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 http://www.archive.org/details/bookoftheatricalOOfitzrich 
 
THE BOOK 
 
 OF 
 
 fHEATRICAL ANECDOTES. 
 
 SELECTED AND EDITED BY 
 
 PERCY FITZGERALD, M.A., 
 
 AUTHOR OF (< THE LIFE OF GARRICK," " LIVES OF THE KEMRLES," &C. 
 
 LONDON: C f * 
 GEORGE ROUTLEDGE AND SONS, 
 
 THE BROADWAY, LUDGATE. 
 NEW YORK: 416, BROOME STREET. 
 
LONDON 
 BRADBURY, AGNEW, & CO., PRINTERS, WH1TEFRIARS. 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 In making the following little collection, the Editor has tried 
 to select only such traits and anecdotes as appeared to be 
 characteristic either of the Profession or of the actor. There 
 are many jests and stories of a diverting sort, which will be 
 found to have no particular theatrical significance beyond 
 the fact of their having been uttered or occasioned by some 
 player. These have been, as much as possible, left aside. 
 Anything that illustrated character, manners, or stage life in 
 general, has been diligently sought for; while, on the same 
 grounds, stories that turned on mere puns and quibbles have 
 been excluded. 
 
 The Editor has also tried to combine with these lighter 
 anecdotes some information of an interesting kind. It is 
 hoped that the whole will be accepted as a tolerably faithful 
 >icture of the pleasant world Behind the Scenes. 
 
 678564 
 
THEATRICAL ANECDOTES. 
 
 THE DULNESS OF RETIRE- 
 MENT. 
 After Mrs. Siddons had re- 
 tired from the stage, she felt the re- 
 action. When Mr. Rogers would 
 be sitting with her of an after- 
 noon, she would say, " O dear ! 
 this is the time I used to be 
 thinking of going to the theatre. 
 First came the pleasure of dress- 
 ing for my part, and then the 
 pleasure of acting it. But that 
 is all over now !" 
 
 A SITUATION SPOILED. 
 
 There is a peculiar sense of 
 burlesque produced, which is in- 
 deed almost unique, when any- 
 thing ludicrous arises in a tragic 
 situation on the stage. > Nothing 
 produces so much genuine en- 
 joyment. One hot night, at a 
 country theatre, when playing 
 Lady Macbeth, Mrs. Siddons 
 was parched with thirst, and the 
 manager sent for a pot of porter. 
 She was in the midst of the great 
 sleeping scene, when he re- 
 turned. A general hush. He 
 asked where she was, and in 
 reply a scene-shifter pointed to 
 her on the stage. The boy with 
 the foaming pot in his hand 
 coolly walked on and presented it 
 
 to her. 'In vain she haughtily 
 waved him away with " her 
 grand manner." The people 
 at the wing stamped and beck- 
 oned, and at last, amid roars 
 and shrieks of laughter, he was 
 £Ot off the stage. The " theatre 
 cat " has often been seen to make 
 its way on to the scene during 
 the last few months at the Lon- 
 don theatres, and invariably 
 chooses some awkward moment 
 such as a declaration of love, a 
 dying agony, for its entrance. 
 The leading comedian does not 
 produce such a roar as this four- 
 footed player. 
 
 A TOUT PUNISHED. 
 
 The old actors had a sort of 
 broad wit, which was in combi- 
 nation with the events of daily 
 life, and which was infinitely 
 superior to the mere " word 
 catching" and indifferent pun- 
 nings or similitudes which go to 
 make up the " fun n of our day. 
 This they may have caught from 
 the plays in which they acted. 
 Thus what a good practical re- 
 tort was that of Quick's when 
 dragged by an importunate fur- 
 niture broker into a furniture 
 shop, and forced to listen to 
 
THEATRICAL ANECDOTES. 
 
 panegyrics of tables and chairs 
 which he did not want. At last 
 the actor asked if he were the 
 owner of the shop. The man 
 rushed eagerly to fetch his 
 master, who came bowing and 
 smirking. " What can I do for 
 you,"Si*r?" " Just hold 'your man 
 /' a moment until I %et out of the 
 
 shop:' 
 
 A WKWARD ENT1IVS1ASM. 
 
 Holm an was once acting 
 Chamont at Cheltenham, where 
 the theatre is very small and the 
 stage sloping. In the great 
 passage with Monimia — 
 
 " So may this arm 
 Throw him to th' earth, like a dead dog 
 despised." 
 
 He carried out the stage direc- 
 tion, " starts from the sofa and 
 rushes forward," so impetuously 
 that, chiefly owing to the steep- 
 ness of the little stage, he lost 
 his balance and plunged head- 
 long into the orchestra, smashing 
 a violoncello, and drawing blood 
 from the nose of its player. The 
 confusion was immense ; but the 
 actor found that he was unhurt, 
 and able to resume his part. 
 
 A GOOD-NATURED RE- 
 MARK. 
 
 Douglas Jerrold's stage 
 jests were excellent, not only for 
 their closeness, but also for their 
 severity. As when it was said at 
 the Haymarket that some one 
 had actually " been bred on 
 these boards." " He looks as 
 though he had been cut out of 
 \ them," was the answer. 
 
 TO ADAPTERS AND 
 OTHERS. 
 
 He suggested a motto for the 
 French adapters, " Aid scissors 
 autnullusP 
 
 "DONE TO ORDER." 
 
 A new play he was told had 
 been done to order. * It strikes 
 me," he said, " it will be done to 
 a good many orders." 
 
 CARDINAL WOLSEY. 
 
 He was told that a well-known 
 tragedian was about to attempt 
 Cardinal Wolsey. " Wolsey ! 
 Linsey woolsey ! " 
 
 ACTOR TURNED WINE- 
 MERCHANT. 
 
 It was mentioned that an 
 actor had turned wine-merchant. 
 " I hope his wine off the stage," 
 he said, " will be better than his 
 whine on it." 
 
 STAGE DIRECTIONS. 
 
 Some of the old stage direc- 
 tions were truly absurd for their 
 comprehensiveness. Colman, 
 the younger, mentions a repen- 
 tant miser in the fifth act of a 
 play who is directed to "lean 
 against the wall and grow gene- 
 rous." 
 
 PUFFS. 
 
 Theatrical advertisement 
 has become an elaborate art in 
 our day. But though we have 
 theatres that claim to be "the 
 
THEATRICAL ANECDOTES. 
 
 prettiest," and to " have the best 
 company in London,'' this is 
 modest compared with some of 
 fifty years ago. One was thus 
 conceived: — "The new opera, 
 called ''Don John] was received 
 throughout with roars of laugh- 
 ter ! and shouts of applause ! I 
 and the acting of Mr. C. Kemble, 
 Mr. Liston, Mr. Jones, Mr. 
 Abbot, &c, was hardly sur- 
 passed even in the days of Gar- 
 rick i 1 / The music absolutely 
 enchanted I and electrified! the 
 audience — almost every piece 
 being encored : — and, whilst 
 Miss Stephens, in the Second 
 Violetta, so exceeded all her for- 
 mer successful efforts, as to add 
 another laurel even to her high 
 reputation, Miss Hallande, in 
 the First Violetta, made as 
 triumphant a deb&t as was ever 
 made by any singer on the 
 English stage I ! ! n It was justly 
 remarked that at this time there 
 was no need of critics. The 
 play-bills contained all that any 
 one could desire. 
 
 A BEREA VED PAIR. 
 
 Mr. Donaldson told Mr. 
 John Taylor that he had seen 
 Quin and Mrs. Pritchard per- 
 forming as Chamont and Moni- 
 mia in Otway's pathetic play of 
 "the Orphan." Both were old, 
 and very bulky in their figures, 
 and nothing, he said, could have 
 been more ludicrous than to 
 hear Quin, mouthing out, 
 
 " Two unhappy orphans, alas ! we are." 
 
 But both were so respected, and 
 had such dignity, that the audi- 
 
 ence listened with the utmost 
 gravity. 
 
 SPARTAN FORTITUDE. 
 
 The following was written on 
 a dreary tragedy called "The 
 Fall of Sparta "— 
 
 " So great thy art— that while we viewed 
 Of Sparta's sons the lot severe, 
 We caught the Spartan fortitude, 
 And saw their woes without a tear." 
 
 GOLDSMITH. 
 
 When " She Stoops to Con- 
 quer" was in rehearsal, Gold- 
 smith took great pains to impress 
 on the actors how he wished 
 each part to be done. On the 
 night of performance he was 
 amazed to find young Mario w 
 presented as an Irishman. The 
 actor when remonstrated with, 
 justified himself, saying, that he 
 spoke his part as nearly as he 
 could according to the instruc- 
 tions, only he did not give it 
 quite so strong a brogue. 
 
 IMPROMPTU. 
 
 During the French war an 
 actor was playing the stormy 
 part of Barbarossa at Plymouth, 
 to an audience chiefly of sailors. 
 By a happy inspiration he intro- 
 duced into the Eastern tyrant's 
 part the following lines : 
 
 "Did not I, 
 By that brave knight, Sir Sidney Smith's 
 
 assistance, 
 And in conjunction with the galtant 
 
 Nelson, 
 Drive Bonapa rty and his fierce marauders 
 From Egypt's shores I " 
 
 Thunders of applause saluted 
 this impromptu. 
 
THEATRICAL ANECDOTES. 
 
 SEVERE. 
 
 There was a well-known 
 qsack doctor, with whom Gar- 
 rick was at war, and who brought 
 out some indifferent plays. Gar- 
 rick wrote this epigram on 
 him: — 
 
 " For physic and farces 
 His equal there scarce is : 
 His farces are physic, 
 His physic a farce is." 
 
 There is real "fun" in these 
 neat lines, and it is almost im- 
 possible to repeat them without 
 a laugh. 
 
 WELL-PAID SYMPATHY. 
 
 When Garrick was playing 
 Lear, one of the soldiers, who, 
 according to an old custom, 
 stood at each side of the stage, 
 was so affected that he fainted 
 away. The gratified actor sent 
 for him to the green room, and 
 presented him with a guinea. 
 On the next night, when Gar- 
 rick was playing Ranger, in the 
 comedy, another soldier became 
 affected with a sham faint, to 
 the great amusement of the au- 
 dience and actors. 
 
 FACES OR FASCES. 
 
 OuiN had some odd tricks of 
 pronunciation, such as u Keeto " 
 instead of " Cato." Many of the 
 great Irish actors, such as Mack- 
 lin and Sheridan, could not get 
 rid of this mode of pronuncia- 
 tion, which to this day is heard 
 in Dublin. On one occasion, 
 when rehearsing for Coriola- 
 nus, he bade his army " lower 
 
 their fasces," which all the ranks 
 did promptly. He meant, how- 
 ever, that they should lower their 
 " faces." 
 
 BARRY v. GARRICK. 
 
 The contest of Barry and 
 Garrick at rival theatres, in 
 Romeo and Juliet, gave rise to 
 some pleasant jests and epi- 
 grams. One was : — 
 
 "'Well, what's to-night?' says angry 
 Ned, 
 As up from bed he rouses : 
 ' Romeo again ! ' and shakes his head, 
 ' A plague o' both your houses ! ' " 
 
 This was said to have been by 
 Garrick himself. Infinitely su- 
 perior were Berenger's lines: — 
 
 "The town has found out different ways 
 To praise the different Lears : 
 To Barry gives its loud huzzas, 
 To Garrick only tears." 
 
 Besides the " elegant compli- 
 ment," as it would have been 
 styled in those days, there was 
 here the nicest criticism on the 
 acting of the two competitors. 
 
 QUIN'S HUMOUR. 
 
 Quin's jests were of the rough- 
 est kind. Once at Epsom races 
 he was required to share his bed 
 with a clergyman. When the 
 latter was getting in, Quin saw 
 that his linen was not over-clean 
 and cried out, " What ! parson, 
 are you coming to bed in your 
 cassock ? " This is an excellent 
 specimen of the coarse vigour 
 of Quin's wit. 
 
 Of the same character are the 
 following : — 
 
 During one day, at a place 
 
THEATRICAL ANECDOTES. 
 
 9 
 
 where there was a sort of struggle 
 to get at the dishes, Quin de- 
 clared, " Gentlemen, if I ever 
 dine at a public ordinary again, 
 I will have basket -handled 
 knives." A person had helped 
 himself to an enormous portion 
 of bread, which Quin attempted 
 to take. " Sir, that is my bread," 
 said the gentleman. — "I beg 
 your pardon," said Quin, hum- 
 bly, " I thought it was the loaf." 
 This smart answer did not ex- 
 haust his treatment of the same 
 situation. 
 
 When a gentleman, who had 
 helped himself to nearly all the 
 pudding, asked if he should help 
 him, " With all my heart," said 
 / the other, " but which is the 
 pudding ? " 
 
 Of Macklin, Quin said, "If 
 God writes a legible hand, that 
 fellow is a villain," and once 
 thus began an address to him : 
 " Sir, by the lines — I mean the 
 cordage — of your face," &c. 
 
 THE DOCTOR HOAXED. 
 
 Garrick delighted in elabo- 
 rate practical jokes, which he 
 would plan and carry out with 
 the laborious elaboration of the 
 elder Matthews. The eccentric 
 Dr. Monsey was often his butt. 
 One evening, when the Doctor 
 called, he found Garrick ill in 
 bed, though announced for the 
 part of King Lear. The actor, 
 in feeble and whining tones, 
 explained that he was too ill 
 to act, but that there was a 
 player at the theatre called 
 Marr, so absurdly like him and 
 
 such a mimic, that he had ven- 
 tured to entrust him with the 
 part, and was certain the audi- 
 ence would not perceive the 
 difference. The other seriously 
 remonstrated with him on the 
 danger of attempting such a 
 trick, the disrepute and the 
 certain ruin that would follow 
 if he were found out. Garrick 
 persisted, and begged the Doctor 
 to attend and report the result. 
 On his departure Garrick leaped 
 up, rushed to the theatre, and 
 acted the part. The Doctor, 
 bewildered, and half doubting, 
 hurried back at the close of the 
 play, only to find the actor in 
 his bed again, though he had 
 not had time to get rid of his 
 Lear's dress. 
 
 MEAGRE RECOLLECTIONS. 
 
 Arthur Murphy was in- 
 timate with Garrick for many 
 years, at one time quarrelling 
 with and pursuing him with the 
 fiercest hate, at another borrow- 
 ing money from him, and load- 
 ing him with fulsome panegyric. 
 Much was expected from his 
 " Life of Garrick," but it is a 
 very meagre performance. He 
 lived long after Garrick, and 
 was often asked for his opinion 
 of the great actor. " Mr. Mur- 
 phy, you, sir, knew Mr. Gar- 
 rick?" — ''Yes, sir, I did, and 
 knew him well — intimately." — 
 " Now, sir, what did you think 
 of his acting?" and the ques- 
 tioner prepared for a long series 
 of recollections, which, 'bating 
 a certain garrulity and diffuse- 
 ness, would yet be interesting. 
 " Off the stage, sir," was the 
 
io 
 
 THEATRICAL ANECDOTES. 
 
 invariable answer, delivered 
 slowly and with due emphasis, 
 " he was a mean, pitiful, sneak- 
 ing, little fellow ; but on the 
 stage " (here a pause, and throw- 
 ing up his eyes), "O my great 
 God I " Mr. Rogers often put 
 this question, and was always 
 thus answered. 
 
 TRUE DIGNITY. 
 
 Mr. St. John, one of the 
 Bolingbroke family, wrote an in- 
 different tragedy, which was ac- 
 cepted by Kemble. In the green 
 room, one day, he chose to 
 quarrel with the great actor on 
 the score of the delay in bring- 
 ing out his piece. Some angry 
 words passed, when at last the 
 " gentleman " so far forgot him- 
 self as to tell the " player " that 
 he was a man he could not call 
 out. " But you are a man," 
 was the becoming answer, 
 " whom I can turn out ; so leave 
 my room instantly ! " The other 
 did so, but, after a little reflec- 
 tion, returned and apologised. 
 His play was performed, — a 
 favour which its author did not 
 deserve, though the hope of it 
 may have prompted his apology. 
 
 A TAR IN THE TIT. 
 
 Sailors are generally hearty 
 patrons of the drama. Stephen 
 Kemble told Mr. Taylor that 
 when he was manager at Ports- 
 mouth, where " business " was 
 so indifferent that the theatre 
 could only be opened once or 
 twice in the week, he was waited 
 on by a sailor, with a request 
 that he would open the house 
 
 for him, " for," he added, " I 
 sail to-morrow, and God knows 
 if I shall ever see a play again ! " 
 The cost, he was told, would be 
 five guineas, which he cheer- 
 fully paid, insisting, however, 
 that no one was to see the per- 
 formance but himself. He se- 
 lected "Richard the Third." 
 The house was duly lit ; while 
 the sailor took up his position 
 in the front row of the pit, and 
 laughed and applauded at inter- 
 vals. At the end he thanked 
 the manager cordially for the 
 entertainment, and took his 
 leave. 
 
 FORCIBLE PRAISE. 
 
 Mrs. Clive, who was always 
 quarrelling with Garrick, and 
 yet heartily admired him and 
 his gifts, was one night stand- 
 ing at the wing when he was 
 acting King Lear. She was so 
 oddly affected by the perform- 
 ance that at one moment she 
 was heard abusing him, at the 
 next sobbing bitterly, and at last 
 rushed away, declaring, " D — n 
 him ! he could act a gridiron!" 
 
 THE RULING PASSION 
 STRONG IN LIFE, 
 
 Hull, the founder of the 
 Theatrical Fund, had long been 
 stage manager at Covent Gar- 
 den, and had acquired, even in 
 private life, a habit of making 
 speeches and explanations in 
 the style of his theatrical ad- 
 dresses to the audience. During 
 some riots in London a mob 
 gathered before his hoase, and 
 
THEATRICAL ANECDOTES. 
 
 insisted on having beer. He 
 sent them out a barrel ; but, 
 having drunk it, they insisted 
 on more, and proceeded to break 
 his windows. He presented him- 
 self at his drawing-room win- 
 dows, and addressed them in 
 this style : — 
 
 " Ladies and gentlemen, — I 
 lament exceedingly to be under 
 the necessity of offering an apo- 
 logy this evening ; but I am 
 obliged to state that all the 
 strong beer is gone, and in this 
 predicament, having, at a very 
 short notice, procured a cask of 
 small, we hope to meet with your 
 usual indulgence? 
 
 PROSE AND POETRY. 
 
 An actor named Wignell, 
 noted for his composure, when 
 opening the play of Cato with 
 the well-known lines, was in- 
 terrupted with shouts for a 
 Prologue, which they fancied 
 belonged to the play. The 
 grave actor had begun : 
 
 "The dawn is overcast; the morning 
 lowers, 
 And heavily, with clouds, brings on the 
 day." 
 
 At this moment, the audience 
 began to vociferate " Prologue ! 
 prologue ! prologue !" when 
 Wignell, finding them resolute, 
 without emotion, pause, or 
 change of voice, but in all the 
 pomp of tragedy, proceeded, as 
 if it were part of the play, — 
 
 " Ladies and gentlemen, there has been no 
 Prologue spoken to this play, these twenty 
 
 years 
 
 The great, the important day, big with 
 
 the fate 
 Of Cato and of Rome." 
 
 This put the audience in good 
 
 n 
 
 humour; they laughed immo- 
 derately, clapped, and shouted, 
 "Bravo!" Still Wignell con- 
 tinued, with his usual stateliness 
 and composure. 
 
 THE EFFECT OF A LOOK. 
 
 The power of Garrick's 
 piercing eyes and expression 
 has often been described. 
 When, as Macbeth, he said to 
 one of the murderers H There's 
 blood upon thy face," he did so 
 with such earnestness and 
 reality that the man forgot his 
 proper answer (" 'Tis Banquo's 
 then ") and replied, " Is there, 
 
 by G !" He fancied, as he 
 
 confessed afterwards, that he 
 had broken a blood-vessel. 
 
 yOCOSENESS IN TRAGEDY. 
 
 This great player was sup- 
 posed to be so affected by acting 
 as to identify himself completely 
 with the character. But it is 
 stated that when he was playing 
 Lear with King, and by his 
 broken voice and apparent grief 
 had left hardly a dry eye in the 
 house — his own emotion being 
 supposed to have quite overcome 
 him — he whispered to King, on 
 whose shoulder he was support- 
 ing himself — at the same time 
 putting his tongue in his cheek 
 
 — " D n it, Tom, we are 
 
 doing the trick." 
 
 "THE EARLY VILLAGE 
 COCK? 
 
 Perhaps the most familiar of 
 theatrical stories is that of the 
 actor who uttered " ; Tis I, my 
 lord, the early village cock." 
 
\1 
 
 THEATRICAL ANECDOTES. 
 
 It is not so well known that the 
 incident occurred when Cooke 
 was acting. A tailor, with his- 
 trionic tastes, had offered to 
 supply him with a suit of clothes 
 on the terms of being allowed 
 to support this part. The 
 audience roared at his appear- 
 ance, which caused him to stop 
 abruptly at the word " cock, ;; 
 while Cooke growled out sar- 
 donically, " Why the Devil, 
 then, don't you crow ?" 
 
 THE UNLUCKY DRESSER. 
 
 The following droll scene 
 occurred on the stage, nearly a 
 hundred and fifty years ago : — 
 " Lothario, after he is killed by 
 Altamont, in the fourth act, lies 
 dead by proxy in the fifth, raised 
 on a bier, covered with black 
 cloth by the property man, and 
 the face whitened by the barber, 
 the coat and periwig generally 
 filled by one of the dressers. 
 Most of the capital actors, in 
 the established theatres, have 
 generally a dresser to them- 
 selves, though these are paid by 
 the manager to be ready on all 
 occasions, for stage guards, at- 
 tendants, &c. Mr. Powell played 
 " the gallant gay Lothario," and 
 one Warren, his dresser, claimed 
 a right of lying for his master, 
 and performing the dead part, 
 which he proposed to act to the 
 best advantage, though Powell 
 was ignorant of the matter. The 
 fifth act began, and went on as 
 usual, with applause ; but about 
 the middle of the distressful 
 scene, Powell called aloud for 
 his man Warren, who as lou dly 
 replied, from the bier on the 
 
 stage, "Here, sir." Powell (who, 
 as we have said before, was igno- 
 rant of the part his man was 
 doing) repeated, without loss of 
 time, " Come here, this moment, 
 you scoundrel, or Til break all 
 the bones in your skin." Warren 
 knew his hasty temper ; there- 
 fore, without any reply, jumped 
 off, with all his sables about 
 him, which, unfortunately, were 
 tied fast to the handles of the 
 bier, and dragged after him. 
 But this was not all ; the laugh 
 and roar began in the audience, 
 till it frightened poor Warren 
 so much, that, with the bier at 
 his tail, he threw down Calista 
 (Mrs. Barry), and overwhelmed 
 her with the table, lamps, books, 
 bones, together with all the 
 lumber of the charnel-house. 
 He tugged till he broke off his 
 trammels, and made his escape, 
 and the play at once ended, with 
 immoderate fits of laughter ; 
 even the grave Mr. Betterton 
 " smiled at the tumult, and en- 
 joyed the storm ;" but he would 
 not let " The Fair Penitent" be 
 played any more that season, 
 till poor Warren's misconduct 
 was something forgot." 
 
