, Lawrence begged me to let him have the print 
 again, as he was not satisfied with the finish of the frame. It was 
 sent to him, and when it came back he had effaced the words hi which 
 he had admitted any worthy successor to his " Tragic Miise "; and Mr. 
 
 H , who was at that time his secretary, told me that Lawrence 
 
 had the print lying with that inscription in his drawing-room for 
 several days before sending it to me, and had said to him, " I cannot 
 bear to look at it." 
 
 Among these artists, poets, statesmen, who were 
 continually present at her representations and attended 
 afterwards at her dressing-room door to pay their 
 respects, in later years Byron might frequently be seen. 
 He declared her to be the " beau ideal of acting," 
 and said, " Miss O'Neill I would not see for fear of 
 weakening the impression made by the queen of trage- 
 
138 ME8. SIDDONS. 
 
 dians. When I read Lady Macbeth's part I have Mrs. 
 Siddons before me, and imagination even supplies her 
 voice, whose tones were superhuman and power over 
 the heart supernatural/' On another occasion, he is 
 reported to have said that of actors Cook was the most 
 natural, Kemble the most supernatural, and Kean the 
 medium between the two, but that Mrs. Siddons was 
 worth them all put together. 
 
 The first year she acted, " the gentlemen of the bar 
 adorned her brows with laurel/' as she says herself. 
 The " laurel " took the substantial form of a hundred 
 guineas and a wreath presented by two barristers. 
 She declared it to be the most shining circumstance of 
 her life, and alluded modestly to her "poor abilities'* 
 and insufficient claims. The gentlemen of Brookes's 
 Club also made up a handsome present. 
 
 "Mrs. Siddons continues to be the mode," Horace 
 Walpole writes, " and to be modest and sensible. She 
 declines great dinners, and says the business and cares 
 of her family take her whole time. When Lord Car- 
 lisle carried her the tribute money from Brookes's, he 
 said she was not manieree enough. 'I suppose she 
 was grateful ? ' said my niece, Lady Maria." 
 
 It is easy to imagine the difficulty she experienced 
 in keeping her fame untarnished amidst that hot-bed 
 of vice, Covent Garden, and amidst all the adulation 
 lavished on her. It is impossible, indeed, to say how 
 many enemies she made by rejecting inopportune 
 advances, and by exciting jealousies and envy ; but 
 the worst they could ever allege was that she was hard 
 and haughty. She was continually on her guard. 
 "One would as soon think of making love to the 
 Archbishop of Canterbury " was said of her later ; 
 but in the early days of her first appearance at Drury 
 
FRIENDS. 
 
 Lane she was obliged often to have recourse to an out- 
 spoken rebuff to aspirants to her favour. 
 
 As a curious instance of the insidious manner in 
 which attacks were sometimes made to win her regard,. 
 John Taylor relates that one morning, on calling on 
 her, he found her in the act of burning some letters 
 that had been returned to her by the executors of the 
 individual to whom they were addressed. He sat 
 down to help her, and, in doing so, a printed copy of 
 some scandalous verses on her that had appeared in 
 the St. James's Gazette dropped out. Some lines in 
 the handwriting of the deceased poet that were written 
 on the top of the page proved the author, and proved 
 that attacker and defender had been one and the 
 same person. In talking the matter over afterwards, 
 Mrs. Siddon recalled to mind that the same person 
 had once endeavoured to undermine her affection for 
 her husband by telling her tales of his infidelity. 
 
 We cannot resist giving here a letter which Mrs, 
 Siddons received many years after her first appearance 
 on the stage, when one might have thought her age 
 and reputation a sufficient protection against such 
 addresses : 
 
 Loveliest of women ! In Belvidera, Isabella, Juliet, and Calista, I 
 have admired you until my fancy threatened to burst, and the strings 
 of my imagination were ready to crack to pieces ; but, as Mrs. Sid- 
 dons, I love you to madness, and until my heart and soul are over- 
 whelmed with fondness and desire. Say not that time has placed any 
 difference in years between you and me. The youths of her day saw 
 no wrinkles upon the brow of Ninon de 1'Enclos. It is for vulgar 
 souls alone to grow old ; but you shall flourish in eternal youth, 
 amidst the war of elements, and the crash of worlds. 
 
 May 2nd, Barley Mow, 
 Salisbury Square. 
 
 So pertinacious became the persecutions of this 
 young Irishman, for he was an Irishman, that she was 
 
140 MRS. SIDDONS. 
 
 obliged to seek the protection of the law. His 
 bursting imagination was kept in check for some 
 little time by the sobering effects of a term of impri- 
 sonment. 
 
 Sometimes, also, her would-be adorers boasted of 
 favours never received. 
 
 " If you should meet a Mr. Seton," she wrote to 
 Dr. Whalley, " who lived in Leicester Square, you 
 must not be surprised to hear him talk of being very 
 well with my sister and myself ; for, since I have been 
 here, I have heard the old fright has been giving it out 
 in town. You will find him rather an unlikely person 
 to be so great a favourite with women." 
 
 Amongst fashionable ladies she counted many and 
 constant friends. The doors of Mrs. Montagu's house 
 (centre of intellect and fashion) were always open to 
 her ; and we hear of her there on one occasion when 
 all the " Blues " swarmed round their " Queen Bee," 
 and she wore her celebrated dress embroidered with 
 the " ruins of Palmyra." 
 
 Mrs. Darner (Anne Conway), daughter of General 
 *Conway,the celebrated sculptress and woman of fashion, 
 was also one of her most intimate friends, and later in 
 life the actress spent many hours in her studio when 
 bitten herself with the love of modelling. Campbell 
 says that Mrs. Siddons's love of modelling in clay, 
 began at Birmingham ; and he tells a story of her 
 going into a shop there, seeing a bust of herself, which 
 the shopman, not knowing who she was, told her was 
 the likeness of the greatest actress in the world. Mrs. 
 Siddons bought it, and, thinking she could make a 
 better replica of her own features, set to work and 
 made modelling a favourite pursuit. Whether the 
 impetus was thus given we hardly know, but it was 
 
FRIENDS. 141 
 
 the fashion of the time. Mrs. Darner, who was declared 
 by her admirers "to be as great a sculptor as Mr. 
 Nollekens," and many other dainty fine ladies, put on 
 mob caps and canvas aprons, wielding mallet and 
 chisel, and kneading wax and clay with their smalt 
 white hands. Mrs. Siddons was often the guest of 
 Mrs. Darner at Strawberry Hill. 
 
 In her circle of women friends, we must not forget, 
 either, the beautiful, fascinating, stuttering Mrs. Inch- 
 bald, the dear muse of her and her brother John. It 
 is said that, coming off the stage one evening, she wa 
 about to sit down by Mrs. Siddons in the green-room, 
 when, suddenly looking at her magnificent neighbour, 
 she said, " No, I won't s-s-s-sit by you ; you 're t-t-t-too- 
 handsome ! " in which respect she certainly need have 
 feared no competition, and less with Mrs. Siddons 
 than anyone, their style of beauty being so absolutely 
 dissimilar. 
 
 Miss Seward was one of the adorers of her circle, 
 but, in spite of the pages of rhapsodies on the sub- 
 ject " of the most glorious of her sex," written to " her 
 dear Lichfieldians " and the odes poured out to " Isa- 
 bella" and " Euphrasia," it is a significant fact that 
 we do not find one letter personally to Mrs. Siddons, 
 nor one from Mrs. Siddons addressed to her. Prac- 
 tical and sincere herself, the great actress disliked 
 " gush " of all sorts. Miss Seward wrote, " My dear 
 friends, I arrived here at five. Think of my mortifica- 
 tion ! Mrs. Siddons in Belvidera to-night, as is sup- 
 posed, for the last time before she lies in. I asked 
 Mrs. Barrow if it would be impossible to get into the 
 pit. " O heaven ! " said she, " impossible in any part 
 
 of the house ! " Mrs. B is, I find, in the petit 
 
 souper circle ; so the dear plays oratorios, and will be 
 
142 MRS. 8IDDON8. 
 
 a little too much for my wishes, out of question. 
 Adieu ! Adieu! " 
 
 The Lichfieldian incense was a little too pungent 
 for the nostrils to which it was offered. The great 
 actress wrote, rather weariedly to her friend Dr. 
 Whalley : 
 
 " Believe me, my dear Sir, it is not want of inclina- 
 tion, but opportunity, that prevents my more frequent 
 acknowledgments : but need I tell you this ? No ; 
 you generously judge of my heart by your own. I 
 fear I must have appeared very insensible, and, there- 
 fore, unworthy the honour Miss Seward has done 
 me ; but the perpetual round of business in which 
 I am engaged is incredible. Shall I trespass on 
 your goodness to say that I feel as I ought on that 
 occasion ? " 
 
 She then alludes to the kindness of the King and 
 Queen which, sometimes to an inconvenient extent, 
 was shown towards her all her life. 
 
 " I believe I told you that the Queen had graciously 
 put my son down on her list for the Charterhouse ; 
 and she has done me the honour to stamp my reputa- 
 tion by her honoured approbation. They have seen* 
 me in all my characters but Isabella, which they have 
 commanded for Monday next ; but, having seen me in 
 Jane Shore last night, and, judging very humanely that 
 too quick repetitions of such exertions may injure ray 
 health, the King himself most graciously sent to the 
 managers, and said he must deny himself the pleasure 
 of seeing Isabella till Tuesday. This is the second 
 time he has distinguished me in this manner. You 
 see a vast deal of me in the papers, of my appoint- 
 ment at Court, and the like. All groundless ; but I 
 have the pleasure to inform you that my success has 
 
FRIENDS. 143 
 
 exceeded even my hopes. My sister is engaged, and 
 is successful. God be praised for all His mercies ! 
 You will think me an egotist, I fear. I shall certainly 
 be at Bath in the Passion Week, if I am alive. I 
 count the hours till then/' 
 
 Our readers may like to know that when their 
 Majesties, with the Prince of Wales, the Princess 
 Royal, and the Princess Augusta went in state, on 
 October 8th, 1783, to see Mrs. Siddons play Isabella, 
 the Sovereign and his wife sat under a dome covered 
 with crimson velvet and gold ; the heir to the throne 
 sat under another of blue velvet and silver ; and the 
 young Princesses under a third of blue satin and silver 
 fringe. George III. wore " a plain suit of Quaker- 
 coloured clothes, with gold buttons; the Queen, a 
 white satin robe, with a head-dress which was orna- 
 mented by a great number of diamonds ; the Princess 
 Royal was dressed in a white and blue figured silk, and 
 Princess Augusta in a rose-coloured and white silk of 
 the same pattern as her sister's, having both their 
 head-dresses richly ornamented with diamonds. His 
 Royal Highness the Prince of Wales had a suit of 
 dark blue Geneva velvet, richly trimmed with gold 
 lace." 
 
 We are further told that on this occasion Mrs. 
 Siddons was much indisposed previous to her going 
 on the stage ; and, after the curtain dropped at 
 the end of the fifth act, waS" so very ill as not to be 
 capable of walking to her dressing-room without sup- 
 port. Notwithstanding her suffering, she went through 
 the part as if inspired. The Queen was so affected at 
 her performance, that His Majesty seemed alarmed, 
 and often diverted her attention from situations and 
 passages that were likely to distress her. 
 
144 MRS. SID DON 8. 
 
 The following snarl was found among Horace Wai- 
 pole's papers: 
 
 For the Morning Chronicle. On the King commanding the Tragedy 
 of The Grecian Daughter on Thursday the 2nd inst. Jan. 10th, 1783. 
 
 EPIGRAMMATIC 
 
 Siddons to see King, Lords, and Commons run, 
 Glad to forget that Britain is undone. 
 The Jesuit Shelhurne, the apostate Fox, 
 And Bulls and Bears, together in a Box. 
 Thurlow neglects his promises to friends ; 
 And scribbling Townsend no more letters sends 
 Cits leave their feasts, and sots desert their wine ; 
 Each youth cries " Charming ! " and each maid, " Divine ! " 
 See, of false tears, a copious torrent flows, 
 But not one real, for their country's woes. 
 The club of spendthrifts, the rapacious bar 
 Of words, not arms, support the bloodless war. 
 Let Spain Gibraltar get, our islands France, 
 So Siddons acts, or Vestris leads the dance. 
 Run on, mad nation ! pleasure's frantic round ; 
 For acting, fiddling, dancing be renown'd ! 
 Soon foreign fleets shall rule the Western main ; 
 George fill no throne but that of Drury Lane. 
 
 Merlin. 
 
 George III. admired her, he said, "for her repose," 
 adding, '' Garrick could never stand still; he was a great 
 fidget." The Queen told her, in broken English, that 
 the only resource was to turn away from the stage ; 
 the acting was, indeed, too " disagreeable." She was 
 frequently summoned to read at the Palace, and to 
 give lessons in elocution to the young Princesses. 
 
 In Mrs. Siddous's memoranda, we are given an 
 account of one of these readings. She felt extremely 
 awkward, she tells us, in the " sack" with "hoop and 
 treble ruffles which it was considered necessary to put 
 on, according to court etiquette.'' On her arrival she 
 was led into an ante-chamber, where there were ladies 
 
FRIENDS. 145 
 
 of rank whom she knew, while presently the King 
 appeared, drawing one of his little daughters in a " go- 
 cart." This little princess was about three years old ; 
 and when Mrs. Siddons remarked to the lady standing 
 next her that she longed to kiss the child, it held out 
 
 its tiny hand so early had she learnt this 
 
 lesson of royalty. Mrs. Siddons was obliged to stand 
 during the whole of a lengthened evening, preferring 
 this to their offers of refreshment in an adjoining 
 room, as she was terrified at the thought of retiring 
 backwards through " the whole length of a long apart- 
 ment, with highly- polished, slippery floor/' Her Ma- 
 jesty privately expressed much astonishment at seeing 
 her so collected, and was pleased to say that the 
 actress had conducted herself as though she had been 
 used to a court. " I had certainly often personated 
 queens/' was the actress's remark. 
 
 It may be mentioned as a remarkable fact that the 
 first person outside the royal family who seems to have 
 entertained a suspicion that insanity was creeping over 
 the King was Mrs. Siddons. During a visit she paid to 
 Windsor Castle at the time, the King, without any 
 apparent motive, placed in her hands a sheet of paper 
 bearing nothing but his signature an incident which 
 struck her as so unaccountable, that she immediately 
 carried it to the Queen, who gratefully thanked her for 
 her discretion. 
 
 But more than all the attentions of royalty, more 
 than all the flattery lavished upon her by great people, 
 more than all the applause and worship she received 
 from the crowds who besieged the theatre, did she 
 value the sparingly awarded praises and sincere shake 
 of the shabby, noble, snuff-covered hand of " the Great 
 Bear/' before whose growl everyone trembled. 
 
 10 
 
146 MRS. SIDDONS. 
 
 In Boswell's Life of Johnson he tells us the Doctor 
 had a singular prejudice against players, " futile 
 fellows " whom he rated no higher than rope- 
 dancers or ballad singers. This prejudice, however, 
 did not prevent him from hobhling off to see poor 
 crippled Mrs. Porter when forsaken by all the rest of 
 the world. The beginning of his liking for Mrs. 
 Siddons is thoroughly characteristic. He always talked 
 to his circle of lady adorers of that jade, Mrs. Siddons, 
 until one of the " fair females " suggested that he 
 must see the actress. 
 
 " But, indeed, Dr. Johnson," said Miss Monckton, 
 " you must see Mrs. Siddons. Won't you see her in 
 some fine part ? " 
 
 " Why, if I must, Madam, I have no choice." 
 
 " She says, Sir, she shall be very much afraid of 
 
 you/' 
 
 "Madam, that cannot be true." 
 
 " Not true ? " said Miss Monckton, staring. " Yes, 
 it is." 
 
 " It cannot be, Madam." 
 
 " But she said so to me ; I heard her say it my- 
 self/' 
 
 " Madam, it is not possible ; remember, therefore, 
 in future, that even fiction should be supported by 
 probability." 
 
 Miss Monckton looked all amazement, but insisted 
 upon the truth of what she had said. 
 
 " I do not believe, Madam," said he, warmly, " that 
 she knows my name." 
 
 " Oh, that is rating her too low/' said a gentleman 
 stranger. 
 
 " By not knowing my name/' continued he, " I do 
 not mean literally, but that when she sees it abused 
 
FRIENDS. 147 
 
 in a newspaper she may possibly recollect that she has 
 seen it abused in a newspaper before." 
 
 " Well, Sir/' said Miss Monckton, " but you must 
 see her for all this." 
 
 "Well, Madam, if you desire it, I will go ; see her, 
 I shall not, nor hear her; but I'll go, and that will 
 do. The last time I was at a play I was ordered there 
 by Mrs. Abington, or a Mrs. Somebody, I do not well 
 remember who, but I placed myself in the middle of 
 the first row of the front boxes, to show that when I 
 was called I came." 
 
 He kept his promise, and the huge, slovenly figure, 
 clad in a greasy brown coat and coarse black worsted 
 stockings, was several times seen taking handfuls of 
 snuff, and criticising the actress in his outspoken, growl- 
 ing fashion. She then paid him a visit in his den at 
 Bolt Court, to which he alludes in one of his letters to 
 Mrs. Thrale : 
 
 " Mrs. Siddons, in her visit to me, behaved with great 
 modesty and propriety, and left nothing behind her to 
 be censured or despised. Neither praise nor money, 
 the two powerful corrupters of mankind, seemed to 
 have depraved her. I shall be glad to see her again. 
 Her brother Kemble calls on me, and pleases me very 
 well. Mrs. Siddons and I talked of plays, and she 
 told me her intention of exhibiting this winter the 
 character of Constance, Catherine, and Isabella, in 
 Shakespeare." 
 
 Boswell gives us also the account of what took 
 place : 
 
 "When Mrs. Siddons came into the room, there 
 happened to be no chair ready for her, which he 
 observing, said with a smile : ' Madam, you who 
 so often occasion a want of seats to other people 
 
 10 * 
 
148 MBS. SIDDONS. 
 
 will the more easily excuse the want of one your- 
 self. ' 
 
 " Having placed himself by her, he with great good 
 humour entered upon a consideration of the English 
 drama ; and, among other enquiries, particularly 
 asked her which of Shakespeare's characters she was 
 most pleased with. Upon her answering that she 
 thought the character of Queen Catherine in Henry 
 VIII. the most natural : ' I think so too, Madam/ 
 said he ; ' and whenever you perform it I will once 
 more hobble out to the theatre myself.' Mrs. Siddons 
 promised she would do herself the honour of acting 
 his favourite part for him, but was unable to do so 
 before grand old Samuel was laid to his last rest." 
 
149 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 1782 TO 3798. 
 
 MRS. SIDDONS'S life between the years 1785 to 1798 
 was passed in the professional treadmill, and her his- 
 tory during this period is best told by an account of 
 the characters she personated. 
 
 After her appearance as Lady Macbeth on Feb- 
 ruary 2nd, she chose to act Desdemona to her brother's 
 Othello, and, to everyone's surprise, acted it with a 
 tenderness, playfulness, and simplicity hardly to be 
 expected of the majestic actress, who had terrified 
 her audience by her representation of the Thane of 
 Cawdor's wife. Campbell tells us that even years after, 
 when he saw her play this part at Edinburgh, not 
 recognising at first who was acting, he was spellbound 
 by her " exquisite gracefulness," and thought it impos- 
 sible " this soft, sweet creature could be the Siddons," 
 until by the emotion and applause of the audience he 
 knew it could be no other. 
 
 Unfortunately, in her first representation of this 
 part, she was carelessly given a damp bed to lie on in 
 the death scene, and caught so severe a cold as almost 
 to threaten rheumatic fever. From this time her deli- 
 
150 MRS. 8IDDON8. 
 
 cacy seems to date, for we now find her continually 
 complaining and incapacitated from appearing by ill- 
 health. 
 
 After Desdemona she appeared in Rosalind, which r 
 we can dismiss with the criticism of Young, the actor : 
 "Her Rosalind wanted neither playfulness nor femi- 
 nine softness, but it was totally without archness not 
 because she did not properly conceive it ; but how 
 could such a countenance be arch? " Her dress, too, 
 excited great amusement " mysterious nondescript 
 garments/' We have a letter of hers to Hamilton the 
 artist, asking " if he would be so good as to make her 
 a slight sketch for a boy's dress to conceal the person 
 as much as possible." The woman who was capable of 
 taking this view of the representation of Rosalind was 
 not capable of acting the part. 
 
 Imogen, Ophelia, Catherine in the Taming of the 
 Shrew, and Cordelia, all acted with her brother, fol- 
 lowed in quick succession. This hard work entitled 
 her to a salary of twenty-four pounds ten shillings 
 weekly, while her brother drew ten pounds. Not con- 
 tented with this, however, she made a tour in the 
 provinces, Liverpool, Manchester, Birmingham, &c.' 
 These country tours were not only fatiguing in con- 
 sequence of the amount of travelling to be done, but 
 also in consequence of the unsympathetic audiences to 
 be faced, and the discomfort of country theatres. The 
 system, also, of absorbing all the profits of provincial 
 actors made her very unpopular in the profession. 
 Some ridiculous stories are related of these tours. 
 
 When playing the '" sleeping scene " in Macbeth, at 
 Leeds, a boy who had been sent for some porter 
 appeared by mistake on the stage, and walking up, 
 presented it to her. In vain she motioned him away, 
 
1782 TO 1798. 151 
 
 in vain he was called off behind the scenes ; the house 
 roared with laughter, and all illusion was dispelled for 
 the rest of the evening. On another occasion at Leeds, 
 when about to drink poison on the stage, one of the 
 audience in the gallery howled out " Soop it oop, 
 lass ! " She endeavoured to frown down the inter- 
 rupter, but her own solemnity gave way. She was 
 also at country theatres often subjected to bearing the 
 brunt of a local quarrel or facetiousness directed 
 against a member or members of the audience. Once 
 at Liverpool the play of Jane Shore, which had 
 sent London audiences into fits of sobbing and 
 hysterics, was announced. The house was full, and 
 Miss Mellon, from whom we have the story, says the 
 actors behind the scenes expected a repetition of the 
 same emotion; but the people in the gallery, seeing 
 the principal merchants with their families present, 
 thought this a delightful opportunity of indulging 
 their wit respecting the " soldiering." Accordingly, 
 they formed two bands, one on each side of the gallery, 
 and, from the commencement of the play to the 
 end, kept up a cross-dialogue of impertinence, about 
 " charging guns with brown sugar and cocoanuts/' and 
 " small arms with cinnamon powder and nutmegs." 
 
 Miss Mellon was in agony for the object of her 
 theatrical devotion. She cried, she ran about behind 
 the wings as if she were going out of her senses. Mrs. 
 Siddons, however, calm though deadly pale, merely said 
 to her, with a slight tremor in her voice, " I will go 
 through the time requisite for the scenes, but will not 
 utter them." 
 
 She went on the stage ; said aloud, " It is useless to 
 act," crossed her arms, and merely murmured the 
 speeches ; and it is a fact that, on the first night one 
 
152 MRS. SIDDONS. 
 
 of Mrs. Siddons's masterpieces was acted in Liverpool, 
 she went through the entire performance in dumb 
 show. 
 
 In December 1785 her second son, George, was 
 born. As soon as she was able to write, she com- 
 municated the fact to her friends, the Whalleys, in 
 one of her lively, light-hearted letters : 
 
 " I have another son, healthy and lovely as an angel, 
 born the 26th Dec. ; so, you see, I take the earliest 
 opportunity of relieving the anxiety which I know you 
 and my dear Mrs. Whalley will feel till you hear of 
 me. My sweet boy is so like a person of the Royal 
 Family, that I 'm rather afraid he '11 bring me to 
 disgrace. My sister jokingly tells me she 's sure ' my 
 lady his mother has played false with the prince,' and 
 I must own he 's more like him than anybody else, t 
 will just hint to you that my father was at one time 
 very like the King, which a little saves my credit. I 
 rejoice that you are well, and have such pleasant 
 society, but I wish to God you would return ! I have 
 no news for you, except that the prince is going to 
 devote himself entirely to a Mrs. Fitzherbert, and the 
 whole world is in an uproar about it. I know very 
 little of her history more than that it is agreed on all 
 hands that she is a very ambitious and clever woman, 
 and that ' all good seeming by her revolt will be 
 thought put on for villany/ for she was thought an 
 example of propriety. I hear, too, that the Duchess 
 of Devonshire is to take her by the hand, and to give 
 her the first dinner when the preliminaries are settled ; 
 for it seems everything goes on with the utmost for- 
 mality provision made for children, and so on. Some 
 people rejoice and some mourn at this event. I have 
 not heard what his mother says to it. The Royal 
 
1782 TO 1798. 153 
 
 Family have been nearly all ill, but are now recovering, 
 and they graciously intend to command me to play in 
 The Way to Keep Him the first night I perform. They 
 are gracious to me beyond measure on all occasions, 
 and take all opportunities to show the world that they 
 are so. How good and considerate is this ! They 
 know what a sanction their countenance is, and they 
 are amiable beyond description. Since my confine- 
 ment I have received the kindest messages from them; 
 they make me of consequence enough to desire I 
 won't think of playing till I feel quite strong, and a 
 thousand more kind things. I perceive a little shoot- 
 ing in my temples that tells me I have written enough. 
 " I don't take leave of you, however, without telling 
 you that I am very much disappointed in Sherriffe's 
 picture of me, and am afraid to employ him about 
 your snuff-box. I don't know what to do about it, for 
 that promised to be so well that I almost engaged 
 him in the fulness of my heart to do it. I have not 
 been in face these last four months ; but now that I 
 am growing as amiable as ever, I shall sit for it as 
 soon as possible. God Almighty bless you both ! 
 
 " Yours, 
 
 " S. SlDDONS." 
 
 Later she writes again to Whalley : 
 
 " I have at last, my friend, attained the ten thousand 
 pounds which I set my heart upon, and am now per- 
 fectly at ease with respect to fortune. I thank God 
 who has enabled me to procure to myself so comfort- 
 able an income. I am sure my dear Mrs. Whalley 
 and you will be pleased to hear this from myself. 
 What a thing a balloon would be ! but, the deuce take 
 them, I do not find that they are likely to be brought 
 
154 MRS. SIDDON8. 
 
 to any good. Good heaven ! what delight it would be 
 to see you for a few days only ! I have a nice house, 
 and I could contrive to make up a bed. I know you 
 and my dear Mrs. Whalley would accept my sincere 
 endeavours to accommodate you; but don't let me be 
 taken by surprise, my dear friend, for were I to see 
 you first at the theatre, I can't answer for what might 
 be the consequence. 
 