 BARRY'S PATHOS. 
 
 The descriptions left of the 
 effect produced by the old actors 
 in Shakespeare's plays show that 
 the art of acting is lost, or that 
 audiences have not the same 
 interest and nice intelligence. 
 Thus when Barry gave the 
 passage, in Othello, " I'll tear 
 her all to pieces," his muscles 
 were seen to stiffen, the veins 
 to distend, and finally a great 
 
THEATRICAL ANECDOTES. 
 
 J3 
 
 burst of passion bore down all 
 before it. Women were heard 
 shrieking with terror, and men 
 shouting. Instead of blustering 
 out " O, Desdemona, away, 
 away ! " he would look a few 
 seconds in Desdemona' s face, 
 " as if to read her feelings and 
 disprove his suspicions/' then 
 turning away as the adverse 
 conviction gathered in his heart, 
 he spoke falteringly, and gushed 
 into tears. He always received 
 a graceful compliment for his 
 speech to the Senate, besides 
 the three rounds of applause 
 which greeted it. For when 
 the Duke observed, " I think 
 this tale would win my daughter 
 too," there was a yet heartier 
 burst. ' 
 
 FLIGHT FROM THE AL TAR. 
 
 An excellent story, says 
 Lamb, is told of Merry, of 
 Delia Cruscan memory. In 
 tender youth he loved and 
 courted a modest appanage to 
 the Opera, — in truth, a dancer, 
 — who had won him by the art- 
 less contrast between her man- 
 ners and situation. She seemed 
 to him a native violet, that had 
 been transplanted by some rude 
 accident into that exotic and 
 artificial hotbed. Nor, in truth, 
 was she less genuine and sincere 
 than she appeared to him. He 
 wooed and won this flower. 
 Only for appearance sake, and 
 for due honour to the bride's 
 relations, she craved that she 
 might have the attendance of 
 her friends and kindred at the 
 approaching solemnity. The re- 
 quest was too amiable not to be 
 
 conceded : and in this solicitude 
 for conciliating the good-will of 
 mere relations, he found a pre- 
 sage of her superior attentions 
 to himself, when the golden 
 shaft should have " killed the 
 flock of all affections else." The 
 morning came : and at the " Star 
 and Garter," Richmond — the 
 place appointed for the break- 
 fasting — accompanied with one 
 English friend, he impatiently 
 awaited what reinforcements the 
 bride should bring to grace the 
 ceremony. A rich muster she 
 had made. They came in six 
 coaches — the whole corps-du- 
 ballet — French, Italian, men, 
 and women. Monsieur de B., 
 the famous pirouetter of the 
 day, led his fair spouse, but 
 craggy, from the banks of the 
 Seine. The Prima Donna had 
 sent her excuse ; but the first 
 and second Buffa were there ; 
 
 and Signor Sc , and Signora 
 
 Ch , and Madame V , 
 
 with a countless cavalcade be- 
 sides of chorusers, figurantes ! 
 at the sight of whom Merry 
 afterwards declared, that " then, 
 for the first time, it struck him 
 seriously that he was about to 
 marry — a dancer." But there 
 was no help for it. Besides, it 
 was her day ; these were, in 
 fact, her friends and kinsfolk. 
 The assemblage, though whim- 
 sical, was all very natural. But 
 when the bride — handing out of 
 the last coach a still more extra- 
 ordinary figure than the rest — 
 presented to him as her father 
 — the gentleman that was to 
 give her away — no less a person 
 than Signor Delpini himself — 
 with a sort of pride, as much as 
 
14 
 
 THEATRICAL ANECDOTES. 
 
 to say, "See what I have brought 
 to do us honour !" — the thought 
 of so extraordinary a paternity 
 quite overcame him ; and slip- 
 ping away under some pretence 
 from the bride and her motley 
 attendants, poor Merry took 
 horse from the backyard to the 
 nearest sea-coast, from which 
 shipping himself to America, he 
 shortly after consoled himself 
 with a more congenial match in 
 the person of Miss Brunton, re- 
 lieved from his intended clown- 
 father, and a bevy of painted 
 buffas for bridesmaids. 
 
 BARRY AND THE BARBER. 
 
 The following little story be- 
 longs to a large class of theatrical 
 anecdotes the point of which 
 generally turns upon some blun- 
 der that takes place upon the 
 stage. It is so well told by Mr. 
 Bernard that it may be given in 
 his own words : — " Fawcett was 
 a member of a club in the city, 
 where his songs and jokes and 
 professional character rendered 
 him a man of note. One of his 
 companions was a peaceable 
 pains-taking barber, who always 
 encored his effusions, in return 
 for which Fawcett gave him an 
 order for a wig, and desired the 
 knight of the curling-tongs to 
 bring it to the theatre on a par- 
 ticular night, and fit it on him- 
 self, when the actor had to per- 
 form a particular character, 
 which depended more on its ap- 
 pearance, than its language. The 
 barber, who knew nothing more 
 of a theatre than its outside pre- 
 sented, supposed that Fawcett 
 must be as great a man there as 
 
 he was at the club : punctual to 
 his time, he accordingly strutted 
 up to the stage-door, with no 
 small importance, and was con- 
 ducted to Fawcett's room. The 
 wig fitted to a hair, and he 
 received, with his customer's 
 thanks, a direction to find his 
 way downstairs. Making a wrong 
 turning, he descended some 
 steps which led to the back of 
 the stage, and, meeting with no 
 obstacle, strolled down to the 
 second wing, O.P. This hap- 
 pened to be the first night of 
 Barry's performance, who was 
 engaged for a limited period ; 
 and had stipulated in his article, 
 that the same order and atten- 
 tion which was observed on 
 Garrick's nights, should be 
 maintained during his. Not a 
 sound was to be heard behind 
 the scenes, nor a figure to be 
 seen, save the prompter at his 
 particular post. The barber 
 made his appearance at the 
 wing in the midst of Othello's 
 address, and protruded his body 
 so far as to become visible to 
 half the house. The sudden 
 glare of lights and human faces 
 at first astounded, and then 
 transported him, and there being 
 no one in the way to remove 
 him, he soon excited the risibility 
 of the pit by his gestures and 
 grimaces. The Moor was not 
 of a more fiery temperament 
 than Barry, who attributed this 
 intrusion to design, particularly 
 when flashing his full eye upon 
 the fellow, and interlarding his 
 oration with side speeches, they, 
 instead of effecting his removal, 
 served only to stupify and root 
 him more firmly to the spot. 
 
THEATRICAL ANECDOTES. 
 
 Part of Barry's speech accord- 
 ingly ran thus : — * For little of 
 this great world can I speak ' — 
 (Who are you ? What do you 
 do here ?) — ' more, than pertains 
 to feats of broil and battle ; ' — 
 (I'll break every bone in your 
 skin.) — ' and therefore little shall 
 I grace my cause' — (Will you be 
 gone, Sir?) — 'by speaking of my- 
 self ' — (An infernal rascal.) To 
 these several pointed addresses 
 the barber yielded no other re- 
 sponse than ' Go to the devil ! ' 
 which was loud enough, how- 
 ever, to be heard in the first row 
 of the pit. Barry now con- 
 cluded this to be a scheme on 
 the part of Garrick, to ruffle and 
 insult him ; and when he quitted 
 the stage, rushed on the uncon- 
 scious criminal with all the fury 
 of a hungry hyena, grasped him 
 by the throat, shook him most 
 unmercifully, and would no 
 doubt have proceeded to deter- 
 mine how far the barber's head 
 resembled one of his own blocks, 
 when the actors interposed, and 
 set the man at liberty. Growling, 
 and shaking himself like a 
 tousled cur, he looked at Barry 
 an instant with a smile of in- 
 effable contempt, and then ex- 
 claimed, * Never mind, Master 
 Sambo, — never mind, — 111 do 
 your business for you, depend on 
 it ! ' — ' Do my business, you 
 villain ! ' shouted Barry, ' what 
 do you mean ? ' — ' Why, you 
 black rascal !' said the barber 
 (evidently mistaking Othello for 
 a bond fide Moor), ' I'll speak to 
 Mr. Fawcett, and have you dis- 
 charged ! ' The merriment that 
 Fawcett's name occasioned, 
 neither suited Barry nor the 
 
 barber. Garrick and Fawcett 
 were summoned ; and the latter, 
 perceiving in an instant the 
 truth of the case, explained his 
 friend's ignorance and misap- 
 prehension. He was at length 
 permitted to conduct the be- 
 wildered barber to the door, 
 receiving himself a broadside 
 from the manager, as a means 
 of conciliating Barry." 
 
 " / WILL RETURN ANON." 
 Mr. Dickens used to relate 
 with much humour a little scene 
 he witnessed at the Rochester 
 theatre. An actor had forgotten 
 his part, and could not get the 
 prompter to give him the" word." 
 After many adjurations, and the 
 usual appeals to his own inven- 
 tion, he assumed a tragic port, 
 addressed his companion with, 
 " I will return anon ! " and 
 stalked off the stage to seek the 
 neglectful prompter. 
 
 ROUGH TREATMENT. 
 
 A STORY is told of the 
 American actor Forrest and a 
 player called Selwyn, who en- 
 thusiastically got himself" cast" 
 for the part of Lucullus in 
 Damon and Pythias, in order to 
 have the honour of playing with 
 the great tragedian. " The re- 
 hearsals all went smoothly. 
 ' Here I seize you/ said Mr. 
 Forrest. — ' Certainly, sir,' re- 
 plied Mr. Selwyn, cheerfully. — 
 ' Here I put you off, at first 
 entrance/ said Mr. Forrest. — 
 * Quite right, sir,' replied 
 Selwyn, who was getting on 
 capitally. — l You must give 
 yourself up to me/ said Mr. 
 Forrest. — ' Never fear, sir/ re- 
 
i6 
 
 THEATRICAL ANECDOTES. 
 
 plied Selwyn, with a trusting 
 smile. The eventful night ar- 
 rived. Selwyn was beautifully 
 attired in spotless tights and 
 Roman tunic. The whole com- 
 pany admired him as he stood 
 in a graceful attitude at the 
 wing. Then his cue was given, 
 and he walked upon the stage, 
 'a thing of beauty/ He spoke 
 his little lines with modest em- 
 phasis. Suddenly the muscular 
 tragedian advanced upon him 
 like an angry tiger upon a gentle 
 lamb ; seized him ; shook him 
 in the air ; threw him from side 
 to side ; released him only to 
 pounce upon him again, like a 
 cat playing with a mouse ; 
 swabbed the stage with him as 
 if he had been a floor-clout ; 
 held him at arm's-length, amid 
 the eager plaudits of the gallery 
 boys, and at last flung him out 
 of sight through the first en- 
 trance, and landed him in front 
 of the prompter's box, a dirty, 
 sore, perspiring, dishevelled, 
 bruised, disgusted heap of hu- 
 manity. ' Ah ! ' said a friend, 
 coming up to him as he lay 
 panting upon the floor ; ' I see 
 that you have been playing with 
 Forrest.' — 'No,' groaned Sel- 
 wyn, trying in vain to rise ; ' For- 
 rest has been playing with me ! 
 and a nice object he's made of 
 me!' Mr. Selwyn modestly but 
 firmly declined to make a second 
 appearance on the stage — at any 
 rate, as Lucullus." 
 
 COOKE AND THE LIVER- 
 POOL AUDIENCE. 
 
 There was a rough genuine- 
 ness about Cooke, which, in 
 
 spite of his coarseness and even 
 brutal tastes, interests. At 
 Liverpool, when he was reeling 
 about the stage and scarcely 
 able to articulate, a storm of 
 hisses broke out. He turned on 
 them. " What ! do you hiss me 
 — me t George Frederick Cooke ! 
 You contemptible money-getters ! 
 You shall never again have the 
 honour of hissing me. Farewell. 
 I banish you? Then, after a 
 pause, he added, " There is not 
 a brick in your dirty town but 
 what is cemented by the blood of 
 a negro? There is a kind of 
 grandeur and rude savagery in 
 this address which is highly cha- 
 racteristic of the man. 
 
 KEMBLE' S APPEAL. 
 
 Kemble, interrupted by the 
 crying of a child in the gallery, 
 at last came forward, and in his 
 deep solemn tones addressed 
 the audience : " Ladies and 
 gentlemen, unless the play be 
 stopped, the child cannot pos- 
 sibly go on." This speech has 
 been attributed to various fa- 
 cetious actors, who are supposed 
 to have uttered it ironically, but 
 the gravity and habitual earnest- 
 ness of Kemble, together with 
 the belief that he was giving a 
 dignified rebuke, adds greatly to 
 the point of the story. 
 
 A DYING PRAYER. 
 
 " Tom Cooke " was required j 
 at the eleventh hour to take an 
 actor's place in the play of 
 George Barnwell, at a country 
 theatre. News of one of Nelson's 
 victories had just come in, and 
 
THEATRICAL ANECDOTES. 
 
 t? 
 
 the whole town was in a state of 
 excitement. Cooke got through 
 the part fairly, until he came to 
 the end, where he was stabbed by 
 his son, and when his know- 
 ledge ceased. He 'was told to 
 "say anything — invent some- 
 thing," when, after some proper 
 gaspings, he suddenly threw his 
 hat into the air and shouted, 
 " Nelson for ever / " The roars 
 of applause that followed shook 
 the roof, and he received all the 
 honours of the night. 
 
 A POLITE REQUEST. 
 
 Macklin, when sitting at 
 the back of the boxes, was pre- 
 vented from seeing the stage by 
 a gentleman who stood up in 
 front. He tapped him with his 
 stick on the shoulder and ad- 
 dressed him with the most 
 studious politeness : " When 
 anything entertaining occurs on 
 the stage, perhaps you would let 
 me and my friend know : for 
 you see, my dear sir, that at 
 present we must totally depend 
 upon your lewdness." 
 
 THE JEW AND MRS. 
 SIDDONS. 
 
 When Mrs. Siddons was 
 playing " Mrs. Beverley," at 
 Bath, the theatre was hushed 
 into the most sympathetic still- 
 ness. Her whispers were eagerly 
 caught, and, according to the 
 favourite expression, a pin might 
 have been heard to drop. Sud- 
 denly a little Jew started up in 
 the pit and called out angrily : 
 i My Got ! who dat sphit in my 
 Ire?" 
 
 ODD ADVERTISEMENT. 
 
 Kemble and Lewis happened 
 to meet in Dublin, when a 
 manager engaged both to join 
 their talents at his theatre for 
 "one night only." He adver- 
 tised the combined attraction in 
 the following strange terms : — 
 " They never performed together 
 in the same piece, and in all 
 h umanprobability tk ey never will 
 again. This evening is the sum- 
 mit of the manager's climax. 
 He has constantly gone higher 
 and higher in his efforts to de- 
 light the public ; beyond this it 
 is not in nature to go." 
 
 WELL DESERVED. 
 
 Actors have often had to 
 suffer from the bad taste of 
 friends and patrons, who offer 
 some trifling civilities and ex- 
 pect a gratuitous exhibition 
 in return. Such designs have 
 often been pleasantly frustrated. 
 Thus Shuter being asked for 
 the special object of entertain- 
 ing the company, remained pur- 
 posely as dull and silent as pos- 
 sible, until one of the part, 
 losing all patience, exclaimed, 
 "Come, Mr. Shuter, when do you 
 intend to begin to be comical ? " 
 " Gad," said the actor, rising, 
 " I forgot my fool's dress, but 
 I'll go and fetch it if you will 
 be my substitute until I come 
 back." This was thought very 
 droll, but Shuter did not return. 
 
 A POLITE REQUEST. 
 
 LiSTON was subjected to a 
 similar attempt during the re- 
 
i8 
 
 THEATRICAL ANECDOTES. 
 
 vival of Tom Thumb, when he 
 was asked to the house of a city 
 magnate. At dessert he was 
 surprised to see the servants 
 come in to clear away the 
 tables and set back the chairs, 
 the guests standing round, while 
 the host smilingly explained that 
 these preparations were made 
 " to make room for Mr. Liston 
 to favour the company with 
 Lord Grizzle's dancing song be- 
 fore the children went to bed." 
 This scene must have been a bit 
 of comedy. Liston withdrew. 
 
 SERVE THEM RIGHT. 
 
 This suggests a well-known 
 story told of Mr. Sothern, who 
 was asked to dine at a mess, 
 where the officers insisted, after 
 dinner, he should " give his fa- 
 mous drunken scene from David 
 Garrick? The actor good hu- 
 mouredly waived off this request, 
 and found many ingenious ex- 
 cuses, but his ill-bred hosts were 
 positive, and grew uproarious in 
 their pressing. The actor ac- 
 cordingly consented, and gave 
 the scene faithfully. At the close, 
 it will be remembered, the actor 
 drags down a curtain, as he 
 leaves the stage, and on this 
 occasion, affecting to be carried 
 away by the situation, he caught 
 at the table-cloth, and swept off 
 glasses, plates, &c. This rough 
 and ready rebuke was fairly de- 
 served, no matter who the hero 
 of the story was. 
 
 "STICK TO THE COO!" 
 
 BOSWELL tells, with an air of 
 doubt and complacency mingled, 
 
 how one night in the gallery 
 of a theatre he had given imita- 
 tions of the lowing of a cow. 
 This performance drew forth, as 
 might be expected, the applause 
 of the groundlings, who shouted 
 loudly, " Encore the coo ! encore 
 the coo ! n " Bozzy " naively 
 owns that he was encouraged to 
 go on and offer imitations of the 
 notes of other animals, but these 
 were inferior, and saluted as 
 failures by the audience. An 
 old Dr. Blair beside him whis- 
 pered that he had better " Stick 
 to the coo, mon ! you'd better 
 stick to your coo /" There is 
 something inexpressibly gro- 
 tesque in the whole scene, and 
 the fashion in which it so nicely 
 harmonizes with Boswell's cha- 
 racter. 
 
 BATHOS. 
 
 The platitudes found in pro- 
 logues are well known, as well 
 as the curiously universal adop- 
 tion of the same topics and 
 allusions. At any amateur per- 
 formance are sure to be heard 
 expressions of feigned timidity 
 and alarm, with an invitation at 
 the close to " give but your ap- 
 plause!" Bowles, the poet, once 
 heard Mrs. Siddons deliver two 
 lines : — 
 
 " The volunteers, rewarded by no pay, 
 Except their feelings on some future 
 day," 
 
 — a delightful specimen. The 
 idea, not merely of rewarding a 
 "person with their own feel- 
 ings," but of deferring that pay- 
 ment until " a future day " is 
 excellent. 
 
THEATRICAL ANECDOTES, 
 
 »9 
 
 PRE A CHERS AND A CTORS. 
 
 A NICE distinction was once 
 made by an actor in conversa- 
 tion with a prelate. Archbishop 
 Sancroft said to Betterton : " I 
 don't know how it is that you 
 actors, when speaking of merely 
 imaginary things, contrive to 
 affect your audience as if they 
 were real things ; whereas we 
 clergymen, when speaking of 
 real things, seem only to affect 
 our audience as though we were 
 speaking of imaginary things." 
 Betterton suggested that it might 
 be because "actors spoke of 
 imaginary things as though they 
 were real, whereas in the pulpit 
 real things were spoken of as 
 imaginary." 
 
 RUSTICS A T THE FLA Y. 
 
 Mr. Julian Young sent his 
 gardener and wife to the Bristol 
 theatre as a treat, and asked 
 them both how they liked it. 
 The following dialogue took 
 place : — " Well, Robert, what 
 did you see last night?" (No 
 answer, but a look of bewilder- 
 ment and annoyance at the 
 question). — " Well, sir," after a 
 pause, " I see what you sent us 
 to see." — " Well, what was 
 that?" — "Why the play, in 
 course." — " Was it a tragedy or 
 a comedy?" — "I don't know 
 what ye mane. I cant say no 
 more than I have said, nor no 
 fairer. A 11 1 know is, tliere was 
 a precious lot on 'em on the 
 theayter stage j and tliere they 
 was in and out, and out and in 
 iigain" The wife was asked for 
 
 her opinion. — " Ah, dear sir, and 
 we had the pantrymine, and 
 what I liked best in it was zvhere 
 the fool foliar stooped down and 
 grinned at we through his legs." 
 Many a play would deserve the 
 honest gardener's criticism ; and 
 " in and out, and out and in 
 again," would fitly describe cer- 
 tain grand spectacular perform- 
 ances. 
 
 A MANAGER'S LETTER- 
 BOX. 
 
 There is often a certain 
 grotesqueness connected with 
 attempts of candidates for the 
 stage. Their pride and ambi- 
 tious sense of their own merits 
 contrasts in a very entertaining 
 way with the modest character 
 of their present position. Every 
 manager could contribute some 
 diverting chapters to this de- 
 partment of human weakness. 
 
 " Sir," wrote an applicant, " I 
 have took the liberty of Troub- 
 ling you with those few lines, to 
 Ask vou if you have an Engage- 
 ment Vacant in Your Company. 
 To Let You know My Accom- 
 plishments, I am Active and 
 Ready, Quick at my Lessons, 
 And further. Sir, the Chief which 
 i Can Play is Norval in ' Doug- 
 las/ and Lothair in the ' Miller 
 and his Men ;' And have no 
 Objection of being Usefull at 
 the Sides as a Pheasant, &c. 
 As My Inclination for treading 
 the Stage is So Strong, That i 
 am like Lothair, ' Without the 
 Stage my life is But a Blank/ 
 my Services is Useless to Others 
 and Miserable to Myself. And 
 further, i have to State, I am 
 c 2 
 
20 
 
 THEATRICAL ANECDOTES. 
 
 Very Expeditious at Writing 
 Plays, and have no Objection of 
 Supplying you with a Melodrame 
 Every 3 Months free of Ex- 
 pence ; and i have one now in 
 mv Possession Which i have 
 lately Wrote, Entitled The (As- 
 sassins of the forest,) in 5 Acts, 
 Which, sir, is yours, if you think 
 Proper to Engage Me." 
 