 " I stand some knocks with tolerable firmness, I 
 suppose from habit ; but those of joy being so infi- 
 nitely less frequent, I conceive must be more difficultly 
 sustained. 
 
 " You will find I have been a niggard of my praise, 
 when you see your Fanny. Oh ! my beloved friend, 
 you could not speak to one who understands those 
 anxieties you mention better than I do. Surely it is 
 needless to say no one more ardently prays that God 
 Almighty, in His mercy, will avert the calamity ; anjd 
 surely, surely there is every thing to hope for from such 
 dispositions, improved by such an education. My 
 family is well, God be praised ! My two sisters are 
 married and happy. Mrs. Twiss will present us with 
 a new relation towards February. At Christmas I brinlg 
 my dear girls from Miss Eames, or rather she brings 
 them to me. Eliza is the most entertaining creature in 
 the world ; Sally is vastly clever ; Maria and George are 
 beautiful ; and Harry, a boy with very good parts, but 
 not disposed to learning." 
 
 , In spite of her statement that once she had made 
 ten thousand pounds she would rest contented, we find 
 her for the two next years working without inter- 
 mission, going from York to Edinburgh, from Edin- 
 burgh to Liverpool. In 1788 Kemble succeeded King 
 as manager of Drury Lane, and his sister returned to 
 
1782 TO 1798. 155 
 
 assist, first of all in his spectacular revival of Macbeth, 
 in which, among other innovations, he brought in the 
 black, grey, and white spirits, as bands of little boys. 
 One of these imps was insubordinate, and was sent 
 away in disgrace; his name was "Edmund Kean." 
 - They then acted Henry VIII. together, Kemble 
 contenting himself with " doubling " the characters of 
 Cromwell and Griffith, Bensley having already posses- 
 sion of the part of Wolsey. The representation was 
 a success in every way, and Mrs. Siddons's Queen 
 Katherine was henceforth ranked as equal to her Lady 
 Macbeth. 
 
 On the 7th February following she played for the 
 first time Volumnia to her brother's Coriolanus. An 
 eye-witness tells us : 
 
 " I remember her coming down the stage in the 
 triumphal entry of her son Coriolanus, when her 
 dumb show drew plaudits that shook the building. 
 She came alone, marching and beating time to the 
 music; rolling (if that be not too strong a term to 
 describe her motion) from side to side, swelling with 
 the triumph of her son. Such was the intoxication of 
 joy which flashed from her eye, and lit up her whole 
 face, that the effect was irresistible. She seemed to 
 me to reap all the glory of that procession to herself. 
 I could not take my eye from her. Coriolanus, banner, 
 and pageant, all went for nothing to me, after she had 
 walked to her place." 
 
 Many are the testimonies of actors and actresses that 
 show her extraordinary personal power. Young relates 
 that he was once acting Beverley with her at Edin- 
 burgh. They had reached the fifth act, when Beverley 
 had swallowed the poison, and Bates comes in, and 
 says to the dying man, " Jarvis found you quarrelling 
 
156 MRS. SIDDONS. 
 
 with Jewson in the streets last night." Mrs. Beverley 
 says, " No, I am sure he did not ! " to which Jarvia 
 replies, " Or if I did ? " meaning, it may be supposed, 
 to add, " The fault was not with my master/' But the 
 moment he utters the words " Or if 1 did ? " Mrs. 
 Beverley exclaims, " 'Tis false, old man ! They had 
 no quarrel there was no cause for quarrel ! " In 
 uttering this, Mrs. Siddons caught hold of Jarvis, arid 
 gave the exclamation with such piercing grief, that 
 Young said his throat swelled and his utterance was 
 choked. He stood unable to repeat the words which,, 
 as Beverley, he ought to have immediately delivered. 
 The prompter repeated the speech several times, till 
 Mrs. Siddons, coming up to her fellow-actor, put the 
 tips of her fingers on his shoulders, and said in a low 
 voice, " Mr. Young, recollect yourself." 
 
 Macready relates an equally remarkable instance of 
 her power. In the last act of Howe's Tamerlane, when, 
 by the order of the tyrant Moneses, Aspasia's lover is 
 strangled before her face, she worked herself up to 
 such a pitch of agony that, as she sank a lifeless heap 
 before the murderer, the audience remained for several 
 moments awe-struck, then clamoured for the curtain 
 to fall, believing that she was really dead ; and only 
 the earnest assurances of the manager to the contrary 
 could satisfy them. Holman and the elder Macready 
 were among the spectators, and looked aghast at one 
 another. "Macready, do I look as pale as you?" 
 inquired the former. 
 
 On another occasion, when performing Henry VIII. 
 with a raw " supernumerary " who was playing Sur- 
 veyor, when she warned him against giving false 
 testimony against his master, her look was so terrific 
 that the unfortunate youth came off perspiring with 
 
1782 TO 1798. 157 
 
 terror, arid swearing that nothing would induce him to 
 meet that woman's eyes again. 
 
 Had Mrs. Siddons lived in our day, every shop- 
 window would have been crowded with photographs of 
 her classically beautiful face, in every pose and 
 every costume. Mercifully she lived in the days of 
 Gainsborough and Reynolds, and is, therefore, the 
 original of two of the most beautiful female portraits 
 ever [painted. Sir Joshua is said to have borrowed 
 his conception from a figure designed by Michael 
 Angelo on the roof of the Sixtine Chapel. She is 
 seated in a chair of state, with two figures behind 
 holding the dagger and the bowl. The head is thrown 
 back in an attitude of dramatic inspiration, the right 
 hand thrown over an arm of the seat, the left raised, 
 pointing upwards. A tiara, necklace, and splendid 
 folds of drapery enhance the stateliness of the com- 
 position. It is, undoubtedly, the great painter's 
 masterpiece. " The picture," Northcote says, " kept 
 him in a fever." The unfavourable reception his 
 pictures of the year before had met with made him 
 resolved to show the critics that he was not past his 
 prime, while the grandeur and magnificence of the 
 sitter stimulated him to the exertion of all his genius. 
 
 Mrs. Siddons was fond, in later years, of describing 
 her sittings. "Ascend your undisputed throne," said 
 the painter, leading her to the platform. " Bestow on 
 me some idea of the tragic muse." And then, when 
 it was ended, the great painter insisted on inscribing 
 his name on her robe, saying that he could not lose 
 the honour of going down to posterity on the hem of 
 her garment. We, who only know of her greatness 
 from hearsay, can form some idea of what she must 
 have been from this magnificent conception. 
 
158 MRS. SID DONS. 
 
 Very nearly as noble and beautiful is the portrait by 
 Gainsborough. The delicacy of a refined English 
 complexion has never been so beautifully painted, 
 while the tone and colour is as exquisite as anything 
 Gainsborough ever did. The light transparent blue, 
 cool yellow, crimson, brown, and black, forms an 
 enchanting setting for the lovely head, which stands 
 out clear and delicate. It is said, that while Gains- 
 borough was painting her, after working in an absorbed 
 silence for some time, he suddenly exclaimed, " Damn 
 it, Madam, there is no end to your nose ! " And, 
 indeed, it does stand out a little sharply. But the 
 great feature of the Kembles was the jaw-bone. The 
 actress herself exclaimed, laughing, " The Kemble 
 jaw-bone ! Why, it is as notorious as Samson's \" 
 Mrs. Jameson declares that she saw Mrs. Siddons 
 sitting near Gainsborough's portrait two years before 
 her death, and, looking from one to the other, she 
 says, " It was like her still, at the age of seventy." 
 
 Years after, Fanny Kemble, her grand-daughter, 
 while walking through the streets of Baltimore, saw 
 an engraving of Reynolds^ "Tragic Muse" and Law- 
 rence's picture of John Kemble' s " Hamlet." " We 
 stopped," she says, " before them, and my father 
 looked with a great deal of emotion at these beautiful 
 representations of his beautiful kindred. It was a sort 
 of sad surprise to meet them in this other world, 
 where we are wandering aliens and strangers." 
 
 From the numerous portraits extant of Mrs. Sid- 
 dons we can form an idea of her appearance, of which 
 such legendary accounts have been handed down. 
 She was much above middle height ; as a girl she was 
 exceedingly thin and spare, and this remained her 
 characteristic until she was about twenty-two or three. 
 
1782 TO 1798. 
 
 " Sarah Kemble would be a fine-looking woman one 
 of these days/' a friend of her father remarked, 
 " provided she could but add flesh to her bones, and 
 provided her eyes were as small again." 
 
 This is, in fact, what did occur. Her increasing 
 plumpness rounded off all angles, making the eyes lesa 
 prominent ; and at the age of twenty-four or twenty- 
 five she was in the very prime of her marvellous 
 beauty. She had a singular energy and elasticity of 
 motion. Her head was beautifully set on her shoulders. 
 Her features were fine and expressive, the nose a little 
 long, but counterbalanced by the height of the brow, 
 and firmly-modelled chin. The eye-brows were 
 marked, and ran straight across the brow; her eyes 
 positively flamed at times. A fixed pallor overspread 
 her features in later days, which was seldom tinged 
 with colour. It is difficult, looking at the stately fine 
 lady painted by Gainsborough, to imagine the bursts 
 of passion that convulsed her on the stage. Her voice, 
 as years matured its power, was capable of every in- 
 flection of feeling ; while her articulation was singu- 
 larly clear and exact. There was no undue raising of 
 the voice, no overdoing of action; all was moderate 
 and quiet until passion was demanded, and then swift 
 and sudden it burst forth. 
 
 In Kemble's manner at times there was a sacrifice 
 of energy to grace. This observation, Braden tells us, 
 was made by Mrs. Siddons herself, who admired her 
 brother, in general, as much as she loved him. She 
 illustrated her meaning by rising and placing herself 
 in the attitude of one of the old Egyptian statues ; the 
 knees joined together, and the feet turned a little in- 
 wards. Placing her elbows close to her sides, she 
 folded her hands, and held them upright, with the 
 
160 MRS. SIDDONS. 
 
 palms pressed to each other. Having made those pre- 
 sent observe that she had assumed one of the most 
 constrained, and, therefore, most ungraceful positions 
 possible, she proceeded to recite the curse of King 
 Lear on his undutiful offspring, in a manner which 
 made hair rise and flesh creep, and then called on 
 us to remark the additional effect which was gained 
 by the concentrated energy which the unusual and 
 ungraceful posture in itself implied. 
 
 It is a characteristic trait, that by the Kemble 
 family John should have been considered a finer player 
 than Sarah. We know that he continually gave her 
 directions and instructions, which she accepted with 
 all humility, and followed, until she had made herself 
 sure of her ground. No one, however gifted, could 
 then shake her conscientious adherence to her own 
 views. 
 
 The subtle difference that lies between genius and 
 talent separated the two. Kemble repeated beautiful 
 words suitably ; Mrs. Siddons was magnificent before 
 she spoke, thrilling her audience with a silence more 
 significant than all else in the development of human 
 emotion. We can see how grand she was, indepen- 
 dently of her author, by the miserable plays she made 
 famous; when her genius was no longer present to 
 breathe life and passion into them they passed into 
 oblivion. 
 
 The number of indifferent plays she was entreated 
 to appear in were legion. All her friends seemed to 
 think they could write plays, and that she was the one 
 and only person who could appear in them. We find 
 her piteously writing to a friend who had sent her a 
 tragedy : 
 
 " It is impossible for you to conceive how hard it is 
 
1782 TO 1798. 161 
 
 to say that Astarte will not do as you and I would 
 have it do. Thank God, it is over ! It has been so 
 bitter a sentence for me to pronounce, that it has 
 wrung drops of sorrow from the very bottom of my 
 heart. Let me entreat, if you have any idea that I 
 am too tenacious of your honour, that you will suffer 
 me to ask the opinion of others, which may be done 
 without naming the author. I must, however, pre- 
 mise that what is charming in the closet often 
 ceases to be so when it comes into consideration for 
 the stage/' 
 
 Conceited Fanny Burney must needs write a tra- 
 gedy, Edwin and Elgitha. Her stumbling-block was 
 " Bishops." At that time there was a popular drink 
 called " Bishop," composed of certain intoxicating in- 
 gredients. When, therefore, in one of the earlier scenes 
 the King gave the order "Bring in the Bishop," the 
 audience went into roars of laughter. The dying 
 scene seemed to have no effect in damping their mirth. 
 A passing stranger, in a tragic tone, proposed to carry 
 the expiring heroine to the other side of a hedge. 
 This hedge, though remote from any dwelling, proved 
 to be a commodious retreat, for, in a few minutes 
 afterwards, the wounded lady was brought from behind 
 it on an elegant couch, and, after dying in the pre- 
 sence of her husband, was removed once more to the 
 back of the hedge. The effect proved too ridiculous 
 for the audience, and Mrs. Siddons was carried off 
 amidst renewed roars of laughter. 
 
 Dr. Whalley must then needs press a tragedy of his 
 own upon her, The Castle of Mowal, which was 
 yawned at for three nights. It is said that when the 
 author went down to Mr. Peake, the treasurer, to 
 know what benefit might have accrued to him, it 
 
 11 
 
162 MRS. SIDDONS. 
 
 amounted to nothing. " I have been," said the doctor, 
 an old picquet-player, " piqued and repiqued " ; and 
 so he retired from the scene of his discomfiture to 
 Bath, where he plumed himself on the fact of having 
 " run for three nights." 
 
 Her next essay in the cause of friendship was in 
 Bertie Greatheed's tragedy of The Regent. She writes 
 in reference to it : 
 
 " The plot of the poor young man's piece, it strikes 
 me, is very lame, and the characters very very ill- 
 sustained in general ; but more particularly the lady, 
 for whom the author had me in his eye. This woman 
 is one of those monsters (I think them) of perfection, 
 who is an angel before her time, and is so entirely 
 resigned to the will of Heaven, that (to a very mortal 
 like myself) she appears to be the most provoking 
 piece of still life one ever had the misfortune to meet. 
 Her struggles and conflicts are so weakly expressed;, 
 that we conclude they do not cost her much pain, and 
 she is so pious that we are satisfied she looks upon her 
 afflictions as so many convoys to Heaven, and wish her 
 there, or anywhere else but 'in the tragedy. I have 
 said all this, and ten times more, to them both, with as 
 much delicacy as I am mistress of; but Mr. G. says 
 that it would give him no great trouble to alter it, 
 provided I will undertake the milksop lady. I am in 
 a very distressed situation, for, unless he makes her 
 a totally different character, I cannot possibly have 
 anything to do with her." 
 
 The piece was eventually performed for twelve 
 nights, and then consigned to oblivion ; but the author 
 was so satisfied that he gave a supper, which was fol- 
 lowed by a drinking-bout at the " Brown Bear " in 
 Bow Street, at which a subordinate actor named Phil- 
 
1782 TO 1798. 163 
 
 limore was sufficiently tipsy to have courage enough to 
 fight his lord and master, John Kemble, who was 
 elevated enough to defend himself, and generous 
 enough to forget the affair next morning. 
 
 Other parts were declined by her for other reasons. 
 Colman had written an epilogue to Mr. Jephson's 
 Julia, which she refused to speak because she declared 
 it to he " coarse ; " and the part of Cleopatra, she said 
 she never would act, because " she would hate herself 
 if she were to play it as she thought it should be 
 played." And there she was right; the " Serpent of 
 Old Nile " was not within her range. 
 
 One of her admirers tells us that her majestic and 
 imposing person, and the commanding character of her 
 beauty, militated against the effect she produced in the 
 part of Mrs. Haller. " No man alive or dead,'* said 
 he, " would have dared to take a liberty with her ; 
 wicked she might be, but weak she could not be, and 
 when she told the story of her ill-conduct in the play 
 nobody believed her." Another eye-witness, speaking 
 of " the fair penitent/' said that it was worth sitting 
 out the piece for her scene with Romont alone, to see 
 4f such a splendid animal in such a magnificent rage." 
 
 And yet, what a kind heart it was to an erring 
 sister! " Charming and beautiful Mrs. Robinson/' she 
 writes, referring to Perdita Robinson, " I pity her from 
 the bottom of my soul/' And what a generous help- 
 ing hand she stretched out to her younger colleagues. 
 When Miss Mellon", twenty years her junior, was acting 
 with her at Liverpool, Mrs. Siddons one morning at 
 rehearsal turned to an actor, a friend of hers, who had 
 known her for years, and said : 
 
 " There is a young woman here whom I am sure I 
 have seen at Drury Lane." 
 
 11 * 
 
164 MBS. SIDDONS. 
 
 He told her it was Miss Mellon, who had just come 
 out. 
 
 " She seems a nice, pretty young woman," returned 
 the great actress, " and I pity her situation in that 
 hotbed of iniquity, Drury Lane ; it is almost impos- 
 sible for a young, pretty, and unprotected female to 
 escape. How has she conducted herself? " 
 
 The person she addressed, who relates the story > 
 replied : 
 
 " With the greatest propriety." 
 
 " Then please present her to me." 
 
 The young lady, colouring highly and looking very 
 handsome, came forward. The Queen of Tragedy took 
 her by the hand, and, after a few kind encouraging 
 words, led her forward among the company and said : 
 
 " Ladies and Gentlemen, I am told by one I know 
 very well that this young lady has always conducted 
 herself with the utmost propriety. I, therefore, intro- 
 duce her as my young friend/' 
 
 This electrified the parties in the green-room, who 
 had not looked for such a flattering distinction for the 
 young actress ; but, of course, they were all too glad 
 to follow Mrs. Siddons in anything, and Miss Mellon 
 was overwhelmed with attention. Afterwards, on the 
 return of Mrs. Siddons and Miss Mellon to their 
 duties in London for the succeeding season, the former 
 repeated the compliment she had paid her at Liverpool, 
 making the same statement regarding her excellent 
 conduct; and by thus bringing her forward under 
 such advantageous circumstances, procured her admis- 
 sion to the first green-room, where her inferior salary 
 did not entitle her to be, except on such a recommen- 
 dation as that of Mrs. Siddons. 
 
 In the summer of 1790, being in delicate health, 
 
1782 TO 1798. 165 
 
 and disgusted at Sheridan's treatment of her, she 
 went with her husband to France, accompanied by 
 Miss Wynn. They first stopped at Calais, where 
 their daughters, Sarah and Maria, were at a boarding- 
 school, and then went on to Lisle. The letter she 
 wrote to Lady Harcourt on her return is so charac- 
 teristic in its energetic, outspoken sincerity, that it 
 seems unjust not to quote every word of it : 
 
 " Sandgate, near Folkestone, Kent. 
 
 " August 2nd. 
 " MY DEAR LADY HARCOURT, 
 
 " After so long a silence, your good nature 
 will exalt itself to hear a long letter full of egotism, 
 and I will begin with Streatham, where you may 
 remember to have heard me talk of going with no 
 great degree of pleasurable expectation, supposing it 
 impossible that I should ever feel much more for 
 Mrs. P.* than admiration of her talents; but, after 
 having very unexpectedly stayed there more than three 
 weeks, during which time every moment gave me 
 fresh instances of unremitting kindness and attention 
 to me, and, indeed, a very extraordinary degree of 
 benevolence and forbearance towards those who have 
 not deserved much lenity at her hands (and it is won- 
 derful how many there are of that description), I left 
 them with great regret ; and between their very great 
 kindness, their wit, and their music, they made me 
 love, esteem, and admire them very much. In a few 
 days I set out with Mr. S., Miss Wynn, and her 
 brother, for Calais, and, after a very rough passage, 
 arrived at Calais, and found my dear girls quite well 
 
 * Mrs. Piozzi, -who, after Mr. Thrale's death, had married again, 
 much to the disgust of the Johnsonian band. 
 
166 MRS. 8IDDON8. 
 
 and improved in their persons, and (I am told) in their 
 French. I was very much struck with the difference 
 of objects and customs when I reflected how small 
 a space divides one nation from the other, like true, 
 English. We saw all we could, and I thought of 
 my dear Lord Harcourt, though not with him, in 
 their churches. I own (though I blame myself at 
 the same time for it) I was disgusted with all the 
 pomp and magnificence of them, when I saw the 
 priests c playing such fantastic tricks before high Hea 
 ven as (I think) must make the angels weep ' ; and 
 the people gabbling over their prayers, even in the 
 act of gaping, to have it over as quick as might be. 
 Alas ! said I to myself, in the pitifulness, and perhaps 
 vanity, of my heart, how sorry I am for these poor 
 deluded people, and how much more worthy the Deity 
 (' who does prefer before all temples the upright 
 heart and pure ') are the sublime and simple forms of 
 our religion. Indeed, my dear Madam, I am better 
 satisfied with the ideas and feelings that have been 
 excited in my heart in your garden at Nuneham, than 
 ever I have been in those fine gewgaw places, and 
 believe Mr. Haggitt, by his plain and sensible sermons, 
 has done more good than a legion of these priests 
 would do if they were to live to the age of Methusalem. 
 I am willing to own that all this may be prejudice, and 
 that we may not mean better than our neighbours ; but 
 fire shall not burn my opinion out of me, and so God 
 mend all. Now, to turn to our great selves. We took 
 our little folks to Lisle ; it is a very fine town, and, 
 though I know nothing of the language, the acting was 
 so really good that it gave me very great pleasure. 
 The language of true genius, like that of Nature, is 
 intelligible to all. We stayed there a few days, and 
 
1782 TO 1798. 167 
 
 you would have laughed to have seen my amazement 
 at the valet of the inn assisting the femme de chambre 
 in the making of our beds. The beds are the best I 
 ever slept upon ; but the valet's kind offices I could 
 always, I think, dispense with, good heavens! Well, 
 we returned to Calais, where I would have stayed a 
 few months, and have employed myself in acquiring a 
 few French phrases with the dear children, if Mrs. 
 Temple would have taken me in ; but she said she had 
 not room to accommodate me, and I unwillingly gave 
 up the point. In a day or two we set sail, after seeing 
 the civic oath administered on the fourteenth. It was 
 a fine thing even at Calais. I was extremely delighted 
 and affected, not, indeed, at the sensible objects, though 
 a great multitude is often a grand thing, but the idea 
 of so many millions throughout that great nation, 
 with one consent, at one moment (as it were by Divine 
 Inspiration), breaking their bonds asunder, filled one 
 with sympathetic exultation, good- will, and tenderness. 
 I rejoiced with them from my heart, and most sin- 
 cerely hope they will not abuse the glorious freedom 
 they have obtained. We were nearly twenty hours on 
 the sea on our return, and arrived at Dover fatigued 
 and sick to death. Dr. Wynn was obliged to make the 
 best of his way to London on account of a sermon he 
 was engaged to preach, and took his charming sister 
 with him. We made haste here, and it is the most 
 agreeable sea-place, excepting those on the Devonshire 
 coast, I ever saw. Perhaps agreeable is a bad word, 
 for the country is much more sublime than beautiful. 
 We have tremendous cliffs overhanging and frowning 
 on the foaming sea, which is very often so saucy and 
 tempestuous as to deserve frowning on ; from whence, 
 when the weather is clear, we see the land of France, 
 
168 MRS. SIDDONS. 
 
 and the vessels cross from the Downs to Calais. 
 Sometimes, while you stand there, it is amazing with 
 what velocity they skim along. Here are little neat 
 lodgings, and good wholesome provisions. Perhaps 
 they would not suit a great countess, as our friend Mr. 
 Mason has it, but a little great actress is more easily 
 accommodated. I 'm afraid it will grow larger, 
 though, and then adieu to the comforts of retirement. 
 At present the place cannot contain above twenty or 
 thirty strangers, I should think. I have bathed four 
 times, and believe I shall persevere, for Sir Lucas 
 Pepys says my disease is entirely nervous. I believe 
 I am better, but I get on so slowly that I cannot speak 
 as yet with much certainty. I still suffer a good deal. 
 Mr. Siddons leaves me here for a fortnight while he 
 goes to town upon business, and my spirits are so bad 
 that I live in terror of being left alone so long. We 
 have been here nearly three weeks, and I propose 
 staying here, if possible, till September, when I shall 
 go to town to my brother's for some days, and then 
 set off for Mr. Whalley's at Bath. I shall hope to see 
 you at Nuneham, though, before you leave it. 
 
 " Now, my dear Lady Harcourt, let me congratulate 
 you upon having almost got to the end of this interest- 
 ing epistle and myself, in the honour of your friend- 
 ship, which has nattered me into the comfort of 
 believing that you will not be tired of your prosing, 
 but always very affectionate and faithful servant, 
 
 " S. SIDDONS. 
 
 " Pray offer my love, and our united compliments, 
 to all." 
 
 Michael Kelly gives an account of the landlady's 
 opinion of La grande actrice Anglaise at the hotel 
 
1782 TO 1798. 169 
 
 at St. Omer, where he stopped shortly after Mrs. Sid- 
 dons had been there. She considered her handsome, 
 declared she was trying to imitate French women, but 
 fell very far short of them. 
 
 She was induced to return to Drury Lane about 
 the end of 1790, and in April we find Horace Wai- 
 pole writing to tell Miss Berry that he had supped 
 with Kemble and Mrs. Siddons " t'other night at 
 Miss Farren's, at the bow-window house in Green 
 Street, Grosvenor Square/' He pronounces the actress 
 to be " leaner/' We can see the party : cynical, 
 sneering Walpole ; beautiful Miss Farren, afterwards 
 Countess of Derby, the hostess ; Mrs. Siddons, 
 " august " and matronly ; and solemn John, who had 
 just made a hit as Othello. 
 
 It was the last year of old Drury's existence, and, 
 for her brother's sake, she bore her part bravely, acting 
 when called upon ; but she soon flagged, and could 
 only act a few nights. Her reappearance was wel- 
 comed with wild enthusiasm ; she seemed as popular 
 as ever. One night over four hundred pounds was 
 paid by the public to see her in Mrs. Beverley. 
 
 About 1792 or 3 she seems to have taken a house 
 at Nuneham, near the Harcourts the Rectory, we 
 presume, for we find her writing to Lord Harcourt, 
 devising little comforts for their summer residence at 
 Nuneham, thanking him for his " neighbourly " atten- 
 tion ; and one or two letters she writes to John Taylor 
 are dated Nuneham Rectory. One is on the subject 
 of a Life of herself which he wished to undertake ; the 
 other refers to her modelling, and an accident which 
 happened to her husband and children. 
 
 " I am in no danger of being too much occupied by 
 my 'favorite clay,' for it is not arriv'd how pro- 
 
170 MBS. SIDDONS. 
 
 yoking and vexatious ! particularly as I am dying to- 
 attempt a Bust of my sweet little George, and his 
 Holidays will be over, I fear, before I am able to finish 
 it. Apropos to George, the dear little Soul has 
 escapd being dangerously hurt, if not kill'd (my blood 
 runs cold at the thought), by almost a miracle. Mr. 
 Siddons and Maria have not been so fortunate, they 
 are both cripples at present with each a wounded Leg, 
 but I hope they are in a fair way to get better. The 
 accident (so these things are called, but not by me ; 
 I know you '11 deride my Superstition, but this kind of 
 Superstition has not uiifrequently afforded me great 
 aid and consolation, and I hate to discard an old 
 friend because she happens to be a little out of Fashion, 
 so Laugh on, I dont care) happened from their being 
 forcd to jump out of a little Market Cart which Mr. 
 Siddons had orderd to indulge the children in a drive. 
 Thank God I did not see it and that they have escapd 
 so well ! ! ! This is the Sweetest Situation in England, 
 I believe. I wish you would come and see it. If I 
 had a Bed to offer you I should be more pressing, but 
 I could get you one at the Inn in the Village, if you 
 should be disposd to go to those fine doings at Oxford^ 
 where all the world will be, except such Stupid Soul& 
 as myself. Mr. Combe is at Lord Harcourt's ; I under- 
 stand he is writing a History of the Thames, and his 
 Lordships House is the present Seat of his observa- 
 tions. I have not the pleasure to know him, but am 
 
 to Dine with him at Lord H 's to-morrow. [Thia 
 
 is the Combe of Wolverhatnpton memory, whom Mrs. 
 Kemble had refused as instructor for her daughter. The 
 stately " I have not the pleasure to know him " ia 
 so like Mrs. Siddons.] Give my kind love to Betsey 
 when you See her, and I earnestly entreat you (if it b& 
 
1782 TO 1798. 171 
 
 not too much vanity to Suppose you w d wish to pre- 
 serve them a moment beyond reading them) that you 
 will burn all my Letters ; tell me Seriously you will do 
 so ! for there is nothing I dread like having all one's 
 nonsense appear in print by some untoward accident 
 not accident neither, but wicked or interested 
 design, pray do me the fav r to ask at our House why 
 my precious Clay has not been Sent, and tell me 
 Something about.it when you write again. Adieu.' 1 
 
172 MBS. SIDDONS. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 SHERIDAN. 
 
 THE apparition of Sheridan, meteor-like, in the 
 laborious, active, well-regulated lives of Mrs. Siddons 
 and her brother, and the history of his professional 
 intercourse with them, is one of the greatest proofs 
 of the extraordinary glamour exercised by the spe- 
 cious Irishman on all who came under his personal 
 influence. After Garrick's retirement from the man- 
 agement of Drury Lane, the overwhelming success 
 of the School for Scandal, and the engagement of 
 Mrs. Siddons, staved off financial difficulties for a 
 time ; but no amount of receipts were sufficient to 
 withstand Sheridan's reckless private expenditure and 
 unbusiness-like habits. The brilliant Brinsley did not 
 recognise that other qualities besides the power to 
 write a good play, or make a great speech, were neces- 
 sary for the management of such a concern as Gar- 
 rick's Drury Lane. The truth, however, was borne 
 home to him by the utter chaos that ultimately ensued : 
 actors unpaid, and the treasury repeatedly emptied by 
 the proprietor himself before the money had been 
 diverted into its legitimate channels. Yet the re- 
 ceipts at the doors amounted to nearly sixty thousand 
 
SHERIDAN. 173- 
 
 pounds a year. Things would have gone better could he 
 have been persuaded entirely to abstain from manage- 
 ment, but he persistently interfered with his subor- 
 dinates. When a dramatist was employed in reading 
 his tragedy to the performers, Brinsley would saunter 
 in, yawning, at the fifth act, with no other apology than, 
 having sat up late two nights running, he was unable 
 to appear in time ; or he would arrive drunk, go into 
 the green-room, ask the name of a well-known actor 
 who was on the stage, and bid them never to allow 
 him to play again. He was once told, with some 
 spirit, by one of the company, that he rarely came 
 there, and then never but to find fault. 
 
 Things grew worse and worse. It was piteous to 
 hear the complaints of the actors and staff of the 
 theatre, who found it impossible to obtain payment of 
 their weekly salaries. The shifts and devices which 
 he employed to escape from their importunity was a 
 constant subject of jest. 
 
 At last he was obliged to let the reins of manage- 
 ment fall from his incapable hands. They were taken 
 up by King ; but he in turn soon found the position 
 intolerable, and the stern and businesslike Kemble 
 was called in to restore discipline among unruly players 
 whose salaries were overdue, and amongst upholsterers 
 and decorators who had never been paid for the pieces 
 they had mounted. 
 
 It required the courage and determination of a 
 Kemble to undertake the clearing out of such an 
 Augean stable. " The public approbation of my 
 humble endeavours in the discharge of my duties will 
 be the constant object of my ambition," he said, in 
 his modest declaration on the acceptance of the ap- 
 pointment ; " and as far as diligence and assiduity 
 
174 MRS. SIDDONS. 
 
 are claims to merit, I trust I shall not be found 
 deficient." Nor was he found deficient. Bringing 
 extraordinary determination to the task, he soon got 
 the theatre into order, with an efficient working com., 
 pany, of which he and his sister, Mrs. Siddons, were 
 the ruling spirits. 
 
 Sheridan had not even the good sense in this critical 
 juncture in his affairs to propitiate the great actress 
 on whom the fortunes of the house rested. There is 
 something comic, indeed, in his relations with the 
 Tragedy Queen. They rather remind us of an incor- 
 rigible schoolboy continually offending those in autho- 
 rity, and yet confident in their affection and his own 
 powers of persuasion to obtain indulgence and forgive- 
 ness. 
 
 Once Mrs. Siddons had declared that she would not 
 act until her salary was paid, she resisted inflexibly 
 the earnest appeals of her colleagues and the commands 
 of the manager, and was quietly sewing at home 
 after the curtain had risen for the piece in which 
 she was expected to perform. Sheridan appeared, 
 like the magician in a pantomime, courteous, irre-- 
 sistible ; she yielded helplessly, " and suffered herself 
 to be driven to the theatre like a lamb/' 
 
 One night, Mr. Rogers tells us, having heard the 
 story from her own lips, when she was about to drive 
 away from the theatre, Mr. Sheridan jumped into the 
 carriage. " Mr. Sheridan," said the dignified Muse of 
 Tragedy, " I trust that you will behave with propriety ; 
 if not, I shall have to call the footman to show you 
 out of the carriage." She owned that he did behave 
 himself. But as soon as the carriage stopped, he 
 leaped out, and hurried away, as though wishing not 
 to be seen with her. " Provoking wretch ! " she said, 
 
SHERIDAN. 175 
 
 with an indulgent smile, which even she, encased 
 in all her panoply j of prudish decorum, could not 
 suppress. 
 
 At last even her patience was worn out, and at the 
 close of her brother's first year of management she 
 retired from the theatre. Sheridan dared to boast 
 they could do without her. A scheme was then hatch- 
 ing in the ever-fertile Irish brain of the proprietor 
 that was destined to revolutionise the dramatic world 
 of London. He discovered that the taste of the day, 
 and the requirements of his own pocket, demanded a 
 larger and more luxurious building than Old Drury ; 
 the walls that had re-echoed to the grand tones of 
 Betterton, the musical love-making of Barry, and the 
 passionate declamation of Garrick, was to be pulled 
 down to satisfy the greed and the ambition of Sheri- 
 dan. Immediate proposals for debentures amounting 
 to 160,000 were issued, and, wonderful to relate, 
 taken up in a very short time. But, alas ! to cover 
 the interest of this enormous sum, it was determined 
 to build a house nearly double the size. Neither Mrs. 
 Siddons nor her brother seems to have considered the 
 disastrous consequence this would exercise on their art. 
 The perfect acoustics and compact stage of the old 
 house were to be swept away to give place to an im- 
 mense dome-shaped space, and an expanse requiring 
 undignified energy of motion to traverse. The imme- 
 diate consequence was evident ; recourse had to be 
 taken to stage artifice to manage the entrance and 
 the exit, while gesture had to be more violent, expres- 
 sion more exaggerated, and voice unduly raised to 
 produce an effect. 
 
 In Garrick's Drury, also, the front row of boxes was 
 open like a gallery, and everyone who occupied them 
 
176 MBS. SIDDONS. 
 
 was obliged to appear in full dress. The row of boxes 
 above these again were given up to the bourgeoisie, 
 while the lattices at the top were the portion destined 
 to those whose reputation was doubtful, and who by their 
 unseemly behaviour might disturb the decorum of the 
 audience. Garrick was master of his art, and knew 
 how to value the criticism and sympathy of the crowd. 
 Under his management the two-shilling gallery was 
 brought down to a level with the second row of boxes. 
 By that arrangement a player had the mass of the 
 audience under his immediate control; and that mass, 
 uninfluenced by fashion or prejudice, unerring in its 
 judgment, is the dread of an inferior actor, the delight 
 of a great one. 
 
 While the theatre was still in process of erection, the 
 company performed at the Opera House in the Hay- 
 market, or, as it was called, the King's Theatre. The 
 new house was opened on April 21st, 1794, with 
 Macbeth. 
 
 " I am told/' Mrs. Siddons writes to Lady Har- 
 court, " that the banquet is a thing to go and see of 
 itself. The scenes and dresses all new, and as superb 
 and characteristic as it is possible to make them. Yoii 
 cannot conceive what I feel at the prospect of playing 
 there. I daresay I shall be so nervous as scarcely to 
 be able to make myself heard in the first scene." 
 
 This banquetting scene in Macbeth was made the 
 subject of sarcastic hints in the daily press on the old 
 score of her avarice : 
 
 "The soul of Mrs. Siddons (Mrs. Siddons whose 
 dinners and suppers are proverbially numerous) ex- 
 panded on this occasion. She speaks her joy on 
 seeing so many guests with an earnestness little short 
 of rapture. Her address appeared so like reality, 
 
SHERIDAN. 177 
 
 that all her hearers about her seized the wooden 
 fowls " . . . . 
 
 The great actress soon felt a great mistake had been 
 made. " I am glad to see you at Drury Lane/' she 
 said to a colleague, " but you are come to act in a 
 wilderness of a place, and, God knows, if I had not 
 made my reputation in a small theatre, I never should 
 lave done it." 
 
 It was indeed " a wilderness of a place." The 
 mere opening for the curtain was forty-three feet wide, 
 and thirty-eight feet high, or nearly seven times the 
 height of the performers. Miss Mellon laughingly 
 said she " felt a mere shrimp " when acting in it The 
 result might be foreseen. Had not the great actress 
 indeed made her reputation on a small theatre, never 
 would she have made it here. We, who only know 
 <jf Mrs. Siddons by immediate tradition, are inclined 
 to think that she ranted, and destroyed her effects by 
 exaggeration of gesture and expression. There is little 
 doubt we are justified in so thinking, and that the 
 increased size of the theatre and audience were to 
 blame. 
 
 What a world of significance lies also in her words ; 
 "The banquet is a thing to go and see of itself." A 
 new era had begun ; the stage, and everything belong- 
 ing to it, ought to be taken out of the domain of 
 everyday life, and, by appealing to the intellectual 
 comprehension of the audience, raise them to an under- 
 standing of the grandeur of conception and passion of 
 a Shakespeare. Garrick acted Othello in a cocked hat 
 and scarlet uniform, and yet impressed his audience 
 with a pathetic and intense reality. Mrs. Siddons 
 acted Lady Macbeth in black velvet and point lace, 
 and yet imparted a majesty and grace to the imper- 
 
 12 
 
178 MBS. SIDDONS. 
 
 sonation never before seen on the English stage. 
 Now we see the Mephistopheles, Sheridan, inducing 
 her to barter away her reputation and ideal of great 
 art for the substantial benefits of increased gains and 
 larger audiences. 
 
 A different class of entertainment now invaded the 
 classic boards. We can see Timour the Tartar, Tekeli, 
 or the Siege of Montgatz, The Miller and His Men, 
 Pizarro, and a host of spectacular pieces, mounted to 
 draw numerous and uncritical audiences. This first 
 season was a fatiguing and anxious one for the great 
 actress, more especially also that she was in delicate 
 health. Her daughter Cecilia was born this year, 
 1794, on 25th July. Her husband wrote to a friend : 
 
 I have the pleasure to tell you your little god-daughter (for such 
 she is, myself being your proxy a few days back) is very well, and as 
 fine a girl as if her father was not more than one-and-twenty. She is 
 named after Mrs. Piozzi's youngest daughter, Cecilia ; her sponsors 
 are yourself and Mr. Greatheed, Mrs. [Piozzi and Lady Percival (c'z* 
 devant Miss B. Wynn) ; and, what is better, the mother is well, too, 
 and is just going to the theatre to perform Mrs. Beverley for the 
 benefit of her brother's wife, Mrs. Stephen Kemble. 
 
 She never all through life gave herself the rest 
 requisite to re-establish her health ; always before 
 the public, what wonder that languor and weakness 
 attacked her physically, and despondency and dissatis- 
 faction mentally. 
 
 " My whole family are gone to Margate," she wrote 
 in September, " whither I am going also, and nothing 
 would make it tolerable to me, but that my husband 
 and daughters are delighted with the prospect before 
 them. I wish they could go and enjoy themselves 
 there, and leave me the comfort and pleasure of 
 remaining in my own convenient house, and taking 
 care of my baby. But I am every day more and more 
 
SHERIDAN. 179 
 
 convinced that half the world live for themselves, and 
 the other half for the comfort of the former. At least 
 this I am sure of, that I have had no will of my own 
 since I remember ; and, indeed, to be just, I fancy I 
 should have little delight in such an existence." 
 
 She told her friend Mr. Whalley, on the eve of 
 setting out for Edinburgh to play at her son Henry's 
 theatre : " I intend, if it please God, to be at home 
 again for Passion week. I leave my sweet girl behind 
 me, not daring to take her so far north this inclement 
 season, and could well wish that the interests of the 
 best of sons, and most amiable of men, did not so 
 imperiously call me out of this softer climate just 
 now. But I shall pack myself up as warmly as I can, 
 trusting that while I run a little risk, I shall do 
 a great deal of good to my dear Harry, who tells 
 me all my friends are more eager to see me than 
 ever. It is not impossible that I may stop a night 
 or two here before I go, which, as I have long been 
 engaged to act this season after Easter, and cannot in 
 honour or honesty be off, I think will not be impolitic, 
 lest my enemies, if their malignity be worth a thought, 
 may think their impotent attempts have frightened me 
 away. They have done all their malignant treachery 
 could devise, and have they robbed me of one friend ? 
 No, God be praised ! But, on the contrary, have knit 
 them all closer to me. Glad enough should I be never 
 to appear again, but, while the interests of those so 
 dear and near as those of son and brother are con- 
 cerned, one must not let selfish consideration stand in 
 the way of Christian duties and natural affection." 
 
 The public are inclined to think that the life of 
 an artist spent continually before the footlights is one 
 eminently conducive to hardening the sensibilities 
 
 12 * 
 
180 MBS. SIDDONS. 
 
 against calumny ; but it is a curious fact that actors 
 are like children in their craving for applause and 
 praise, and in their fear of criticism and blame. Gar- 
 rick wrote a year before his death to the scoundrel' 
 who persecuted him, " Will Curtius take the word of 
 the accused for his innocence ? " and Mrs. Siddons, 
 through her husband, offered one thousand pounds for 
 the libeller to whom she refers in the following 
 letter : 
 
 "One would think I had already furnished con- 
 jectures and lies sufficient for public gossip ; but 
 now the people here begin again with me. They say 
 that I am mad, and that that is the reason of my 
 confinement. I should laugh at this rumour were 
 it not for the sake of my children, to whom it may 
 not be very advantageous to be supposed to in- 
 herit so dreadful a malady; and this consideration, 
 1 am almost ashamed to own, has made me seriously 
 unhappy. However, I really believe I am in my sober 
 senses, and most heartily do I now wish myself with 
 you at dear Streatham, where I could, as usual, forget 
 all the pains and torments of illness and the world. 
 But I fear I have now no chance for such happiness." ' 
 " Kotzebue and German sausages are the order of 
 the day," Sheridan said when he brought out the 
 English adaptation of The Stranger. Mrs. Haller, in 
 Mrs. Siddons's hands, became pathetic, almost grand ; 
 but to us now-a-days, uninfluenced by the glamour of 
 her presence, the sickly sentiment and impossible 
 situations of the play make it an untempting meal for 
 our practical and realistic mental digestions. 
 
 Its success was so great as to induce the author 
 of the School for Scandal who had lost all power of 
 original conception, yet was obliged to fill his pockets 
 
SHERIDAN. 181 
 
 to adapt another play, Pizarro, also by Kotzebue. 
 Did we not know the history of the celebrated first 
 night of his play, on unimpeachable evidence, we 
 should be inclined to look upon it as one of those 
 exaggerated tales that, related by one of the many 
 gossips of the time, had grown out of all possibility of 
 credence. Sheridan was up-stairs in the prompter's 
 room, stimulating his jaded brain by sips of port, 
 and writing out the last act of the play, while the 
 earlier parts were acting ; every ten minutes he brought 
 down as much of the dialogue as he had done piece- 
 meal into the green-room, abusing himself and his 
 negligence, and making a thousand winning and sooth- 
 ing apologies for having kept the performers so long 
 in such painful suspense. What, under these circum- 
 stances, became of the thorough and elaborate study 
 declared by the Kembles to be necessary for the per- 
 fection of the dramatic art, we know not. Holla and 
 Mrs. Siddons's Elvira must have been extemporaneous 
 acting. Perhaps the performances gained in vivid 
 power and effect what they lost in finish from the 
 nervous strain and excitement of such a mental effort 
 as they were called upon to make. It is difficult to* 
 account for the success of the play unless the acting 
 was superlatively good. It is overlaid with bombast 
 and claptrap, and, as Pitt said, was but a second- 
 rate re-echo of his speeches on the Hastings trial. 
 For no one but the "hapless genius" would the 
 brother and sister have thus thrown to the winds 
 all their artistic traditions. We hear of the inflexible 
 John saying, when irritated past bearing : " I know 
 him thoroughly, all his paltry tricks and artifices " ; 
 yet immediately after we find both him and the great 
 actress submitting to all his whims and eccentricities. 
 
182 MBS. SIDDONS. 
 
 There is an amusing story told by Boaden of a supper 
 at beautiful Mrs. Crouch's, when Kemble arrived 
 charged with his grievances, and full of threats, expect- 
 ing to meet Sheridan. Presently in came the culprit, 
 light and airy as usual. The great actor looked unut- 
 terable things, occasionally emitting a humming sound 
 like that of a bee, and groaning inwardly in spirit. 
 Some little time elapsed, when at last, like a " pillar 
 of state/' slowly uprose Kemble, and thus addressed 
 the proprietor : 
 
 " I am an eagle whose wings have been bound down 
 by frosts and snows, but now I shake my pinions and 
 cleave into the genial air into which I am born." 
 
 After having thus offered his resignation, he solemnly 
 resumed his seat. Sheridan, however, undaunted, used 
 all his arts of fascination to mitigate his wrath, and at 
 an early hour of the morning both went away in 
 perfect harmony. 
 
 Then we have Mrs. Siddons's opinion of him : 
 
 " Here I am," she writes, "sitting close in a little 
 dark room in a little wretched inn, in a little poking 
 village called Newport Pagnell. I am on my way to 
 Manchester, where I am to act for a fortnight, from 
 whence I am to be whirled to Liverpool, there to do 
 the same. From thence I skim away to York and 
 Leeds ; and then, when Drury Lane opens who can 
 tell? For it depends upon Mr. Sheridan, who is 
 uncertainty personified. I have got no money from 
 him yet, and all my last benefit, a very great one, was 
 swept into his treasury, nor have I seen a shilling of it. 
 Mr. Siddons has made an appointment to meet him 
 to-day at Hammersley's. As I came away very early, 
 I don't know the result of the conference; but un- 
 less things are settled to Mr. Siddons's satisfaction, 
 
SHERIDAN. 183 
 
 he is determined to put the affair into his lawyer's 
 hands." 
 
 The affair was never put into any lawyer's hands ; 
 she allowed herself to be mollified, and might well 
 write of Sheridan in 1796 : 
 
 " Sheridan is certainly the greatest phenomenon 
 that nature has produced for centuries. Our theatre is 
 going on, to the astonishment of everybody. Very 
 few of the actors are paid, and all are vowing to with- 
 draw themselves ; yet still we go on. Sheridan is 
 certainly omnipotent. I can get no money from the 
 theatre ; my precious two thousand pounds are swal- 
 lowed up in that drowning gulf, from which no plea of 
 right or justice can save its victims." 
 
 John Kemble remained manager of Drury Lane 
 for some years, sometimes withdrawing for a time 
 and refusing to manage the affairs any longer, and 
 again wheedled back by Sheridan's powers of per- 
 suasion. At last, wearied out, both brother and sister 
 finally withdrew from Drury Lane in 1802, and took 
 shares with Harris in Covent Garden Theatre. Harris 
 was the direct opposite of Sheridan, punctual in his 
 payments and honourable in his dealings. Mrs. Inch- 
 bald arranged all the monetary portion of the affair. 
 The concern was valued at 138,000, of which Harris 
 represented one half ; the remainder being divided 
 among four proprietors, of whom Lewis, the actor, 
 was one. Lewis after a time became anxious to dis- 
 pose of his share, and Kemble purchased it for the 
 sum of 23,000 ; a friend of his, a Mr. Heathcote, 
 advancing him a large amount to enable him to do so. 
 The Kemble family all joined him in this venture. 
 The company included Mrs. Siddons, Charles Kemble, 
 Mr. and Mrs. Henry Siddons, and Cooke, the well- 
 
184 MRS. 8IDDON8. 
 
 known actor. As soon as Kemble had completed his 
 arrangements, he went abroad for some months, visit- 
 ing Spain and France. On his return a dinner was 
 given by the managers of Covent Garden to their 
 Drury Lane rival, Sheridan, who made a sarcastic 
 speech on the friendship of fellows who had hated 
 each other all their lives. John Kemble then went 
 abroad again, for a time, to recruit his strength after 
 the anxiety and worry of his years of management. 
 
 Mrs. Kemble, in a letter written to her husband 
 during his absence, describes a very smart party at 
 the "Abercorn," at which the Prince of Wales, 
 and the Devonshire, Melbourne, Castlereagh, and West- 
 moreland families were present, and says signicantly 
 at the end : " Mrs. Sheridan came in a very elegant 
 chariot, four beautiful black horses and two footmen. 
 The Duchess had only one. Mrs. Sheridan had a fine 
 shawl on, that he, Sheridan, said he gave forty-five 
 guineas for, a diamond necklace, ear-rings, cross, 
 cestus, and clasps to her shoulders, and a double row 
 of fine pearls round her neck." This was shortly 
 after Mrs. Siddons's last benefit, when the brilliant 
 Brinsley had swept the proceeds into his own pocket; 
 
 The very " ravages of fire," however, which they 
 "scouted" by the help of "ample reservoirs" that were 
 exhibited on the stage the night of the inauguration, 
 by a "lake of real water," and a "cascade tumbling 
 down," were the ravages that were destined to destroy 
 the splendours of the new building. The hiisfortune 
 of fire that ruined Kemble was destined, also, to ruin 
 Sheridan, who had staked his all on this one enterprise. 
 Drury Lane was destroyed as Covent Garden was 
 rising from its ashes. The glare of the burning build- 
 ing lit up the Houses of Parliament during a late 
 

 SHERIDAN. 185 
 
 sitting. One of the members suggested an adjourn- 
 ment of the House. With a spice of the highly- 
 flavoured bombast he had lately so frequently offered 
 his theatrical audiences, Sheridan opposed the idea : 
 " Whatever may be the extent of the calamity to me 
 personally, I hope it will not interfere with the public 
 business of the country/' he said ; and quitting the 
 assembly, he betook himself to one of the coffee- 
 houses in Covent Garden, where he was found swal- 
 lowing port by the tumblerful a few hours later. One 
 of the actors expressed his surprise and disgust at 
 seeing him there. " Surely a man may be allowed 
 to take a glass of wine by his own fireside ? " was 
 Sheridan's ready answer. 
 
186 MRS. 8IDDONS. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 HERMIONE. 
 
 IT sends a pang through our heart as we hear Mrs. 
 Siddons say in later life, with a sigh, to Rogers the 
 poet : " After I became famous, none of my sisters 
 loved me so well." What a price to pay for fame ! 
 <l Conversation " Sharp was frequently consulted by 
 her upon private affairs. She wept to him over the 
 ingratitude her sisters showed her. Money was lent 
 and never repaid ; the prestige of her name was bor- 
 rowed to obtain theatrical engagements, but she never 
 was thanked ; every obligation seemed only to cause a 
 feeling of bitterness. Perhaps the fault lay a little on 
 her side as well as on theirs. Tact and graciousness 
 were not her strong points. She was absent-minded, 
 all her attention being concentrated on the study and 
 comprehension of her profession, which gave her a 
 proud, self-contained manner, alienating unconsciously 
 those who surrounded her and were dependent on her. 
 Her children adored her, but her brothers and sisters 
 stood, to a certain extent, in awe of her. All of them, 
 stimulated by the examples of the two eldest, went on 
 the stage, but none possessed her genius, or John 
 Kemble's talent and industry. The affectionate com- 
 
HEBMIONE. 187 
 
 radeship in art that existed between Mrs. Siddons and 
 John Kemble is one of the pleasantest features in both 
 their lives. 
 