 " Sir," wrote another postu- 
 lant, "Allow me, with the utmost 
 respect and becoming fortitude, 
 the privilege, as well as the 
 honour, though an entire stran- 
 ger, of soliciting your attention 
 towards the enclosed. A self- 
 interrogation had long perplexed 
 my mind, concerning whether I 
 was capable of undertaking the 
 difficult, as well as resolute part, 
 of an author : — many proofs, I 
 imagined, announced me in- 
 competent, and yet others ap- 
 peared convincing me to the 
 contrary. The generality of 
 mankind are too a*pt in imagin- 
 ing themselves exulting in a 
 state of future prosperity ; in- 
 stead of employing resignation 
 to make themselves content in 
 whatever wretched capacity the 
 precarious will of Providence 
 may judge necessary. Of the 
 former disposition am I ; there- 
 fore, I threw aside every obsta- 
 cle, and consigned my all to 
 chance. Emboldened by every 
 favourable idea on my own side, 
 I commenced the present pro- 
 duction ; nor were my exertions 
 reluctantly given, but indefati- 
 gable in its progress, though I 
 was continually teazed by voices 
 forbidding such an undertaking : 
 my last consideration, is that of 
 
 receiving any emolument from 
 the drama, but candidly, if I 
 may employ the expression, the 
 smiles of aspiring Fame ! I 
 shall now conclude, with humbly 
 soliciting for an insurmountable 
 favour on your part, which is, 
 to use your never-failing talent, 
 in whatever situation you think 
 proper, if you suppose the en- 
 closed worthy of such noble in- 
 dulgence ! but if it should so 
 happen as to be entirely rejected, 
 which I shall know by not ob- 
 serving any annoujicement of its 
 representation in your bills, why, 
 I shall make myself perfectly 
 contented, as I am most rigidly 
 assured that I could not have 
 entrusted any dramatic attempt 
 whatever into the hands of a 
 man more zealous in wishing to 
 give satisfaction than yourself; 
 and therefore, without any apo- 
 logy, allow me to repeat boldly, 
 what I would wish to be : — An 
 Object worthy of your Regard." 
 
 Another novice offered him- 
 self to Macklin for Othello, and 
 giving the speech to the Senate 
 as a specimen of his powers, was 
 observed to use his left arm 
 again and again with great vio- 
 lence. " Pray, sir," said Mack- 
 lin, " make more use of your 
 right arm. You are now address- 
 ing the Senate." The actor 
 naively explained that he had 
 lost his arm, in a man-of-war, 
 many years before ! 
 
 Another gentleman thus 
 offered himself and his peculiar 
 combination of talents: — " I am 
 a Salamander, and sing comic 
 songs." Another, that " he was 
 
THEATRICAL ANECDOTES. 
 
 a beautiful whistler." But better 
 than these, are some that found 
 their way into the New Monthly 
 Magazine, nearly fifty years ago, 
 illustrated, it would seem, by 
 the comments of either Leigh 
 Hunt or Hazlitt. 
 
 To a country bumpkin the 
 abstract notion of " a play- 
 actor" is a something which 
 inspires a mysterious respect 
 amounting to awe, and at the 
 time a sense of familiarity which 
 almost " breeds contempt." 
 These two opposite feelings are 
 delightfully blended and con- 
 fused together in the epistle 
 which follows : — 
 
 " Mr. Wrench, — Sir, — 
 Please to excuse my freedom as 
 streanger to you, but I have had 
 the pleasure of seeing you many 
 times at the theatre in Oxford. 
 Mr. Wrench, J. W*** presents 
 most respectful compliments to 
 Mr. W. begs the favor of his com- 
 pany at dinner to day at 2 o'Clock 
 to meet a few friends — And in 
 the evening we intend to visit 
 your theatre. Sir, I hope you 
 will excuse this short notis. 
 
 " Monday Morning, 4th Sept. 
 18 1 5. An answer is requested. 
 
 "J. W*** Porter of 
 
 " College." 
 
 The next specimen shall be 
 from two aspirants after thea- 
 trical fame. The infinite sum- 
 mariness of the first, and the 
 cool manner in which the writer 
 desires to be waited upon at his 
 own residence, are remarkable. 
 He evidently thinks that, now 
 his mind is made up on the 
 matter, nothing remains but to 
 
 21 
 
 arrange the preliminaries of his 
 engagement. 
 
 "Aug. 13, 1815. 
 
 " To Mr. Mathews,-— Sir — 
 I write these few lines to you, 
 hoping that i shall succeed in 
 what I am trying for — i am very 
 unhappy, now my mind is all on 
 being a stage-actor, and if you 
 would have the goodness to stepp 
 down to 35, Devonshire-street, 
 Portland-place, to-day, i shall be 
 very much a bloiged to you, as 
 I have not time to come to the 
 Haymarket. 
 
 " I remain yours, — R. R***." 
 
 The other is from a very dif- 
 ferent person : — 
 
 " Sir, — I now wait upon you 
 in order to offer myself to your 
 acceptance as a tragic performer 
 of the first characters — having 
 studied Shakespear and other 
 celebrated authors for several 
 years — but I bring with me no 
 other recommendation to your 
 notice but my own abilities — not 
 having appeared on any stage 
 yet — still if you should have the 
 goodness to grant my suit, I 
 think I may justly say with 
 Norval, something makes me 
 bold to say I will not shame 
 thy favor. The salary I should 
 expect would not be more than 
 15 s. per week. Pardon me, if I 
 through ignorance have erred in 
 addressing you — not knowing 
 the way in which the theatrical 
 affairs are generally transacted. 
 
 " Your humble Servant, 
 
 " W. K***. 
 
 " N.B. If you think it worth 
 your trouble, as I am now in 
 waiting, 1 would give you a 
 specimen or two of my abili- 
 
THEATRICAL ANECDOTES, 
 
 ties — knowing, from report, your 
 innate worth and love of justice. 
 " To Mr. T. Dibdin, Manager, 
 Surry Theatre." 
 
 The following is from an 
 author— and what is more, a 
 poet — and what is most of all, a 
 patriot !— 
 
 " Scarboro', Dec. 9, 1804. 
 " Dear Sir,— I have written 
 a play, ' Patriotic Incidents, or 
 the Nightly Watch ; in five acts.' 
 Altogether pro tern pore — the 
 title will convince — it will readily 
 be licensed, and I am confident 
 it possesses merit. One (a face- 
 tious, whimsical, hypocritical, 
 satirical, avaricious) character 
 I purposely contrived for you. 
 Quere, can I have it introduced 
 in London ? In what time ? 
 How must I proceed ? What 
 obstacles will oppose me ? How 
 shall I oppose tliem f What 
 terms? Is Mr. Kelly acces- 
 sible ? for I want a ' patriotic 
 overture' composing, and a 
 * patriotic song * setting to 
 music — viz. 
 
 sg ( England, arise ! see, where the 
 ,o I gathering foe, 
 
 g Like a fierce tyger, ere he takes his 
 
 u ' leap — 
 
 J j Rise, o arise ! uplift a mighty blow — 
 
 u Headlong destruction ! Ruin ! on them 
 *2 \ heap ! ! 
 
 Overture, (which immediately 
 strikes up at the conclusion of 
 5th Act,) to have for its various 
 movements, ' God Save the 
 King ' — ' Rule Britannia ' — 
 1 Hearts of Oak' — 'Britons 
 Strike Home.' Hope you will 
 not be offended at my having 
 taken this liberty with you, nor 
 at my urging you to favor me 
 with as early an answer as pos- 
 
 sible. And let me entreat you 
 to keep my name ( ) se- 
 cret, for I mean to be known 
 only as, Dear Sir, Yours, &c, 
 Wm, Rum bert. 
 
 N.B. 
 
 Mrs. 
 
 Best respects to 
 — . Perhaps I may 
 err in my superscription — for I 
 only heard per chance you were 
 at Drury-lane. If you are not, 
 permit me to say you deserve to 
 be there." 
 
 The following effusion is the 
 joint production of two brothers, 
 who seem, in this instance, to 
 have been sick of too much 
 health. The "bans," (as they 
 call them,) with which the worthy 
 proprietor of Vauxhall had fa- 
 voured them, were anything but 
 dons to them ! Their conster- 
 nation at the unremitting attacks 
 that are made upon them — their 
 tender solicitude lest Mr. Barrett 
 should suspect them of disaffec- 
 tion to his interests, in not help- 
 ing to fill his gardens with 
 orders — and their innocent de- 
 spair at the " distressing neces- 
 sity" to which they are reduced 
 of being compelled to solicit the 
 favour of being allowed to forego 
 the favour he had conferred upon 
 them — all this is the perfection 
 of naivete. 
 
 "London, Aug. 1, 1820. 
 "Much Respected Sir,— 
 Your kind generosity was so 
 great that you bestowed on us, 
 your horn-players at Wauxhall, 
 two Bons, which we with the 
 most grateful sensibility ac- 
 cepted ; but in the course of 
 time, we find hout that this in- 
 tended favor was for us an severe 
 
THEATRICAL ANECDOTES. 
 
 23 
 
 punishment. We are every day 
 besieged ; they say, two bons 
 make a little party, and for this 
 reason, in the course of the 
 season, more than 300 person 
 ask, and constantly plag us for 
 the bons — so that we are at last 
 under the distressing necessity 
 to solicit your kind permission 
 and consent to rennounce and 
 give up the bons. But if we lose 
 the bons, we wish never and 
 never to lose your kind protec- 
 tion. Consequently, we most 
 humbly solicit the favor to be 
 always at your service, at least 
 as long as we can decently do 
 our duty, as we prefer the en- 
 gagement at Wauxhall to any 
 other at London. 
 
 " We remain, with the greatest 
 respect, much respected Sir, 
 Your most grateful and humble 
 Servants, 
 
 " Joseph & Peter 
 
 . 
 
 " Horns at Wauxhall. 
 " To G. N. Barrett, Esq., 
 Strokwell." 
 
 r 
 
 We shall conclude our extracts, 
 for the present, with an epistle 
 sent from a clown at the Dublin 
 Theatre to his wife in London. 
 The following, like the specimen 
 which precedes it, is certainly 
 neither prose nor verse ; but we 
 will venture to say that it is 
 poetry, if the simple outburst- 
 ings of a sincere and deep-seated 
 affection are such. In the midst 
 of its infinite confusion of times, 
 persons, and things, there are 
 touches of passion which nothing 
 purely fictitious ever possessed. 
 The benediction that intervenes 
 between the two postscripts is 
 ~.e sublime of simple nature. 
 
 The reader must not be content 
 with a single perusal of this 
 letter. On the first reading, its 
 somewhat recondite orthography 
 may perhaps interfere with its 
 effect. But when it can be read 
 over without pausing to puzzle 
 out the meaning of the words, 
 he who can so read it, and not 
 be touched by it, even to the 
 very verge of tears, may be 
 assured that he is either not made 
 of " penetrable stuff," or that his 
 heart and affections are not in 
 a healthful state. We should 
 shrewdly suspect such a person 
 of being secretly addicted to 
 melo-drams ! 
 
 " Friday Morning. 
 " My Dear Aingel, — I rea- 
 seaved your Leater, and I am a 
 stonisht that you did not start 
 off the moment the theatre 
 closed, after what I have rote to 
 you and leting you know what a 
 situation I am in. I am a 
 stonisht that you did not pay 
 more a tencion — was you in a 
 straing country I wold not serve 
 you so— you are braking my 
 hart by eanchis — I have ben bad 
 a nuf before I reseved this 
 Leter — but this has cut me to 
 the senter of my hart. I am 
 walking the streets from morn- 
 ing to night and till morning 
 again — if you are not started 
 before you reaseve this Leter, I 
 shal expect you will start of on 
 the recpt of this Leater, wich 
 you will reaseve on Monday, 
 12 of November, wich I shall 
 expect you will come of by the 
 male at night ; and if you are 
 not over in Dublin on the thurs- 
 day folowing, I shal start on the 
 
THEATRICAL ANECDOTES. 
 
 fryday folowing, if I am abel to 
 start — for it is no youse for you 
 to come over heare then — for 
 you lose your engadgment — for 
 Mr. Joneston says he must 
 engadg sum one Elce in your 
 situation — so you know my sen- 
 timents. Dam the election and 
 the theatre — if you wish to make 
 me hapy you will mind what I 
 have rote to you, 
 
 " So no more from your ever 
 loving and obedient husband. 
 
 " If it ruinesme I will start on 
 fryday if you are not over on 
 thursday. If you start on mon- 
 day night you will be in Dublin 
 on thursday. God bless your 
 eyes. The theatre is shut up, 
 and I have just money a nofe 
 left to bring me to holey head— 
 and if you are not over on thurs- 
 day the 15, or friday the 16, by 
 God I will come of if I walk all 
 the way from the head to Lon- 
 don — thearfor do not come if 
 you do not come of in time. 
 O fany — I did not think you 
 wold treat me so — to leave me 
 in a straing country— I could 
 not treat poor Lobskey so — much 
 more your loving husband.' 7 
 
 A STRANGE DRAMA. 
 
 Colman says it would be im- 
 possible to give an idea of the 
 " cart-loads of trash " that are 
 sent to a London manager. The 
 very first piece that was sent to 
 him when he undertook the 
 management, was on a nautical 
 subject and by a nautical gentle- 
 man. During the principal scene 
 of the five acts — and it was a 
 tragedy — the hero declaimed 
 from the mainmast of a man-of- 
 
 war, without once descending 
 from his position ! 
 
 APPEAL TO RHYNO. 
 
 Reynolds was present at 
 some ludicrous scene that oc- 
 curred during the performance 
 of a new play called " The Cap- 
 tives." In the fifth act a cha- 
 racter called Rhyno rushed on 
 the stage announcing to the 
 hero, " My liege, the Citadel is 
 taken!" to the surprise of the 
 audience, who had not heard 
 that there was a war or siege 
 going on. The person addressed, 
 after commanding many military 
 manoeuvres and reciting an in- 
 vocation to Mars, turned to- 
 wards the messenger, exclaiming 
 with enthusiasm, " Charge, then, 
 charge ! Now art thou ready , 
 R/iyno ! * which, as may be con- 
 ceived, brought the play to a 
 close in roars of laughter. 
 
 A WALKING CONTRADIC- 
 TION 
 
 "Fly!" says Charlotte, in 
 Reyrol's play of " Werther," 
 " Lose not a moment! Suicide!" 
 Sebastian answers, " I'm rooted 
 here and have not power to stir ! " 
 As he spoke he " crossed" Char- 
 lotte, and stalked off the stage, 
 to the great amusement of the 
 audience. 
 
 A SCHOOL OF ACTING 
 DESCRIBED. 
 
 Mrs. Crawford's (formerly 
 Mrs. Barry) criticism on the 
 Kemble school, "All Paw and 
 pause," 
 
THEATRICAL ANECDOTES. 
 
 25 
 
 GENUINE ACTING. 
 
 A GROCER in Lichfield, who 
 was going to London, received 
 from his neighbour Peter Gar- 
 rick a letter of introduction to 
 the great David Garrick. Before 
 presenting it he happened to 
 visit the theatre, saw David 
 in "Abel D rugger," and returned 
 to his native town without pre- 
 senting the letter. He explained 
 the reason to Peter on his return. 
 " Your brother may be rich, as 
 I daresay the man who lives like 
 him must be j but, by G— d, 
 though he be your brother, Mr. 
 Garrick, he is one of the shab- 
 biest, meanest, most pitiful 
 hounds I ever saw in the whole 
 course of my life." This was a 
 real compliment to the actor's 
 gifts. Peter Garrick himself 
 told the story to Johnson, who 
 again related it to Mr. Kirkham. 
 
 A PIOUS MANAGER. 
 
 The editor of this little col- 
 lection once attended a per- 
 formance that took place in a 
 sort of canvas theatre which had 
 been opened for the season. 
 The manager came forward with 
 a sort of devotional manner — 
 indeed it was said that he had 
 been a field preacher— to thank 
 the audience for past favours, 
 with a view to obtaining future 
 ones. " He had secured/' he 
 said, " their old favourite, who 
 would make his first appearance 
 next week, with the permis- 
 sion" — here he cast his eyes 
 upwards—" of the Great Ma- 
 -er of all? 
 
 nagi 
 
 ELECTIONEERING ON THE 
 STAGE. 
 
 Theodore Hook, when a 
 little boy, was allowed to go 
 behind the scenes at the Hay- 
 market Theatre. When Lewis's 
 " Knight and the Wood Demon" 
 was being performed, the various 
 supernatural noises and warn- 
 ings were produced— the lad 
 noted with much interest— by 
 an enormous speaking-trumpet 
 used by the prompter. One night 
 when the Westminster election 
 was raging and great political 
 excitement, Theodore prevailed 
 on the prompter to allow him to 
 make the noise for him, to which 
 the latter incautiously agreed. 
 Just as the fiend was ascending 
 through the trap a deep roar 
 attended him, and the astonished 
 audience heard the words "she- 
 r-i-dan for ever!" given in 
 melo-dramatic accents. 
 
 "GAGS? 
 
 " Gags " have always been as 
 essential a portion of an actor's 
 stock as his wigs and rouge pots. 
 Some make it a practice — a 
 well-known comic actor is a 
 signal instance — of "gagging" 
 all through their part, if not to 
 the embarrassment, at least to 
 the comparative extinction, of 
 their companions. Some of the 
 traditional "gags" are jealously 
 preserved and handed down ; 
 and it is often thought of great 
 importance, when a part is at- 
 tempted, "to get the gags" from 
 the fortunate player who has 
 their custody. The modern ver- 
 
26 
 
 THEATRICAL ANECDOTES. 
 
 sion of the " Critic " teems with 
 gags — allusions to the " Christy 
 Minstrels," and the like — for 
 which Mr. Charles Mathews 
 lately attempted a pleasant 
 justification. There are some 
 gags in the " School for Scandal," 
 especially that precious question 
 about the letter from the country, 
 tt Was the postage paid ?" and 
 in the recent revival of the 
 " Rivals n there were a number 
 of jests introduced certainly not 
 warranted by the original text. 
 Sheridan, therefore, seems to be 
 the chief victim. 
 
 " WHICH BE JOEY?" 
 
 Mistakes like the following 
 happen more frequently than is 
 supposed. Two countrymen 
 went to Covent Garden to see 
 Joe Grimaldi as clown. They 
 arrived at "half-price," during 
 the last act of " George Barn- 
 well," when Charles Kemble as 
 Barnwell, and Murray as 
 Thoroughgood, were on the 
 stage, and exciting great ap- 
 plause. One of the countrymen 
 was heard to say to the other, 
 "Which be Joey?" 
 
 A RECOGNITION. 
 
 Zuchelli, a famous baritone 
 singer, whose fame was well 
 known on the continent, came 
 to the London Opera House. 
 When Michael Kelly saw him 
 behind the scenes, he started 
 and said, " We have met before. 
 Were you ever in Wine Tavern 
 Street, Dublin ?" The signor 
 admitted the fact. It turned 
 out that he was no other than 
 
 "Teddy Kelly, of the Cross 
 Poddle," an old schoolfellow of 
 Michael Kelly's. 
 
 INCONVENIENT HOMAGE. 
 
 On the last night of Ma- 
 cready's engagement at Paris, 
 he performed Othello, and when 
 he was called before the curtain 
 a vast number of his French 
 audience leaped on the stage 
 and overwhelmed him with em- 
 braces. This epanchement da 
 cceur, as they would have called 
 it, brought its inconveniences, 
 and many faces showed the 
 effects of their contact with that 
 of the Moor. 
 
 "BUSINESS.* 
 
 Histrionic "business" has 
 its sacred traditions. In co- 
 medies of the last century, 
 when a gentleman was surprised 
 in his garden reading, the in- 
 variable " business " was to 
 throw away the book into the 
 adjacent stream, or shrubbery. 
 This was considered to be easy 
 carelessness of high life. Gar- 
 rick, in the scene with his mother 
 in Hamlet, used to have the 
 back legs of his chair shortened, 
 so that it would tumble over 
 with a touch as he rose hastily. 
 That the grave-digger in the 
 same play should wear a num- 
 ber of waistcoats, is held equally 
 sacred. 
 
 A SLIGHT DIFFERENCE. 
 
 " I like Wrench," a friend 
 said to Elliston, " because he is 
 
THEATRICAL ANECDOTES. 
 
 27 
 
 the same natural easy creature 
 on the stage, that he is off" — 
 " My case, exactly," retorted El- 
 liston; " I am the same person 
 off the stage that I am on? 
 u The inference, at first sight," 
 says Charles Lamb, who reports 
 or invents the story, " seems 
 identical ; but examine it a 
 little, and it confesses only that 
 one performer was never the 
 other always, acting" 
 
 CHARY PRAISE. 
 
 There is a well-worn story 
 of Mrs. Siddons, which is yet 
 excellent of its land. On her 
 first appearance at the Edin- 
 burgh theatre, her playing was 
 received coldly, and without the 
 slightest applause, so much so 
 that she vowed, if her next point 
 failed, she would never set foot 
 in Scotland again. The point 
 was given ; there was a pause, 
 when a voice in the "put" was 
 heard, " That's no' bad I " This 
 cautious criticism produced first 
 laughter, and then the applause 
 she was so eager for. 
 
 FREE AND EASY. 
 
 An American actor was press- 
 ing familiarly on Mr. Macready 
 at rehearsal, and was checked 
 by the rebuke : " Sir, do you 
 want to shake hands with your 
 king?" — "I don't know about 
 that," was the reply, " I always 
 do so with my own president." 
 
 " THE NAIL." 
 
 The same tragedian was 
 greatly put out by the stupidity 
 
 of an inferior actor at rehearsal, 
 who would persist in coming 
 down the stage in front of him. 
 The carpenter was called and 
 told to drive a brass-headed nail 
 into the floor. " Now, sir," said 
 Macready, " remember you arc 
 not to proceed beyond that spot." 
 At night, during the perform- 
 ance, he became quite confused 
 in his part, and kept his head 
 down, without giving the proper 
 cue. " What are you about, 
 sir ? " growled the tragedian, 
 under his breath. — " Ain't I 
 looking for that blessed nail of 
 yours ? " The idea that the 
 remedy for his failing should 
 itself become the cause of a 
 fresh failing, is highly ludicrous. 
 
 SHOULD AN ACTOR FEEL ? 
 
 It is stated that Betterton, 
 when playing Hamlet, was ac- 
 tually seen to turn pale as the 
 ghost appeared. Miss Kelly used 
 to relate that she felt the hot 
 tears dropping from Mrs. Sid- 
 don's eyes as the great actress 
 bent over her when playing one 
 of her most pathetic characters. 
 Supposing, however, that such 
 sensibility was exhibited every 
 night, it is evident that it would 
 become a mere habit; and the 
 question has often been dis- 
 cussed as to whether the mere 
 signs of artificial emotions, duly 
 regulated by study and genius, 
 are not more effective ? John- 
 son took a highly characteristic 
 view of the matter, when he de- 
 clared that if Garrick was ever 
 so carried away by his acting 
 as to feel for the moment like 
 Richard, he deserved hanging 
 
28 
 
 THEATRICAL ANECDOTES. 
 
 each time he played the cha- 
 racter. 
 
 AN EYE TO THE MAIN 
 CHANCE. 
 
 The humours connected with 
 strolling companies are endless. 
 One Jenny Whitely, a well- 
 known manager, was playing 
 Richard, and in the famous 
 " tent scene " delivered the lines 
 with the singular interpolation : — 
 
 " Hence babbling dreams ! you threaten 
 here in vain ! " 
 
 (" That man there, in the brown 
 wig, has got into the pit with- 
 out paying.") 
 
 " Richard's himself again." 
 
 SOLDIERS AT THEATRES. 
 
 A guard of soldiers always 
 attends at Drury Lane and Co- ! 
 vent Garden theatres. This cus- i 
 torn is said to be owing to a j 
 dispute that took place on the | 
 stage between Quin and some : 
 young "bloods" of the day, 
 when the watch had to be sum- 
 moned. King George the Second 
 sent for the offenders and lee- | 
 tured them, and, to prevent such 
 impropriety in future, ordered 
 that a guard should attend every 
 night. 
 
 SALARIES OF ACTORS. 
 
 About a hundred years ago, 
 when Drury Lane Theatre, un- 
 der Garrick's direction, had 
 reached the highest prosperity, 
 the salary of the leading actors 
 averaged fifteen pounds a week. 
 The names of 160 performers 
 
 were on the books. Nearly that 
 number of plays were always 
 ready for performance, each with 
 its caste of players celebrated 
 in each character. A good 
 leading comedian now receives 
 about 25/. a week. Two well- 
 known performers, of great po- 
 pularity, are known to make 
 over ten thousand a year each ! 
 The usual terms in the provin- 
 cial theatres is to share the pro- 
 fits of each night, with the ma- 
 nager, after all expenses are 
 paid. 
 
 GARRICK AND LORD MANS- 
 FIELD. 
 
 There is a little-known but 
 highly characteristic story of 
 Garrick, which shows the nice 
 and delicately ordered nature of 
 his mind. At a dinner party he 
 was asked by Lord Mansfield 
 to repeat the dagger scene in 
 "Macbeth" for the company. 
 This rather awkward request 
 Garrick did not refuse, but be- 
 gan to explain the difficulties of 
 conveying the idea of the situa- 
 tion under such circumstances. 
 " The mind of the spectator," he 
 said, " should be prepared. It 
 should be recollected that Mac- 
 beth was a nobleman highly 
 honoured by the king, &c, and 
 that he was bound to protect 
 him as his guest, and yet was in 
 his chamber for the purpose of 
 murdering him." " Then he sees 
 the apparition," continued the 
 actor, who had been artfully 
 preparing the minds of the 
 guests all the time that he had 
 been unfolding the difficulties of 
 doing so, and exclaims, " Is this 
 
THEATRICAL ANECDOTES. 
 
 29 
 
 a dagger which I see before 
 me ? "— ■ " Thafs all very true? 
 interrupted Lord Mansfield, with 
 singular gaucherie, " but, surely, 
 you can recite a portion of it for 
 us?" — "Impossible," said the 
 actor, coldly. He then changed 
 the subject, " Where are we to 
 meet again, my Lord ? n 
 
 A COMPLIMENT 
 
 When Kemble was super- 
 intending the building of Co- 
 vent Garden Theatre, the fol- 
 lowing "neat" epigram was 
 written : — 
 
 "Actor and architect, he tries 
 To please the critics one and all : 
 This bids the private tiers to rise, 
 And that the public tears to fall." 
 
 A DEFA ULTER A C QUITTED. 
 
 Kemble's formality and " no- 
 ble Roman " manner often fur- 
 nished amusement to the jester. 
 This haughty bearing, however, 
 was sometimes checked by mor- 
 tifying circumstances. One night, 
 when " Pizarro " was " running," 
 there was a long wait, and it 
 was announced that one of the 
 actors was absent, and that the 
 indulgence of the audience was 
 requested for a few moments. 
 Kemble then presented himself 
 rather abruptly, and said, " La- 
 dies and gentlemen, at the re- 
 quest of the principal performers 
 in the play of this evening, I 
 am to inform you that the person 
 alluded to is Mr. Emery !" He 
 had scarcely retired when the 
 delinquent himself, his face red 
 with haste, and in his great- 
 coat and dirty boots, rushed on 
 
 the stage, and panted out his 
 excuses. " Ladies," he said, — 
 " for you I must particularly ad- 
 dress — my wife — my wife," (here 
 his feelings overcame him for a 
 moment,) " was confined but an 
 hour since, and I — " (but here 
 he was interrupted by a tremen- 
 dous burst of applause, the mo- 
 tive for which it would be hard 
 to define nicely, though it pro- 
 bably meant sympathy), " and 
 I ran for the doctor." Roars 
 of affectionate interest broke 
 forth. He attempted to add 
 further explanation ; he would 
 not be listened to, and retired 
 triumphant and consoled, with 
 his hand on his breast. This 
 " rehabilitation," it may be con- 
 ceived, was not very agreeable 
 to Kemble, who was destined, 
 however, to receive further mor- 
 tification before the play con- 
 cluded. Rolla has to try and 
 corrupt a sentinel, who was 
 played by Emery, when the fol- 
 lowing dialogue took place : — 
 
 Rolla. Have you a wife ? 
 
 Sentinel. I have. 
 
 Rolla. Children? 
 
 Sentinel. I had two this morn- 
 ing. — / have tliree now. 
 
 This rather happy hit pro- 
 duced such a roar of delight 
 that the gravity of the scene 
 was lost, and Kemble himself 
 forced to retire without being 
 able to add another word. 
 
 TIT FOR TA T. 
 
 Some of the jests and repar- 
 tees that have passed between 
 rival dramatic authors, or be- 
 tween authors and managers, 
 are' of a very superior class. 
 
3o 
 
 THEATRICAL ANECDOTES. 
 
 Thus Garrick said, with some 
 complacency, to Foote, " I see, 
 after all, you are acting one of 
 my pieces at the Haymarket." 
 — " Pooh," said the other, " I 
 must have some sort of ventila- 
 tion for my little house in this 
 hot weather." Here are all the 
 elements of surprise so neces- 
 sary to a witty situation : Gar- 
 rick's air of triumph at an 
 enemy's being obliged to fall 
 back on one of his productions: 
 Foote's apparent acceptance of 
 the position, and, lastly, the 
 rather ignominious use for which 
 the piece was adapted. 
 
 So with Sheridan's reply to 
 Monk Lewis, who was offering 
 for a wager all the money 
 brought by his successful 
 " Castle Spectre." " No," said 
 Sheridan, coolly, "but I will 
 bet you all that it is worth." A 
 very different thing. 
 
 So when Boaden, who had 
 gone about calling Drury Lane 
 " a wilderness," (from its vast 
 size,) came to Sheridan with a 
 new piece, the latter said, good- 
 humouredly, "You are entitled 
 to call my theatre a wilderness, 
 but it is too much to expect 
 me to give you an opportunity 
 of proving your words." This 
 is very happy. 
 
 ODD PHRASES. 
 
 IN Victor's " History of the 
 Theatres" occurs a quaint phrase. 
 He is criticising the " Earl of 
 Essex," and describes the last 
 act, " where Essex and South- 
 ampton are going to execution, 
 
 which proved an agreeable in- 
 cident. 
 
 Theatrical biographers, 
 such as Boaden, Murphy, Camp- 
 bell, have some very strange 
 and inflated phrases. Murphy, 
 that Mrs. Cibbcr, " with her ex- 
 pressive and harmonious voice, 
 spoke daggers in every sen- 
 tence," and adds, that it was 
 " the thunder and lightning of 
 virtue." " The audience," says 
 Boaden on another occasion, 
 " was for once electrified without 
 noise." " Demetrius," says Mur- 
 phy, describing the close of a 
 tragedy, " presents a bowl of 
 poison to his wife. She obeys, 
 and dies soon after. Dumnorix 
 weeps over her, and falls on his 
 own sword. It is unneces- 
 sary to add that this cata- 
 strophe made no impression, and 
 that the piece ended in a cold, 
 languid, and unimpassioned 
 manner." Campbell, the poet, 
 has the most extraordinary ex- 
 pressions in his " Life of Mrs. 
 Siddons," but it is believed not 
 to have been his work at all. 
 
 TIIUADER. 
 
 Stage thunder seems to have 
 been produced in the same way 
 from the earliest days. In a 
 prologue to " Every Man in his 
 Humour " occur the lines : 
 
 " Nor roird bullet heard 
 To say it thunders, nor tempestuous drum 
 Rumbles to tell you when the storm ir- 
 
 come," 
 
 The sheet of metal, violently 
 agitated, is indeed the most 
 convenient and therefore the 
 most popular " property," but 
 
THEATRICAL ANECDOTES. 
 
 31 
 
 the " roll'd bullet " gives the 
 effect of the distant thunder 
 with far more effect. Peas, 
 rattled in a hollow roller, is the 
 conventional mode of represent- 
 ing rain ; while the whistling 
 wind is, or used to be, produced 
 by turning a sort of treadwheel 
 on which a cloth was laid. This 
 suggests the wintry Crimean 
 scene in one of Mr. Robertson's 
 pieces, so elaborately got up at 
 the Prince of Wales' Theatre, 
 where the characters seemed 
 to have infinite difficulty in 
 closing the door of the hut 
 against the wind ; and a shower 
 of some white liquor was artfully 
 thrown in, as the door opened, 
 to give the idea of snow and 
 sleet. 
 
 AGE OF ACTORS. 
 
 There is certainly something 
 remarkable in the longevity of 
 actors. It might reasonably be 
 assumed that the hard work 
 coming at the close of the day, 
 the strain on the lungs, and the 
 mental exertion, would tend to a 
 speedy wearing out the system. 
 Dr. Clarke Russell has collected 
 many instances of old age in 
 actors. Wilks lived to 88 ; 
 Mrs. Clive, Beard, Betterton, 
 Reeley to 75 ; Murphy, Jack 
 Johnstone, King, Vining, and 
 Wallack to 78. Dowton 
 reached 88, Colley Cibber S6, 
 Yates 97, Macklin to some years 
 over 100 ! Mrs. Glover was 
 68, Garrick 65, Harley 72, Lis- 
 ton 69, Pope and Quin 73. 
 This list might be vastly ex- 
 tended. Miss Farren, Munden, 
 
 Wewitzer, Quick, Mrs. Mat- 
 tocks, Bensley, Tate Wilkinson, 
 Mrs. Crawford, Mrs. Abington, 
 Moody, Charles Kemble, Charles 
 Young, Mrs. Glover, Richard 
 Jones, Mrs. Bartley, Charles 
 Mackay, Farren, Hartley, Van- 
 denhoff, Lady Becher, Paul Bed- 
 ford, were all septuagenarians. 
 To these may be added the 
 names of Buckstone, Webster, 
 Phelps, Macready, Mathews. 
 The Law and the Stage are cer- 
 tainly the most healthy and most 
 hard-working of professions. 
 
 YOUTHFUL VANITY. 
 
 One of the most amusing in- 
 stances of juvenile confidence is 
 found in the life of Charles 
 James Mathews, father of the 
 present excellent comedian who 
 bears the same name. Edwin, 
 the famous actor, had died and 
 left a vacancy at Covent Garden. 
 Mathews had been bitten with a 
 mania for acting, and had figured 
 a good deal in private theatricals 
 of a very obscure sort. He was 
 then a boy of fourteen. " To 
 give an idea," he says, " of my 
 peculiar- modesty at this period, 
 the news of poor Edwin's demise 
 was no sooner made known than 
 I made up my mind, inex- 
 perienced and ignorant as I was, 
 to succeed him. I lost no time 
 in writing to Mr. Harris, the 
 proprietor of Covent Garden 
 Theatre, tendering my services 
 for his situation. I luckily pre- 
 served a copy of my absurd 
 letter, and have also carefully 
 cherished Mr. Harris's reply in 
 evidence of my own vanity and 
 folly. 
 
32 
 
 THEATRICAL ANECDOTES. 
 
 "'Sir, — The lamented death 
 of Mr. Edwin making an opening 
 in your establishment inspires 
 me to offer myself as a candi- 
 date to supply the vacancy. I 
 have never performed in any 
 public theatrical representation 
 yet, having been much engaged 
 in business, but I trust this will 
 not operate against me. I already 
 am perfect in Lingo and Bowkitt, 
 and know more than half of 
 Old Doiley. Salary is no object, 
 as I only wish to bring my 
 powers into a proper sphere of 
 action. I do not wish to blaze 
 out awhile and then evaporate. 
 Being at present bound to my 
 father and under indentures, of 
 course his consent will be neces- 
 sary ; but this is the only im- 
 pediment I am aware of. Your 
 immediate answer, if convenient, 
 will be of great consequence to, 
 sir, your obedient servant, 
 
 C. M.' 
 
 "Mr. Harris's reply was sim- 
 ply as follows : — 
 
 " ' Sir, — The line of acting 
 which you propose is at this 
 time so very well sustained in 
 Covent Garden theatre, that it 
 will not be in my power to give 
 you any eligible situation there- 
 in. — I am, sir, your obedient 
 servant, T. Harris.' 
 
 " In justification of this gen- 
 tleman's rejection of my valuable 
 services, and in confirmation of 
 my vanity, I have only to add, 
 that those excellent actors, 
 Messrs. Munden and Fawcett, 
 were deservedly established 
 favourites in the line to which I 
 aspired." 
 
 UNPLEASANT PREDICA- 
 MENT. 
 
 Palmer, the original Joseph 
 Surface, was at one time so op- 
 pressed with debt that he never 
 left Drury Lane Theatre, and 
 lived altogether in his dressing- 
 room. Being later engaged at 
 the Haymarket he was conveyed 
 there in a cartful of scenery, con- 
 cealed in a piece of stage fur- 
 niture. 
 
 A MANAGER'S EXPLANA- 
 TION. 
 
 The well-known York man- 
 ager, Tate Wilkinson, when any 
 of his actors became " contrary" 
 would address some such earnest 
 appeal as the following to the 
 public : — 
 
 (i Theatre Royal, Hull. 
 " Mr. Wilkinson respectfully 
 informs the public, that he feels 
 himself at present much per- 
 plexed, and very unhappy, at 
 being under the necessity of re- 
 questing their indulgence to Mr. 
 Dunn, on Tuesday next, he 
 having at a very short notice 
 undertaken Mr. H. Johnson's 
 very pleasing part of Young 
 Leonard, in the new comedy of 
 ' Folly as it Flies:' it must be 
 well known that Mr. H. Johnson 
 is in possession of a principal 
 range of characters at Covent 
 Garden Theatre. Mr. W. truly 
 laments he has it not in his 
 power as manager to cast a play 
 in the best manner for the 
 public ; but it is evidently the 
 contrary, and he is very sorry 
 for it." 
 
THEATRICAL ANECDOTES. 
 
 33 
 
 " Mr. Garrick, Mr. Barry, Mr. 
 Quin, and Mr. Woodward, were 
 certainly first-rate actors, but 
 Mr. Wilkinson has seen the two 
 first give up Hamlet, and act 
 the Ghost ; and Mr. Quin, 
 Justice Balance, in ' The Re- 
 cruiting Officer ; ' and Mr. 
 Woodward, Gibbet, in ' The 
 Beaux' Stratagem ; ? and if a 
 part is really good, allotted by 
 the manager, and exactly suits 
 the abilities of the actor, why 
 certainly that constitutes a first 
 part to the actor, sooner than 
 any other for which his talents 
 are not adequate." 
 
 THE PLAYER BETRAYED. 
 
 Quick entered the kitchen of 
 an inn at Sheffield and walked 
 up to the fire, where a goose 
 was roasting. When he was 
 gone, a countryman, who had 
 been eyeing him intently, asked 
 the landlord who that " comical 
 little chap " was. The landlord 
 told him. On which the country- 
 man, slapping his thigh with 
 great knowingness, said to a 
 companion, "Dom it, I thowht 
 he was a player. Didn't ye see 
 how he eyed the goose ?" 
 
 HISTRIONIC SPIT. 
 
 ^HIS suggests another story. 
 An actor of some reputation was 
 sitting by the kitchen fire, plea- 
 santly watching his supper, a 
 roast fowl, as it turned on the 
 spit. When thus engaged, 
 another starved-looking actor 
 would come in periodically, gaze 
 wistfully at the roast, and 
 mutter dejectedly, "It will never 
 
 be done ! " At last the future 
 consumer protested angrily. 
 " You are not aware, sir, that 
 this bird is for me ? n The other 
 then explained that he was wait- 
 ing for the spit, without which 
 they could not begin their per- 
 formance. 
 
 A BLUNT SPEECH. 
 
 An eccentric being named 
 Winter was the dresser of the 
 York Theatre. He delighted in 
 "taking down" affected per- 
 formers. A rather foppish Mr. 
 Dwyer came panting into the 
 green room after performing in 
 the " Liar," and flung himself into 
 a chair, declaring himself utterly 
 exhausted. The dresser coolly 
 remarked, " Ah, you should see 
 Mr. Bennett after playing har- 
 lequin. That was fatigue." 
 
 PLAY BILLS. 
 
 Satirists have often made a 
 favourite subject of the vanity 
 of players, and pretty often with- 
 out just cause. The punctilios 
 and jealousies, however, that 
 used to arise from such a trifling 
 matter as a place in the play- 
 bills, or the size of the letters in 
 which their names were to be 
 announced, might be some jus- 
 tification for these attacks. In 
 Garrick's day there were some 
 absurd customs and contests 
 on this subject. Leading actors 
 would always insist on their 
 names and titles appearing in 
 " displayed " letters, and on the 
 names of others being given in 
 smaller characters. These, again, 
 required that those of lower de- 
 gree should have smaller letters. 
 D 
 
34 THEATRICAL ANECDOTES. 
 
 In short, there was a sort of I lowing bill is a fair specimen of 
 " hierarchy of type." The fol- | this singular system : — 
 
 By the Company of COMEDIANS. 
 
 At the 
 
 THEATRE ROYAL in Covent Garden, 
 
 This present Monday, being the rjth of Oct. 1748, will be presented 
 The FIRST PART of 
 
 King Henry the Fourth, 
 
 With the Humours of Sir John Falstajf. 
 The Part of Sir John Falstaffto be performed 
 
 By Mr. OUIN. 
 
 The King by Mr. SPARKS, 
 
 (It being the first Time of his Appearance on that Stage.) 
 The Prince of Wales by Mr. Ryan. 
 
 Prince John ( Miss Hippisley. 
 
 Westmoreland Mr. Holtham. 
 
 Northumberland I , J Mr. Paget. 
 
 Sir Walter Blunt / Dy \ Mr. Ridout. 
 
 Douglas Mr. Anderson. 
 
 Vernon J ^ Mr. Gibson. 
 
 Worcester by Mr. Dance. 
 
 The Two Carriers by Mr. Arthur and Mr. Dunstall. 
 
 Francis by Mr. Collins. 
 
 Sheriff ) ( Mr. Oates. 
 
 Traveller V by 1 Mr. Smith. 
 Hostess ) (Mrs. Bembridge. 
 
 Lady Percy by Mrs. WOFFINGTON. 
 
 And the Part of Hotspur to be performed 
 
 By Mr. DELANE, 
 
 Who has not appear'd on that stage these Seven Years. 
 
 Boxes, 5s.— Pit, 3s.— First Gal. 2s.— Upper Gal. is. 
 
 No persons to be admitted behind the Scenes, or any Money to be ret imied after the 
 Curtain is drawn up. 
 
 Places for the Boxes to be taken of Mr. Page, at the Stage-door of the Tiieatkr. 
 
 Gadshill } ( Mr. Bencraft. 
 
 Bardolph >- by -j Mr. Marten. 
 Pet/ ) (Mr. Stoppelaor. 
 
THEATRICAL ANECDOTES. 
 
 This bill offers an amusing 
 study. First it will be seen that 
 there are no less than five dif- 
 ferent sizes of letter—" QuiN," 
 " Sparks," " Ryan," " Ar- 
 thur," and " Hippisley." This 
 was a mere general sketch, as it 
 were, of the relative dignity of 
 all the actors. But the rank of 
 the bright particular stars had 
 to be emphasized more strictly. 
 The words " to be performed 
 by " were always insisted on by 
 players of the first rank, which 
 thus became a special token of 
 honour. When that could be 
 conceded, the next degree was 
 the enjoyment and strict mono- 
 poly of a whole line, as " The 
 King by Mr. Sparks." The 
 humbler fry were herded toge- 
 ther. It was not until long after 
 that the inconvenience of these 
 . nice distinctions were got rid of ; 
 and it was considered a great 
 reform when the line " to be per- 
 formed by" was abolished. 
 " These disputes," says Wilkin- 
 son, "occasioned much mur- 
 muring. Sometimes a lady took 
 the lead, and her rival was bot- 
 tomed, and the hero placed in 
 the middle. But all would not 
 do ; and in the year 1757, the 
 line of ' to be performed by ' was 
 obliterated, and the great letters 
 for the principal were continued, 
 which Mr. Kemble for his own 
 ease and quiet of the theatre has 
 entirely banished." 
 
 DOWTON ON LARGE TYPE. 
 
 " My dear Elliston, I am 
 sorry you have done this : you 
 know well what I mean — this 
 cursed quackery, these big let- 
 
 ters. I cannot endure that my 
 name should be so particular- 
 ized. ... If there really be any 
 advantage in it, why should I or 
 any single individual take it 
 over the rest of our brethren. 
 But it has a nasty disreputable 
 look, and I have fancied the 
 whole day the finger of the town 
 pointed at me, as much as to 
 say, ' That is he. Now for the 
 Reward ! ' " 
 
 SHORT AND BLUNT. 
 
 Ouin once wrote to a manager 
 to hint to him that he was dis- 
 engaged. — " I am at Bath, yours, 
 James Quin." To which came 
 a reply quite as laconic, but more 
 forcible, — " Stay there, and be 
 damned, yours, John Rich." 
 
 There is another little corre- 
 spondence quite as blunt and 
 curt. The veteran, Mrs. Gar- 
 rick, thinking of her Davy, wrote 
 to Kean, — " Dear sir, you can- 
 not play Abel D rugger, yours, 
 Eva Maria Garrick." The 
 actor replied, — "Dear madam, 
 I know it, yours, EDMUND 
 Kean." 
 
 UNANSWERABLE. 
 
 Holland was "starring" it 
 at York, where also happened to 
 be one of the inferior actors of 
 Drury Lane. In " Macbeth " 
 this underling was playing one 
 of the murderers, and in his reply 
 to Macbeth's " There's blood 
 upon thy face," instead of the 
 usual half whisper, literally voci- 
 ferated, " ; Tis Banquo's then," 
 D 2 
 
36 
 
 THEATRICAL ANECDOTES. 
 
 in a tragic tone. The actor after 
 the scene was over quietly hinted 
 to him that there was no neces- 
 sity to deliver that speech in 
 quite so pointed a manner, when 
 the other replied roughly, " Hark 
 ye, Master Holland, I've my 
 reputation to make in this town 
 as well as you ! " 
 
 A SECOND FATHER. 
 