 He was educated, as we have seen, principally at 
 the Roman Catholic College at Douay, where he 
 became remarkable for his elocution, every now and 
 then astonishing his masters and schoolfellows by 
 delivering speeches in scholastic Latin, and learning 
 with the greatest facility books of Homer and odes of 
 Horace. We are told that his noble cast of counte- 
 nance, his deep melodious voice, and the dignity of his 
 delivery, impressed his comrades considerably; espe- 
 cially in the scene between Brutus and Cassius, which 
 he got up for their benefit. It is a curious proof of his 
 want of facility that, although he was extremely fond 
 of the study of language, grammar being all his life 
 his favourite light reading, he never was able to master 
 any language but his own. He read Italian, Spanish, 
 and French, but spoke none of them, in spite of his 
 education in France and his long residence later at 
 Lausanne. He had no ear, and it never could have 
 been an easy task to him to learn the rhythm of 
 Shakespeare. We know the story of old Shaw, con- 
 ductor of the Covent Garden orchestra, who vainly 
 endeavoured to teach him the song in the piece of 
 Richard Cceur de Lion, " O Richard O mon roi ! " 
 4t Mr. Kemble, Mr. Kemble, you are murdering the 
 time, Sir ! " cried the exasperated musician ; on which 
 Kemble made one of the few jokes ever perpetrated by 
 him : " Very well, Sir, and you are for ever beating it." 
 After six years' residence at Douay he made up his 
 mind that he was not suited to the church, and left 
 for England, determined to follow his father's profes- 
 sion. He landed at Bristol in that very December, 
 
188 MBS. 8IDDON8. 
 
 1775, that his sister made her unfortunate "first 
 appearance " before the London public. Dreading 
 his parents' wrath, he made his way to Wolver- 
 hampton, and there joined a company under the 
 direction of a Mr. Crump and a Mr. Chamberlain. 
 After going through all the humiliations and priva- 
 tions of a penniless actor, but also after enjoying 
 the valuable hours of study and stern discipline of a 
 stroller's life, we find the future Hamlet, by the aid 
 of his sister, Mrs. Siddons, enabled to get his foot on 
 the first round of the ladder. Mr. Younger, manager 
 of the Liverpool Theatre, gave him an engagement 
 in 1778. We find him afterwards playing at Wake- 
 field with Tate Wilkinson's York company, and actually 
 permitted to act Macbeth at Hull. By the aid of 
 quiet industry and determination he was working his 
 way to the goal he had in view. He perpetrated 
 a tragedy, Belisarius, that was given on the same 
 occasion at Hull, wrote poetry which he burnt, gave 
 lectures on oratory, and, in fact, passed through the 
 curriculum necessary to the full completion of his 
 powers. 
 
 On the 30th September 1783, John Kemble fir&t 
 appeared in London, at Drury Lane, as Hamlet. The 
 fiery criticisms launched against this performance by 
 the press, show that at least it was distinguished by 
 originality. Whatever its faults might be, they were 
 unanimous in declaring his reading to be scholarly and 
 refined. He is said, in studying the part of Hamlet, 
 to have written it out no less than forty times. Some 
 time elapsed before he appeared in the same piece as 
 his sister ; other actors had possession of the parts, and 
 he had to bide his time. That patient waiting on 
 opportunity, however, was one of the great Kemble 
 
HERMIONE. 189 
 
 gifts; there was no impatience, no complaining, but a 
 steady, dogged power of perseverance, with the pro- 
 found conviction of their own capabilities to make use 
 of fortune when it came. At last he appeared as 
 Stukeley to his sister's Mrs. Beverley, in The Gamester. 
 Finely as the part was played, the sister, not the 
 brother, carried away the honours of the performance. 
 After this, on several benefit nights they were able 
 to appear together, Kemble replacing Smith in the 
 character of Macbeth to Mrs. Siddons's Lady Macbeth, 
 and both of them acting later in Othello, he as the 
 Moor, she as Desdemona. This was not a distinct 
 success. At last, however, his power found its legiti- 
 mate development. On the occasion of his sister's 
 benefit in January 1788, he acted Lear to her Cordelia. 
 The town was electrified, and declared him equal to 
 Oarrick. Boaden tells us " that he never played it so 
 grandly or so touchingly as 011 that night." 
 
 His really great gift was his large and cultivated 
 understanding, that enabled him to grasp the spirit of 
 the author he sought to interpret, giving a new 
 emphasis and truth to scenes that were hackneyed and 
 stale by a conventional method of rendering. This 
 was particularly the case with Shakespeare, whose 
 beauties he and his sister first revealed to their genera- 
 tion. The difference, however, between them was that 
 he possessed superlative talent, she possessed genius. 
 In speaking to Reynolds the dramatist, she defined 
 completely the difference between them, " My brother 
 John, in his most impetuous bursts, is always careful to 
 avoid any discomposure of his dress or deportment, 
 but in the whirlwind of passion I lose all thoughts of 
 such matters.'* 
 
 He is said to have nourished a tender affection for 
 
190 MBS. SIDDONS. 
 
 the " Muse " beautiful, clever, fascinating, stuttering 
 Mrs. Inchbald. When her husband died, it was 
 universally said he would marry her. Fanny Kemble 
 tells an incident that occurred long after Kemble was 
 married. Mrs. Inchbald and Miss Mellon were sitting 
 by the fire-place in the green-room, waiting to be 
 called upon the stage. The two were laughingly dis- 
 cussing their male friends and acquaintances from the 
 matrimonial point of view. John Kemble, who was 
 standing near, at length jestingly said to Mrs. Inch- 
 bald, who had been comically energetic in her de- 
 clarations of whom she could or would or never could 
 or would have married, " Well, Mrs. Inchbald, would 
 you have had me ? " " Dear heart," said the stammer- 
 ing beauty, turning her sweet sunny face up to him, 
 " I 'd have j-j-j -jumped at you ! " 
 
 The lady he did eventually marry was no beauty 
 and no " Muse/' but, much to the indignation of Mrs. 
 Siddons, as people said at the time, a very ordinary 
 young woman, daughter of a Mr. and Mrs. Hopkins, 
 prompter and actress at Drury Lane. Priscilla, how- 
 ever, made him a good wife, and he never had cause to 
 regret his choice. 
 
 The next brother to John, Stephen, although almost 
 born on the stage, had none of the requisites either 
 of talent or facility to make him a good actor. Only 
 a few days before John's first appearance in London, 
 Stephen appeared before the public as Othello. It 
 was said that the manager had made a mistake, and 
 had engaged the " big " instead of the " great " Mr. 
 Kemble. Stephen's great boast all his life was that 
 he was the only actor who could play Falstaff " without 
 stuffing/' His qualifications were those of a boon 
 companion rather than of an actor. He very soon 
 
HERMIONE. 191 
 
 quitted the London stage and became manager of a 
 provincial theatre. 
 
 Frances, the great actress's second sister, inherited 
 a considerable portion of the family beauty, but little 
 dramatic power, and what she had was rendered 
 inoperative by her unconquerable shyness. Mrs. Sid- 
 dons first brought her out at Bath. The papers vented 
 their spleen against the elder sister on the younger. 
 It was natural, they said, that she should wish to bring 
 her forward, but they hoped she had learned, by the 
 utter failure of her attempt, not to " cram incapable 
 actresses down the throats of the public/' One of the 
 theatrical critics, Steevens, fell in love with her ; but 
 his proposals being rejected, he became her bitterest 
 enemy. 
 
 Mrs. Siddons writes to tell Dr. Whalley of this love 
 affair : tf My sister Frances is not married, and, I 
 believe, there is very little reason to suppose she will 
 be soon. In point of circumstances, I believe, the 
 gentleman you mention would be a desirable husband ; 
 but I hear so much of his ill-temper, and know so 
 much of his caprice, that, though my sister, I believe, 
 likes him, I cannot wish her gentle spirit linked with 
 his." 
 
 Mrs. Siddons had judged her sister's suitor exactly. 
 The engagement was soon broken off, and the girl 
 married Mr. Twiss, another dramatic critic, whom 
 Fanny Kemble, in her Records of a Girlhood, describes 
 as a grim-visaged, gaunt-figured, kind-hearted gentle- 
 man and profound scholar, who, it was said, at one 
 time nourished a hopeless passion for Mrs. Siddons. 
 The Twisses later set up a genteel seminary at Bath, 
 where fashionable young ladies were sent " to be 
 bettered." Mrs. Twiss died in October 1822, and Mr. 
 
192 MBS. SIDDONS. 
 
 Twiss in 1827. Mrs. Siddons ever kept up the most 
 affectionate intercourse with them, and their son 
 Horace Twiss was her favourite nephew. 
 
 Her next sister, Elizabeth, though apprenticed to a 
 mantua-maker, was soon bitten with the dramatic 
 enthusiasm of the family. She obtained an engage- 
 ment through the influence of her famous sister, but 
 made no way in London; and after her marriage with 
 Mr. Whitelock, one of the managers of the Chester 
 company, in 1785, she went with him to America, 
 where she seems to have had some success. 
 
 Mrs. Whitelock, we are told, was a taller and fairer 
 woman than Mrs. Siddons. When she returned to 
 England years later, she wore an auburn wig, which, 
 like the tall cap that surmounted it, was always on 
 one side. She was a simple-hearted, sweet-tempered 
 woman, but very imperfectly educated. Her Kemble 
 name, face, figure, and voice helped her in the United 
 States, but her own qualifications were but meagre. 
 Nothing could be droller, we are told, than to see her 
 with Mrs. Siddons, of whom she looked like a clumsy, 
 badly-finished imitation. Her vehement gestures and 
 violent objurgations contrasted comically with her sis- 
 ter's majestic stillness of manner ; and when occasion- 
 ally Mrs. Siddons would interrupt her with " Elizabeth, 
 your wig is on one side," and the other replied, 
 " Oh, is it ? " and, giving the offending head-gear a 
 shove, put it quite as crooked in the other direction, 
 and proceeded with her discourse, Melpomene herself 
 used to have recourse to her snuff-box to hide the 
 dawning smile on her face. 
 
 Another sister, Jane, appeared in Lady Randolph 
 at Newcastle when she was nineteen. She had all the 
 Kemble faults in acting carried to excess. She was, 
 
HEEMIONE. 193 
 
 besides, short and fat ; and when a character in the 
 play, describing her death, said, " She ran, she flew, 
 like lightning up the hill," the audience roared with 
 laughter. Shortly after this discouraging attempt she 
 married a Mr. Mason, of Edinburgh, and retired from 
 the profession. She died in 1834, leaving a husband, 
 five sons, and a daughter, who almost all went on the 
 stage. With one unfortunate exception, the Kemble 
 family were remarkable for their decorous, well-regu- 
 lated lives. Although all the brothers married actresses, 
 their children were admirably brought up, and their 
 households models of propriety. The unfortunate 
 exception we mentioned was Ann Curtis, the fourth 
 sister. To a woman of Mrs. Siddons's proud, sensi- 
 tive temper, the vagaries of this wretched woman must 
 have been painful beyond expression. She was said to 
 be lame, which prevented her going on the stage. In 
 1783, the year of her great triumph in London, the 
 young actress had the pleasure of reading in all the 
 papers the following advertisement. Under the guise 
 of charity it is easy to see the motive that prompted it, 
 and shows the envy and malignity that pursued her 
 during her career. 
 
 DONATIONS IN FAVOUB OF MBS. CURTIS, YOUNGEST SISTER OF 
 MBS. SIDDONS. 
 
 A private individual, whose humanity is far more extensive than 
 her means, having taken the case of the unfortunate MBS. CUBTIS into 
 consideration, pitying her youth, respecting her talents for the stage, 
 which, unhappily, misfortune has rendered useless, and desirous to 
 restore a useful member to Society, earnestly entreats the interference 
 of a generous public in her behalf, that she may be enabled by the 
 efforts of humanity to procure such necessaries as may be requisite 
 to relieve her immediate distress, and for her getting her bread by 
 needlework, artificial flowers, &c., in which she is well skilled, and in 
 which she will be happy to be well employed. Mrs. Curtis is the 
 youngest sister of Messrs. Kemble and Mrs. Siddons, whom she has 
 
 13 
 
194 MRS. 8IDDON8. 
 
 repeatedly solicited for relief, -which they have flatly refused her ; it 
 therefore becomes necessary to solicit, in her behalf, the benevolent 
 generosity of that public who have so liberally supported them. 
 
 Deny not to Affliction Pity's tear, 
 
 For Virtue's fairest when she aids Distress ! 
 
 Mrs. Curtis's Search After Happiness. 
 
 Donations will be thankfully received at Mr. Ayre's, Printer of the 
 Sunday London Gazette and Weekly Monitor, &c., No. 5 Bridges 
 Street, opposite Drury Lane Theatre ; and at No. 21 King Street, 
 Covent Garden. 
 
 All efforts to reclaim her being unavailing, she 
 gradually descended lower and lower in the social scale. 
 Rumours were circulated of her having attempted to 
 poison herself, and again her brother and sister were 
 accused of undue harshness ; but almost everything 
 connected with the case points to their having done all 
 they could, though she proved perfectly irreclaimable! 
 During the latter part of her life she was allowed a 
 small annuity of twenty pounds a year, which was 
 continued to her in Mrs. Siddons's will. She lived 
 until 1838. 
 
 Charles, who approached more nearly in intellectual 
 powers to his celebrated sister and brother than any of 
 the others, was nearly twenty years younger than Mrs. 
 Siddons. When thirteen years of age, he was sent 
 by John Kemble to Douay College, where he remained 
 three years. He appeared at Drury Lane in 1794. 
 He was a gentlemanly, refined actor; there were 
 certain characters which he made entirely his own. 
 Charles married, in 1806, an actress of the name of 
 De Camp. Like Mrs. Garrick, she had been a ballet- 
 dancer, and had come over from Vienna, brought by 
 Garrick with the rest of the troupe. In consequence 
 of a riot directed against the employment of foreigners, 
 the greater part of the troupe was obliged to return to 
 
HERMIONE. 195 
 
 Vienna. Miss De Camp, however, remained, learnt 
 English, and, by dint of perseverance, achieved a good 
 position at Drury Lane. They had three children 
 Adelaide, who sang professionally, but soon left the 
 stage to marry Mr. Sartoris ; Fanny, authoress of the 
 Record of a Girlhood, who became Mrs. Butler ; and a 
 son, John Mitchell Kemble. Charles Kemble suffered 
 much from deafness during the latter years of his 
 life, and was entirely ruined by his gift of the share 
 in Covent Garden valued at .50,000. Mrs. Siddons 
 reappeared for his benefit on the 9th June 1819. 
 
 Mrs. Siddons had five children who lived to grow 
 up Henry, who was born at Wolverhampton on the 
 4th October 1774; Sarah Martha, born at Gloucester, 
 November 5th, 1775 ; Maria, born at Bath, July 1st, 
 1779 ; George, born in London, December 27th, 1785 ; 
 and Cecilia, born July 25th, 1794. She sent her son 
 Henry to France to study under Le Kain. He went 
 on the stage, but had none of the qualifications of a 
 good actor. 
 
 Mrs. Siddons, with her usual sensible acceptance 
 of things as they were, tried to make the best of his 
 powers. On the occasion of his first appearance, she 
 writes to Mrs. Inchbald from Bannister's, where she 
 was stopping with her friend Mrs. Fitzhugh : 
 
 " I received your kind letter, and thank you very 
 much for the interest you have taken in my dear 
 Harry's success. It gives me great pleasure to find 
 that Mr. Harris appreciates his talents, which I think 
 highly of, and which, I believe, will grow to great 
 perfection by fostering, on the one hand, and care and 
 industry on the other. I have little doubt of Mr. 
 Harris's liberality, and none of the laudable ambition of 
 my son to obtain it. It is so long since I have felt any- 
 
 13 * 
 
196 MRS. SIDDON8. 
 
 thing like joy, that it appears like a dream to me, and 
 I believe I shall not be able quite to convince myself 
 that this is real till I am present 'to attend the 
 triumph and partake the gale.' I am all anxiety and 
 impatience to hear the effect of Hamlet. It is a tre- 
 mendous undertaking for so young a creature, and 
 where so perfect a model has been so long contem- 
 plated. I was frightened when I yesterday received 
 information of it. Oh ! I hope to God he will get well 
 through it. Adieu, dear Muse." 
 
 Henry Siddons soon quitted the stage, married a 
 Miss Murray, daughter of an actor, and herself an 
 actress, and in 1808 became manager of the Edinburgh 
 Theatre. 
 
 The death of her daughter Maria was the first 
 serious grief Mrs. Siddons had known. We have 
 touched on Lawrence the painter's proposal to her, 
 and the transference of his affection, after a short 
 engagement, to her sister Sarah. Mrs. Siddons did 
 everything she could to soften the blow to the poor 
 deserted girl. We find her writing in desperation to 
 her old friend Tate Wilkinson : 
 
 ' ' My plans for the summer are so arranged that I 
 have no chance of the pleasure of seeing you. The 
 illness of my second daughter has deranged all 
 schemes of pleasure as well as profit. I thank God 
 she is better; but the nature of her constitution is 
 such that it will be long ere we can reasonably banish 
 the fear of an approaching consumption. It is dread- 
 ful to see an innocent, lovely young creature daily 
 sinking under the languor of illness, which may ter- 
 minate in death at last, in spite of the most vigilant 
 tenderness. A parent's misery under this distress you 
 can more easily imagine than I can describe ; but if 
 
HEEMIONE. 197 
 
 you are the man I take you for, you will not refuse 
 me a favour. It would, indeed, be a great comfort to 
 us all, if you would allow our dear Patty to come to 
 us on our return to town in the autumn, to stay with 
 us a few months. I am sure it would do my poor 
 Maria so much good, for the physician tells me she 
 will require the same confinement and the same care 
 the next winter; and let it not offend the pride of 
 my good friend when I beg it to be understood that I 
 wish to defray the expense of her journey. Do, dear 
 soul, grant my request. Give my kind compliments 
 to your family, my love to my own dear Patty, and 
 accept yourself the best and most cordial wishes of 
 
 " S. SIDDONS." 
 
 From this time until Mrs. Siddons's death, Patty 
 Wilkinson never left her house, and remained ever the 
 intimate and beloved friend of her and her daughters. 
 
 Maria was taken to Clifton at the doctor's sugges- 
 tion, while Mrs. Siddons went a provincial tour to 
 make money enough to meet the heavy demands upon 
 her purse. At last even the poor mother saw all 
 efforts were unavailing, and when, on the 6th October 
 1798, the blow at last came, she met it with resigna- 
 tion and courage. To Mrs. Fitzhugh she wrote : 
 
 " Although my mind is not yet sufficiently tranquil- 
 lised to talk much, yet the conviction of your unde- 
 viating affection impels me to quiet your anxiety so 
 far as to tell you that I am tolerably well. This sad 
 event I have been long prepared for, and bow with 
 humble resignation to the decree of that merciful God 
 who has taken to Himself the dear angel I must ever 
 tenderly lament. I dare not trust myself further. 
 Oh ! that you were here, that I might talk to you of 
 
198 MBS. 8IDDON8. 
 
 her death-bed in dignity of mind and pious resigna- 
 tion far surpassing the imagination of Rousseau and 
 Richardson in their Helo'ise and Clarissa Harlowe ; for 
 hers was, I believe, from the immediate inspiration of ' 
 the Divinity." 
 
 Troubles now began to fall thick and heavy. Mr. t 
 Siddons, actuated by a morbid jealousy of his wife's 
 energy and success, entered into a connection with 
 Sadler's Wells Theatre without consulting her, or 
 even taking her into his confidence. A considerable 
 amount of her savings were sacrificed to save him from 
 his ill-advised venture. In spite of ill-health and lassi- 
 tude, however, we find her unmurmuringly taking up 
 her burden to make good the loss. On the 14th of 
 July 1801 she writes again to Mrs. Fitzhugh : 
 
 " In about a fortnight I expect to commence my 
 journey to Bath. Mr. Siddons is there, for he finds no . 
 relief from his rheumatism elsewhere. His accounts 
 of himself are less favourable than those of anyone 
 who writes to me about him ; but I hope and trust 
 that we shall find him better than he himself thinks ,- 
 for I know by sad experience with what difficulty a 
 mind, weakened by long and uninterrupted suffering, 
 admits hope, much less assurance. I shall be here till 
 next Saturday, and after that time at Lancaster till 
 Tuesday, the 28th; thence I shall go immediately to 
 Bath, where I shall have about a month's quiet, and 
 then begin to play at Bristol for a few nights. ' Such 
 resting finds the sole of unblest feet ! ' When we 
 shall come to London is uncertain, for nothing is 
 . settled by Mr. Sheridan, and I think it not impossible 
 that my winter may be spent in Dublin ; for I must go 
 on making to secure the few comforts that I have been 
 able to attain for myself and my family. It is provi- 
 
HERMIONE. 199 
 
 dential for us all that I can do so much ; but I hope 
 it is not wrong to say that I am tired, and should be 
 glad to be at rest indeed. I hope yet to see the day 
 when I can be quiet. My mouth is not yet well [she 
 had had an attack of erysipelas, the disease that was 
 ultimately to kill her], though somewhat less exqui- 
 sitely painful. I have become a frightful object with 
 it for some time, and, I believe, this complaint has 
 robbed me of those poor remains of beauty once 
 admired at least, which, in your partial eyes, I once 
 possessed." 
 
 She did not go to Dublin, but returned early in the 
 following year to Drury Lane, where she performed 
 above forty times. 
 
 On the 25th March 1802 she performed for the first 
 time Hermione in the Winter's Tale. The enacting 
 of this part is to be counted amongst her great suc- 
 cesses. It was more suitable to her age and appear- 
 ance than others that she undertook in later life. On 
 the second or third night she had a narrow escape of 
 being burned to death. We can give the incident as 
 related in a letter to Mrs. Fitzhugh : 
 
 " London, April 1802. 
 
 " . . . Except for a day or two, the weather has 
 been very favourable to me hitherto. I trust it may 
 continue so, for the Winters Tale promises to be very 
 attractive ; and, whilst it continues so, I am bound in 
 honour and conscience to put my shoulder to the 
 wheel, for it has been attended with great expense to 
 the managers, and, if I can keep warm, I trust I shall 
 continue tolerably well. As to my plans, they are, as 
 usual, all uncertain, and I am precisely in the situation 
 of poor Lady Percy, to whom Hotspur comically says : 
 
200 MBS. SID DONS. 
 
 ' I trust thou wilt not utter what thou dost not know.' 
 This must continue to be the case, in a great measure, 
 whilst I continue to be the servant of the public, for 
 whom (and let it not be thought vain) I can never 
 sufficiently exert myself. I really think they receive 
 me every night with greater and greater testimonies 
 of approbation. I know it will give you pleasure to 
 hear this, my dear Friend, and you will not suspect 
 me of deceiving myself in this particular. The other 
 night had very nearly terminated all my exertion, for 
 whilst I was standing for the statue in the Winter's 
 Tale, my drapery flew over the lamps that were placed 
 behind the pedestal. It caught fire, and had it not 
 been for one of the scene-men, who most humanely, 
 crept on his knees and extinguished it without my 
 knowing anything of the matter, I might have been 
 burnt to death, or, at all events, I should have been 
 frightened out of my senses. Surrounded as I was 
 with muslin, the flame would have run like wildfire. 
 The bottom of the train was entirely burned. But for 
 the man's promptitude, it would seem as if my fate 
 would have been inevitable. I have well rewarded the 
 good man, and I regard my deliverance as a most- 
 gracious interposition of Providence. There is a 
 special providence in the fall of a sparrow. Here I 
 am safe and well, God be praised ! and may His good- 
 ness make me profit, as I ought, by the time that is 
 vouchsafed me." 
 
 We later find her making every exertion to rescue 
 the son of the man who had saved her, from punish- 
 ment for Desertion. 
 
 "I have written myself almost blind for the last 
 three days, worrying everybody to get a poor young 
 
HERMIONE. 201 
 
 man, who otherwise bears a most excellent character, 
 saved from the disgrace and hideous torture of the 
 lash, to which he has exposed himself. I hope to God 
 I shall succeed. He is the son of the man by me 
 ever to be blest who preserved me from being burned 
 to death in the Winter's Tale. The business has cost 
 me a great deal of time, but if I attain my purpose I 
 shall be richly paid. It is twelve o'clock at night; I am 
 tired very much. To-morrow is my last appearance. 
 In a few days I shall go to see my dear girl, 
 Cecilia. How I long to see the darling ! Oh ! how 
 you would have enjoyed my entree in Constance last 
 night. I was received really as if it had been my first 
 appearance in the season. I have gone about to break- 
 fasts and dinners for this unfortunate young man, till 
 I am quite worn out with them. You know how plea- 
 sure, as it is called, fatigues." 
 
MRS. SIDDONti. 
 
 CHAPTEK XIII. 
 
 SORROWS. 
 
 THOUGH still suffering from enfeebled health, Mrs. 
 Siddons again made up her mind to visit Dublin in- 
 the spring of 1802. A strange depression, partly the 
 result of physical weakness, and partly the result of 
 mental anxiety, came over her courageous spirit, 
 paralysing all energy, and breaking down her usual 
 calm composure. We find this woman, who to the 
 outside public presented a cold and hard exterior, 
 weeping hysterically on taking leave of her friends. ( 
 She told Mr. Greatheed she felt that before they met 
 again a great affliction would have fallen on them both. 
 They never did meet till after the death of his son 
 Bertie and her daughter Sarah. To Mrs. Piozzi she 
 wrote : 
 
 " May 1802. 
 
 " Farewell, my beloved friend a long, long fare- 
 well ! Oh, such a day as this has been ! To leave all 
 that is dear to me. I have been surrounded by my 
 family, and my eyes have dwelt with a foreboding 
 tenderness, too painful, on the venerable face of my 
 dear father, that tells me I shall look on it no more. 
 
SORROWS. 20S 
 
 I commit my children to your friendly protection, with 
 a full and perfect reliance on the goodness you have 
 always manifested towards me. 
 
 " Your ever faithful and affectionate 
 
 "S. SlDDONS." 
 
 The mother's heart could have hardly had a fore- 
 boding of the second affliction about to fall on her 
 then. A few weeks after she had taken her departure 
 from Marlborough Street, Sally describes to Patty 
 Wilkinson, who had accompanied Mrs. Siddons, picnics 
 and parties she and her friend Dorothy Place had 
 attended, much to their amusement and delight. The 
 girl gives an account also of her brother Henry'a 
 marriage with Miss Murray, who, she says, " looked 
 very beautiful in a white chip hat, with a lace cap 
 under it, her long dark pelisse tied together with 
 purple bows ready for travelling," and mentions how 
 she and Dorothy "laughed uproariously" at a play 
 they had "attended." Yet death had already laid his 
 hand on this bright young life. 
 