 Dr. Glover was a well-known 
 physician who later went on the 
 stage. When he was in Cork, a 
 man was hanged for sheep-steal- 
 ing, whom he contrived to 
 smuggle away to his house and 
 actually restore to life. A few 
 nights later the doctor was on 
 the stage acting Polonius, when 
 a voice came from the pit, 
 "Docter, shure you're my second 
 father, and have brought me a 
 second time into the world, and 
 are bound to maintain me." 
 This was the revived sheep- 
 stealer now very drunk. The 
 sheriff was actually present, and 
 recognised his victim, but good- 
 naturedly retired while the by- 
 standers succeeded in getting 
 the man away. 
 
 DEAD ALIVE. 
 
 Mossop's stateliness is always 
 amusing. He was once acting 
 Osmin,in the "Mourning Bride," 
 where he had to stab Selim, a 
 mere subordinate character. 
 Selim should have remained 
 dead on the stage, but being 
 unluckily seized with a fit of 
 coughing was obliged to put up 
 his hand to loosen his stock, 
 which convulsed the audience. 
 
 When the curtain fell, the en- 
 raged tragedian railed at the 
 unfortunate player for daring to 
 do such a thing. " Sir," he re- 
 plied, " I must have choked if 
 I did not." " Sir," said Mossop, 
 "you should choke a hundred 
 times rather than spoil my 
 scene ! " 
 
 AN EFFICACIOUS HINT. 
 
 On occasions when payments 
 were much in arrear at Smock 
 Alley, Mossop, as Lear, was 
 being supported in the arms of 
 his faithful Kent, who suddenly 
 whispered that he would let him 
 drop on the stage, if he did not 
 give his honour that he would 
 pay him that night. Much 
 alarmed, Mossop whispered, 
 " Don't talk to me now." " I'll 
 do it," said the other, and the 
 tragedian actually had to give 
 his word. 
 
 STAGE ADVERTISEMENT. 
 
 IN one of the rapturous bursts 
 of panegyric of their own pieces, 
 in which it is the fashion for 
 theatrical managers of our day 
 to indulge, we read of a triumph 
 of scenic effect, representing old 
 London Bridge, with " the still 
 waters of the Thames gliding 
 swiftly beneath." 
 
 STAGE FEASTS. 
 
 One of the most ingenious 
 departments of stage delusion 
 is connected with thesebanquets, 
 which so often could furnish 
 forth the scenic table. The 
 humour of many pieces seems to 
 
THEATRICAL ANECDOTES. 
 
 37 
 
 turn on the sight of comic actors 
 eating and drinking voraciously, 
 or being interrupted, getting 
 drunk, etc. Pasteboard fowls 
 and tarts, and toast and water, 
 usually form the staple of their 
 Barmecide feast. There is, how- 
 ever, a time-honoured conven- 
 tion — usually honourably ob- 
 served by managers — that on the 
 occasion of the performance of 
 " No Song no Supper," a real leg 
 of mutton shall be provided. 
 This used to be considered an 
 important privilege at the coun- 
 try theatres. A modern French- 
 man has almost made a reputa- 
 tion by his representation of a 
 man eating his supper ; and he 
 is said to fast the whole day, in 
 order to give due realism to the 
 part, as well as to leave sufficient 
 space for the amazing quantity 
 of edibles he is obliged, by the 
 necessities of his part to con- 
 sume. Mrs. Crawford told 
 Charles Lamb a pretty story of 
 her own childhood, when she 
 was a half-starved struggling 
 little maid." In some child's 
 part, where in her theatrical 
 character she was to sup off a 
 roast fowl (oh ! joy to Barbara !), 
 some comic actor, who was for 
 the night caterer for this dainty — 
 in the misguided humour of his 
 part,, threw over the dish such a 
 quantity of salt (oh ! grief and 
 pain of heart to Barbara !), that 
 when she crammed a portion of 
 it into her mouth, she was ob- 
 liged sputteringly to reject it ; 
 and what with shame of her ill- 
 acted part, and pain of real 
 appetite at missing such a dainty, 
 her little heart sobbed almost to 
 breaking, till a flood of tears, 
 
 which the well-fed spectators 
 were totally unable to compre- 
 hend, mercifully relieved her." 
 
 WOOD v. GLASS. 
 
 MAHON, a sort of dandy actor, 
 had to sing a well-known song 
 of Dibdin's in " The Jubilee"— 
 
 " Behold, this fair goblet was carved from 
 
 the tree, 
 Which, oh ! my sweet Shakespeare was 
 
 planted by thee." 
 
 The property man at the wing 
 presented him with the proper 
 wooden cup, but the actor dis- 
 dained such a vulgar material, 
 and sent for a handsomely-cut 
 glass rummer. He sang the 
 song with this in his hand, the 
 
 " Fair goblet carved from the tree" 
 
 to loud hissing from the audi- 
 ence. 
 
 "LAKERS." 
 
 O'Kekfe heard some Irish- 
 men say, as a strolling manager 
 passed, " Hush, boys, look ! 
 That's the ringlader of them 
 all." English rustics were more 
 blunt, and used to come up to 
 the strollers, stare, and, with a 
 loud shrill voice ask, " Daw ye 
 toomble to-noight." In certain 
 districts they were contemptu- 
 ously known as " lakers." 
 
 PIT REFRESHMENTS. 
 
 At the Dublin and London 
 theatres oranges and apples 
 (" Chase your oranges, Chase 
 numparell's," was the well-known 
 cry) were the favourite refresh- 
 ment in the pit. There was 
 
38 
 
 THEATRICAL ANECDOTES. 
 
 something more refined in the 
 notion than in the present shrill 
 invitation, "Any soda water, 
 bottled ale, porter, or stout ! " 
 which disturbs the entreacte. In 
 the Limerick theatre in the old 
 times a sort of rustic elegance 
 was reached, — peaches, at a half- 
 penny each, being the favourite 
 refreshment. 
 
 SOVEREIGN & "II. B." 
 
 On some old Belfast playbills 
 in the last century was to be 
 seen the odd heading, " By per- 
 mission of the Sovereign of 
 Belfast." This was then the 
 customary designation of the 
 mayor of the town. On some of 
 the Isle of Man playbills is 
 sometimes to be read, ** By per- 
 mission of his honour, the H. B. 
 of Douglas." This abbreviation, 
 it seems, refers not to the well- 
 known caricaturist, but to the 
 functionary known as " High 
 Bailiff." 
 
 THE TAKING OF STRAS- 
 BURG AT ISLINGTON 
 A vast enclosed shed, covered 
 in and about the size of a rail- 
 way station, with enormous gal- 
 leries all round, I found gave a 
 fair idea of the country about the 
 devoted city. That country, too, 
 was well laid down in earth- 
 mould and sawdust, than which 
 nothing could be better for the 
 easy manceuvering of artillery 
 and cavalry. At the far end we 
 could make out the towers and 
 battlements of the devoted city, 
 with slanting timber approaches 
 from the ground, by which you 
 
 could ascend to the gates. The • 
 cathedral was in the distance, 
 sentries were seen peering over 
 the walls, and a cab actually drove 
 over the drawbridge. This was 
 not a mere scenic town, where 
 a tower is usually a foot or so 
 higher than the human figure 
 that guards it ; but really of 
 enormous dimensions. Suddenly 
 we hear the sound of music, and 
 looking down to the lower end, 
 see the glitter of gold lace. It 
 is the French army arriving to 
 defend the town; the band of 
 the establishment — whom 1 think 
 I had seen atCremorne Gardens, 
 before they took service under 
 the tricolour — leading ; at the 
 head of his legions debouched 
 the gallant Uhrich himself, 
 mounted, in the red trousers and 
 cocked-hat trimmed with swan's- 
 down, while his legions, at least 
 fifty or sixty strong, had the 
 white gaiters, knapsacks, tentes 
 d'abri, &c., of the regular French 
 force. I mention the number of 
 this relieving force in no spirit of 
 mockery ; for in the theatrical 
 world such would be justly ac- 
 counted an enormous army. The 
 staff, however, was moderate, 
 consisting, I think, of one 
 mounted officer ; but the force 
 of artillery that followed was 
 surprising. It consisted of no 
 less than four batteries, each well 
 horsed and appointed. We fol- 
 lowed them with our eyes, saw 
 them traverse the mould and 
 sawdust of the outlying country, 
 and slowly ascend the zigzag 
 staging, a school of fortification 
 in great favour with the Vaubans 
 of the theatres, and enter the 
 devoted fortress. The arrival 
 
THEATRICAL ANECDOTES. 
 
 39 
 
 of this ominous contingent na- 
 turally produced confusion in the 
 outlying district, and I was not 
 at all surprised that the country 
 people had taken the alarm, and 
 were now coming in from one of 
 the doors in a most effective pro- 
 cession — the national costume, 
 the blouses, the women's large 
 white caps — and their worldly 
 goods with them. It was curious 
 to see how even the circus horses, 
 who had a short time before been 
 cantering round with star riders 
 on their backs, were now " re- 
 quisitioned" for more serviceable 
 functions. It showed the awful 
 nature of the crisis. This sor- 
 rowful procession comprised also 
 led goats, little children on po- 
 nies, and one remarkably well- 
 fed cow — the family's little all ; 
 and, strange to say, a flock of 
 sheep of at least twenty. But 
 the exposing a camel and drome- 
 dary to bombardment seemed 
 a needless piling of horrors ; 
 though I wondered at the par- 
 tiality which could exempt from 
 enclosure an intelligent elephant 
 which had recently gone through 
 its sagacious performances on 
 the very enceinte of the fortress. 
 It seemed unfair to the other 
 animals, especially as elephant 
 flesh has been proved by con- 
 noisseurs to be a delicacy. 
 
 All this strange gathering was 
 got safely within. Yet though 
 the enemy must have been actu- 
 ally in sight, and though I had 
 a suspicion that the French 
 troops were hard at work dress- 
 ing against time, and exchanging 
 their clothes for those of the 
 hated Germans, still the spirit 
 of the population was so fine, 
 
 that they descended the inclined 
 planes, and clustered on the 
 lowest edge to sing the " Mar- 
 seillaise," accompanied by an 
 orchestra down below on the en- 
 ceinte, or in the enceinte. Not 
 only that, but after they had gone 
 in, there was farther time for the 
 sentinel on duty to receive the 
 visit of a young lady to whom he 
 was apparently betrothed, and 
 hear her sing the well-known 
 " You are going far away from 
 your poor Jeanette." She had 
 not time to give the second 
 verse, for a peculiar jingling and 
 thudding at the other end told 
 us that the Uhlans were at hand. 
 Those terrible horsemen came 
 charging in, rode boldly on, to, 
 or within, the enceinte, and ac- 
 tually tried to get into the town. 
 But mey little knew the stuff the 
 brave Uhrich was made of. In- 
 stantly he with some of his gal- 
 lant fellows — the rest were then 
 fitting on Prussian helmets — had 
 come on the walls, shots were 
 exchanged, two or three of the 
 Uhlans fell from their horses 
 cleverly, and the rest had to 
 canter away in very dashing 
 style. These were merely scouts ; 
 the rest of the German army was 
 coining on ; and here they were 
 now with the spiked helmets, 
 though the tunics seemed more 
 like second-hand familiar grey 
 suits of a volunteer corps. Still 
 they made a far better show than 
 the French. I was glad to see 
 the Bavarians — emphasised by 
 the regular sea-shell helmet — 
 very conspicuous. It would 
 have been an ill-compliment to 
 these fine fellows, on whom the 
 brunt of the work has lain, to 
 
40 
 
 THEATRICAL ANECDOTES. 
 
 merge them in the general de- 
 fenders of the German wars. 
 Lastly came a very fair staff, in 
 front of a tall bluff- looking old 
 gentleman in a scarlet cloak and 
 blue trousers, and whom we all 
 recognised — such are the uses 
 of the illustrated papers — as the 
 pious King William. By his side 
 rode a gentleman in an English 
 Windsor uniform, and rather 
 handsome, and whom I dimly 
 recalled in a lower station — I 
 think walking round a ring and 
 cracking a whip to keep the 
 trained horse going. And yet 
 here he was now raised to the 
 dignity of Chancellor of the 
 Empire ! But I noticed he 
 was rather coldly treated by his 
 royal master, who bore himself 
 very stiffly and apart, as if he 
 did not wish to commune with 
 his faithful soldier. But see, 
 what does this mean ? An open 
 barouche-and-four, containing 
 three general officers in cocked 
 hats, and escorted by cavalry, 
 has arrived, and is driven slowly 
 and deliberately round, so as to 
 be in view of all, actually within 
 a yard or so of the Strasbourg 
 sentries, whose chassepots could 
 have readily disposed of the 
 slender guard, whose innocence 
 was no less to be admired ! 
 Perhaps they feared to endanger 
 the life of the illustrious prisoner 
 — for such he was — whose sur- 
 render for private reasons was 
 thus post-dated to Strasbourg. 
 I confess the effect was far finer, 
 and there was a noble incon- 
 gruity, a Regulus-like degrada- 
 tion in the sovereign's being thus 
 led round under his still resisting 
 city. The king behaved with 
 
 true Cassaric dignity. But when 
 the occupant of the barouche 
 descended and humblypresented 
 his sword, I thought the royal 
 captor was gruff in his bearing. 
 He never deigned a single re- 
 mark ; and Count von Bismarck 
 w T as too strongly engaged with 
 his English Windsor uniform to 
 take any notice of the victim of 
 reverse, who was then led away 
 ignominiously out of the arena — 
 I mean out of the enceinte. 
 
 No doubt inflamed by this 
 triumph, the Germans now 
 rushed to the attack. They, too, 
 had their four batteries, so much 
 resembling what we had seen 
 before, that I knew at once they 
 had been captured. The enemy 
 came down out of their fortress 
 to the enceinte. Nothing could 
 have been more spirited than 
 the conflict : the firing was tre- 
 mendous. His Majesty re- 
 mained within a few feet of 
 the struggle, looked on in an 
 unconcerned fashion, and was 
 never noticed. The terrible 
 Count, all the time within pistol- 
 shot of the chassepots, escaped 
 as by a miracle, rather convey- 
 ing the idea that he felt himself 
 out of range. 
 
 Then a very curious scene took 
 place, which I was privileged to 
 witness. The ground was co- 
 vered with the dead and wounded, 
 and I was glad to see that a feel- 
 ing of humanity prompted the 
 Germans to send a mounted flag 
 of truce, or more correctly, a 
 mounted man bearing a flag of 
 truce, into the fortress. On this, 
 all the country people — I recog- 
 nised them individually — who 
 had driven in the sheep, cattle, 
 
THEATRICAL ANECDOTES. 
 
 4t 
 
 camels, came out now for this 
 holy office, carrying stretchers, 
 on which they bore off their dead 
 and wounded to sad and solemn 
 music. Indeed, these poor peo- 
 ple seemed to have too much 
 work cast upon them ; for the 
 same persons had formed the 
 chorus of the " Marseillaise," 
 driven in the cows, had then 
 done duty as Bavarians, then as 
 French, &c., and were now part 
 of an ambulance corps, all with- 
 in, say, ten minutes. But I 
 must not linger over this exciting 
 siege, whose rapidity did so much 
 credit to the Germans. Now 
 came the final assault : cannons 
 roared, rockets flew, the town 
 took fire, the besiegers went up 
 the inclined plane. Valour was 
 of no avail for the defence ; and 
 amid a great deal of red fire and a 
 choking mephitic vapour, Stras- 
 
 Irg was taken. 
 
 ASTLEY. 
 
 )ld Astley was a very eccen- 
 tric personage, in his speech and 
 manners. The managers of Co- 
 vent Garden Theatre once ap- 
 plied to him for the loan of 
 some of his stud for a panto- 
 mime. Characteristically enough, 
 he seemed to think that his horses 
 would be disgraced by appearing 
 on a common stage, where mere 
 actors figured. " Why, damme, 
 sir," he added, in his odd Eng- 
 lish, "it's scandalous magne- 
 sium ! Then let Mr. Harris 
 lend me Mrs. Siddons to sing in 
 my amphitheatre ! " After his 
 return from a visit to France, he 
 was asked, it may be presumed 
 by a confrere of the circus, " had 
 
 he seen the French Prince of 
 Wales over there ? " " Go, you 
 ignoramus," he answered, " there 
 ain't no Prince of Wales in 
 France — he's the Dolphin there 
 —why I might ha' learned him 
 to ride if I would." 
 
 RICHARDSON ON M AC- 
 RE AD Y. 
 
 Dr. Clark Russell quotes 
 an amusing criticism of Richard- 
 son's, the showman, in whose 
 presence Macready was being 
 praised. He was asked had he 
 seen him ? "No, muster," he 
 answered, " I knows nothing of 
 him ; in fact, he's some waga- 
 bone as nobody knows — one of 
 them chaps as ain't had any 
 edication for the thing. He 
 never was with me^ as Edmund 
 Kean and these riglars was." 
 
 MR. WEBSTER'S EARLY 
 DAYS. 
 
 A SIMPLE and really touch- 
 ing account has been given by 
 Mr. Webster of his early strug- 
 gles in theatrical life. At nine- 
 teen he had married a widow 
 with a family ; and then began 
 a series of privations, met with 
 indomitable courage. He tried 
 in every direction for engage- 
 ments, but without success, walk- 
 ing vast distances to all the 
 country theatres. " I had heard 
 that Mr. Beverley, of the Tot- 
 tenham Street Theatre — now 
 called the Queen's, — the father 
 of that great scenic artist who 
 now wields the brush where dear 
 Clarkson Stanfield once held 
 sway, was about to open the 
 
42 
 
 THEATRICAL ANECDOTES. 
 
 Croydon Theatre for a brief 
 season. I applied to him for 
 walking gentleman. 'Full.' For 
 little business and utility. ' Full/ 
 For harlequin and dancing. 
 * Didn't do pantomime or ballet ; 
 besides didn't like male dancers ; 
 their legs didn't draw.' For the 
 orchestra. 'Well/ said he, in 
 his peculiar manner, and with a 
 strong expression which need 
 not be repeated, ' why just now 
 you were a walking gentleman ! ' 
 ' So I am, sir ; but I have had a 
 musical education, and necessity 
 sometimes compels me to turn 
 it to account.' * Well, what's 
 your instrument?' 'Violin, tenor 
 violoncello, double bass, and 
 double drums.' ' Well, by Nero ! ' 
 ■ — he played the fiddle, you know 
 — ' here, Harry' (calling his son), 
 1 bring the double — no, I mean 
 a violin — out of the orchestra.' 
 Harry came with the instrument, 
 and I was requested to give a 
 taste of my quality. I began 
 Tartini's ' Devil's solo,' and had 
 not gone far when the old gen- 
 tleman said that would do, and 
 engaged me as his leader at a 
 guinea a week. Had a storm of 
 gold fallen on me it could not 
 have delighted Semele more 
 than me. I felt myself plucked 
 out of the slough of despond. 
 I had others to support, board 
 myself, and to get out of debt. I 
 resolved to walk to Croydon, ten 
 miles every day, to rehearsal, 
 and back to Shoreditch on two- 
 pence a day — one pennyworth 
 of oatmeal and one pennyworth 
 of milk — and I did it for six 
 weeks, Sundays excepted, when 
 I indulged in the luxury of shin 
 of beef and ox-cheek. The gen- 
 
 tlemen in the gallery pelted the 
 orchestra with mutton pies. At 
 first indignation was uppermost, 
 but on reflection we made a 
 virtue of necessity, and collect- 
 ing the fragments of the not very 
 light pastry, ate them under the 
 stage, and, whatever they were 
 made of, considered them am- 
 brosia. At the end of the sixth 
 week I had so pleased Mr. 
 Beverley and his son Harry, 
 that I was asked to give a 
 specimen of my terpsichorean 
 abilities in a sailor's hornpipe. I 
 essayed the task, buoyed up with 
 hope, dashed on the stage, got 
 through the double shuffle, the 
 toe and heel, though feeling 
 faint : but at last, despite every 
 effort, I broke down through 
 sheer exhaustion, consequent 
 upon a near approach to starva- 
 tion, and the curtain dropped on 
 me and my hopes, and I burst into 
 an agony of tears. However, this 
 mourning was soon turned into 
 joy, for Mr. Beverley behaved like 
 a father to me, and engaged me 
 as walking gentleman and harle- 
 quin for his London theatre, 
 where 1 made my first appear- 
 ance as Henry Morland in the 
 ' Heir-at-Law,' which, f to avoid 
 legal proceedings, he called ' The 
 Lord's Warming Pan.' From 
 the Tottenham Street Theatre I 
 went to the English Opera, now 
 the Lyceum ; from there to 
 Drury Lane, thence to the Hay- 
 market ; from there to Covent 
 Garden, the Olympic, the Adel- 
 phi — and here I am, such as I 
 am." 
 
 When we see this admirable 
 actor playing the Poor Author in 
 the play of "Masks and Faces," 
 
THEATRICAL ANECDOTES. 
 
 43 
 
 and performing on his violin for 
 the children, this graphic ac- 
 count of his early life always 
 comes back to us. Perhaps, 
 too, the recollection of his own 
 early struggles has helped to 
 make the character so truthful 
 and interesting. 
 
 DROLL TRANSPOSITIONS. 
 
 Actors, in their nervousness, 
 have sometimes made curious 
 alterations in the text. The 
 best, and best known, is the one 
 that was addressed to Hamlet : 
 " Stand back, my lord, and let 
 the parson cough ! " instead of 
 " let the coffin pass." There is 
 a grotesque appropriation in the 
 new shape which is highly di- 
 verting. On another occasion, 
 an actor was playing Sir Ed- 
 ward Mortimer, and came to the 
 passage — 
 
 " You may have noticed in my 
 library a chest." 
 The very cumbrous nature of the 
 line made him not unnaturally 
 glide into an awkward transpo- 
 sition — 
 
 " You may have noticed in my 
 chest a library." 
 On which the performer who was 
 playing with him could not help 
 laughing. Sir Edward had then 
 to say — 
 
 " You see he changes at the 
 word." 
 On which the other replies — 
 
 " And well I may ! " 
 Which caused the whole house 
 to roar. 
 
 Charles Kemble was said to 
 have fallen into one of these mis- 
 takes when playing Shylock. 
 Instead of 
 
 " Shall I lay perjury upon my 
 
 soul ? * 
 he said — 
 " Shall I lay surgery upon my 
 
 poll ? " 
 
 A MISER. 
 
 Some rather original manifes- 
 tations of the passion of avarice 
 are recorded of Moody, the well- 
 known performer of Irish parts. 
 A friend named Barford had 
 helped him for some hours to 
 cut wood. It was a hot summer's 
 day, and the assistant asked for 
 some beer. Moody reluctantly 
 tilled out a tumbler and recorked 
 the bottle, when his friend asked 
 for a little more. " I own," said 
 the actor, with singular candour, 
 u you deserve it, but it goes to 
 my heart to give it to you." 
 
 He lent some money to Brere- 
 ton, a brother player, which was 
 not at once repaid. The first time 
 they met Moody looked earnestly 
 at him, and vented a kind of 
 noise between a sigh and a groan. 
 On every succeeding occasion he 
 repeated this extraordinary sort 
 of appeal, until the other became 
 so annoyed that he flung down 
 the money. " Well, I did not 
 ask you for it, Billy," said Moody, 
 with gentle reproach. When 
 Sheridan was in arrear to him 
 for salary the actor threatened to 
 present himself on the hustings, 
 and state his grievance to the 
 the electors. This procured him 
 payment. 
 
 AN ECCENTRIC MANAGER. 
 
 ELLISTON had a sort of stately 
 eccentricity — a Malvolio-like 
 stateliness which infinitely di- 
 
44 
 
 THEATRICAL ANECDOTES. 
 
 verted his contemporaries. Elia 
 was never weary of dwelling on 
 his oddities, which his own fine 
 touch could illustrate with an 
 almost Shaksperean delicacy. 
 Elliston had gone down to a 
 theatre of his own at Birming- 
 ham, and had occasion to repri- 
 mand an actor who was very 
 deficient in his part. To his 
 astonishment, the performer re- 
 torted with a volley of abuse, 
 adding that if another word was 
 said he would kick him into the 
 pit. It might be supposed that 
 the offender was discharged on 
 the spot ; but Elliston, who did 
 not even know the names of his 
 own performers, rushed at once 
 to the stage manager, and asked 
 who the man was. He was told. 
 "A great man — a very great 
 man, sir," was his remark ! He 
 threatened to kick me — the lessee 
 of Drury Lane. Such a man 
 must go to London. He mustn't 
 waste his energies here." It is 
 said he really engaged the actor 
 for Drury Lane on the spot. 
 There is something coherent in 
 this incoherency, and it is not so 
 surprising that Elia should have 
 taken delight in studying such a 
 being. 
 
 FALSE COMPLIMENT. 
 
 Edmund Kean was rather 
 fond of paying well-meant com- 
 pliments to his brethren. " You 
 are the best I ago I ever played to," 
 he said to a painstaking young 
 actor at Edinburgh, who only 
 smiled in return for such hand- 
 some praise. Kean asked him the 
 reason, when the other candidly 
 replied, " I can scarcely believe 
 that, for I know of seven other 
 
 poorlagos to whom you have said 
 the same thing." " Do you?" was 
 
 the answer ; " then Edmund Kean 
 is a greater humbug than I took 
 him for." This was only the 
 tragedian's ill-luck. In all the 
 professions such compliments 
 are frequently paid and ac- 
 cepted, though their insincerity 
 may be perhaps undetected. 
 
 A MODERN PLA Y DAMNED. 
 
 The good genuine old-fa- 
 shioned damning, with all the 
 conditions favourable, we come 
 in for as rarely as we do for a 
 good fire. Such a piece of for- 
 tune came about when a certain 
 comedy called " Ecarte" " was 
 submitted to this time-honoured 
 process. The piece was said to 
 be the work of a noble person — 
 of itself a most dangerous chal- 
 lenge to the low irreverence of a 
 British audience. The theatre 
 had been gorgeously restored 
 and decorated only a few weeks 
 before, so as to be a fitting casket 
 for the new dramatic jewel. The 
 more than luxurious stalls were 
 filled with what are called 
 " swells," whose rather vacuous 
 countenances seemed to reflect 
 by anticipation the congenial 
 .entertainment that was to follow. 
 There was a general boudoir air 
 over the whole, save only in the 
 ranks of unsympathising and 
 almost derisive faces, seen 
 through the dark shadows of 
 the pit. It was easy also to dis- 
 cern the faces of " some devilish 
 good-natured friends," invited to 
 participate in the coming 
 triumph ;— -" it's full of faults, 
 you know," as the author might 
 
THEATRICAL ANECDOTES. 
 
 45 
 
 modestly say to them ; " but 
 really not so bad as you might 
 think." The " swells/' it must be 
 said, heartless always, seemed 
 to enjoy their friend's discom- 
 fiture more than any people in 
 the house. Everything was done 
 for this wonderful play that the 
 most lavish outlay of money 
 could do. Beautiful scenery ; 
 a wardrobe of dresses that would 
 set Madame Elise up in busi- 
 ness ; furniture that seemed to 
 have been carted wholesale from 
 some nobleman's house, and with 
 which the stage was furnished 
 as by upholsterer's men ; break- 
 fasts, dinners, picnic baskets of 
 hams and fruits and champagne 
 from Messrs. Fortnum and 
 Mason's, that really made the 
 audience hungry to look at. The 
 only things wanting were such 
 trifles as acting and a play. It 
 was a merry evening ! every one 
 going away in spirits and good- 
 humour ; a state of mind rare 
 in the present condition of things 
 theatrical. The piece seemed 
 to be all about one of those quiet 
 and eminently sarcastic men, 
 who get into gay country houses, 
 who are much overlooked, but 
 all the time are using their eyes 
 and ears, putting down the shal- 
 low, setting up the weak, &c. 
 It is a certainty that a villain of 
 insinuating manners, but under- 
 neath his gentlemanly exterior 
 I of the deepest dye," should be 
 invited to meet the party. Such 
 a ruffian was actually here, with 
 matrimonial designs ; and in the 
 end was unmasked (and actually 
 put in irons) by the sarcastic 
 gentleman. It was easy to ana- 
 lyse what was in the mind of the 
 
 author. With all amateurs it is 
 a dear truth, that this gentle- 
 manly reserve, this " quietness " 
 of eye and manner, is the grand 
 element of dramatic art, and in 
 their novels and plays men with 
 such gifts always figure. Wo- 
 men are specially partial to these 
 persons. Another delusion is, 
 that only a gentleman can give 
 true pictures of high life and 
 manners. The villain was 
 " baffled " through the piece in 
 the most amusing ways. If he 
 offered his arm to a lady, the 
 cynical man interposed with a 
 smile and carried off the lady, 
 while the villain muttered, 
 " Curses on him !" If he 
 wanted to be alone with any 
 one, this unpleasant gentleman 
 intervened, with an air as who 
 should say, " I have baffled you, 
 my boy, in the most skilful way." 
 It was no more than an adroit 
 tendering of his elbow on which 
 the lady laid her hand. But as 
 a grotesque situation, what 
 could rival the following ? The 
 country-house guests are walk- 
 ing in the woods previous to a 
 picnic, when they meet "the 
 beggar woman," — so described 
 in the bills — sinking with ex- 
 haustion on the ground. The 
 beggar woman happens to be 
 the villain's betrayed wife ; but 
 this is not known. She is faint- 
 ing, the ladies cannot bring her 
 to herself, when some one sug- 
 gests to the midshipman of the 
 party, " What if you sing her 
 that old song of Home ! Do /" 
 The midshipman at once com- 
 plied, amid literally screams of 
 laughter. That situation alone, 
 and the hearty laughter I en- 
 
4 6 
 
 THEATRICAL ANECDOTES. 
 
 joyed as he sang on his lamen- 
 table ballad, looking her stead- 
 fastly in the face, as though he 
 really believed it would have a 
 medicinal effect, was worth the 
 whole price of a stage-box. 
 What shall we say of the deep 
 disclosures of intricate villany 
 that followed ? How the wrist- 
 band was turned up, to show a 
 mark on the arm, with perfect 
 gravity. From that moment set 
 in the most uproarious mirth. 
 Every incident was the occasion, 
 unfairly perhaps, of new mirth, 
 and the curtain fell amid up- 
 roarious demonstrations. 
 
 MAC KLIN INSTRUCTING 
 A PUPIL 
 
 In Macklin's garden there 
 were three long parallel walks, 
 and his method of exercising 
 their voices was thus : his two 
 young pupils with back boards 
 (such as they use in boarding 
 schools) walked firmly, slow, 
 and well, up and down the two 
 side walks. Macklin himself 
 paraded the centre walk : at the 
 end of every twelve paces he 
 made them stop, and turning 
 gracefully, the young actor called 
 out across the walk, " How do 
 you do, Miss Ambrose ?" she 
 answered, " Very well, I thank 
 you, Mr. Glenville." They then 
 took a few more paces, and the 
 next question was, " Do you not 
 think it a very fine day, Mr. 
 Glenville ?" "A very fine clay, 
 indeed, Miss Ambrose," was the 
 answer. Their walk continued ; 
 and then, " How do you, Mr. 
 Glenville ?" — " Pretty well, I 
 thank you, Miss Ambrose." 
 
 And this exercise continued for 
 an hour or so (Macklin still 
 keeping in the centre walk), in 
 the full hearing of their religious 
 next-door neighbours. Such 
 was Macklin's method of train- 
 ing the management of the 
 voice: if too high, too low, a 
 wrong accent, or a faulty inflec- 
 tion, he immediately noticed it, 
 ' and made them repeat the words 
 twenty times till all was right. 
 
 SPORT TO YOU, DEATH TO 
 ME. 
 
 One Stuart, an actor at Crow 
 Street Theatre, Dublin, by one 
 of those curious whims which 
 for an audience seem irresistible 
 had been selected as a sort of 
 theatrical butt. " The characters 
 intrusted to Stuart were rather 
 of an underling kind, such as 
 Oswald, or Lord Stanley, or 
 1 The coach is at the door,' and 
 in such parts he gave no great 
 sublimity. Yet certain of the 
 audience adopted a fancy to 
 give thundering applause to 
 every line and word he spoke, 
 either in ' tragedy, comedy, 
 pastoral, history, or poem un- 
 limited ;' so that, by this nightly 
 custom, the real and genuine 
 monarch of the boards was 
 totally overlooked — and whether 
 it was a Hamlet or a Lear, an 
 Othello or a Posthumus, Beatty 
 Stuart's single line engrossed all 
 the applause. Smith, the capital 
 London actor, coming over to 
 Dublin, had Richard for one of 
 his characters. Stuart was the 
 Catesby, and Stuart received 
 his usual share of plaudit. 
 Smith was astonished and con- 
 
THEATRICAL ANECDOTES. 
 
 47 
 
 fused, and strutted and stamped ; 
 and when he went off, laid a 
 strict injunction on the manager 
 never to send that actor on with 
 him again: however, this un- 
 happy applauding persecution 
 continued night after night. At 
 length, poor baited Stuart ven- 
 tured suddenly to stop, walk 
 forward, and thus address the 
 audience : — 
 
 " ' Gentlemen (or whoever it is 
 that have got it into their heads 
 to hunt me down in this manner), 
 I acknowledge I am no very 
 great actor, nor do they give me 
 any very great parts to spoil ; 
 but in such as I am allotted, I 
 do my best, and by my endea- 
 vours, poor as they are, I con- 
 trive to support myself, my wife, 
 and my family of children. If 
 you go on this way with me the 
 manager must turn me off, and 
 thus you deprive me of my 
 morsel of bread. It may be fine 
 fun for all of you, but remember ' 
 — (and he clapped his hand to 
 his breast in a feeling and affect- 
 ing manner, and burst out with) 
 remember the fable of the boys 
 and the frogs — * 'tis sport to you, 
 but death to me !' 
 
 " This heart-sent appeal had 
 an instantaneous effect, and be 
 it spoken to the humanity of a 
 Dublin audience, from that night 
 Mr. Stuart never had one hand 
 of applause." 
 
 A BOLD AUTHOR. 
 
 Congreve's brilliant co- 
 medy, " The Way of the World," 
 was heartily hissed on its first 
 performance. The author came 
 forward at the close, and coolly 
 
 asked the audience, " Is it your 
 intention to damn this play ? " 
 " Yes, yes ! off ! off ! " were the 
 cries that saluted him. " Then 
 I can tell you," he answered, 
 " this play of mine will be a 
 living play when you are all 
 dead and damned /" He then 
 walked away slowly. 
 
 A STAGE TRICK. 
 
 It was one of the old conven- 
 tional arts of the tragedian in the 
 days when tragedies were acted, 
 to keep himself a little drawn 
 back beyond the other actor who 
 was taking part in the scene. 
 When two experienced "stagers" 
 got together, it became amus- 
 ing to see each trying to carry 
 out this device at the other's 
 expense. O'Keefe one night saw 
 Macklin and Sheridan engaged 
 in this little competition, and 
 each retreating as his rival re- 
 tired. They both presently 
 found themselves driven up 
 against the back scene. 
 
 ABSURD SITUATION. 
 
 Mrs. Dancer— the actress 
 who had married three times, 
 and who had been Dancer, 
 Barry, and Crawford — was very 
 near sighted. One night, in the 
 part of Calista, the tragedy was 
 on the point of culminating, 
 after a fine performance, by the 
 heroine stabbing herself, when 
 she dropped her dagger. Owing 
 to this defect in her eyes, she 
 could not see where to pick it 
 up. The attendant pushed it 
 towards her with her foot ; but 
 this was no help. Finally the 
 
THEATRICAL ANECDOTES. 
 
 confidant was obliged, from 
 sheer necessity, to pick it up 
 and present it to her mistress 
 with great courtesy. The latter 
 then proceeded to despatch her- 
 self according to form. 
 
 PRAISE AND NO PRAISE. 
 
 The following little scene is 
 said to be a faithful picture of Gar- 
 rick's sensitiveness, when another 
 of his profession was praised, as 
 well as a specimen of the little 
 arts by which he nervously tried 
 to enfeeble that praise.. As a 
 specimen of character it is ex- 
 cellent. 
 
 Nobleman. — Now, Mr. Gar- 
 rick, Mossop's voice— what a 
 fine voice, so clear, full, and sub- 
 lime for tragedy. 
 
 Garrick. — Oh ! yes, my Lord ; 
 Mossop's voice is, indeed, very 
 good — and full— and — and— But 
 — my Lord, don't you think that 
 sometimes he is rather too loud ? 
 
 Nobleman. — Loud ? Very true, 
 Mr. Garrick, — too loud, — too 
 sonorous ! — when we were in 
 College together, he used to 
 plague us with a spout and a 
 rant and a bellow. Why we 
 used to call him " Mossop the 
 Enll/"— But then, Mr. Garrick, 
 you know, his step ! — so very 
 firm and majestic — treads the 
 boards so charmingly ! 
 
 Garrick. — True, my lord : you 
 have hit his manner very well 
 indeed, very charming ! But do 
 you not think his step is some- 
 times rather too firm? — some- 
 what of a — a stamp ; I mean a 
 gentle stamp, my lord ? 
 
 Nobleman. — Gentle ! call you 
 it, Mr. Garrick? not at all !— at 
 
 College we called him " Mossop 
 the Paviour!" — But his action 
 — his action is so very expressive. 
 
 Garrick. — Yes, my lord, I 
 grant, indeed, his action is very 
 fine, — fine — very fine : he acted 
 with me originally in Barbarossa, 
 when I was the Achmet ; and 
 his action was — a — a — to be sure 
 Barbarossa is a great tyrant — 
 but then, Mossop, sticking his 
 left hand on his hip, a-kimbo, 
 and his right hand stretching 
 out — thus ! You will admit that 
 sort of action was not so very 
 graceful. 
 
 Nobleman. — Graceful, Mr. 
 Garrick ! Oh, no ! by no means 
 — not at all — everything the con- 
 trary — His one arm a-kimbo, 
 and his other stretched out !— 
 very true — why, at College, we 
 used to call him, u Mossop the 
 Teapot!" 
 
 FRIENDLY CRITICISM. 
 
 Another good-natured frag- 
 ment of conversation has been, 
 preserved, — Emery, Cooke, and 
 Incledon being overheard dis- 
 cussing John Kemble. " He 
 has no natur," said Emery, "not 
 a bit. But then he never wur 
 the feyther of a child, and that 
 accounts for it." "With the 
 voice," said Cooke, " of an emas- 
 culated French horn, and the 
 face of an itinerant Israelite, he 
 would compete with me, sir — 
 me, George Frederick Cooke . L 
 Wanted me to play Horatio to 
 his Hamlet, sir ! Let him play 
 Sir Pertinax, that's all. I would 
 like to hear him attempt the 
 dialect." Then Incledon : "At- 
 tempt ! The fact is, my dear 
 
THEATRICAL ANECDOTES. 
 
 49 
 
 boys, he'd attempt anything ! 
 Why, he actually attempted to 
 
 sing, d me, in the presence 
 
 of the national singer of England, 
 Charles Incledon ! " 
 
 SKATING ON THE STAGE. 
 
 The late device of skating on 
 the stage was lately introduced in 
 Meyerbeer's "L'Etoile du Nord," 
 and made the " Pas de Patineurs " 
 and such things the rage. As 
 is well known, little wheels are 
 attached to the foot, on which 
 the skater glides through nearly 
 all the curvetings and gyrations 
 that would be feasible on ice. 
 This art, however, was practised 
 on the public stage more than a 
 hundred years ago ; and a 
 brother of Giordani's, who was 
 a dancer, often added this feat 
 to the attractions chosen for his 
 benefit at the theatre in Dublin, 
 which bore the racy name of 
 | Smock Alley." He, however, 
 used the ordinary skates, and a 
 number of serpentine grooves 
 were cut lightly on the boards, 
 the course of which the artist 
 followed. 
 
 Co 
 
 VANITY. 
 
 "OLMAN and Harris had many 
 disagreements, when both were 
 managers of Covent Garden 
 Theatre. After one very angry 
 dispute, in which the other part- 
 ners joined, Colman snatched 
 up the poker — not for any violent 
 purpose, but to rake and " rattle 
 about " all the coals in the fire- 
 place — exclaiming vehemently, 
 "Well, I can stir a fire better 
 than any man in this room ! " 
 
 A MISTAKE. 
 
 One night at the Dublin 
 theatre, Digges, when playing 
 Hamlet, burst a blood-vessel. 
 With the permission of the au- 
 dience, "She Stoops to Con- 
 quer " was promptly substituted, 
 the comedy performers happen- 
 ing to be in the house at the 
 time. A country gentleman, who 
 had come up specially to see 
 Digges in his great part, had 
 just gone out for some refresh- 
 ment, having left just as Hamlet 
 parted with the ghost. On his 
 speedy return, he saw a con- 
 vivial scene going on, with a 
 chorus and laughter and jocular 
 remarks. He was so bewildered 
 that he first fancied that he had 
 mistaken his road, and gone to 
 the other theatre ; then that this 
 was some revised version of the 
 piece, he not being very deeply 
 read in Shakespeare. It was 
 some time before he discovered 
 the truth. 
 
 A GOOD DEVICE. 
 
 In 1784 an Irish clergyman 
 arrived in London, bringing with 
 him no less than ten plays, — five 
 tragedies, and as many come- 
 dies, one or two at least of which 
 he wished to submit to the Lon- 
 don managers. " One of his 
 tragedies," says O'Keeffe, who 
 tells the story, " was called ' Lord 
 Russell,' and one of his comedies 
 ' Draw the long Bow.' Mr. 
 Harris received him at his house 
 with his usual politeness, and 
 sat with great patience and much 
 pain listening to the Doctor 
 reading one of his plays to him ; 
 E 
 
5o 
 
 THEATRICAL ANECDOTES. 
 
 when he had got to the fourth 
 act, Mr. Harris remarked that it 
 was very fine indeed — excellent ; 
 1 but, sir, don't you think it time 
 for your hero to make his ap- 
 pearance ? ' — ' Hero, sir ! what 
 hero ? ' — ' Your principal cha- 
 racter, Lord Russell. You are 
 in the fourth act, and Lord 
 Russell has not been on yet.' — 
 ' Lord Russell, sir ! ' exclaimed 
 the Doctor ; ' why, sir, I have 
 been reading to you my comedy 
 of ' Draw the longbow.' — 'In- 
 deed ! I beg you a thousand 
 pardons ; but I thought it was 
 your tragedy of ' Lord Russell' 
 you had been reading to me.' 
 The angry author started from 
 his chair, thrust his manuscript 
 into his pocket, and ran down 
 stairs out of the house. When 
 I again met the Doctor, he gave 
 a most terrible account of the 
 deplorable state of the English 
 stage, when a London manager 
 did not know a tragedy from a 
 comedy. I laughed at his chag- 
 rin so whimsically detailed to 
 me, and he was all astonishment 
 and anger at my ill-timed mirth. 
 This reverend gentleman (his 
 dramatic mania excepted) was a 
 man of piety and learning ; and 
 I believe Mr. Harris's witty ex- 
 pedient effectually cured him 
 of profane play-writing, and 
 changed a mad scholar into an 
 edifying divine. He translated 
 some of the books of Milton 
 into Greek, which were, I under- 
 stood, printed at Oxford." 
 
 STAGE DRESS. 
 
 The absurdities of stage cos- 
 tume have been often described. 
 
 O'Keeffe recalled some amusing 
 instances. " I saw Barry," he 
 says, "play Othello, the Vene- 
 tian Moor, in a complete suit of 
 English regimentals, and a three- 
 cocked gold-laced hat ! — and 
 Thomas Sheridan, in Macbeth, 
 dressed in scarlet and gold Eng- 
 lish uniform ; and when king, 
 he wore a Spanish hat turned 
 up before, with a diamond and 
 feathers in the front. All the 
 characters in the play of 
 1 Richard III.' appeared in the 
 same modern clothes as the 
 gentlemen in the boxes wore, 
 except Richard himself, who 
 dressed as Richard, and thus 
 looked an angry Merry Andrew 
 among the rest of the performers. 
 In the play of < Henry VIII.' 
 none wore the habits of the 
 times but Henry himself: his 
 whole court were apparelled in 
 the dress only known two hun- 
 dred years after. Some of the 
 great performers," he adds, " had 
 peculiar tricks of fancy in their 
 acting. Digges, in Macbeth, 
 preparing for his combat with 
 Macduff, always put his fingers 
 to the bosom of his waistcoat, 
 and flung it entirely open : this 
 was to show he was not papered 
 — a previous defence, which was 
 thought unfair and treacherous ; 
 he then with his open right hand 
 gave a few taps to the side of 
 his hat, drew his sword, and 
 fought until he was killed." 
 Macklin — notGarrickor Kemble 
 — was really the first reformer 
 of stage costume. He was the 
 first to play Shylock in the cor- 
 rect Jewish dress of the time ; 
 and there is a curious picture by 
 Zoffany representing him in the 
 
THEATRICAL ANECDOTES. 
 
 5' 
 
 trial scene. He is there shown 
 in this old-fashioned dress, but 
 the rest of the company look 
 like the English lawyers and 
 courtiers of George III.'s time. 
 It might be a scene at West- 
 minster Hall. Garrick played 
 Macbeth and Othello in the 
 costume of the English army of 
 his time. Kemble is entitled to 
 the credit of having made a 
 wholesale reform. 
 
 SEVERE. 
 