 Mrs. Siddons proceeded on her melancholy journey, 
 stopping to pay a visit to Shakespeare's house at Strat- 
 ford, and thence to North Wales, where, at Conway 
 Castle and Penman Mawr, they did the tourist busi- 
 ness of gazing at sunsets through ruined windows, 
 and listening to Welsh harpers harping below. ' f ln 
 that romantic time and place/' Campbell tells us in 
 his ambiguous way, Mrs. Siddons " honoured the 
 humblest poet of her acquaintance by remembering 
 him ; and, let the reader blame or pardon my egotism 
 as he may think n't, I cannot help transcribing what 
 the Diarist adds : Mrs. Siddons said : ' I wish that 
 Campbell were here/ ' 
 
204 MRS. SIDDONS. 
 
 The bathos is complete when, the poet tells us, on 
 Miss Wilkinson's authority, that while looking at a 
 magnificent landscape of rocks and water, a lady within 
 hearing of them exclaimed in ecstasy : " This awful 
 scenery makes me feel as if I were only a worm, or 
 a grain of dust, on the face of th6 earth." Mrs. Sid- 
 dons turned round and said, " I feel very differently ! " 
 
 She spent two months acting successfully in Dublin ; 
 then she went to Cork, and then to Belfast. On her 
 return to Dublin she received the news of the death of 
 her father at the ripe age of eighty-two. Although 
 not unexpected, the severance of this life-long affection, 
 coming, as it did, at a time when other sorrows and 
 anxieties weighed on her, was a trying blow, and we 
 find her writing to Dr. Whalley with a certain irrita- 
 tion that betrays her state of mind, and also betrays 
 her attitude towards her husband at this time on 
 money matters. 
 
 " I thank you for your kind condolence. My dear 
 father died the death of the righteous ; may my last 
 end be like his, without a groan. With respect to my 
 dear Mrs. Pennington, my heart is too much alive to 
 her unhappy situation, and my affection for her too 
 lively, to have induced the necessity of opening a 
 wound which is of itself too apt to bleed. Indeed, 
 indeed, my dear Sir, there was no occasion to recall 
 those sad and tender scenes to soften my nature ; but 
 let it pass. You need not be informed, I imagine, that 
 such a sum as 80 is too considerable to be imme- 
 diately produced out of a woman's quarterly allow- 
 ance ; but, as I have not the least doubt of Mr. Siddons 
 oeing ready and willing to offer this testimony of 
 regard and gratitude, I beg you will arrange the busi- 
 ness with him immediately. I will write to him this 
 
SORROWS. 205 
 
 day, if I can find a moment's time. If you can devise 
 any quicker mode of accomplishing your amiable 
 purpose, rely upon my paying the 80 within the next 
 six months. For God's sake do not let it slip through. 
 If I knew how to send the money from here, I would 
 do it this instant ; but, considering the delay of 
 distance, and the caprice of wind and sea, it will be 
 more expeditiously done by Mr. Siddons. God bless 
 and restore you to perfect health and tranquillity." 
 
 We can read between the lines of this letter, as we 
 know that about this time she received a pressing 
 request from her husband for money to fit out their 
 son George for India, and to pay debts incurred on the 
 decoration of the house in Great Marlborough Street, 
 suggesting that in consequence she had better accept 
 an engagement in Liverpool. She preferred, however, 
 though harassed by disagreements with Jones the 
 manager, to remain in Dublin. A report was circu- 
 lated, as on the occasion of her first visit to Ireland, 
 that she had refused to play for the benefit of the 
 Lying-in Hospital, a charity much patronised by the 
 Dublin ladies. She indignantly refuted this accusa- 
 tion, ending with words that show her state of mental 
 suffering : 
 
 " It is hard to bear at one and the same time the 
 pressure of domestic sorrow, the anxiety of business, 
 and the necessity of healing a wounded reputation ; 
 but such is the rude enforcement of the time, and I 
 must sustain it as I am enabled by that Power who 
 tempers the wind to the shorn lamb." 
 
 Her son George came and spent a fortnight with 
 her before his departure for India, and the news from 
 home concerning her daughter still seemed good. 
 Like a thunderbolt, therefore, from a summer sky, 
 
206 MRS. SIDDONS. 
 
 came a letter from Mr. Siddons addressed to Miss Wil- 
 kinson, saying that Sally was very ill, but begging her 
 not to make Mrs. Siddons anxious by telling her. Miss 
 Wilkinson, however, felt it to be her duty to show the 
 letter. The mother's heart divined all that was not 
 said. She declared her intention of starting for Eng- 
 land without delay. A violent gale had blown for 
 some days, and no vessel would leave the harbour. 
 Two days later a reassuring letter came from Siddons 
 addressed to his wife, telling her all was well again, 
 and advising her to go to Cork. She went, but her 
 miserable state of mind may be guessed from a letter 
 addressed to Mrs. Fitzhugh : 
 
 " Cork, March 21st, 1803.; 
 " MY DEAR FRIEND, 
 
 " How shall I sufficiently thank you for all 
 your kindness to me ? You know my heart, and I may 
 spare my words, for, God knows, my mind is in so 
 distracted a state, that I can hardly write or speak 
 rationally. Oh ! why did not Mr. Siddons tell me 
 when she was first taken so ill ? I should then have 
 got clear of this engagement, and what a world of 
 wretchedness and anxiety would have been spared to 
 me ! And yet good God ! how should I have crossed 
 the sea? For a fortnight past it has been so dan 
 gerous, that nothing but wherries have ventured to 
 the Holy Head; but yet I think I should have put 
 myself into one of them if I could have known that 
 my poor dear girl was so ill. Oh ! tell me all about her. 
 I am almost broken-hearted, though the last accounts 
 tell me that she has been mending for several days. 
 Has she wished for me ? But I know I feel that she 
 has. The dear creature used to think it weakness in 
 
SORROWS. 207 
 
 \ 
 
 me when I told her of the possibility of what might 
 be endured from illness when that tremendous element 
 divides one from one's family. Would to God I were 
 at her bedside ! It would be for me then to suffer 
 with resignation what I cannot now support with any 
 fortitude. If anything could relieve the misery I feel, 
 it would be that my dear and inestimable Sir Lucas 
 Pepys had her under his care. Pray tell him this, 
 and ask him to write me a word of comfort. Will 
 you believe that I must play to-night, and can you 
 imagine any wretchedness like it in this terrible state 
 of mind ? For a moment I comfort myself by reflect- 
 ing on the strength of the dear creature's constitution, 
 which has so often rallied, to the astonishment of us 
 all, under similar serious attacks. Then, again, when 
 I think of the frail tenure of human existence, my 
 heart fails and sinks into dejection. God bless you ! 
 The suspense that distance keeps me in, you may 
 imagine, but it cannot be described." 
 
 Meantime, no letters came. The winds raged with- 
 out, and no vessel could cross. At the end of the 
 week the news that arrived was not satisfactory. She 
 made up her mind to throw up her engagement at any 
 cost, and return. She and Patty Wilkinson set out 
 for Dublin; there they were again detained, and 
 received no news. Nearly beside herself with anxiety, 
 she again appealed to Mrs. Fitzhugh : 
 
 11 Dublin, April 2nd, 1803. 
 
 " I am perfectly astonished, my dear Friend, that I 
 have not heard from you after begging it so earnestly. 
 Good God ! what can be the reason that intelligence 
 must be extorted, as it were, in circumstances like 
 
208 MRS. SIDDONS. 
 
 mine ? One would think common benevolence, setting 
 affection quite aside, might have induced some of you 
 to alleviate as much as possible such distress as you 
 know I must feel. The last letter from Mr. Siddons 
 stated that she was better. Another letter from Mr. 
 Montgomery, at Oxford, says that George gave him the 
 same account. Why why am I to hear this only 
 from a person at that distance from her, and so ill- 
 informed as the writer must be of the state of her 
 health ? Why should not you or Mr. Siddons have 
 told me this ? I cannot account for your silence at 
 all, for you know how to feel. I hope to sail to-night, 
 and to reach London the third day. God knows when 
 that will be. Oh God ! what a home to return to, 
 after all I have been doing ! and what a prospect to 
 the end of my days." 
 
 At last she was able to cross to Holyhead. At 
 Shrewsbury she received a letter from Mr. Siddons 
 confirming the worst accounts of Sally's illness, but 
 begging her to "remember the preciousness of her 
 own life, and not to endanger it by over-rapid travel- 
 ling." As she read, Miss Wilkinson was called from 
 the room ; a messenger had arrived with the news 0f 
 the girl's death. Mrs. Siddons guessed what had 
 happened by the expression of Miss Wilkinson's face 
 when she returned, and, sinking back speechless, lay 
 for a day " cold and torpid as a stone, with scarcely 
 a sign of life." 
 
 Her own family came forward with consolation and 
 help. Her brother John wrote a letter, which she 
 received at Oxford ; her brother Charles came to meet 
 her, and conducted her on her first visit to her 
 widowed mother. Every other grief had sunk into 
 insignificance by the side of the death of her daughter. 
 
SORROWS. 209 
 
 So worn out was she with misery and overwork, that 
 the doctors recommended the quiet and bracing air of 
 Cheltenham. We get a glimpse of her frame of mind 
 in a letter addressed thence to her friend Mrs. Fitz- 
 hugh in June 1803 : 
 
 "The serenity of the place, the sweet air and 
 scenery of my cottage, and the medicinal effect of the 
 waters, have done some good to my shattered constitu- 
 tion. I am unable at times to reconcile myself to my 
 fate. The darling being for whom I mourn is 
 assuredly released from a life of suffering, and num- 
 bered among the blessed spirits made perfect. But to 
 be separated for ever, in spite of reason, and in spite 
 of religion, is at times too much for me. Give my 
 love to dear Charles Moore, if you chance to see him. 
 Have you read his beautiful account of my sweet 
 Sally ? It is done with a truth and modesty which 
 has given me the sincerest of all pleasures that I am 
 now allowed to feel, and assures me still more than 
 ever that he who could feel and taste such excellence 
 was worthy of the particular regard she had for 
 him. 5 ' 
 
 The life out of doors at Birch Farm, reading " under 
 the haystack in the farm-yard," rambling in the fields, 
 and " musing in the orchard," gradually soothed the 
 poignancy of her grief. " Rising at six and going to 
 bed at ten, has brought me to my comfortable sleep 
 once more/' she writes. " The bitterness and an- 
 guish of selfish grief begins to subside, and the 
 tender recollections of excellence and virtues gone 
 to the blessed place of their eternal reward, are 
 now the sad though sweet companions of my lonely 
 walks." 
 
 In spite of all her stoicism and resolve, however, the 
 
 14 
 
210 MRS. SIDDONS. 
 
 sense of her loss would come back, carrying away all 
 artificial barriers of restraint. 
 
 "If he thinks himself unfortunate," she wrote of a 
 friend, (C let him look on me and be silent ' the 
 inscrutable ways of Providence.' Two lovely creatures 
 gone, and another is just arrived from school with all 
 the dazzling frightful sort of beauty that irradiated the 
 countenance of Maria, and makes me shudder when I 
 look at her. I feel myself like poor Niobe grasping to 
 her bosom the last and youngest of her children ; and, 
 like her, look every moment for the vengeful arrow of 
 destruction. Alas ! my dear Friend, can it be won- 
 dered at that I long for the land where they are gone 
 to prepare their mother's place? What have I here.? 
 Yet here, even here, I could be content to linger still in 
 peace and calmness content is all I wish. But I must 
 again enter into the bustle of the world ; for though 
 fame and fortune have given me all I wish, yet while 
 my presence and my exertions here may be useful to 
 others, I do not think myself at liberty to give myself 
 up to my own selfish gratification. The second great 
 commandment is ' Love thy neighbour as thyself,' and 
 in this way I shall most probably best make my way 
 to Heaven." 
 
 How inscrutable, indeed, are the ways of Provi- 
 dence. Sally was her eldest daughter and her dearest 
 child. She had been born two months before that 
 terrible period of probation and failure at Drury Lane. 
 Hers were the baby fingers, hers the baby voice, that 
 had coaxed the poor young mother back to resignation 
 and courage. She was twenty-seven when she was 
 taken, and had ever been the sunshine of the home. 
 Yes, she was the dearest. Strange that, deaf to our 
 anguish and suffering, those are so often they who are 
 
SORROWS. 211 
 
 taken. If a heart in such a trial can still believe and 
 trust and love, then it is faith indeed heaven-born, 
 sublime. And such, we see, was the broken-hearted 
 mother's. 
 
 During her stay at Birch Farm, John Kemble, 
 Charles Moore, and Miss Dorothy Place, her daughter 
 Sally's particular friend, came to stay with her. In 
 July they all of them made an excursion along the 
 Wye, after which she paid a visit to her friend Mr. 
 Fitzhugh at Bannister's, and then returned to London, 
 where she made an engagement to act the following 
 winter at Covent Garden. 
 
 Other trials awaited Mrs. Siddons, trials that, to 
 a woman of her proud and sensitive temper, must 
 have been torture in the extreme. Whatever her 
 sufferings had been in the course of her professional 
 career, from scandal and misrepresentation, her cha- 
 racter as a wife and mother had been untouched. 
 Now, when no longer young, and anxious to escape 
 from the harassing turmoil of the stage into the 
 dignity and calm of a domestic life, surrounded by her 
 children and friends, a blow fell on her under which, 
 for the time, she almost sank. The circumstance is 
 not alluded to either by Campbell or Boaden, but is 
 so interwoven with Mrs. Siddons's existence, and so 
 colours her mode of thought at the time, that it can 
 hardly be passed over. 
 
 Mrs. Siddons met Katherine Galindo, author of 
 the libel, at the theatre in Dublin. She was a 
 subordinate actress, and her husband a fencing- 
 master. It is difficult to understand how she can have 
 become so intimate, except that her own perfect sin- 
 cerity and openness led her to bestow confidence on a 
 variety of persons, many of them not in any way 
 
 14 
 
212 MBS. 8IDDONS. 
 
 worthy of it. Her daughter, Cecilia, who later wrote 
 Recollections of her mother, says that, instead of being 
 hard and calculating, as the outside public imagined, 
 her mother was, on the contrary, too easy too much 
 disposed to be ruled by people inferior in every way to 
 herself, credulous to an extraordinary extent, always 
 trusting to appearances, and never willing to suspect 
 anyone. Perhaps, also, the great actress's weakness 
 was a wish to " make use " of people, and a love of 
 flattery both dangerous qualities for a woman in her 
 position, laying her open, as they did, to the machina- 
 tions of adventurers. Be it as it may, we are as- 
 tounded at the girlish sentimentality of the letters she 
 wrote to the Galindos. Allowing even for the Laura 
 Matilda style of expression of the period, they show 
 the substratum of romanticism that underlies her cha- 
 racter. The Galindos accompanied her to Cork, and 
 then to Killarney. Mrs. Siddons used all her influ- 
 ence to induce Harris, of Covent Garden, to give Mrs. 
 Galindo an engagement ; but Kemble, when he ar- 
 rived from abroad, refused to ratify it. A letter from 
 Mrs. Inchbald says : 
 
 " When Kemble returned from Spain in 1803, 
 he came to me like a madman, said Mrs. Siddons 
 had been imposed upon by persons whom it was 
 a disgrace to her to know, and he begged me to 
 explain it so to her. He requested Harris to with- 
 draw his promise of his engaging Mrs. G. at Mrs. 
 Siddons's request. Yet such was his tenderness to his 
 sister's sensibility, that he would not undeceive her 
 himself. Mr. Kemble blamed me, and I blamed him 
 for his reserve, and I have never been so cordial since. 
 Nor/' ends Mrs. Inchbald, with the prim self- 
 sufficiency quite consistent with what we know of the 
 
SORROWS. 213 
 
 " dear Muse," " have I ever admired Mrs. Siddons 
 so much since ; for, though I can pity a dupe, I 
 must also despise one. Even to be familiar with 
 such people was a lack of virtue, though not of 
 chastity.'' 
 
 We read later in Rogers's Table Talk that, not 
 long before Mrs. Inchbald's death he met her walk- 
 ing near Charing Cross, and we are not astonished to 
 be told that she had been calling on several old 
 friends, but had seen none of them some being really 
 not at home, and others denying themselves to her. 
 ff I called," she said, " on Mrs. Siddons. I knew she 
 was at home, yet I was not admitted/' 
 
 To return, however, to the Galindos. The wretched 
 woman was stung to the quick by the withdrawal of 
 her engagement at Covent Garden, and although Mrs. 
 Siddons advanced a thousand pounds to the hus- 
 band to buy a share in a provincial theatre, and 
 showed them much kindness, the jealous and infuriated 
 wife published in pamphlet form a wild and libellous 
 attack on the great actress, to which she added the 
 letters that had passed between them in their days 
 of intimacy. By artfully turning and suppressing 
 sentences here and there, she succeeded in giving a 
 significance never intended in the originals. Although 
 she said she had advanced nothing but what she could 
 substantiate by the most certain evidence, if called 
 upon to do so, she gave no proof whatever except of 
 her own wild jealousy and unreasoning disappointment 
 at being refused an engagement at Coveut Garden. 
 
 It seems incredible that a woman of Mrs. Sid- 
 dons's social knowledge can have been so imprudent 
 as to enter into such an intimacy, and to write in 
 such a strain of deep affection to people she had 
 
214 MBS. 8IDDON8. 
 
 known only so short a time. The following is a speci- 
 men : 
 
 " Holyhead, Sunday, 12 o'clock. 
 
 " For some hours we had scarce a breath of wind, 
 and the vessel seemed to leave your coast as unwillingly 
 as your poor friend. About six o'clock this morning 
 the snowy tops of the mountains appeared ; they 
 chilled my heart, for I felt that they were emblematic 
 of the cold and dreary prospect before me. Mr. 
 has been very obliging ; he has just left us, but it is 
 probable we shall meet again upon the road. I 
 thought you would be glad to know we were safely 
 landed. I will hope, my beloved friends, for a renewal 
 of the days we have known, and in the meantime 
 endeavour to amuse and cheer my melancholy with 
 the recollection of past joys, though they be ' sweet 
 and mournful to the soul.' 
 
 " God bless you all, and do not forget 
 
 " Your faithful, affectionate, 
 
 " S. SIDDONS." 
 
 A little later she writes : 
 
 \ 
 
 " Pray ask Mr. G to send me those sweet lines 
 
 * To Hope ' that which he gave me is almost effaced 
 by my tears and let it be written by the same hand. 
 I could never describe what I have lost in you, my 
 beloved friends, and the sweet angel that is gone for 
 ever ! Good God ! what a deprivation in a few days. 
 Adieu ! Adieu ! " 
 
 Needless to say, this " screeching " friendship ended 
 as one might expect. As we have said, she failed to 
 obtain an engagement for Mrs. Galindo at Co vent 
 Garden, and lent Galindo a thousand pounds to help 
 
SORROWS. 215 
 
 him to take shares in a theatrical company at Man- 
 chester. He never repaid the thousand pounds, and 
 became abusive when she asked for it. She accused 
 him, in a letter addressed to Miss Wilkinson, of "hypo- 
 crisy and ingratitude/' and the wife accused her of 
 having nourished an affection passing the bounds of 
 propriety for her husband. All her real friends mus- 
 tered round her, but she suffered terribly. 
 She wrote to Dr. Whalley : 
 
 " Among all the kind attentions I have received, 
 none has comforted me more, my dear friend, than 
 your invaluable letter. I thank God all my friends 
 are exactly of your opinion with respect to the manner 
 of treating this diabolical business. To a delicate 
 mind publicity is in itself painful, and I trust that a 
 life of tolerable rectitude will justify my conduct to 
 my friends. I have been dreadfully shaken, but I 
 trust that the natural disposition to be well will shortly 
 restore me. My dear Cecilia is, indeed, all a fond 
 mother can wish/' 
 
216 MRS. SIDDONS. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 WESTBOURNE FARM. 
 
 JOHN KEMBLE was now both actor and manager at 
 Covent Garden, and the results were much more satis- 
 factory in every way to Mrs. Siddons. Harris the 
 proprietor was strictly punctual in his payments, and 
 the Kemble family, who numbered Charles Kenible 
 in their ranks, were sufficient to make the performances 
 attractive enough to the public. Mrs. Siddons appeared 
 in several of her old parts ; amongst others in Elvira, 
 when the actor Cooke came on so drunk as to be 
 unable to act his part. He did not improve matters 
 by attempting to excuse himself. He could only 
 articulate, " Ladies and Gentlemen, my old complaint," 
 when he was removed, and Henry Siddons had to read 
 his part. Fit pendant to the- night when he ap- 
 peared as Sir Archy Macsarcasm with Johnstone, who 
 was playing Sir Calaghan. There was a dead pause : 
 At last Johnstone, advancing to the footlights, said 
 with a strong brogue, "Ladies and Gentlemen, Mr. 
 Cooke says he can't spake," which bull was received 
 with roars of laughter and hisses. 
 
 The great actress performed sixty times that season. 
 
WESTBOURNE FARM. 217 
 
 At its conclusion she went on a visit to Mrs. Darner 
 at Strawberry Hill, where she met Louis Philippe, 
 afterwards King of France, and the Prince Regent. 
 The two ladies, whenever they were together, indulged 
 their passion for sculpture. As winter approached she 
 suffered much from rheumatism, and, for the sake of 
 country air, removed from Great Marlborough Street 
 to a cottage at Hampstead for a few weeks. Mr. 
 Siddons, who was also a martyr to rheumatism, had 
 advocated the change, and the old gentleman was 
 much delighted with his new abode. He ate his 
 dinner, and, looking out at the beautiful view that 
 stretched before the windows, observed, " Sally, this 
 will cure all our ailments." In spite of his hopes, 
 however, Mrs. Siddons was confined to bed for weeks 
 with acute rheumatism. She tried electricity with 
 some beneficial effect, but suffered anguish while 
 undergoing the treatment. 
 
 As the winter advanced they returned to town ; 
 but Mr. Siddons grew so much worse that he re- 
 solved to try the waters of Bath. Mrs. Siddons 
 parted, therefore, with her house in Marlborough 
 Street, and took lodgings for herself and Miss Wil- 
 kinson in Princes Street, Hanover Square. Her 
 landlord there was an upholsterer of the name of 
 Nixon. He and his wife always talked afterwards with 
 the deepest affection of Mrs. Siddons. One day, look- 
 ing at Nixon's card, she found that he was also an 
 undertaker, and said laughingly, " I engage your ser- 
 vices to bury me, Mr. Nixon." Twenty-seven years 
 afterwards Nixon did so. 
 
 During the winter and spring of 1804 and 1805 
 Mrs. Siddons only performed twice at Covent Garden, 
 partly in consequence of delicate health, partly in 
 
218 MRS. S1DDONS. 
 
 consequence of the appearance of Master Betty, the 
 " young Eoscius/' a prodigy whom the public ran after 
 with an enthusiasm that seems inexplicable. Managers 
 gave him sums that a Garrick or a Siddons were unable 
 to obtain ; his bust was done by the best sculptors ; his 
 portrait painted by the best artists, and verses written 
 in a style of idolatrous adulation were poured upon 
 this boy of thirteen. Actors and actresses were 
 obliged to appear on the stage with him to avoid giving 
 offence. Mrs. Siddons and Kemble, with praiseworthy 
 dignity, retired while the infatuation lasted. She went 
 to see him, however, and gave him what praise she 
 thought his due. Lord Abercorn came into her box, 
 declaring it was the finest acting he had ever seen. 
 " My lord," she answered, " he is a very clever, pretty 
 boy, but nothing more/' 
 
 Independently of the boy Betty, or any other trials 
 in her profession, Mrs. Siddons now began to long for 
 rest. We have seen how years before, when in Dublin, 
 she had expressed herself to Dr. Whalley : " I don't 
 build any castles, but cottages without end. May the 
 great Disposer of all events but permit me to spend 
 the evening of my toilsome, bustling day in a cottage 
 where I may sometimes have the converse and society 
 which will make me more worthy those imperishable 
 habitations which are prepared for the spirits of just 
 men made perfect ! " 
 
 In the April of 1805 she satisfied this wish by taking 
 a cottage at Westbourne, near Paddington. With the 
 help of Nixon she fitted it up luxuriously, built an 
 additional room behind for a studio, and laid out the 
 shrubbery and garden. Westbourne was then, we 
 are told, one of those delightful rural spots for which 
 Paddington was distinguished. It occupied a rising 
 
WESTBOURNE FARM. 219 
 
 ground, and commanded a lovely view of Hampstead,. 
 Highgate and the distant city. Mrs. Siddons's was 
 a small retired house, in a garden screened with poplars 
 and evergreens, resembling a modest rural vicarage, 
 standing, it is said, on the site now levelled for 
 the Great Western Railway Station. She loved, she 
 said, to escape from " the noise and din of London " 
 to the green fields surrounding her new home. 
 
 Here her friends congregated round her also. Miss 
 Berry and Madame D'Arblay both mention, in their 
 diaries, having spent an afternoon and met many 
 people at Mrs. Siddons's country retreat. 
 
 " I spoke in terms of rapture of Mrs. Siddons to 
 Incledon," Crabb Robinson tells us. " He replied, 
 ' Ah ! Sally 's a fine creature. She has a charming 
 place on the Edgware Road. I dined with her last 
 year, and she paid me one of the finest compliments I 
 ever received. I sang The Storm after dinner. She 
 cried and sobbed like a child. Taking both of my 
 hands she said, " All that I and ray brother ever did ia 
 nothing compared with the effect you produce." ' 
 
 The following lines were written by Mr. Siddons, 
 describing his wife's country retreat, during the last 
 visit he ever paid to it : 
 
 1. 
 
 Would you I 'd Westbourne Farm describe ; 
 
 I '11 do it then, and free from gall, 
 For sure it would be sin to gibe 
 
 A thing so pretty and so small. 
 
 The poplar walk, if you have strength, 
 Will take a minute's time to step it ; 
 
 Nay, certes, 'tis of such a length, 
 'Twould almost tire a frog to leap it. 
 
220 MRS. SIDDONS. 
 
 3. 
 
 But when the pleasure-ground is seen, 
 
 Then what a burst conies on the view ; 
 Its level walk, its shaven green, 
 
 For which a razor's stroke would do. 
 
 4. 
 
 Now, pray be cautious when you enter, 
 
 And curb your strides from much expansion ; 
 
 Three paces take you to the centre, 
 Three more, you 're close against the mansion. 
 
 5. 
 
 The mansion, cottage, house, or hut, 
 
 Call 't what you will, has room within 
 To lodge the King of Lilliput, 
 
 But not his court, nor yet his queen. 
 
 6. 
 The kitchen-garden, true to keeping, 
 
 Has length and breadth and width so plenty ; 
 A snail, if fairly set a-creeping, 
 
 Could scarce go round while you told twenty. 
 