 Fitz Ball, the dramatist, and 
 grand compounder, in his day, 
 of " blue fire," " terrifie com- 
 bats," and other melodramatic 
 elements, was complacently re- 
 peating, in presence of Douglas 
 Jerrolcl, that "some one had 
 called him the Victor Hugo of 
 the English stage." — " Much 
 more likely the Victor Nogo" 
 said the bitter Jerrold. This is 
 not a perfect "jest," but for its 
 rude severity and spontaneous- 
 ness, it is admirable. 
 
 "A HOBBY." 
 
 Theatrical lawsuits are often 
 fruitful in pleasantry. A ques- 
 tion of acting "The Agreeable 
 Surprise" without leave from 
 the manager of the theatre, who 
 had the copyright, had given 
 rise to a suit. One of the 
 counsel read, with some con- 
 tempt, the "nonsense" burden 
 of Lingo's well-known song — 
 
 J" Amo Amas, 
 I love a lass ; " 
 
 and which runs — 
 
 
 ' Tag rag merry derry 
 Periwig and hatband, 
 •Hie hoc horum, genitive" 
 
 and asked O'KeefTe if he were 
 the author of these words. The 
 dramatist was a little abashed. 
 But the judge came to his aid. 
 " Oh, that is nothing," he said ; 
 " Shakspeare for his clown had 
 recourse to the same humorous 
 experiment." It was then urged 
 on the piratical side that "Lingo 
 was quite a hobby of mine," to 
 which the lively Colman replied, 
 "But you should not take a 
 hobby out of my stable." 
 
 MAC KLIN AT REHEARSAL. 
 
 Lee Lewes, at a morning re- 
 hearsal, introduced what he 
 thought was a pleasant gag into 
 one of Macklin s comedies, and 
 which he considered very smart. 
 Macklin was directing the re- 
 hearsal. " Hoy ! hoy ! " he said, 
 " what's that ? "— " Oh," said the 
 other, " only a little of my non- 
 sense !" — " Oh, that was it," said 
 Macklin ; " but I think that my 
 nonsense is better than yours : 
 so keep to that, if you please, 
 sir ! " 
 
 This excellent actor and au- 
 thor was particularly exigeant 
 at these rehearsals, and quite 
 tired out the performers, one of 
 whom exclaimed at last, " Why, 
 this is worse than the Prussian 
 exercise." Macklin, after a pause, 
 looked steadily at the actor and 
 then said, " Suppose we all go 
 and sit a little in the green 
 room." They followed him in, 
 when he took out his watch, laid 
 it on the table and said, " Now 
 we'll sit here just one hour." 
 They sat there the whole hour, 
 when he rose and said, " Now 
 that we are all in good humour 
 
 E 2 
 
52 
 
 THEATRICAL ANECDOTES. 
 
 again, we'll go back to the stage 
 to begin our rehearsal again." 
 
 A STAGE LORD MAYOR. 
 
 During Sheridan's manage- 
 ment in Dublin there was a 
 facetious actor named Sparks, 
 " who was the stock lord-mayor 
 in plays like ' Richard the 
 Third,' and, being a dignified 
 figure, had some blank verse 
 dukes palmed upon him, which 
 he even looked upon as a hard- 
 ship : so, to get rid of them 
 without downright quarrelling 
 with his interest, he turned 
 them into downright drollery. 
 Mr. Sheridan, who was the 
 Richard, and was ever averse 
 from mirth mixing, and intrud- 
 ing on his serious scenes, where 
 capitally C07iccrned, addressed 
 honest Isaac thus one morning : 
 ' Mr. Sparks, you are an excel- 
 lent comedian; in most of the 
 parts you undertake you are un- 
 rivalled. But, sir, I hope you 
 will pardon me for what I have 
 done; I have taken the liberty 
 to set down Mr. Packenham for 
 the lord-mayor in to-morrow's 
 bills'. You know, my dear sir, 
 that the extraordinary good 
 humour your very appearance 
 throws the whole audience into, 
 without any sinister design in 
 you, so totally disconcerts the 
 gravity and proper attention 
 that should attach to so inte- 
 resting a scene of the play 
 wherein you are concerned, that 
 my feelings are discomposed 
 for the whole evening after.' — 
 'Very well, mighty well, Mr. 
 Sheridan ; I thank you, sir, for 
 many holidays I am likely to 
 
 enjoy, during this suspension 
 from my civic office.' But mark 
 the consequence of this change 
 of magistrates— no sooner did 
 the new lord-mayor make his 
 appearance, than the gods above 
 began to show their fierce re- 
 sentment, by shouting out, ' Off! 
 off ! ' — accompanied with whole 
 volleys of potatoes, &c, which 
 obliged Richard himself to apo- 
 logise for the affront he had put 
 upon them, by the removal of 
 their favourite ; and all was 
 hushed for that night." 
 
 The quaint style in which this 
 story is told — it was in fact dic- 
 tated by Lee Lewes — will not 
 have escaped the reader. 
 
 THE BEST SORT OF CRI- 
 TICISM. 
 
 Edmund Kean was com- 
 plaining to Mrs. Garrick of the 
 unfairness of the newspaper 
 criticisms on his acting. " You 
 should write your own," said the 
 old lady, then nearly a hundred 
 years old : " Davy always did? 
 This lively speech was, however, 
 scarcely true, though Davy often 
 prompted, or " inspired," the cri- 
 tiques on his acting. 
 
 PROPHETIC 
 
 One night, when Edmund 
 Kean was playing Shylock at 
 an obscure country theatre, he 
 was so pleased with the young 
 actor who had acted Tubal, 
 that he went up to him, clapped 
 him on the shoulder, and said 
 to him heartily : " Sir, you have 
 played Tubal finely ; persevere, 
 and you will become a great 
 
THEATRICAL ANECDOTES. 
 
 53 
 
 actor ! n The humble being thus 
 encouraged was Mr. Phelps, 
 whose " Man of the World," at 
 least, justifies the sagacity of the 
 tragedian. 
 
 A SHAKSPEREAN ENTHU- 
 SIAST. 
 
 Jack Reynolds, brother of 
 the dramatist, was very fond of 
 the stage, and, attending a mas- 
 querade as Shylock, took the 
 trouble of learning the whole 
 part by heart, so as to be ready 
 with appropriate answers or quo- 
 tations. Even after the mas- 
 querade was over, he could not 
 refrain from " pointing every 
 moral," or adorning every occa- 
 sion with a line from this fa- 
 vourite play, to the great annoy- 
 ance of his family. Thus, when 
 he was reproved for carousing 
 by his grandmother and asked, 
 why he got up so late, he re- 
 plied : 
 
 " I'll not answer that, 
 
 But say it is my humour." 
 
 At dinner, when he was asked 
 from what part of the turkey 
 he would choose to be helped, 
 he replied, with emphasis, 
 
 " Nearest his heart ! " 
 
 Again, when some debtors 
 came to the family to beg time 
 and indulgence, he startled the 
 whole party by bursting forth 
 into a vehement and fierce de- 
 nunciation — 
 
 ' ' Till thou canst rail the seal from off my 
 
 bond, 
 Thou but offend'st thy lungs to speak so 
 
 loud.' 
 Jailer look to them." 
 
 e was so much in earnest 
 
 H 
 
 that the poor debtors were in 
 serious terror, until the rest of 
 the family made him recant, 
 which he did graciously, by re- 
 peating the fine passage that 
 begins — 
 
 11 The quality of mercy is not strained." 
 
 A DRAMATISTS NOTE 
 BOOH. 
 
 Reynolds, when a mere 
 youth, having dramatized the 
 "Sorrows of Werther" with some 
 success, was encouraged to turn 
 his talents to the subject of 
 Rousseau's " Eloisa." " I will 
 describe," he says, u my absurd 
 and laborious fashion of com- 
 position. I was, in fact, a thinker 
 upon paper ; and made it a rule, 
 by asking myself written ques- 
 tions, and my characters ques- 
 tions, and by hints and references 
 and directions, to fill four pages 
 everyday." Here is a specimen 
 from the commonplace book : — 
 
 Scene. — A garden. — Enter 
 Eloisa.— Then follows, "Well 
 now, my darling, what have you 
 to say for yourself? " 
 
 Again in the following page : 
 
 " Vide Rousseau — St. Preux, 
 Lord Edward Bomston, and M. 
 Wolmar — three lovers — bravo 
 Julie ! Quaere — Can I venture 
 to introduce the letter of the 
 French child of nature in the 
 
 novel of 1 forget the name — 
 
 " My dear Mamma, 
 
 " Though I am dying for love 
 
 of the Marquis, I cannot refuse 
 
 the Count nightly assignations. 
 
 Can you tell me the reason ? 
 
 " I remain, ma chere Maman, 
 
 " Yours, &c„ &c." 
 
54 
 
 THEATRICAL ANECDOTES. 
 
 "But the actors— the cast- 
 neither Holman, nor Pope, will 
 play BOMSTON, notwithstanding 
 he is a lord" 
 
 "The rose by any other name, would smell 
 as sweet." 
 
 " Rousseau, when he named 
 this proud character, forgot the 
 unfortunate associations, which 
 the habit of converting the long- 
 open O, into the short sounding 
 U, might create in the breasts 
 of his English readers. But 
 who is to play Bomston ? 
 Wroughton, Farren, or Frank 
 Aikin ? — Curse Bomston ! " 
 
 THE CLIVE "SPELLING." 
 
 The famous Kitty Clive was 
 notorious for her bad spelling. 
 The following is a specimen, 
 taken from a letter of condo- 
 lence : — 
 
 " There is nothing to be said 
 on these molancholy occasions 
 To a person of understanding — 
 fools Can not feel, people of 
 sence must and will, and when 
 they have sank their spirits till 
 they are ill, will find that nothing 
 but submission can give any any 
 Consolation to ineveit able miss 
 fortune." 
 
 KEAN AND TALMA. 
 
 Kean had taken his wife to 
 see Talma, in " Orestes," a per- 
 formance about which he was 
 enthusiastic. He was provoked 
 at finding her so cold during the 
 representation. " You don't un- 
 derstand the thing. Nothing was 
 ever like him. He is worth both 
 me and John Kemble put toge- 
 
 ther." When, however, the mad 
 scene arrived, she was com- 
 pletely converted, and became 
 as rapturous as she had before 
 been cold : " I never saw any- 
 thing to compare with it." Her 
 husband was quite piqued. " I 
 think that I can do better than 
 that," he said ; " only wait till 
 you see my mad scene ! " 
 
 JEREMY DIDDLER. 
 
 The name of "Jeremy Did- 
 dler" has done useful service in 
 English conversation. As is 
 well known, it is the title of a 
 character in the amusing farce 
 of " Raising the Wind." Not 
 so well known, perhaps, is the 
 fact that it was modelled on a 
 strange being named Bibb, 
 well known to the taverns and 
 Bohemian society of his day for 
 his inveterate "impecuniosity." 
 His acquaintance with friends 
 generally commenced in a man- 
 ner characteristic of his habits, 
 viz., by a small loan. Mr. Taylor 
 first met him at a low gambling 
 house in Soho. 
 
 " Baddeley, the actor was also 
 there. A dispute arose between 
 Baddeley and the doctor, which 
 was likely to terminate seriously, 
 but the rest of the assembly in- 
 terposed, lest the character of 
 the house should be called in 
 question, and their nocturnal 
 orgies suppressed. The house 
 went under the name of the 
 1 Royal Larder/ which was 
 merely a cover to conceal its 
 real purpose, that of a place for 
 the meeting of gamesters. 
 
 " I was very young at the 
 time, and being ignorant of the 
 
THEATRICAL ANECDOTES. 
 
 55 
 
 game, I had not courage to 
 engage at the hazard- table. It 
 was a meeting of a very inferior 
 kind, for a shilling was admitted 
 as a stake. I had a very few 
 shillings in my pocket, which 
 Bibb borrowed of me as the box 
 came round to him, and lost 
 every time. 
 
 "How Bibb supported him- 
 self, having relinquished en- 
 graving, it would be difficult to 
 conceive, if he had not levied 
 taxes upon all whom he knew, 
 insomuch that, besides his title 
 of Count, he acquired that of 
 * Half-crown Bibb/ by which 
 appellation he was generally dis- 
 tinguished, and according to a 
 rough, and, perhaps, fanciful es- 
 timate, he had borrowed at least 
 2000/. in half-crowns. 
 
 " I remember to have met him 
 on the day when the death of 
 Dr. Johnson was announced in 
 the newspapers, and, expressing 
 my regret at the loss of so great 
 a man, Bibb interrupted me, 
 and spoke of him as a man of 
 no genius, whose mind contained 
 nothing but the lumber of learn- 
 ing. I was modestly beginning 
 a panegyric upon the doctor, 
 when he again interrupted me 
 with, ' Oh ! never mind that old 
 blockhead. Have you such a 
 tiling as ninepence about you?' 
 Luckily for him I had a little 
 more. 
 
 "There was something so 
 whimsical in this incident, that 
 I mentioned it to some friends, 
 and that and others of the same 
 kind doubtless induced Mr. 
 Kenny to make him the hero of 
 his diverting farce, called ' Rais- 
 ing the Wind.' Another cir- 
 
 cumstance of a similar nature 
 was told me by Mr. Morton. 
 Bibb met him one day after the 
 successful performance of one of 
 his plays, and, concluding that 
 a prosperous author must have 
 plenty of cash, commenced his 
 solicitation accordingly, and ven- 
 tured to ask him for the loan of 
 a whole crown. Morton assured 
 him that he had no more silver 
 than three shillings and sixpence. 
 Bibb readily accepted them, of 
 course, but said on parting, 
 ' Remember I intended to borrow 
 a crown, so you owe me eighteen- 
 fience? This stroke of humour 
 induced Morton to regret that 
 Bibb had left him his debtor. 
 
 " Bibb, in his latter days, de- 
 vised a good scheme to raise 
 the supplies. He hired a large 
 room for the reception of com- 
 pany once a week, which he 
 paid for only for the day. He 
 then, with the consent of his 
 friends, provided a handsome 
 dinner, for which the guests 
 paid their due proportion. There 
 can be little doubt that many 
 extraordinary characters assem- 
 bled on these occasions. He 
 told me his plan, and requested 
 I would be one of the party. I 
 promised I would attend, and 
 regret that I was prevented, as 
 so motley an assemblage must 
 have afforded abundant amuse- 
 ment. 
 
 " Bibb's father, knowing the 
 disposition of his son, left him 
 an annuity, which was to be 
 paid at the rate of two guineas 
 a week, and which never was to 
 be advanced beyond that sum. 
 This was, however, probably 
 dissipated the next day, and, 
 
56 
 
 THEATRICAL ANECDOTES. 
 
 when expended, he used to apply 
 to his sister, a very amiable 
 young lady, who was married to 
 a respectable merchant. Having 
 been tried* by frequent applica- 
 tions, the husband would not let 
 him enter the door. Bibb then 
 seated himself on the steps, and 
 passengers seeing a man de- 
 cently dressed in that situation, 
 naturally stopped, and at length 
 a crowd was collected. The 
 gentleman, then desirous of get- 
 ting rid of a crowd, and proba- 
 bly in compliance with the de- 
 sire of his wife, found it neces- 
 sary to submit to her brother's 
 requisition. 
 
 " Nothing could subdue the 
 spirit of his character, for he 
 would make a joke of those ne- 
 cessities under which others 
 would repine, droop, and de- 
 spair. His death was fortunate 
 at the period when it happened, 
 for it not only relieved him in 
 old age from probable infirmities, 
 which, if they had confined him 
 at home, would doubtless have 
 deprived him of all resources of 
 an eleemosynary nature, but 
 would have reduced him to ab- 
 solute starvation. It was also, 
 as I have before observed, for- 
 tunate, for he escaped the mor- 
 tification of seeing his character 
 brought upon the stage." 
 
 CHARLES LAMB, AND THE 
 FIRST NIGHT OF A NEW 
 TRAGEDY. 
 
 Godwin wrote a tragedy. He 
 chose a story, affecting, ro- 
 mantic, Spanish ; the plot, sim- 
 ple, without being naked ; the 
 incidents uncommon, without 
 
 being overstrained. Antonio, 
 who gives the name to the piece, 
 is a sensitive young Castilian, 
 who, in a fit of his country 
 honour, immolates his sister — 
 but I must not anticipate the 
 catastrophe. 
 
 The conception was bold ; and 
 the denouement, the time and 
 place in which the hero of it 
 existed, considered, not much out 
 of keeping : yet it must be con- 
 fessed that it required a delicacy 
 of handling, both from the author 
 and the performer, so as not 
 much to shock the prejudices 
 of a modern English audience. 
 G., in my opinion, had done his 
 part. John Kemble, who was in 
 familiar habits with the philoso- 
 pher, had undertaken to play 
 Antonio. Great expectations 
 were formed. A philosopher's 
 first play was a new era. The 
 night arrived. I was favoured 
 with a seat in an advantageous 
 box, between the author and his 
 friend M. G. sat cheerful and con- 
 fident. In his friend M.'s looks, 
 who had perused the manuscript, 
 I read some terror. Antonio, 
 in the person of John Philip 
 Kemble, at length appeared, 
 starched out in a ruff which no 
 one could dispute, and in most 
 irreproachable mustachios. John 
 always dressed most provoking- 
 ly correct on these occasions. 
 The first act swept by, solemn 
 and silent. It went off, as G. 
 assured M., exactly as the open- 
 ing act of a piece — the protasis 
 —should do. The cue of the 
 spectators was to be mute. The 
 characters were but in their in- 
 troduction. The passions and 
 the incidents would be developed 
 
THEATRICAL ANECDOTES. 
 
 57 
 
 hereafter. Applause hitherto 
 would be impertinent. Silent 
 attention was the effect all- 
 desirable. Poor M. acquiesced ; 
 but in his honest, friendly face I 
 could discern a working which 
 told how much more acceptable 
 the plaudit of a single hand 
 (however misplaced) would have 
 been than all this reasoning. 
 The second act (as in duty 
 bound) rose a little in interest ; 
 but still John kept his forces 
 under, — in policy, as G. would 
 have it, — and the audience were 
 most complacently attentive. 
 The protasis, in fact, was scarce- 
 ly unfolded. The interest would 
 warm in the next act, against 
 which a special incident was 
 provided. M. wiped his cheek, 
 flushed with a friendly perspira- 
 tion, — 'tis M.'s way of showing 
 his zeal, — " from every pore of 
 him a perfume falls." I honour 
 it above Alexander's. He had 
 once or twice during this act 
 joined his palms in a feeble en- 
 deavour to elicit a sound ; they 
 emitted a solitary noise without 
 an echo : there was no deep to 
 answer to his deep. G. repeat- 
 edly begged him to be quiet. 
 The third act at length brought 
 on the scene which was to warm 
 the piece progressively to the 
 final flaming-forth of the catas- 
 trophe. A philosophic calm set- 
 tled upon the clear brow of G. 
 as it approached. The lips of 
 M. quivered. A challenge was 
 held forth upon the stage, and 
 there was promise of a fight. 
 The pit roused themselves on 
 this extraordinary occasion, and, 
 as there manner is, seemed dis- 
 posed to make a ring ; when 
 
 suddenly Antonio, who was the 
 challenged, turning the tables 
 upon the hot challenger, Don 
 Gusman (who, by the way, 
 should have had his sister), 
 balks his humour, and the pit's 
 reasonable expectation at the 
 same time, with some speeches 
 out of the new philosophy against 
 duelling. The audience were 
 here fairly caught ; their courage 
 was up, and on the alert ; a few 
 
 blows, ding dong, as R s, the 
 
 dramatist, afterwards expressed 
 it to me, might have done the 
 business, — when their most ex- 
 quisite moral sense was sudden- 
 ly called in to assist in the 
 mortifying negation of their own 
 pleasure. They could not ap- 
 plaud, for disappointment ; they 
 would not condemn, for mo- 
 rality's sake. The interest stood 
 stone-still ; and John's manner 
 was not at all calculated to un- 
 petrify it. It was Christmas- 
 time, and the atmosphere fur- 
 nished some pretext for asth- 
 matic affections. One began to 
 cough : his neighbour sympa- 
 thized with him, till a cough be- 
 came epidemical. But when, 
 from being half artificial in the 
 pit, the cough got frightfully 
 naturalized among the fictitious 
 persons of the drama, and 
 Antonio himself (albeit it was 
 not set down in the stage direc- 
 tions) seemed more intent upon 
 relieving his own lungs than the 
 distresses of the author and his 
 friends, then G. "first knew 
 fear," and, mildly turning to M., 
 intimated that he had not been 
 aware that Mr. Kemble laboured 
 under a cold, and that the per- 
 formance might possibly have 
 
58 
 
 THEATRICAL ANECDOTES. 
 
 been postponed with advantage 
 for some nights further, — still 
 keeping the same serene counte- 
 nance, while M. sweat like a bull. 
 It would be invidious to pur- 
 sue the fates of this ill-starred 
 evening. In vain did the plot 
 thicken in the scenes that fol- 
 lowed, in vain the dialogue wax 
 more passionate and stirring, in 
 vain the action was accelerated, 
 while the acting stood still. From 
 the beginning, John had taken 
 his stand, — had wound himself 
 up to an even tenor of stately 
 declamation, from which no 
 exigence of dialogue or person 
 could make him swerve for an 
 instant. The procession of ver- 
 biage stalked on through four 
 and five acts, no one venturing 
 to predict what would come of 
 it ; when, towards the winding- 
 up of the latter, Antonio, with an 
 irrelevancy that seemed to stag- 
 ger Elvira herself, — for she had 
 been coolly arguing the point of 
 honour with him, — suddenly 
 whips out a poniard, and stabs 
 his sister to the heart. The effect 
 was as if a murder had been 
 committed in cold blood. The 
 whole house rose up in clamorous 
 indignation, demanding justice. 
 The feeling rose far above hisses. 
 I believe at that instant, if they 
 could have got him, they would 
 have torn the unfortunate author 
 to pieces. Not that the act it- 
 self was so exorbitant, or of a 
 complexion different from what 
 they themselves would have ap- 
 plauded upon another occasion 
 in a Brutus or an Appius ; but, 
 for want of attending to An- 
 tonio's words, which palpably 
 led to the expectation of no less 
 
 dire an event, instead of being 
 seduced by his manner, which 
 seemed to promise a sleep of a 
 less alarming nature than it was 
 his cue to inflict upon Elvira, 
 they found themselves betrayed 
 into an accompliceship of mur- 
 der, a perfect misprision of par- 
 ricide, while they dreamed of 
 nothing less. 
 
 M., I believe, was the only 
 person who suffered acutely from 
 the failure ; for G. thencefor- 
 ward, with a serenity unattain- 
 able but by the true philosophy, 
 abandoning a precarious popu- 
 larity, retired into his fast hold 
 of speculation, — the drama in 
 which the world was to be his 
 tiring-room, and remote pos- 
 terity his applauding spectators 
 at once and actors. 
 