 7. 
 Perhaps you '11 cry, on hearing this, 
 
 What ! everything so very small ? 
 No ; she that made it what it is 
 
 Has greatness that makes up for all. 
 
 Mr. Siddons passed some weeks at Westbourne, but, 
 finding the rheumatism from which he suffered only 
 relieved at Bath, he was obliged to reside there almost 
 permanently. Bath did not agree with Mrs. Siddons, 
 and the exigencies of her profession obliged her to live 
 in London. This difference in their place of abode 
 caused a rumour to get abroad that a formal separa- 
 tion had taken place. Mr. Boaden, indeed, states 
 explicitly that Siddons became at this time somewhat 
 impatient of the " crown matrimonial/' while Camp- 
 bell declares the report to be " absolutely unfounded." 
 
WESTBOURNE FARM. 221 
 
 In judging the case we think, perhaps, a medium 
 course would be the best to take. We can imagine a 
 decided incompatibility in the husband's and wife's 
 mode of seeing things. She was ever impatient towards 
 want of energy and practical capacity, while he, all his 
 life having to play second to her, was jealous of the 
 disposal of her earnings, and rushed into ill-judged 
 investments and speculations. 
 
 The following letter of good-humoured banter, 
 written to him on the 16th December 1804, reveals 
 the manner in which she turned off his weak ebulli- 
 tions of temper : 
 
 " MY DEAR SID., 
 
 " I am really sorry that my little flash of 
 merriment should have been taken so seriously, for I 
 am sure, however we may differ in trifles, we can never 
 cease to love each other. You wish me to say what I 
 expect to have done. I can expect nothing more than 
 you yourself have designed me in your will. Be (as 
 you ought to be) the master of all while God permits ; 
 but, in case of your death, only let me be put out of 
 the power of any person living. This is all that I 
 desire ; and I think that you cannot but be convinced 
 that it is reasonable and proper. 
 
 " Your ever affectionate and faithful, 
 
 " S. S." 
 
 The wife's was the stronger, more powerful mind, and 
 with her sincerity and openness of disposition which 
 impelled her to show everything she thought or felt, 
 we have no doubt she often offended the irritable 
 vanity of a man who, in small things, had a painful 
 sense of his own dignity. Hers was too big a nature 
 
222 MBS. 8IDDONS. 
 
 to nag and fight about trifles, and at the r same time 
 often too self-absorbed to remember how she offended 
 the susceptibilities of others. 
 
 " To live in a state of contention," she writes, " with 
 a brother I so tenderly love, and with a husband with 
 whom I am to spend what remains of life, would be 
 more than my subdued spirit and almost broken heart 
 would be able to endure. In answer to the second, I 
 can only say that the testimony of the wisdom of all 
 ages, from the foundation of the world to this day, is 
 childishness and folly, if happiness be anything more 
 than a name ; and, I am assured, our own experience 
 will not allow us to refute the opinion. No, no, it is 
 the inhabitant of a better world. Content, the offspring 
 of Moderation, is all we ought to aspire to here, and 
 Moderation will be our best and surest guide to that 
 happiness to which she will most assuredly conduct 
 us." 
 
 In the season of 1806-7, at Covent Garden, she 
 played Queen Katherine seven times, Lady Macbeth 
 (to Cooke's Macbeth) five times, Isabella (Fatal Mar- 
 riage) twice, Elvira twice, Lady Randolph once, Mrs. 
 Beverley once, Euphrasia once, and Volumnia fifteen 
 times. We see by this enumeration of her parts how 
 she, and she alone, achieved popularity for Shake- 
 speare. 
 
 The subsequent season at Covent Garden was un- 
 commonly short, and extended only to the llth of 
 December 1807, when the Winter's Tale was an- 
 nounced for her last appearance before Easter. As 
 events turned out, it proved to be her last for the 
 season. Immediately after the performance she went 
 to Bath, where she spent six weeks with Mr. Siddons. 
 He was so much improved in health as to make plans 
 
WESTBOURNE FARM. 223 
 
 for the future, and declared his intention of spending a 
 part of the summer at Westbourne. She left him, 
 therefore, comparatively free from anxiety in February 
 1808. Within a month of her departure, however, he 
 was seized with a violent attack of illness, and on the 
 llth of March expired. She immediately threw up 
 her engagement in Edinburgh, and left for her London 
 home. Thence, on the 29th March 1808, she wrote to 
 Mrs. Piozzi : 
 
 " How unwearied is your goodness to me, my dear 
 friend. There is something so awful in this sudden 
 dissolution of so long a connexion, that I shall feel it 
 longer than I shall speak of it. May I die the death 
 of my honest, worthy husband; and may those to 
 whom I am dear remember me when I am gone, as I 
 remember him, forgetting and forgiving all my errors, 
 and recollecting only my quietness of spirit and single- 
 ness of heart. Remember me to your dear Mr. Piozzi. 
 My head is still so dull with this stunning surprise 
 that I cannot see what I write. Adieu ! dear soul ; 
 do not cease to love your friend. S. S." 
 
 So ended the love story begun thirty-three years 
 before. 
 
 Before the end of the year she resumed her cap and 
 bells again, but had only acted on one or two nights at 
 Covent Garden before it was burnt to the ground. 
 How the fire originated is a mystery. Some said that 
 the wadding of a gun, in the performance of Pizarro, 
 must have lodged unperceived in the crevice of the 
 scenery. Miss Wilkinson declared afterwards, that 
 before the audience left the house she perceived a 
 strong smell of fire while sitting in Mr. Kemble's 
 box, and on her way to Mrs. Siddons's dressing-room 
 mentioned it to some of the servants ; they declared 
 
224 MRS. SIDDON8. 
 
 it to be the smell of the foot-lights. How complete 
 and rapid the destruction was we learn by the follow- 
 ing letter written by Mrs. Siddons to her friend James 
 Ballantyne. 
 
 " MY DEAR AND ESTIMABLE FRIEND, 
 
 "You have by this time, I am confident, felt 
 many a humane pang, for the wretched sufferers in the 
 dreadful calamity which has been visited on me and 
 those most dear to me. The losses to the Proprietors 
 are incalculable, irreparable, and of all the precious 
 and curious dresses and lace and jewels which / have 
 been collecting for these thirty years not one, no, not 
 one article has escap'd ! The most grievous of these my 
 losses is a piece of Lace which had been a Toilette of 
 the poor Queen of France; it was upwards of four 
 yards long, and more than a yard wide. It never could 
 have been bought for a thousand pounds, but that 's the 
 least regret. It was so interesting ! ! But oh ! let me 
 not suffer myself in the ingratitude of repining, while 
 there are so many reasons for thankful acknowledg- 
 ment. My Brothers, God be praised ! did not hear of 
 the fire till ev'ry personal exertion would have been 
 utterly useless. It is as true as it is strange and 
 awful, that everything appeared to be in perfect Security 
 at Two o'clock, and that at six (the time my poor 
 brother saw it) the whole structure was as completely 
 swept from the face of the earth as if such a thing 
 had never existed. Thank God that it was so, since 
 had it been otherwise, he wou'd probably have perished 
 in exertions to preserve something from the terrible 
 wreck of his property. This is comfort. And you, 
 my noble-minded friend, wou'd, I am confident, parti- 
 cipate the joy I feel, in beholding this ador'd brother, 
 
WESTBOURNE FARM. 225 
 
 Stemming this torrent of adversity with a manly 
 fortitude, Serenity, and even hope, that almost bursts 
 my heart with an admiration too big to bear, and 
 blinds my eyes with the most delicious tears that 
 ever fell from my eyes. Oh ! he is a glorious crea- 
 ture ! did not I always tell you so ? Yes, yes, and 
 all will go well with him again ! She bears it like 
 an Angel too. Lord Guilford and Lord Mountjoy 
 have nobly offer'd to raise him any sum of money 
 and a thousand instances of generous feeling have 
 already offer'd that evince the goodness of human 
 nature, and its Sense of his worth. All this is so 
 honorable to him, that I shall soon feel little regret 
 except for the poor beings who perished in the devour- 
 ing fire. 
 
 " James Ballantyne God bless and prosper all the 
 desires and designs of a heart so amiable, a head so 
 sound ! prays most fervently his truly affectionate 
 friend, 
 
 " S. SIDDONS." 
 
 " My head is so confused I scarce know what I have 
 written ; but you wish'd me to answer your kind letter 
 immediately, therefore excuse all defects." 
 
 The result of John Kemble's thirty years of hard 
 service was swept away in the flames that destroyed 
 Covent Garden. Mr. Heathcote's loan was still 
 unpaid. Boaden gives us a tragi-comic account of a 
 visit he paid at the Kembles' house the morning after 
 the fire. Mrs. Kemble loudly expressing her sorrow. 
 Charles Kemble sitting listening, a tragic expression 
 on his naturally melancholy face ; John shaving him- 
 self before the glass. " Yes," he said to his visitor 
 
 15 
 
226 MRS. SIDDONS. 
 
 in the intervals of this operation, " it has perished 
 that magnificent theatre ! It is gone, with all its 
 treasures of every description; that library, which 
 contained all those immortal productions of our 
 countrymen ; that wardrobe ; the scenery. Of all 
 this vast treasure, nothing now remains but the 
 arms of England over the entrance of the theatre, 
 and the Roman eagle standing solitary in the market- 
 place." 
 
 All differences which were said to have arisen 
 between brother and sister were sunk and forgotten in 
 this crisis. Though she may have smiled at his sen- 
 tentiousness, and snubbed Mrs. Kemble's loud-voiced 
 expressions of grief, she now gave him efficient help 
 in reconstituting the theatre. The performances 
 of the company were transferred first to the Opera 
 House, and afterwards to the Haymarket Theatre. 
 Between September 12th, 1808, and May 6th, 1809, 
 she acted forty times. The wear and tear of this on a 
 woman of her years she was now over fifty must 
 have been great indeed. All seemed to turn to her, 
 to depend on her masculine strength of will and 
 energy. 
 
 Beside the anxiety of her profession, we find her 
 occupied with the future of her children. Letter after 
 letter could be quoted, showing the affectionate and 
 practical interest she took in their welfare, in spite of 
 the statement circulated, and believed in, that she bar- 
 gained and haggled with her son Henry as though he 
 were some manager with whom she was doing busi- 
 ness. She wrote on November 26th, 1808, to Mr. 
 Ingles on the subject of an expedition to Edinburgh, 
 to help her son in his theatrical venture there : 
 
 " Independently of any other consideration, it is a 
 
WESTBOURNE FARM. 227 
 
 great object to me to have a reasonable excuse for 
 spending much of my remaining life in the admired 
 and beloved society of Scotland ; I am therefore, on my 
 own account as well as his, naturally anxious for the 
 Success of my Son in the Theatre, and I think I may 
 without arrogance aver that you cou'd not chuse better. 
 He has great qualifications and wou'd not be the 
 worse, I apprehend, for my advice in respect to Dramatic 
 business, or for the pecuniary aid which I should be 
 proud to afford in order to amplify the costume of The 
 Stage. His abilities as an Actor need not my eulo- 
 gium, and his private respectability is so universally 
 acknowledged as to spare his mother the pain of boast- 
 ing. I have done my part, and trust the rest to 
 heaven ! I have written to all you advis'd me to write 
 to, and now in one word let me thank you for 
 your good counsel and assure you that whatever be 
 the result I shall for ever consider myself exceedingly 
 oblig'd to you. So much ambiguity and darkness 
 seems to envelop the business (the Galindo embroglio), 
 however, that I know not what to wish but that there 
 was an end of both hopes and fears ; since nothing is 
 so insupportable as Suspense." 
 
 Those who serve the public have much to suffer from 
 the caprices of the crowd, but they also experience 
 many proofs of the appreciation of their genius by 
 individuals. The Kembles met with instances of kind- 
 ness and friendliness at the moment of their need 
 that strike one as almost fabulous in their generosity. 
 The Duke of Northumberland offered Kemble a loan 
 of ten thousand pounds on his simple bond. He 
 hesitated to accept, fearing his inability to pay the 
 interest. The Duke promised he should never be 
 pressed for it, and on the day of the laying the first 
 
 15 * 
 
228 MRS. SIDDONS. 
 
 stone he cancelled the bond, and made him a present 
 of the whole sum. 
 
 Aided by the munificence of patrons, fifty thou- 
 sand pounds .was soon subscribed; nearly the same 
 amount was received from the insurance companies, 
 and on December 30th, 1808, the first stone was laid 
 with Masonic honours. John Kemble was not a person 
 to do away with the pomp of a ceremonial. All the 
 actors and actresses were assembled ; Mrs. Siddons, 
 wearing a nodding plume of ominous black feathers, 
 while her brother, who had risen from his sick bed, 
 stood under the torrents of rain in white silk stock- 
 ings and pumps. 
 
 In less than a twelvemonth from the time of its 
 destruction the new theatre arose from the ashes of its 
 predecessor. While it was building, Drury Lane, the 
 opposition house, under Sheridan's management, was 
 also burnt to the ground, bringing down Sheridan 
 with it in its ruin. 
 
 The new Covent Garden was a much more magnifi- 
 cent building than its predecessor ; but the system of 
 private boxes, which had been introduced first of 
 all in Drury Lane, was now carried to an extreme 
 extent, and the third circle of the theatre was entirely 
 given over to them. This invasion of the privileges 
 of the people by the aristocracy was not to be borne. 
 The "liberty of the subject" had been talked into 
 fashion by Fox and Burke, and the populace were de- 
 termined to put their doctrines into practice in every 
 department of life. They would not submit, because 
 the new house had the monopoly of catering for their 
 amusement, to be slighted and thrust away in a dark 
 gallery where they could neither see nor hear, while a 
 " bloated aristocracy " lounged in commodious boxes 
 
WESTBOURNE FARM. 229 
 
 with ante-rooms behind. We who deplore the radi- 
 calism of the age, and the licence permitted to free 
 speech, should read the account of the outrageous 
 O. P. (old prices) riots, and congratulate ourselves on 
 the improved decorum that reigns now-a-days. 
 
 The New House was opened on the 18th September 
 1809. Crowded to the roof with a resplendent audi- 
 ence, on whom shone the light shed by thousands of 
 wax candles, with Kemble and Mrs. Siddons to act 
 the parts of Macbeth and Lady Macbeth, a brilliant 
 inauguration might have been expected. 
 
 The National Anthem was sung, and then Kemble 
 was to speak a poetical address. But the moment he 
 made his appearance, dressed for Macbeth, a yell of 
 defiance greeted him, while the mob in the pit stood 
 up with their hats on and their backs to the stage. 
 Kemble begged a hearing in vain. His sister theu 
 appeared, pale but determined, and both of them went 
 through their parts to the end. Whenever for an 
 instant there was a lull in the yelling and hissing, the 
 musical voice of the great actress was heard steadily 
 going through her part. 
 
 Two magistrates appeared on the stage and read the 
 Riot Act ; soldiers rushed in to capture the rioters, 
 who let themselves down by the pillars into the lower 
 gallery. The sight of the soldiery, indeed, only in- 
 creased the Babel. " Why were prices raised/' the mob 
 vociferated, " while exorbitant salaries were paid to the 
 actors and actresses? The money received by the 
 Kembles and Madame Catalani amounted for the 
 season to 25,575. There was Mrs. Siddons with 50 
 a night ! The Lord Chief Justice sat every day in 
 Westminster Hall from 9 to 4 for half the sum ! " 
 " She and her brother also appeared frequently on the 
 
230 MBS. SIDDONS. 
 
 stage with clothes worth ;500.* All this was to be 
 screwed out of the pockets of the public/' 
 
 The whole state of the popular mind at the time 
 was suffering from the reflux of the revolutionary 
 tide that had swept over France some years before. 
 The way, indeed, in which the authorities behaved 
 during the seventy nights the riots lasted, leads us 
 to think that they were aware of the undercur- 
 rent of political excitement, and were glad to see it 
 diverted into a channel that did not menace Church 
 and State. In no other country in the world would 
 such a state of things have been allowed to go on 
 night after night. A magistrate now and then feebly 
 appeared on the stage, and read inaudibly the Riot Act, 
 On one occasion the public climbed the stage, and 
 were only deterred from personally attacking the actors 
 by the sudden opening of all the traps. A lady 
 received an ovation for lending a pin to fasten a 
 manifesto to one of the boxes, and the whole house 
 was placarded with offensive mottoes. The pro- 
 prietors had recourse to giving away orders to admit 
 their own partisans. This led to furious fighting an4 
 scuffling. Pigeons were let loose, as symbols that 
 the public were pigeoned ; aspersions were cast on 
 the morality of the private boxes ; the leaders of the 
 riot incited the crowd to further excesses by inflam- 
 matory speeches. On the sixth night Kemble came 
 forward to announce that Catalani's engagement, one 
 of the great grievances, was cancelled, and that the 
 business books of the proprietors would be examined 
 
 * On the first night of the 0. P. riots, we are told the actress wore 
 a costume fashioned after the bridal suit of the unfortunate Queen of 
 Scots, and was a perfect blaze with the jewels in the stomacher of 
 the dress, as well as upon her hair and around her neck. 
 
WESTBOURNE FARM. 231 
 
 by competent gentlemen to prove that the theatre was 
 not a paying concern. The report appeared, proving 
 that if any reduction were made in prices, the pro- 
 prietors would lose three-fourths per cent, on their 
 capital. This statement had no effect on the unrea- 
 soning mob. On the reopening of the house on the 
 4th October, the riot began more furiously than ever. 
 Cooke, unfortunately, in a prologue alluded to the late 
 " hostile rage." The expression was like throwing a 
 match into gunpowder. The people lashed themselves 
 into a frenzy ; they assailed the boxes, and ran up and 
 down the pit benches during the play. Then, too, was 
 introduced, we are told, the famous O. P. war-dance in 
 the pit, which seems to have resembled the French 
 Carmagnole, "with its calm beginning, its swelling 
 into noise and rapidity, and its finale of demoniacal 
 uproar and confusion. Princes of the Blood visited 
 the boxes, and having beheld the spectacle, and heard 
 the Babel of roaring throats, laughed and went home ! 
 Afterwards the crowd marched to Kemble's house, 
 89 Great Russell Street, Bloomsbury, and continued the 
 riot there. At last arrests were made of the leaders, but 
 they were acquitted, and Kemble consented to appear 
 at the dinner given in their honour. This was a haul- 
 ing down of the flag, but in reality the proprietors 
 came off victors. The rate of admission to the pit was 
 reduced by sixpence, but the half-price remained at two 
 shillings. The private boxes were diminished, but the 
 new price of admission was maintained. It must have 
 been a bitter probation for proud tempers like the 
 Kembles to go through. 
 
 . " My appearance of illness was occasioned entirely/* 
 Mrs. Siddons writes about this time to a friend, " by 
 an agitating visit that morning from poor Mr. John 
 
232 MRS. SIDDONS. 
 
 Kemble, on account of the giving up of the private 
 boxes, which, I fear, must be at last complied with. 
 Surely nothing ever equalled the domineering of the 
 mob in these days. It is to me inconceivable how 
 the public at large submits to be thus dictated to, 
 against their better judgment, by a handful of im- 
 perious and intoxicated men. In the meantime, what 
 can the poor proprietors do but yield to overwhelming 
 necessity ? Could I once feel that my poor brother's 
 anxiety about the theatre was at an end, I should be, 
 marvellous to say, as well as I ever was in my life. 
 But only conceive what a state he must have been in, 
 however good a face he might put upon the business, 
 for upwards of three months ; and think what his poor, 
 wife and I must have suffered, when, for weeks to- 
 gether, such were the outrages committed on his house 
 and otherwise, that I trembled for even his personal 
 safety ; she, poor soul ! living with ladders at her 
 windows in order to make her escape through the 
 garden in case of an attack, Mr. Kemble tells "me his 
 nerves are much shaken. What a time it has been with 
 us all beginning with fire and continued with fury ! 
 Yet sweet sometimes are the uses of adversity. They 
 not only strengthen family affection, but teach us all 
 to walk humbly with our God, 
 
 Yours, 
 
 " S. S." 
 
 The fury of the rioters was principally directed 
 against John Kemble, " Black Jack," as he was called. 
 They never lost a certain respect for the great actress 
 who had served them so long and so faithfully. We 
 know the story of her appealing through the windows 
 of her sedan-chair to the riotous crowds assembled 
 
WESTBOURNE FARM. 233 
 
 round the theatre, " Good people, let me pass ; I am 
 Sarah Siddons," and of the mob immediately falling 
 back to make way for the dignified Queen of Tragedy. 
 The whole business disheartened and saddened her, 
 however. " I have not always met gratitude in a play- 
 house/' Garrick said, and she but repeated his words 
 with a sigh. She wrote to her daughter-in-law, Mrs. 
 Henry Siddons : 
 
 " Octr. Jubilee Day, 
 
 "Westbourne Farm, 
 41 MY DEAR HARRIET, " Paddington. 
 
 " Mrs. Sterling has kindly undertaken to deliver 
 a parcel to you, which consists of a Book directed to 
 you at Westbourne, and a little Toy apiece for my dear 
 little Girls. I would give you an account of our 
 Theatrical Situation if my right hand were not so weak 
 that it is with difficulty that I hold my pen I believe 
 you saw it blistered at Liverpool, and I am sorry to 
 say it is but little better for everything I have try'd to 
 strengthen it. However, the papers give, as I under- 
 stand, a tolerably accurate account of this barbarous 
 outrage to decency and reason, which is a National dis- 
 grace : where it will end, Heaven knows, and it is now 
 generally thought, I believe, that it will not end with- 
 out the interference of Government, and, if they have 
 any recollection of the riots of the year '80, it is 
 wonderful they have let it go thus far. I think it very 
 likely that I shall not appear any more this season, for 
 nothing shall induce me to place myself again in so 
 painful and so degrading a situation. Oh, how glad 
 am I that you and my dear Harry are out of it all ! I 
 long to hear how you are going on ; tell me very soon 
 that you are all well and prosperous, and happy. I 
 find Mr. Harris is going to leave his house in Maribro' 
 
234 MBS. SIDDONS. 
 
 Street, and you will have to let it to some other 
 tenant at the end of his term I forget how long he 
 took it for. There is a Print of Mrs. Fitzhugh's Pic- 
 ture coming out very soon ; I am told it will be the' 
 finest thing that has been seen for many years. The 
 Picture is more really like me than anything that has, 
 been done, and I shall get one for you and send it by 
 the first opportunity. I have been amusing myself 
 with making a model of Mrs. Fitzhugh, which every- 
 body says is liker than anything that ever yet was seen 
 of that kind. I hope there is modelling Clay to be 
 had in Edinburgh, for, if it be possible, I will model 
 a head of my dear Harry when I go there. Give him 
 my love and my blessing. Accept the same for your-, 
 self and the darling children. Remember me kindly 
 to all our friends, but most afftly. to dear Miss Dallas 
 and the family of Hume. Patty will write to you 
 by Mrs. Sterling; her letter will, I hope, be better 
 written and more entertaining than mine. God bless 
 you my dearest Harriet. 
 
 " Comps. whether it was his Waft, or himself. 
 
 "To MRS. H. STDDONS." 
 
 The riots were renewed on various occasions again, 
 and though the frightened managers, by the aid of 
 apologies and humiliations of all sorts, staved off a 
 repetition of violence, the fate of the new house as 
 a paying concern was sealed ; it had been a mistake 
 artistically and financially from the first, and soon 
 ceased to be used as a theatre. A poodle drove Goethe's 
 and Schiller's plays from the stage of the Weimar 
 Theatre, the "dog Carlo" and Master Betty drove 
 Macbeth and Cor.iolanus from Covent Garden ; in both 
 instances, the public was justified in its conclusions, 
 but not in the manner in which it expressed them. 
 
WESTBOURNE FARM. 335 
 
 By their suppression of all applause and the restric- 
 tions they laid on their audience, the potentates of 
 Weimer stopped all dramatic spontaneity ; by the size 
 and unwieldiness of the theatre they built, and the 
 banishment of the lower part of the audience to a 
 distance from the stage, the proprietors of Covent 
 Garden deprived their art of the indispensable verdict 
 of the ordinary public. The Kembles' school of dra- 
 matic art also was passing away. They had substituted 
 for the naturalness and variety of Garrick's style a 
 measured and stately dignity. This stateliness was 
 now destined to be succeeded by the impetuosity and 
 spontaneous passion of Kean. 
 
 We have seen that one of the boys introduced by John 
 Kemble into the Witches' Scene in Macbeth, and sub- 
 sequently turned away for disobedience, was named 
 Edmund Kean. This little imp, undeterred by hard- 
 ship, degradation, and misery, had developed into one of 
 the greatest geniuses that ever trod the English stage. 
 Many are the stories given of Mrs. Siddons's first 
 meeting with Kean, but all are unanimous that it 
 was by no means a creditable performance so far 
 as the young actor was concerned. It was in Ire- 
 land, either at Belfast or Cork. Kean had been 
 engaged to act with her. As usual, instead of learn- 
 ing his part, he employed the interim between her 
 arrival and the play in drinking with some friends, 
 with such success that when he came upon the stage 
 the whole of his part had vanished from his memory ; 
 he was, therefore, obliged to improvise as he went on. 
 Needless to say, his performance was a tissue of non- 
 sense, sentences without meaning, drunken absurdities 
 of all sorts. The audience was not a critical one, but 
 Mrs. Siddons's disgust may be imagined. The next 
 
236 MRS. SIDDONS. 
 
 play to be performed was Douglas, and in this Kean 
 played Young Norval. Whether he was ashamed, and 
 wished to show the great actress that he, too, was an 
 actor, it is impossible to say, but he imparted such' 
 pathos and spirit to the part, that she was surprised 
 into admiration. After the play (Kean himself tells us), 
 she came to him, and patting him on the head, said : 
 " You have played well, Sir. It 's a pity, but there 's 
 too little of you to do anything." 
 
 When the " little man" arrived in London, Kemble 
 and Mrs. Siddons announced their intention of honour- 
 ing with their presence the new actor's performance 
 of Othello. A relative of Kean, who was very anxious 
 about the result of the Kemble decision, placed herself, 
 in a box opposite, to observe the effect the performance 
 produced on them. The Queen of Tragedy sat erect 
 and looked cold ; Mr. Kemble gave a grave attention. 
 But as the young actor warmed to his part, Mrs. 
 Siddons showed a pleased surprise, and at last leaned 
 forward, her fine head on her arm, quite engrossed 
 in the scene, while Kemble expressed continual appro- 
 bation, turning to his sister as each point told. At, 
 the triumphant close of the performance, Kean's friend 1 
 approached the Kembles' box. Mrs. Siddons would 
 not allow that this extraordinary genius was the lad that 
 had acted with her before. " Perhaps," she said, " he 
 had assumed the name of Kean." " Then the present 
 one has every right to drop it," said Kemble ; " he is 
 not Kean, but the real Othello." Yet Kemble must 
 have known that night that a greater than he had arisen. 
 It must have been a noteworthy scene, those two 
 remarkable figures of a by-gone age, sitting in judg- 
 ment on " the little gentleman who," as Kemble said, 
 4< was always so terribly in earnest/' while he fretted 
 
WESTBOUENE FARM. 237 
 
 and fumed on that stage, where he was destined to 
 initiate a new ideal of dramatic art . 
 
 Macready gives an interesting account of his first 
 meeting the great actress whom every young aspirant 
 looked up to with such awe. It was at Newcastle ; the 
 Gamester and Douglas were the plays selected, and the 
 young actor received the appalling information that he 
 was to act with her. With doubt, anxiety, and trepi- 
 dation he set about his work, the thought of standing 
 by the side of the great mistress of her Art hanging 
 over him in terrorem. At last she arrived, and he re- 
 ceived orders to go to the Queen's Head Hotel to 
 rehearse. The impression, he says, the first sight of 
 her made on him recalled the page's description of 
 the effect of Jane de Montfort's appearance on him in 
 Joanna Baillie's tragedy. It was 
 
 So queenly, so commanding, and so noble. 
 
 In her grand, but good-natured manner, having seen 
 his nervousness, she said, " I hope, Mr. Macready, 
 you have brought some hartshorn and water with you, 
 as I am told you are terribly frightened at me/' and 
 she made some remarks about his being a very young 
 husband. Her daughter Cecilia went smiling out of 
 the room, and left them to the business of the morning. 
 Her instructions were vividly impressed on the 
 young actor's memory, and he took his leave with fear 
 and trembling. The audience were, as usual, encourag- 
 ing, and the first scene passed with applause ; but in 
 the next his first with Mrs. Beverley his fear over- 
 came him to that degree, that for a minute his pre- 
 sence of mind forsook him ; his memory seemed to 
 have gone, and he stood bewildered. She kindly 
 whispered the word to him, and the scene proceeded. 
 
238 MBS. SIDDONS. 
 
 The enthusiastic young actor goes on : 
 
 She stood alone on her height of excellence. Her acting was perfect, 
 and, as I recall it, I do not wonder, novice as I was, at my perturba- 
 tion when on the stage with her. But in the progress of the play I, 
 gradually regained more and more my self-possession, and in the last 
 scene, as she stood by the side wing, waiting for the cue of her 
 entrance, on my utterance of the words," My wife and sister ! Well, 
 well ! there is but one pang more, and then farewell world ! " she 
 raised her hands, clapping loudly and calling out : " Bravo, Sir, 
 bravo ! " in sight of part of the audience, who joined in her applause. 
 
 On that evening I was engaged to a ball, " where all the beau- 
 ties " not of Verona, but of Newcastle were to meet. Mrs. Siddons, 
 after the play, sent to me to say, when I was dressed, she would be 
 glad to see me in her room. On going in, she " wished," she said, 
 " to give me a few words of advice before taking leave of me. You 
 are in the right way," she said, " but remember what I say study, 
 study, study, and do not marry till you are thirty. I remember, 
 what it was to be obliged to study at nearly your age with a young' 
 family about me. Beware of that : keep your mind on your art, do' 
 not remit your study, and you are certain to succeed. I know you 
 are expected at a ball to-night, so I will not detain you, but do not 
 forget my words study well, and God bless you." Her words lived', 
 with me, and often in moments of despondency have come to cheer me. 
 Her acting was a revelation to me, which ever after had its influence 
 on me in the study of my art. Ease, grace, untiring energy through 
 all the variations of human passion, blended into that grand and 
 massive style, had been with her the result of patient application. On . 
 first witnessing her wonderful impersonations I may say with the poet : 
 
 ' Then felt I like some watcher of the skies 
 When a new planet swims into his ken." 
 
 And I can only liken the effect they produced on me, in developing 
 new trains of thought, to the awakening power that Michael, 
 Angelo's sketch of the Colossal head in the Farnesina is said to have 
 had on the mind of Raphael. 
 
239 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 BETIBEMENT. 
 
 WHAT wonder that Mrs. Siddons now seriously began 
 to think of retirement. Already, in 1805, she had 
 written to a friend : " It is better to work hard and 
 have done with it. If I can but add three hundred a 
 year to my present income, I shall be perfectly well 
 provided for ; and I am resolved when that is accom- 
 plished to make no more positive engagements in 
 summer. I trust that God in His great mercy will 
 enable me to do it; and then, oh, how lazy, and saucy, 
 and happy will I be ! You will have something to do, 
 I can tell you, my dear, to keep me in order." This 
 longing now became a distinct determination. 
 
 In two letters written some time before, one to 
 James Ballantyne and one to Lady Harcourt, she gave 
 expression to this determination. To Lady Harcourt 
 she wrote : 
 
 " You see where I am, and must know the place by 
 representations as well as reports, I daresay, at least 
 my lord does, yea, ' every coigne and vantage ' of this 
 venerable pile, and envies me the view of it just before 
 me where I am writing. This is an inn. I set myself 
 down here for the advantage of pure air and perfect 
 quiet, rather than lodge in Leeds, most disagreeable 
 
240 MRS. SIDDONS. 
 
 town in His Majesty's dominions, God bless him. 
 This day my task finishes. I have played there four 
 nights, and am very tired of Kirkstall Abbey. It is 
 too sombre for a person of my age, and I am no' 
 antiquarian. It is, however, extremely beautiful. I 
 am going to York for a week, and I hope while I - 
 am there to hear from you, my ever dear Lady Har- 
 court. I must work a little while longer to realise 
 the blessed prospect (almost, I thank God, within 
 my view) of sitting down in peace and quiet for the 
 remainder of my life. About 250 more a year will 
 secure to me the comfort of a carriage, and, believe 
 me, it is one of the favourite objects in that prospect 
 that 1 shall have the happiness of seeing you and< 
 my dear Lord Harcourt often, very often ; for though , 
 time and circumstances, and that proud barrier of 
 high birth, have all combined to separate our persons, . 
 yet allow me the modest ambition to think our minds 
 are kindred ones, and, on my part, united ever since I 
 had the honour and good fortune to be known to 
 you. How could it be otherwise, since to know you 
 both is to esteem and love you ? And now, my dear 
 Lady Harcourt, I must leave you to dress for Belvi- 
 dera. It is very sulky weather, and I am not i' the 
 mood for acting, but I must play yet a little while 
 longer, and then ! how peaceful, how comfortable shall 
 I be, after the storms, the tempests, and afflictions of 
 my laborious life ! God bless and preserve you, who 
 are to make a large share of my happiness in that hour 
 of peace/' 
 
 To James JBallantyne she expresses herself in the 
 same tenor : 
 
 " I am wandering about the world to get a litrle more 
 money. I am trying to Secure to myself the comfort 
 
RETIREMENT. 241 
 
 of a Carriage, which is now an absolute necessary to 
 me, and then then will I sit down in quiet to the end 
 of my days. You will perhaps be surprised to hear 
 that I am not abundantly rich, but you know not the 
 expences I have incurred in times past and the losses 
 I have Sustained ; they drain ones purse beyond imagi- 
 nation. I shall be at York till the 15th inst., from 
 thence I go to Birmingham where I shall remain till 
 the 4th of August, from the 25th of August till the 
 1st of Septr. I shall be at Manchester and then return 
 * to that dear Hut my home.' You would scarcely 
 know that Sweet little Spot it is so improved Since you 
 Saw it. I believe tho' I wrote you about my new 
 dining Room and the pretty Bedchamber at the end 
 of it, where you are to sleep unannoyd by your former 
 neighbours in their mangers, Stalls, I shou'd say, I 
 believe. All the Lawrells are green and flourishing, 
 all the wooden garden pales, hidden by Sweet Shrubs 
 and flowers that form a verdant wall all round me : oh ! 
 it is the prettiest little nook in all the world, and I 
 do hope you will Soon come and Say you think so. 
 Your letter Surprised me in my Garden of Eden, where 
 it found me, ( chewing the Cud of Sweet and bitter 
 fancy,' you making that very moment the principal 
 person in the Drama of my musings and ' I said in 
 my haste all men are liars/ It was more than pro- 
 bable that business, pleasure, illness and persons 
 perhaps less deserving your regard, might have diverted 
 recollection from one So distant So incapable of 
 heightening the joys, alleviating the Sorrows of this 
 ' working day world ' and our hearts naturally yearn 
 to those who Share our weal and woe. Yes, said I, 
 his taste and feelings are alive to my talents ; but he 
 does not know me well enough to value me for Some 
 
 16 
 
242 MRS. 8IDDON8. 
 
 qualities of greater worth, which in the honest pride 
 of my heart I will not blush to say I possess he 
 admires me for my Celebrity which is all he knows 
 of me. No blame therefore attaches to him : he is' 
 ignorant of my real character, which if he knew he 
 would also approve ; at least if I am not much mis- 
 taken in myself and him in myself I 'm sure I am 
 not mistaken. It is a vulgar error to say we are 
 ignorant of ourselves, for I am quite Sure that those 
 who think at all Seriously must know themselves better 
 than any other individual can." 
 
 She had served the public for over thirty-five years, 
 and was now in her fifty-sixth year. Long since the 
 ten thousand pounds, which was the original sum with 
 which in the heyday of her prosperity she said she 
 would rest content, had been doubled. Some of this 
 had been unfortunately invested by Mr. Siddons, and 
 some had been lost in Sheridan's bankruptcy; but 
 still, for a person who had no very expensive personal 
 tastes, whose children were all provided for, it was a 
 handsome provision. 
 
 Physical disabilities also began now to interfere witty 
 her dramatic effects. Alas ! for the days when an 
 "exquisite, fragile, creature" acted Venus in Gar- 
 rick's procession, and with her rosy lips whispered 
 promises of sweatmeats into little Tommy Dibdin's 
 ear. The actress had grown stout and unwieldy in 
 person. When she acted Isabella, and knelt to the 
 Duke, imploring mercy for her brother, two attendants 
 had to come forward to help her to rise ; and to make 
 this appear correct, the same ceremony was gone 
 through with a young actress who performed the same 
 part and did not need any assistance whatever. By 
 caricatures and portraits done of her at the time we 
 
RETIREMENT. 243 
 
 can see how unshapely she had become. Conven- 
 tionality and hardness replaced the old spontaneity and 
 pathos ; the action of the arms was more pronounced, 
 the voice was unduly raised, and the deficiency in beauty 
 and charm was supplied by energy and rant. Mrs. 
 Siddons was only two years older than her brother, 
 but her physical and mental gifts had deteriorated 
 much more rapidly. The fact of the sister's dra- 
 matic power having been a natural gift, and his the 
 result of industry and hard work, made hers fail more 
 completely with waning strength. Besides all the dis- 
 abilities o advancing age, that terrible fear of being 
 supplanted was ever before her eyes. Mrs. Jordan 
 had some years before snatched the laurels from her 
 brow in Rosalind ; now rumours were wafted across 
 the Channel of a young and lovely actress, Miss 
 O'Neill, who had taken all hearts captive as Juliet (a 
 part Mrs. Siddons could never personate satisfactorily) ; 
 the matchless beauty of form of the young aspirant, 
 her sensibility and tenderness were the theme of every 
 tongue. " To hear these people talk, one would think 
 / had never drawn a tear," she said sadly. 
 
 The old sensitiveness and pride remained. She 
 accused the public of taking pleasure in mortifying 
 their old favourites by setting up new idols ; " I have 
 been three times threatened with eclipse, first by 
 means of Miss Brunton (afterwards Lady Craven), 
 next by means of Miss Smith, and lastly by means 
 of Miss O'Neill; nevertheless," she added, "I am 
 not yet extinguished/' Mrs. Siddons had no right 
 to complain. She had drunk fully the draught of 
 success and appreciation, and had been singularly 
 exempt from rivalry in her own particular walk. 
 No public, however indulgent, can save an actress 
 
 16 * 
 
244 MBS. SIDDONS. 
 
 from the penalties of old age. She herself had sup- 
 planted Mrs. Crawford, and not very gently. The 
 transition point the last in her life had been reached, 
 the chapter of active professional life was closed for 
 ever, yet she could not resign herself to accept the 
 decrepitude and inactivity of old age. " I feel as if I 
 were mounting the first steps of a ladder conducting 
 me to another world/' she sighed. Moore mentions 
 meeting her at the house of Rogers : 
 
 " Mrs. Siddons came in the evening ; had a good deal 
 of conversation with her, and was, for the first time in 
 my life, interested by her off the stage. She talked 
 of the loss of friends, and mentioned herself as having 
 lost twenty-six friends in the course of the last six years. 
 It is something to have had so many. Among other 
 reasons for her regret at leaving the stage was, that 
 she always found in it a vent for her private sorrows, 
 which enabled her to bear them better ; and often she 
 has got credit for the truth and feeling of her acting 
 when she was doing nothing more than relieving her 
 own heart of its grief." 
 
 She took her professional farewell of the stage on , 
 the 29th of June 1812. As early as three o'clock in 
 the afternoon people began to assemble about the pit 
 and gallery doors, and at half-past four the mob was 
 so great, that those who had come early, in the hope of 
 getting a good place, were carried away by the rush of 
 the increasing crowd under the arches. So great was the 
 concourse of people, that not more than twenty of the 
 weaker sex obtained places in the pit, and the house was 
 crammed in every part. The play was Lady Macbeth. 
 When the great actress made her appearance, she was 
 received with thunders of applause ; for a moment 
 emotion overcame her, but, collecting herself, she went 
 
RETIREMENT. 245 
 
 through her part as magnificently as in the early 
 days. Often have old play-goers described the scene 
 on that night. The grand pale face ; the pathetic 
 voice on the stage, speaking its last to those whom it 
 had delighted and thrilled for so many years. While 
 among the audience, the heart-felt sorrow, the deep 
 silence, only broken by smothered sobs ; then the 
 irrepressible burst of feeling when the scene, in which 
 she appears for the last time in Lady Macbeth was 
 over, for the audience could bear it no longer. The 
 applause continued from the time of her going off till 
 she again appeared, to speak her address. When 
 silence was restored, she began the following farewell, 
 written by her nephew Horace Twiss : 
 
 Who has not felt how growing use endears 
 The fond remembrance of our former years ? 
 Who has not sigh'd, when doom'd to leave at last 
 The hopes of youth, the habits of the past, 
 Ten thousand ties and interests, that impart 
 A second nature to the human heart, 
 And wreathing round it close, like tendrils, climb, 
 Blooming in age, and sanctified by time ! 
 
 Yes ! at this moment crowd upon my mind 
 
 Scenes of bright days for ever left behind, 
 
 Bewildering visions of enraptured youth, 
 
 When hope and fancy wore the hues of truth, 
 
 And long forgotten years, that almost seem 
 
 The faded traces of a morning dream ! 
 
 Sweet are those mournful thoughts : for they renew 
 
 The pleasing sense of all I owe to you, 
 
 For each inspiring smile, and soothing tear 
 
 For those full honours of my long career, 
 
 That cheer'd my earliest hope and chased my latest fear- 
 
 And though for me those tears shall flow no more, 
 And the warm sunshine of your smile is o'er ; 
 Though the bright beams are fading fast away 
 That shone unclouded through my summer day ; 
 
246 ME8. SIDDONS. 
 
 Yet grateful memory shall reflect their light 
 O'er the dim shadows of the coming night, 
 And lend to later life a softer tone, 
 A moonlight tint a lustre of her own. 
 
 Judges and Friends ! to whom the magic strain 
 Of nature's feeling never spoke in vain, 
 Perhaps your hearts, when years have glided by, 
 And past emotions wake a fleeting sigh, 
 May think on her whose lips have poured so long 
 The chann'd sorrows of your Shakespeare's song: 
 On her, who, parting to return no more, 
 Is now the mourner she but seemed before ; 
 Herself subdued, resigns the melting spell, 
 And breathes, with swelling heart, her long, 
 Her last Farewell. 
 
 As she reached the end, all stage exigency and 
 restraint was forgotten, her voice was broken by real 
 sobs. As soon as the hush of emotion had passed, 
 the audience seemed suddenly to awake to the fact 
 that it really was the last time they would ever see 
 the marvellous actress, whom at one time they had 
 almost idolised. Not satisfied with their usual method 
 of expressing their feelings, they stood upon the seats, 
 and cheered her, waving their hats for several 
 minutes. It appeared to be the wish of the majo- 
 rity of the audience that the play should conclude with 
 this scene, the curtain was therefore dropped; but 
 Kemble came forward, and announced that, if it was 
 the wish of the house, the play should proceed. The 
 audience was divided, and the farce of The Spoilt 
 Child began, amidst loud acclamation from one side 
 and disappointment from the other. This continued 
 during the whole of the first act, with constant cries of 
 " The fifth act ! the fifth act ! " It was found impos- 
 sible to allay popular excitement ; the house was all 
 noise and confusion, and the voices on the stage were 
 
RETIREMENT. 247 
 
 totally inaudible. The curtain was, therefore, again 
 dropped ; and the audience, shortly after, quietly dis- 
 persed. 
 
 So vanished from her sight that world over which, 
 for the space of thirty-five years, she had reigned 
 supreme, that world that made her joy and sorrow ; 
 before which, in spite of the many temptations that 
 had beset her, she could feel with pride she had 
 never degraded the supreme gift of genius. Amidst 
 her poignant regrets, at least she had nothing tragic, 
 nothing irremediable, to mourn, like so many of her 
 sisters in the same profession. Differences of opinion 
 had come between her and them, but all that was for- 
 gotten now in the anguish of " Farewell." She only 
 remembered that first night of triumph, its terrors, 
 and its delicious ecstasy ; the weeks, months, and years 
 of appreciated happy work, dreams fulfilled ; parts she 
 had studied and conned as a young girl, unconscious of 
 the future in store for her, acted with overwhelming 
 success. No Arabian Night's Dream of good fortune 
 could have been more brilliant or more complete; 
 but, as in all things human, the reaction had set in. 
 She had touched such heights, that there must neces- 
 sarily be a reflux. 
 
 She had loved her profession, not only for the 
 measure of applause, but for the daily bustle and 
 work, which, to a woman of her energetic tempera- 
 ment, was enjoyable in itself. 
 
 Rogers tells us that, sitting with her of an after- 
 noon, years after the curtain had dropped on her 
 farewell performance, she would vividly recall every 
 moment of her stage life. " This is the time I used 
 to be thinking of going to the theatre : first came the 
 pleasure of dressing for my part ; and then, the plea- 
 
248 MBS. SIDDONS. 
 
 sure of acting it ; but that is all over now/' In her 
 early days even, she always confessed that her spirits 
 were not equal, and her internal resources were too 
 few for a life of solitude. 
 
 After long years spent amidst the intoxication of 
 applause, to withdraw into the twilight of private life 
 must always be a great trial. The nightly stimulus, 
 the mental habit of studying for a certain object, the 
 production of evanescent emotions and transitory 
 effects, must have a deteriorating effect on>the noblest 
 disposition. Shrewd Miss Berry, in her Journal, 
 dated February 24th, 1811, mentions a visit she paid 
 at Westbourne. " Mrs. Siddons received me, as she 
 always does, in a manner that flattered my internal 
 vanity, for she has the germ of a superior nature in 
 her, though burnt up by the long-continued brand of 
 popular applause " ; and Fanny Kemble writes : ' ' What 
 a price my Aunt Siddons has paid for her great cele- 
 brity ! Weariness, vacuity, and utter deadness of spirit* 
 The cup has been so highly flavoured, that life is 
 absolutely without sorrow or sweetness to her now, 
 nothing but tasteless insipidity. She has stood on a . 
 pinnacle till all things have come to look flat and 
 dreary ; mere shapeless, colourless, level monotony to 
 her. Poor woman ! What a fate to be condemned 
 to ! and yet how she has been envied as well as 
 admired ! " 
 
 We doubt if the weariness and vacuity was as great 
 as her niece was inclined to think. Advanced age and 
 impaired powers always bring a certain deadness and 
 indifference ; but she had mental resources the young 
 girl did not take into consideration. She kept a large 
 circle of firm and attached friends. She was not 
 without intellectual pursuits. Although showing no 
 
RETIREMENT. 
 
 particular genius in any other department of life but 
 the stage, she had a fine cultivated taste for artistic 
 and beautiful things. She employed much of her 
 time in modelling, and executed many respectable 
 pieces of work. Her childish love of Milton revived 
 again now, and after her retirement she published a 
 small volume of extracts from his poems. Above all, 
 she had the support and consolation of a pure un- 
 swerving religious faith; through her chequered life 
 of triumph and bereavement, joy and sorrow, Sarah 
 Siddons had ever kept that alive in her heart. It saved 
 her in many a crisis, and illumined the darkened road 
 that lay before her. 
 
 The following verses, written by her at this time, 
 are a truer indication of her frame of mind than any 
 conclusions drawn from external observation by out- 
 siders : 
 
 Say, what 's the brightest wreath of fame, 
 But canker'd buds, that opening close ; 
 
 Ah ! what 's the world's most pleasing dream, 
 But broken fragments of repose ? 
 
 Lead me where peace with steady hand 
 
 The mingled cup of life shall hold ; 
 Where Time shall smoothly pour his sand, 
 
 And Wisdom turn that sand to gold. 
 
 Then haply at Religion's shrine 
 
 This weary heart its load shall lay, 
 Each wish my fatal love resign, 
 
 And passion melt in tears away. 
 
 She had now leisure for journeys abroad and the 
 enjoyment of intellectual pleasure outside her profes- 
 sion which she had never had before. In the autumn 
 of 1814 she made an excursion to Paris in company 
 
250 MRS. 8IDDONS. 
 
 with her brother John, her youngest daughter, Cecilia, 
 and Miss Wilkinson. A short interval of peace then 
 reigned, and all interested in art flocked from England 
 to see the treasures that Napoleon had plundered from 
 every European capital. The Apollo Belvidere, 
 amongst others, had been set up in the statuary hall 
 of the Louvre ; and Campbell tells us how, giving his 
 arm to Mrs. Siddons, they walked down the hall 
 towards it, and stood gazing rapt in its divine beauty. 
 " I could not forget the honour," Campbell tells us, 
 quaintly, " of being before him in the company of so 
 august a worshipper; and it certainly increased my 
 enjoyment to see the first interview between the 
 paragon of Art and that of Nature." 
 
 The "paragon of Nature" was evidently much 
 struck, and remained standing silently gazing for some 
 time ; then she said, solemnly, " What a great idea it 
 gives us of God, to think that He has made a human 
 being capable of fashioning so divine a form ! " 
 
 As they walked round the hall, Campbell tells us, 
 he saw every eye fixed upon her. Her stately bearing, 
 her noble expression, made a sensation, though the- 
 crowd evidently did not know who she was, as he 
 heard whispers of " Who is she ? Is she not an 
 Englishwoman ? " 
 
 Crabb Robinson, in his Memoirs, also tells us that 
 he heard someone say in the Louvre, " Mrs. Siddons 
 is below." He instantly left the Raphaels and Titians 
 and went in search of her. She was walking with her 
 sister, Mrs. Twiss. He noticed her grand air and 
 fascinating smile, but he was disturbed that so glorious 
 a head should have been covered with a small chip 
 hat. She knit her brows, also, to look at the pictures, 
 as if her sight were not good; and he remarked a 
 
RETIREMENT. 251 
 
 line or two about her mouth, and a little coarseness of 
 expression. She remained two months in Paris, and 
 we hear of her going to a review held by the King. 
 She was seen toiling along towards the Champs de 
 Mars, heated and flushed, and in clouds of dust ; and 
 a joke is made on the subject of her " saving." 
 
 Further suffering was in store for her in the death 
 of her son Henry. He died of consumption, like his 
 sisters. Manager of the Edinburgh Theatre, and in 
 the prime of life, his loss was a great one both to his 
 family and the Edinburgh public. His poor mother 
 wrote : 
 
 "Westbourne, 1815. 
 
 "This third shock has, indeed, sadly shaken me, 
 and, although in the very depths of affliction, I agree 
 with you that consolation may be found, yet the voice 
 of nature will for a time overpower that of reason ; 
 and I cannot but remember ' that such things were, 
 and were most dear to me/ 
 
 " I am tolerably well, but have no voice. This is 
 entirely nervousness, and fine weather will bring it back 
 to me. Write to me, and let me receive consolation in a 
 better account of your precious health. My brother 
 and Mrs. Kemble have been very kind and attentive, 
 as indeed they always were in all events of sickness or 
 of sorrow. The little that was left of my poor sight 
 is almost washed away by tears, so that I fear I write 
 scarce legibly. God's will be done ! " 
 
 Later, she complained : 
 
 "I don't know why, unless that I am older and 
 feebler, or that I am now without a profession, which 
 forced me out of myself in my former afflictions, but 
 the loss of my poor dear Henry seems to have laid a 
 
252 MRS. 8IDDON8. 
 
 heavier hand upon my mind than any I have sus- 
 tained. I drive out to recover my voice and my 
 spirits, and am better while abroad ; but I come home 
 and lose them both in an hour. I cannot read or 
 do anything else but puddle with my clay. I have 
 begun a full-length figure of Cecilia ; and this is a 
 resource which fortunately never fails me. Mr. Fitz- 
 hugh approves of it, and that is good encouragement. 
 I have little to complain of, except a low voice and 
 lower spirits." 
 
 All these letters do not look like the proud, hard, 
 self-sufficient woman so often described. We see her 
 sorrowing sincerely, but not giving way to unreasoning, 
 despairing grief; recognising that all the brightness and 
 elasticity of life had gone, but doing, nobly and prac- 
 tically, what she could to help those that were left. 
 
 Before the end of the year she had arranged with 
 Mr. James Ballantyne to act ten nights for the benefit 
 of her son's family : 
 
 " A thousand thousand thanks to you my kind and 
 good friend for your most delightful and gratifying 
 letter. You do me justice in believing that whatever 
 conduces to your happiness, or that operates against 
 it, must ever be interesting to me ; and as the happi- 
 ness and health of your excellent and most respect- 
 able mother is, I know, the first object of Satisfaction 
 which this world contains for your duteous mind, I 
 am, indeed, most truly happy, for both your sakes, to 
 receive so comfortable an account of her. I can con- 
 ceive no blessing comparable to that of having such a 
 Son, and such a one was my own dear and lamented 
 Henry. This last blow lay, indeed, for some time 
 most heavily upon me ; but when I recollect that his 
 pure Spirit has exchangM a Sphere of painful and 
 
RETIREMENT. 253 
 
 anxious existence, with which he was ill-calculated to 
 Struggle, for the regions of everlasting peace and joy, I 
 feel the Selfishness of my Sorrow, and repeat those 
 words, which as often as repeated seem to tranquilize 
 my mind, ' The Lord gave, and the Lord taketh away ; 
 blessed be the name of the Lord.' I hope my visit 
 to Edinborough will be beneficial to my dear Son's 
 family ; at least, it will evince the greatest proof of 
 respect for that Public on whom they depend, which it 
 is in my power to give. I have some doubts whether 
 the motives which induce me to return to the Public 
 after So long an absence, will Shield me from the darts 
 of malignity ; and when I think of what I have under- 
 taken, altho' I feel courageous as to my intentions, I 
 own myself doubtful and weak with respect to the 
 performance of the Task which I have undertaken. It 
 is a great disadvantage to have been so long disused to 
 the exertions I am call'd on to make, but I will not 
 Suffer myself to think of it any longer. As to the 
 arrangement of the Plays, it must be left entirely to 
 Mrs. H. Siddons, whose judgment I have always found 
 to be as Strong as her disposition is amiable, and I 
 can give her no higher praise. She is indeed ' wisest, 
 virtuousest, discreetest, best, &c.,' but I fear I shall 
 never be able to present myself in Mrs. Beverley, who 
 Should be not only handsome, but young also. Believe 
 me, my truly estimable friend, I look forward with 
 the greatest satisfaction to the moment of Seeing you 
 again ; in the meantime do not exalt me too much ! 
 You Seem to be in an error, on the Subject of my 
 engagement, which I must rectify. The necessary 
 expenses of Clothes, Ornaments, Travelling, &c., are 
 more than my limited Income wou'd afford, without a 
 chance, at least, of being able to cover these expenses, 
 
254 MRS. SIDDONS. 
 
 which is all I desire ! and therefore I am to fulfil my 
 Engagement on my brother's Terms." 
 
 In November, therefore, we find her making her 
 way by slow stages to Edinburgh. She stopped for 
 several days at Kirby Moorside, with Sir Ralph and 
 Lady Noel, and Lady Byron. In spite of nervousness 
 and fatigue, she delighted her Edinburgh audiences. 
 She had no reason to make a charge against her 
 northern friends of unfaithfulness. 
 
255 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 OLD AGE. 
 
 IN 1817 Mrs. Siddons, anxious, for the sake of her 
 daughter Cecilia, to see more society, left her country 
 retreat, Westbourne Farm, where so many hours of 
 repose 'snatched from the turmoil of her professional 
 life had been passed, and took a house in Upper Baker 
 Street. It is the last house on the east side overlook- 
 ing the Regent's Park, and has a small lawn and 
 garden behind. 
 
 On the front, over the doorway, is a medallion 
 stating that " Here Mrs. Siddons, the actress, lived 
 from 1817 to 1831." When the houses in Cornwall 
 Terrace were about to be brought close to the gate of 
 the park, Mrs. Siddons appealed to the Prince Regent, 
 who had ever remained her firm and courteous friend. 
 He immediately gave orders that her view over the 
 Park should not be shut off. The house, which is still 
 unchanged in its internal arrangements, is now used 
 as the estate office of the Portman property. The 
 room she built out as a studio for modelling is 
 screened off into compartments with desks for the 
 transaction of business. That is really the only 
 change that has been made. It is an old-fashioned, 
 
256 MBS. SIDDONS. 
 
 comfortable house, panelled in dark oak. The approach 
 to the staircase has steps ascending and descending, 
 and the stairs themselves twist round corners, off 
 which branch unexpected passages, until they reach the* 
 first floor, where to the right opens the dining-room, 
 looking on the little garden, and beyond to the Park. 
 There, between the Grecian pillars with their honey- 
 suckle pediment, once hung the portrait of her brother 
 John as Hotspur ; now the space looks desolate and 
 bare. 
 
 Here she lived with her daughter Cecilia and Patty 
 Wilkinson, her attached friend and companion. Some 
 among us are old enough to remember having heard 
 of her pleasant parties where all that was intellectual 
 and delightful in the London of her day was assembled. . 
 There she would sometimes, to her intimate friends, 
 give recitations of her favourite parts, having by this 
 time relinquished doing so in public. Miss Edgeworth 
 describes one of these readings : 
 
 I heard Mrs. Siddons read at her town-house a portion of 
 Henry VIII. I was more struck and delighted than I ever was with 
 any reading in my life. This is feebly expressing what I felt. I felt 
 that I had never before fully understood, or sufficiently admired, i 
 Shakespeare, or known the full powers of the human voice and the 
 English language. Queen Katherine was a character peculiarly suited 
 to her time of life and to reading. There was nothing that required 
 gesture or vehemence incompatible with the sitting attitude. The 
 composure and dignity, and the sort of suppressed^feeling, and touches,' 
 not bursts of tenderness, of matronly, not youthful tenderness, were 
 all favourable to the general effect. I quite forgot to applaud I 
 thought she was what she appeared. The illusion was perfect, till it 
 was interrupted by a hint from her daughter or niece, I forget which, 
 that Mrs. Siddons would be encouraged by having some demonstra- 
 tion given of our feelings. I then expressed my admiration, but the 
 charm was broken. 
 
 Maria Edgeworth seems to have remained friends 
 with Mrs. Siddons, but her father, Richard Lovell 
 
OLD AGE. 257 
 
 Edgeworth, hopelessly offended her the first time he 
 met her : 
 
 " Madam," he said, " I think I saw you perform 
 Millamant five-and thirty years ago." 
 
 " Pardon me, Sir." 
 
 " Oh, then it was forty years ago. I recollect it." 
 
 " You will excuse me, Sir, I never played Milla- 
 mant." 
 
 " Oh, but I recollect it." 
 
 " I think," she said, stiffly turning to Rogers, " it is 
 time for me to change my place," and rising with 
 much haughtiness she moved away. 
 
 Many amusing stories were current of the dramatic 
 manner which she imported into daily life. Her ques- 
 tion, in the tragic tones of Lady Macbeth, to the over- 
 awed draper as she bought a piece of coloured print, 
 " Will it wash ? " The solemn reply to the Scotch 
 provost, " Beef cannot be too salt for me, my Lord " ; 
 and " I asked for water, Boy ; you 've brought me beer." 
 Lord Beaconsfield told a story of his father, Isaac 
 Disraeli, returniog home after a visit to London, and 
 declaring that the event that had made most impres- 
 sion on him was hearing Mrs. Siddons say, " The Rip- 
 stone Pippin is the finest apple in the world." Moore 
 says he remembered how proud he was of going 
 to Lady Mount Edgcumbe's suppers after the opera. 
 It was at one of these, sitting between Mrs. Siddons 
 and Lady Castlereagh, he heard for the first time the 
 voice of the former (never having met her before) 
 transferred to the ordinary things of the world, and the 
 solemn words in her most tragic tone, " I do love ale 
 dearly." Sidney Smith also describes her as "stabbing 
 the potatoes " ; and it is said that on hearing of the 
 sudden death of an acquaintance, who had been "found 
 
 17 
 
258 MRS. SIDDONS. 
 
 dead in his bureau," she understood the latter word to 
 mean a piece of furniture, and exclaimed, " Poor 
 man ! How gat he there? " 
 
 She was, as a rule, perfectly impervious to exter^ 
 nal influences, ignoring them in her self-abstraction. 
 She lived through the most marvellous period of 
 English and European history, yet no incident seems 
 to have made an impression on her mode of thought or 
 life. She never entered into political interests, though 
 the friend of Fox, Burke, and Sheridan. Her dra- 
 matic world of romance was all-sufficient for her. 
 Hers was not a ready intelligence ; she required time 
 for everything, time to comprehend, time to speak ; 
 there was nothing superficial about her, no vivacity 
 of manner. To petty gossip she could not con- 
 descend, and evil-speaking she abhorred. She cared 
 not to shine in general conversation. Ask her her 
 opinion, she could not give it until she had studied 
 every side of the subject ; then you might trust to it 
 without appeal. This slowness of mental action led 
 to a regal, stately, and majestic bearing, that gradu- 
 ally overlaid her genius to its detriment. As early 
 as 1817, Fanny Burney describes her as 
 
 The heroine of a tragedy, sublime, elevated and solemn, in face and 
 person truly noble and commanding, in manners quiet and stiff, in 
 voice deep and dragging, and in conversation formal, sententious. 
 calm, and dry I expected her to have been all that is interesting : 
 the delicacy and sweetness with which she seizes every opportunity 
 to strike and to captivate upon the stage had persuaded me th;it 
 her mind was formed with that peculiar susceptibility which, in 
 different modes, must give equal powers to attract and delight in 
 common life. But I was very much mistaken. As a stranger I must 
 have admired her noble appearance and beautiful countenance, and 
 have regretted that nothing in her conversation kept pace with their 
 promise. 
 
 We read in 1801 of Campbell meeting her walking 
 
OLD AGE. 259 
 
 on the banks of Paddington Canal when she was 
 living at Westbourne, and in a perfect agony of fear 
 fc whipping on his great-coat," and preparing himself 
 for an interview with the " great woman." 
 
 Washington Irving gives a characteristic sketch of 
 her: 
 
 It was a rare gratification to see the Queen of Tragedy thus out 
 of her robes. Yet her manner, even at the social board, still par- 
 takes of the state and gravity of tragedy. Not that there is an un- 
 willingness to unbend, but that there is a difficulty in throwing aside 
 the solemnity of long-acquired habit. She reminded me of Walter 
 Scott's knights, " who carved the meat with their gloves of steel, and 
 drank the red wine through their helmets barred." There was, how- 
 ever, entirely the disposition to be gracious, and to play her part like 
 herself in conversation. She, therefore, exchanged anecdote and 
 incident, in the course of which she detai ed her feelings and reflec- 
 tions while wandering among the sublime and romantic scenery of 
 North Wales, and on the summit of Pemnaenmawr. As she did this 
 her eye kindled and her features beamed, and in her countenance, 
 which is indeed a volume where one may read strange matters, you 
 might trace the varying emotions of her soul. I was surprised to 
 find her face, even at the near approach of sitting by her side, abso- 
 lutely handsome, and unmarked with any of those wrinkles which 
 generally attend advanced life. Her form is at present becoming 
 unwieldy, but not shapeless, and is full of dignity. Her gestures and 
 movements are eminently graceful. Mr. and Mrs. Campbell say that 
 I was quite fortunate, and might flatter myself on her being so con- 
 versible, for that she is very apt to be on the reserve towards 
 strangers. 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Campbell had every reason to say so, 
 for only that very year she proposed dining with them 
 one day, requesting, as she always did, that it was 
 only to be a family party. About noon Washington 
 Irving's brother and a friend, who had brought letters 
 of introduction from Sir Walter Scott, arrived. 
 During their visit a servant unfortunately came into 
 the room and disclosed the fact that Mrs. Siddons was 
 dining there. Immediately the Americans made up 
 
 17 * 
 
260 MRS. SIDDONS. 
 
 their minds to stay and see her. Campbell told them 
 how annoyed Mrs. Siddons would be at meeting 
 strangers ; they were not to be gainsaid : 
 
 When the carriage approached the house, Campbell goes on, I 
 went ont to conduct her over a short pathway on the common, as well 
 as to prepare her for a sight of the strangers. It was the only tune, 
 during a friendly acquaintance of so many years, that I ever saw a ' 
 cloud upon her brow. She received my apology very coldly, and 
 walked into my house with tragic dignity. At first she kept the 
 gentlemen of the New World at a transatlantic distance ; and they 
 made the matter worse, as I thought, for a time, by the most extrava- 
 gant flattery. But my Columbian friends had more address than I 
 supposed, and they told her so many interesting anecdotes about their 
 native stage and the enthusiasm of their countrymen respecting her- 
 self that she grew frank and agreeable, and shook hands with both of 
 them at parting. 
 
 Many were the honours heaped on her during these 
 last years. She received a formal invitation to visit 
 the Universities of Oxford and Cambridge. Her 
 daughter writes to Miss Wilkinson, expressing their 
 delight with the visit : 
 
 I over and over wished for you, who would have enjoyed as much 
 as I did the attention and admiration shown to our Darling. We had 
 sights to see, colleges and libraries to examine, and at every one of 
 them there was a principal inhabitant, eager to show and proud to- 
 entertain Mrs. Siddons. In the public library, my mother received 
 the honour of an address from Professor Clarke, who presented her 
 with a handsome Bible from the Stereotype press. After which she 
 read to almost all the members of the University at present there the 
 trial scene in the Merchant of Venice, and more finely she never did it 
 in her life. Everyone was, or seemed to be. enchanted and enthu- 
 siastic. 
 
 After her retirement from the stage, she gave public 
 readings at the Argyll Rooms in London. The 
 . arrangements were most simple. A reading-desk with 
 lights, on which lay her book, a quarto volume, 
 printed in large letters. When her memory failed 
 her, she assisted her sight by spectacles, which in the 
 
OLD AGE. 261 
 
 intervals she handled and used so gracefully, that it 
 was impossible to wish her without them. A large 
 red screen formed an harmonious background to her 
 white dress, and classically-shaped head, round which 
 her dark hair was rolled in loose coils. All her former 
 dignity and grace seemed to return in these readings. 
 The effect she produced was marvellous, considering it 
 was without the aid of stage illusion or scenery. 
 
 The attention shown her by the Royal Family was a 
 source of much gratification. Her letters written, after 
 a visit to Windsor, in January 1813, are almost girlish 
 in their emphasis and expressions of delight. 
 
 She was in the middle of dressing to go and dine 
 at Mrs. Darner's, when an especial messenger arrived 
 in the dusk, from Lady Stewart, intimating the Queen's 
 desires. Everything was rose colour. " The charm- 
 ing accomplished Princesses, so sweetly and graciously 
 acknowledge the amusement I was so happy as to 
 afford them. To have been able to amuse a little a 
 few of the heavy mournful hours, the weight of which 
 those royal amiable sufferers must so often feel, has 
 been to me the greatest, the proudest gratification." 
 
 A magnificent gold chain, with a cross of many 
 coloured jewels, was presented to her by the Queeu, 
 and a " silken quilt for my bed, which she sewed with 
 her own hands." 
 
 On the 9th of June 1819, when past sixty, Mrs. 
 Siddons was induced to appear for the benefit of her 
 brother, Charles Kemble, at Covent Garden. She had 
 done so before, at the command of the Princess Char- 
 lotte, who at the last moment had been unable to 
 come. All the best critics were of opinion it was a 
 mistake. The part chosen, too, Lady Randolph, was 
 injudicious, with its lengthy speeches and continual 
 
262 MBS. 8IDDONS. 
 
 * 
 
 movement. The audience certainly gave three rounds 
 of applause, in recognition of her personal character, 
 when Young Norval asked : 
 
 But did my sire surpass the rest of men 
 As them excellest all of woman kind ? 
 
 But this was a poor substitute for the breathless 
 thrill, the agony of emotion, with which she shook 
 her audience in the old days. 
 
 Unfortunately for us and them, players are not im- 
 mortal. Health, strength, beauty, voice, fail them, 
 and without these adventitious aids genius is of no 
 avail on the stage. Any loss of reputation to an 
 actress like Mrs. Siddons was a loss to the world ; these 
 reappearances, when age and infirmity had weakened . 
 her powers, were much to be deplored. Let us, how- 
 ever, turn from this subject to more pleasant ones; 
 and there were so many pleasant incidents and so few 
 mistakes in Mrs. Siddons's dignified and decorous life, 
 that we can afford to be lenient. 
 
 In Fanny Kemble's Record of a Girlhood, we get 
 glimpses of Aunt Siddons, stately and gentle, sur- 
 rounded by children and grandchildren. 
 
 You know we were to spend Christmas Eve at my Aunt Siddons's ; 
 we had a delightful evening, and I was very happy. My aunt came 
 down from the drawing-room (for we danced in the dining-room on 
 the ground-floor) and sat among us, and you cannot think how nice 
 and pretty it was to see her surrounded by her clan, more than three 
 dozen strong ; some of them so handsome, and many with a striking 
 likeness to herself, either in feature or expression. Mrs. Harry and 
 Cecy danced with us, and we enjoyed ourselves very much. 
 
 The younger sons of her son George Siddons (who 
 had obtained a Government post at Calcutta), were 
 being educated with their sisters in England, and 
 always spent their holidays with their grandmother. 
 Mrs. Siddons. The youngest of these three school- 
 
OLD AGE. 263 
 
 boys was the father of the beautiful Mrs. Scott Sid- 
 dons of the present day. 
 
 Mrs. Siddons was very fond of children. Campbell 
 tells a story of his once leaving his little boy, aged six, 
 with her, when she was stopping in Paris. When he 
 returned, he found them both in animated conversa- 
 tion. She had been amusing him with all sorts of 
 stories, which she told admirably. The evening before 
 she had been to a fashionable party and offended 
 everyone by the austerity of her manners. 
 
 Her letters about her grandchildren are full of 
 simple grandmotherly love, naturally expressed. She 
 wrote from Broadstairs in 1806 : 
 
 " My dear Harry, I have very great pleasure in 
 telling you that your dear little ones are quite well. 
 The bathing agrees with them perfectly. They are 
 exceedingly improved in looks and appetite, though 
 their stomachs turn a little, poor dears, at the sight of 
 the machines; but, indeed, upon the whole, the dip- 
 ping is pretty well got over, and they look so beautiful 
 after it, it would do your heart good to see them. I 
 assure you they are the belles of Broadstairs. Their 
 nurse is very good-humoured to them. She is certainly 
 not a beauty, but they like her as well as if she were a 
 Venus. Never were little souls so easily managed, or 
 so little troublesome." 
 
 The great actress would boast with more pride of 
 the effect she produced on a little girl during the per- 
 formance of Jane Shore, than of her greatest triumphs. 
 In the last scenes of the play, when the unfortunate 
 heroine, destitute and starving, exclaims in an agony 
 of suffering, " I have not tasted bread for three days," 
 a little voice was heard, broken by sobs, exclaiming, 
 " Madam, madam ! do take my orange, if you please," 
 
264 NtiS. SIDDONS. 
 
 and the audience and the actress beheld, in one of the 
 stage boxes, a little girl holding her out an orange. 
 
 A lady, now alive, recalls to mind, when she was very 
 young, being taken to pay a visit to " the great Mrs. , 
 Siddons/' She long after remembered those wonderful 
 eyes, and particularly the long silky eye-lashes, which 
 she noticed were of extraordinary length, and curled 
 upwards in a beautiful curve. On being told that the 
 child was obliged to go away to the country, and 
 would have no opportunity of hearing her on the 
 stage, she kindly said she would recite for her, and 
 did so there and then. 
 
 One of her grandchildren has described the interest 
 of her visits to her. Frequently her grandmother 
 would read to them, giving them the choice of the 
 play. One evening in particular she recalled the 
 reading of Othello. " It was a stormy night, and 
 the thunder was heard occasionally, and she so grand 
 and impressive ; her look ! her voice, her magnificent 
 eyes, still clear and brilliant. It was real reading, not 
 declamation, and yet the effect/' she says, " was 
 beyond anything I could conceive of the finest acting." 
 This was only the winter before her death. 
 
 We find her now suffering all the fluctuations in 
 spirits old age is subject to, sometimes complaining of 
 feebleness and suffering, at others returning to all the 
 girlish playfulness of her younger days. On July 12th, 
 1819, she writes to her friend Mrs. Fitzhugh : 
 
 " Well, my dear friend, though I am not of rank and 
 condition to be myself at the Prince's ball, my fine 
 clothes, at any rate, will have that honour. Lady 
 B has borrowed my Lady Macbeth's finest ban- 
 quet dress, and I wish her ladyship joy in wearing it, 
 for I found the weight of it almost too much for en- 
 
OLD AGE. 265 
 
 durance for half an hour. How will she be able to 
 carry it for such a length of time ? But young and 
 old are expected to appear, upon that ' high solemnity ' 
 in splendid and fanciful apparel, and many of these 
 
 beauties will appear in my stage finery. Lady C 
 
 at first intended to present herself (as she said very 
 drolly) as a vestal virgin, but has now decided upon 
 the dress of a fair Circassian. I should like to see 
 this gorgeous assembly, and I have some thoughts of 
 walking in in the last dress of Lady Macbeth, and 
 swear I came there in my sleep. But enough of this 
 nonsense." 
 
 Her brother John, sharer of most of her trials and 
 triumphs, settled at Lausanne towards the end of his 
 life. The loss of his society was a sad deprivation, 
 and in 1821 she paid him a visit. Her daughter 
 Cecilia, in a letter home, described the delights of the 
 villa the Kembles lived in, and the beauty of the sur- 
 rounding scenery. 
 
 Mrs. Siddons meditated an expedition to Chamounix 
 'but for some reason it was given up, and they went to 
 Berne ; the weather was wet, however, and they were 
 obliged to return sooner than they expected. They 
 ate chamois, crossed a lake, mounted a glacier with 
 two men, cutting steps in the ice with a hatchet, and 
 did all that was required of them as travellers. " My 
 mother bore all the fatigues much more wonderfully 
 than any of us," the letter ends. 
 
 In spite of her wonderful energy, old age was 
 creeping on her apace. Erysipelas, which was ulti- 
 mately fatal, frequently attacked her with a burning 
 soreness in her mouth, or with headaches that were 
 equally painful. She had to submit to that worst 
 penalty of advancing years, the death of friends ; those 
 
266 MKS. SIDDONS. 
 
 of Mrs. Darner and of Mrs. Piozzi were a great loss. 
 In February 1823, John Kemble died at Lausanne 
 On the 9th he diaed out, and it was remarked that he 
 was in very good spirits ; the next evening a few 
 friends dropped in for a rubber of whist. The follow- 
 ing Sunday he was out in his garden ; but while he 
 was sitting reading the paper, it fell from his hands. 
 His wife rushed to him ; he only faltered a few words, 
 begging her not to be alarmed. The doctor was 
 sent for, but one stroke after another seized him, and 
 he died on the 20th. This was a sad blow to Mrs. 
 Siddons. 
 
 In her seventy-third year she wrote to Mrs. Fitz- 
 hugh from Cobham Hall, the seat of Lord Darnley : 
 
 " I have brought myself to see whether change of' 
 scene, and the cordial kindness of my noble host and 
 hostess, will not at least do something to divert my , 
 torment. But real evils will not give way to such 
 applications, gratifying though they may be. I have 
 had the honour, however, of conversing with Prince 
 Leopold ; he is a very agreeable and sensible con- 
 verser, and Her Royal Highness the Duchess of Kent, 
 seems to justify all the opinions of her amiability. I 
 have begun to recover the loss of my dear little girls, 
 George's daughters. How I long to hear they are 
 safe in the arms of their anxious parents. In this 
 magnificent place, I assure you, my seventy-second 
 birthday was celebrated with the most gratifying and 
 flattering cordiality. We had music and Shakespeare, 
 which Lord Darnley has at his finger's ends. I should 
 have enjoyed the party more if it had not been so- 
 large ; but twenty-three people at dinner is rather too 
 much of a good thing. . . . Talking of the arts, I 
 cannot help thinking with sorrow of the statue of my 
 
OLD AGE. 267 
 
 poor brother. It is an absolute libel on his noble 
 person and air. I should like to pound it into dust, 
 and scatter it to the winds. 
 
 " Yours, 
 
 "S. S." 
 
 A statue of the great actress, by Chantry, was put 
 up later, by Macready, beside her brother's in West- 
 minster Abbey. 
 
 In April 1831 she was attacked with the illness that 
 was to prove fatal. The appearence of the erysipelas 
 in one of her ancles alarmed the doctor, but she got 
 better, and before the end of the month felt so far 
 recovered, that she laughingly told him that he need 
 not come to see her any more, for " she had health 
 to sell." 
 
 Unfortunately, she ventured out driving soon after- 
 wards, the day was cold, and a chill seemed to have 
 developed the erysipelas internally. On the 31st May 
 she was seized with sickness and ague, and in the 
 course of the evening both her legs were attacked 
 with erysipelatous inflammation. This increased during 
 the night, and was accompanied by much fever. In 
 the course of the following day there was a consulta- 
 tion of doctors. They pronounced the case hopeless, 
 mortification supervened, and about nine on the morn- 
 ing of the 8th June she expired, after a week of acute 
 suffering. 
 
 On the 15th June she was buried in the New 
 Ground of Paddington Church, followed to the grave 
 by her brother Charles Kemble, two sons of Henry Sid- 
 dons, and many others. Alas ! of her own immediate 
 family few were left, and her eldest sou was in India. 
 In the procession were eleven mourning coaches, with 
 
268 MRS. SIDDONS. 
 
 the performers of the Theatre Royal Drury Lane and 
 Covent Garden. When the burial service had been 
 read, a young woman, Campbell tells us, knelt down 
 beside the coffin with demonstrations of the wildest 
 grief. She came veiled, and her name was never 
 discovered. 
 
 Why go into the items of the will Mrs. Siddons left, 
 and the articles she assigned to her heirs ? To us she 
 has bequeathed the memory of one of the greatest dra- 
 matic artists that ever graced our stage, and of one of 
 the noblest of the long list of noble women enrolled 
 in the annals of our country. Time goes on whirling 
 away all memories in its relentless rush. A new gene- 
 ration is ever ready to depreciate the enthusiasms of 
 their grandfathers, and ours is incredulous when told 
 of the powers of a Garrick or a Siddons. 
 
 It was with a feeling of pain that, while standing 
 the other day by the great actress's grave where it lies 
 lonely and untended in Paddington churchyard, we 
 heard that our cousins across the Atlantic set more 
 store on the memory of Sarah Siddons than we do. 
 Miss Mary Anderson, the custodian told us, whenever' 
 she is in London, comes up on Sunday afternoons, with 
 parties of her countrymen, to lay fresh flowers on the 
 grave, and has undertaken, at her own expense, to 
 execute all necessary repairs to the railings and tomb- 
 stone. Let us, before it is too late, anticipate this 
 high-minded and generous offer. 
 
 London : Printed by W. H. Allen & Co., 13 Waterloo Place. S.W. 
 
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