 ABSENT CRITICS. 
 
 It may be suspected that a 
 performance is often praised in 
 general and conventional terms, 
 by a critic whom either accident 
 or some other business has pre- 
 vented attending the perform- 
 ance. But to assail a piece or 
 performers when the critic has 
 not been present, would be found 
 too daring and risky a proceed- 
 ing for even the most unscrupu- 
 lous. Such a proceeding, how- 
 ever, has often taken place in 
 the old " slashing " days of 
 criticism. 
 
 On the 5th of October, 1805, 
 says Mr. Cole, a revival of Far- 
 quhar's comedy of the " Constant 
 Couple " was announced for that 
 evening at Drury Lane, but 
 postponed on account of the 
 
THEATRICAL ANECDOTES. 
 
 59 
 
 illness of Elliston. A Sunday 
 paper, however, contained the 
 following account : — 
 
 " Last night, Farquhar's 
 sprightly comedy of the ' Con- 
 stant Couple ' was most labori- 
 riously and successfully mur- 
 dered at this theatre. Elliston 
 tamed down the gaiety of Sir 
 Harry Wildair with a felicity 
 which they who admire such 
 doings can never sufficiently 
 extol. The gay knight was, by 
 the care of his misrepresenta- 
 tive, reduced to a figure of as 
 little fantastic vivacity, as could 
 be shown by Tom Errand in 
 Beau Clincher's clothes. Beau 
 Clincher himself was quite lost 
 in Jack Bannister ; it was Ban- 
 nister, not the Clincher of Far- 
 quhar, that the performance 
 suggested to the audience. Miss 
 Mellon was not an unpleasing 
 representative of Angelica ; but 
 criticism has not language severe 
 enough to mark, as it deserves, 
 the impertinence of Barrymore's 
 presuming to put himself for- 
 ward in the part of Colonel Stan- 
 dard. We were less offended, 
 although it was impossible to 
 be much pleased, with Dowton's 
 attempt to enact Alderman 
 Smuggler. But the acting was 
 altogether very sorry." 
 
 The maligned actors brought 
 an action against the authorities 
 of the paper, who compromised, 
 and got off cheaply, by paying 
 50/. to the theatrical fund. 
 
 In the Theatricat Inquisitor 
 for October, 1812 (a periodical 
 in continuation of the Mouthy 
 Mirro?'), we find the following 
 extract, headed " Newspaper 
 Criticism," taken from the pages 
 
 of the identical journal's prede- 
 cessor : — 
 
 " Oct. 3d. — We were su- 
 premely gratified on Tuesday 
 evening, at Covent Garden 
 Theatre, during the representa- 
 tion of the opera of the "Cabi- 
 net," to hear that Mr. Sinclair 
 had attended to our critical ad- 
 vice, and that his adoption of it 
 was eminently serviceable to his 
 professional character. In exe- 
 cuting the ftolacca, he very pru- 
 dently abstained from any wild 
 flourishes, but kept strictly to 
 the law of melody, by which he 
 gained upon the public ear so 
 strongly, and so deservedly, that 
 he was encored three times, by 
 the unanimous desire of the 
 whole audience ; and we trust, 
 after so decided a victory upon 
 the part of true melody over the 
 vagaries of science, that he will 
 never more be fantastical. Un- 
 adulterated nature is modest 
 and simple, and, like the pure 
 beauty, is ever most efficient in 
 attraction when she is unbedi- 
 zened by the frippery of art. A 
 meretricious female resorts to 
 finery in the hope of acquiring 
 a substitute for the lost loveli- 
 ness of virtue ; but the most 
 cunning labour of her toilette is 
 not propitious to the aims of her 
 desire." 
 
 On this the Inquisitor com- 
 ments thus : — 
 
 " To this exquisitely-laboured 
 piece of criticism there is but one 
 solitary objection,— the opera of 
 the ' Cabinet ' was indeed under- 
 lined at the bottom of the Mon- 
 day play-bills, for the following 
 night ; but in those of Tuesday 
 it was changed to the ' English 
 
6o 
 
 THEATRICAL ANECDOTES. 
 
 Fleet/ which was accordingly 
 represented on the Tuesday 
 evening — that very evening on 
 which the reporter of the vera- 
 cious journal to which we allude 
 heard Mr. Sinclair thrice en- 
 cored in the polacca" 
 
 PA YMENT FOR AD VER- 
 TISEMENTS. 
 
 Managers whose half co- 
 lumns of advertisements in the 
 daily papers have become an 
 enormous charge on the weekly 
 receipts, may look back wistfully 
 to the days of Garrick and 
 Sheridan, where, among other 
 "palmy" things enjoyed, was 
 the luxury of being paid by the 
 newspapers for the privilege of 
 inserting the theatrical an- 
 nouncements. Covent Garden 
 received from the Public Adver- 
 tiser 64/., Drury Lane nearly the 
 same, and each theatre besides 
 enjoyed 200/. a-year from all 
 the newspapers collectively for 
 accounts of the new plays. The 
 bringer of an early play-bill 
 usually received half-a-crown, 
 just as the speedy bearer of a 
 reporter's packet is rewarded. 
 
 FLATTERING COMPLI- 
 MENT 
 
 During his first success at 
 Drury Lane, Kean overheard a 
 knot of old stage carpenters dis- 
 cussing the various performers 
 of Hamlet they had seen in their 
 day. " Well," said one, " you 
 may talk of Henderson and 
 Kemble, and this new man, but 
 give me Bannister's Hamlet. 
 
 He was always done twenty 
 minutes sooner than any one of 
 'em? This is truly charac- 
 teristic. 
 
 THE UNLUCKY 
 HUNTER. 
 
 CUE 
 
 Kean was acting at Edin- 
 burgh, and announced for 
 Orestes. When he came to 
 rehearsal on the day of per- 
 formance, he found that he had 
 forgotten nearly the whole part. 
 He said to the Pyrrhus of the 
 night, "Are you a cue-hunter?" 
 Cue-hunter, to the experienced 
 in stage phraseology, implies a 
 matter-of-fact actor, who cannot 
 get on without the exact word ; 
 but the beginner to whom the 
 question was put, imagined that 
 it meant, " Are you perfect ? " 
 to which he answered with eager 
 acquiescence, " You may rely 
 upon it, sir, that I am to the 
 letter." " The devil you are ? " 
 rejoined the inquirer ; " then we 
 shall be in a precious mess to- 
 night." 
 
 The play begins with an intro- 
 ductory scene between Orestes 
 and f ylades. Then follows the 
 delivery of the embassy to Pyr- 
 rhus, who is seated on his throne 
 in full council. All this is de- 
 tailed in a long diplomatic 
 speech, to which Pyrrhus replies 
 with fencing diplomacy of the 
 same class. Unless this exor- 
 dium is made clearly intelligible 
 to the audience, the whole play 
 resolves itself into a mystery. 
 Pyrrhus can neither say nor do 
 anything, until he knows what 
 is required of him. The speech 
 begins with these prosaic lines, 
 
THEATRICAL ANECDOTES. 
 
 61 
 
 of no meaning beyond empty 
 compliment : — 
 
 " Before I speak the message of the 
 
 Greeks, 
 Permit me, sir, to glory in the title 
 Of their ambassador, since I behold 
 Troy's vanquisher, and great Achilles' 
 
 son." 
 
 Orestes then goes on to the 
 business of the embassy. 
 
 " Now," said Kean in the 
 morning to the Pyrrhus, " I fore- 
 see that I shall stick in this 
 speech at night, so as soon as I 
 feel that I am breaking down, I 
 shall wink my off-eye at you, 
 and you can then come to the 
 front and go on with your an- 
 swer." 
 
 When night came, the first 
 scene went off smoothly enough. 
 With the change, Pyrrhus en- 
 tered and ascended his throne 
 R. H. ; Orestes was introduced 
 L. H., and began deliberately : — 
 
 " Before I speak the message 
 of the Greeks " (a strong wink 
 of the eye, repeated several 
 times, and then, after a pause, 
 with a quick epigrammatie turn), 
 " I wish to hear what you have 
 got to say." 
 
 The house rang with applause, 
 which gave the astonished King 
 of Epirus time to collect himself; 
 and as it was evident the am- 
 bassador was determined that 
 he should speak first, he had 
 nothing left for it but to proceed 
 with his reply to uncommuni- 
 cated proposals, and which, as 
 far as the audience were con- 
 cerned, might as well have been 
 delivered in Chaldaic. 
 
 In the great interview with 
 Hermione, in the fourth act, 
 where Orestes has more to act 
 with his face than to speak in 
 
 words, Kean brought down loud 
 acclamations. In the mad scene 
 he threw himself body and soul 
 into the fulness of the situation, 
 and when at fault for the exact 
 words, substituted lines and 
 speeches from the more familiar 
 frenzy of Sir Giles Overreach. 
 
 On the following day the 
 papers unanimously condemned 
 the play, but lauded the actor 
 to the skies. The part, they 
 said, was unworthy of the talent 
 he threw away upon it, and the 
 English adaptation of Racine 
 poor and uninteresting. One 
 critic remarked, that towards 
 the conclusion certain passages 
 fell upon the ear as incongruous 
 and unclassical, but this might 
 be owing to the clumsiness of the 
 translation. The same writer 
 
 said of Pyrrhus, " Mr. 
 
 looked his part well, and was 
 splendidly dressed. This gen- 
 tleman, who is new to our boards, 
 has promise, but he was evi- 
 dently imperfect. We would 
 suggest to him the propriety of 
 more careful study when stand- 
 ing bv the side of so great an 
 actor as Mr. Kean." 
 
 A VETERAN. 
 
 In the year 1839 Mr - Strange, 
 at Edinburgh, witnessed Charles 
 Kean's performance of Hamlet. 
 This gentleman was the son of 
 Sir Robert Strange, the en- 
 graver, and had often seen Gar- 
 rick in the same part, and pro- 
 nounced its present representa- 
 tion superior. It should, he 
 added, however, as some quali- 
 fication to this judgment, that lie 
 
THEATRICAL ANECDOTES. 
 
 was over eighty-four years of 
 age. It is curious, however, to 
 think that this old gentleman 
 might have seen every great 
 actor and actress — except the 
 generation of Betterton, Mrs. 
 Porter, and the like, from Gar- 
 rick to Macready. 
 
 MISTAKE. 
 
 Mr. J. Wilson CROKERused 
 to say that he had heard of a 
 lady who " wept all through * As 
 you Like it,' when Mrs. Siddons 
 played Rosalind, under the idea 
 that she was witnessing 'Jane 
 Shore.' » 
 
 CHERRY. 
 
 Andrew Cherry, the come- 
 dian (the same who concluded a 
 letter, " you cannot make two 
 bites of A Cherry ") was a singu- 
 lar character. 
 
 During his early days, says 
 Mr. Matthews, in one of the 
 provinces, he was performing 
 Autolycus, in " The Winter's 
 Tale," in which character he had 
 to remark — with an expressive 
 action of his finger upon his 
 forehead — 
 
 "The king is a very good man, but he 
 wants it here I " 
 
 The unlettered part of the 
 audience, who knew no distinc- 
 tion of date or place, but viewed 
 the whole world as England, 
 and knew nothing of time but 
 timepresent, construed the above 
 speech into rank treason, and 
 the demi-gods, brim-full of 
 British loyalty, hurled upon the 
 devoted head of the actor their 
 loudest thunder, precluding the 
 
 continuation of the play, until 
 the better portion of the auditors 
 exerted their influence over "the 
 poorer born," and succeeded in 
 producing a temporary calm. 
 
 The offender, who was, like 
 Grumio, 
 
 " A little pot, and soon hot," 
 
 could not control his irritation, 
 at the gross stupidity of those on 
 high, and bounced forward, and 
 with an emphasis of anger and 
 contempt, exclaimed — 
 
 "It's the King of Sardinia— 
 ye Pumps ! " 
 
 u no religion:' 
 
 The father of Grimaldi, the 
 famous clown, who was living 
 near Red Lion Square, was 
 visited, during the famous Gor- 
 don riots, by an uproarious mob, 
 who assumed that as a foreigner 
 he belonged to the obnoxious 
 Faith, his hall door not being 
 chalked with the words, "No 
 Popery ! " The shout, " No 
 Popery ! n was raised, and they 
 were preparing to sack the 
 house, when Grimaldi suddenly 
 threw up the second-floor win- 
 dow, and making comic grim- 
 aces, addressed them, " Genlle- 
 mens, in dis hose dere be no 
 releegion at all ! " This happy 
 speech produced roars of laugh- 
 ter, and the mob passed on, giv- 
 ing him three cheers. 
 
 A GOOD BENEFIT. 
 
 Charles Kemble used to 
 tell a story of some poor fo- 
 reigner, French pantomimist or 
 dancer, who used to appeal to 
 
THEATRICAL ANECDOTES. 
 
 63 
 
 the public with regular annual 
 benefits, but always with the 
 most disastrous results. At last 
 he came forward one night with 
 a face beaming with pleasure, 
 and said, "Dear public ! moche 
 oblige — ver good benifice — only 
 lose half- a - crown — / come 
 again ! • 
 
 ACTORS' JESTS. 
 
 The last time Charles Young 
 called on Mr. Planche" he left his 
 card, on which was inscribed, — 
 
 " 'Tis I, my lord — the early village cock! " 
 
 He was a gvQdXfargeur, and de- 
 lighted in the most elaborate 
 practical jokes. "Munden,"adds 
 Mr. Planche', " never saw me in 
 the street that he did not get 
 astride on his great cotton um- 
 brella, and ride up to me. . . . 
 Wallack and Tom Cooke would 
 gravely meet, remove with stolid 
 countenances each other's hat, 
 bow ceremoniously, replace it, 
 and pass on, without exchanging 
 a word, to the astonishment of 
 the beholders. Meadows would 
 continually seat himself on the 
 kerb-stone opposite my house at 
 Brompton, with his hat in his 
 hand, like a beggar, utterly re- 
 gardless of strangers, and re- 
 fuse to move on until he had 
 been thrown a penny." 
 
 LISTON. 
 
 An oddity of Liston is told by 
 Mr. Planch6 in his most agree- 
 able book of Recollections. 
 
 " Walking one day through 
 Leicester Square with Mr. Mil- 
 
 ler, the theatrical bookseller of 
 Bow Street, Liston happened to 
 mention casually that he was go- 
 ing to have tripe for dinner, a 
 dish of which he was particu- 
 larly fond. Miller, who hated it, 
 said, ' Tripe ! Beastly stuff ! 
 How can you eat it ? n That was 
 enough for Liston. He stopped 
 suddenly in the crowded tho- 
 roughfare in front of Leicester 
 House, and holding Miller by 
 the arm, exclaimed, in a loud 
 voice, " What, sir ! So you 
 mean to assert that you don't 
 like tripe ? \ i Hush 1 ' muttered 
 Miller, ' don't talk so loud ; 
 people are staring at us.' ' I ask 
 you, sir/ continued Liston. in 
 still louder tones, 'do you not 
 like tripe ? ' ' For Heaven's sake, 
 hold your tongue ! ' cried Miller ; 
 1 you'll have a crowd round us.' 
 And naturally people began to 
 stop and wonder what was the 
 matter. This was exactly what 
 Liston wanted, and again he 
 shouted, ' Do you mean to say 
 you don't like tripe ? ' Miller, 
 making a desperate effort, broke 
 from him, and hurried in con- 
 sternation through Cranbourne 
 Alley, followed by Liston, bawl- 
 ing after him, ' There he goes ! 
 — that's the man who doesn't 
 like tripe ! ' to the immense 
 amusement of the numerous 
 passengers, many of whom re- 
 cognised the popular comedian, 
 till the horrified bookseller took 
 to his heels and ran, as if for his 
 life, up Long Acre into Bow 
 Street, pursued to his very door- 
 step by a pack of young raga- 
 muffins, who took up the cry, 
 4 There goes the man that don't 
 like tripe ! ' " 
 
64 
 
 THEATRICAL ANECDOTES. 
 
 UNSUITABLE CHARAC- 
 TERS. 
 
 Nearly all the great players 
 have longed to figure in parts 
 that were not suitable to their 
 talents. The " comic country 
 man " of the provincial theatres 
 often envies his brother profes- 
 sional in the part of Hamlet or 
 Macbeth, and sincerely believes 
 that he could do it more justice. 
 Mrs. Siddons believed that she 
 had great talents for comedy, 
 acted the " Widow Brady," and 
 once made a piteous exhibition 
 of herself in Nell in "The Devil 
 to Pay." She considered, too, 
 that she could give a comic song 
 called "Billy Taylor," with 
 particular humour ; and those 
 who have heard her perform in 
 this line declared that the 
 grim and laborious solemnity 
 was infinitely diverting. Her 
 brother fancied that he shone 
 in lively Charles Surface, which 
 must have suggested something 
 almost elephantine. King, the 
 beau-ideal of high comedy, in- 
 sisted on appearing as Richard 
 the Third. The most outrageous 
 exhibition of the kind was that 
 of Mrs. Abington, the original, 
 and said to have been the finest, 
 Lady Teazle. At her benefit, 
 to attract the town by the novelty 
 of a new character, she per- 
 formed the part of Scrub, in 
 "The Beaux Stratagem." " At a 
 very early hour," says Angelo, 
 " the house was quite full. That 
 night I accompanied my mother 
 to Mrs. Garrick's box, when a 
 general disappointment ensued. 
 With all her endeavours to give 
 new points to the character, she 
 
 entirely failed. Her appearance 
 en culottes, so preposterously 
 padded, exceeded nature. Her 
 gestures to look comical could 
 not get the least hold of the 
 audience, though they had seen 
 her before in men's clothes, when 
 playing Portia, in " The Mer- 
 chant of Venice," where her 
 figure, dressed as a lawyer in his 
 gown, gave effect to her excel- 
 lent delivery on mercy, and the 
 audience had been always de- 
 lighted. But this Jeu de benefice, 
 comparatively speaking, was 
 disgusting and absurd as she 
 dressed the character. 
 
 EDMUND KEAN 
 
 During fourteen years Ed- 
 mund Kean received from Drury 
 Lane over two hundred thou- 
 sand pounds, of which sum he 
 had not in the fourteenth year a 
 hundred pounds left. Yet his 
 splendid debut at that house had 
 rescued him from a state of the 
 most abject misery and starva- 
 tion. Such a being could learn 
 nothing from either prosperity 
 or adversity. 
 
 UNINTENTIONAL TRA- 
 GEDY. 
 
 The Kembles, who were 
 stately au bout des ongles, often 
 found even their common re- 
 marks falling into the shape of 
 blank verse. 
 
 " Beef cannot be too salt for me, my 
 lord ! " 
 
 was Mrs. Siddon's remark, de- 
 livered in rather tragic tones to 
 
THEATRICAL ANECDOTES. 
 
 65 
 
 a Provost who sat beside her at 
 dinner. It may have been on 
 the same occasion that she ad- 
 dressed an astonished page — 
 
 " I asked for porter, boy : 
 You've brought me beer ! " 
 
 Her great brother was not be- 
 hind hand. When about to cross 
 some swollen stream at Abbots- 
 ford, he said to Sir Walter, — 
 
 ** The flood looks angry, sheriff : 
 Methinks I'll get me up into a tree !" 
 
 His great sister once scared a 
 linendraper by the tragic in- 
 tensity with which she put the 
 question, " Will it wash ?" 
 
 A UDIENCES A T THE CHIEF 
 LONDON THEATRES. 
 
 An inquiry was lately made 
 by Mr. Harry Boleno as to the 
 average numbers that attend the 
 twelve principal theatres within 
 a quarter of a mile of the Strand. 
 The result was as follows : — 
 
 Theatre Royal, Urury lane — 
 Average audience, 4,000 ; em- 
 ployes (before and behind the 
 curtain), 1,100. 
 
 Covent Garden — Audience, 
 4,000 ; employes, 600. 
 
 Queen's — Audience, 2,500 ; 
 employes, 154. 
 
 Lyceum — Audience, 2,500 ; 
 employes, 130. 
 
 Vaudeville— Audience, 1,800 ; 
 employes, 120. 
 
 Adclphi — Audience, 1,800 ; 
 employes, 136. 
 
 Charing Cross — Audience, 
 800 ; employes, 55. 
 
 Opera Comique — Audience, 
 ■ 1,080 ; employes, 60. 
 
 Globe — Audience, 1,000 ; em- 
 ployes, 60. 
 
 Strand — Audience, 1,200 ; em- 
 ployes, 100. 
 
 Olympic — Audience, 900 ; em- 
 ployes, 60. 
 
 Gaiety — Audience, 1,500 ; em- 
 ployes, 150. 
 
 With this list may be com- 
 pared some Paris figures. At 
 the present time, the largest 
 theatre in Paris is the Chate- 
 let, which will seat 3,500 per- 
 sons. Then follows the Ambigu, 
 1,900 seats ; the Opera, Gaiete', 
 and Opdra Comique, 1,800; the 
 Italiens and Odeon, 1,700; the 
 Varietes and Palais Royal, 
 1,400 ; the Francais, Vaudeville, 
 and Chatelet, 1,300 ; and the 
 Athene'e Gymnase, Folies Dra- 
 matiques, and Bouffes, 1,200 
 seats. The Chatelet looks larger 
 than Drury Lane, because built 
 on better principles, but Drury 
 Lane will " seat " 4,000 people. 
 The Chatelet is lit in a very 
 original fashion. The entire 
 vast ceiling is formed of yellow 
 glass, through which the light 
 comes. Behind the scenes the 
 space is so vast that it was jocu- 
 larly said that the stage-manager 
 had to ride about mounted to 
 give his directions. 
 
 One of the most elegant, 
 sumptuously finished, and most 
 spacious theatres of Europe is 
 that of La Monnaie, at Brussels. 
 Covent Garden offers a noble 
 interior, but there is a strange 
 stiffness in the line of the boxes, 
 which does not harmonize with 
 that of the walls that contain 
 them. The Lyceum and Drury 
 Lane are the only two in Lon- 
 don whose approaches arc con- 
 structed with a view to architec- 
 ture.! effect. The grand hall 
 F 
 
66 
 
 THEATRICAL ANECDOTES. 
 
 and rotunda staircase of the 
 latter are really impressive, while 
 the former has a certain pre- 
 tention to grace. But these 
 houses were built in days when 
 THE SALOON was an important 
 and lucrative element in the 
 arrangements. 
 
 CORRECT ELOCUTION. 
 
 The elder Sheridan was a 
 good elocutionist, and, when de- 
 claiming, particularly scrupulous 
 as to the rhythm of his lines. 
 In his later days he was obliged 
 to be constantly clearing his 
 throat and spitting — "hawk- 
 ing/' as it used to be called, but 
 would not allow this process to 
 interrupt the measure of his 
 verses. An odd effect was there- 
 fore produced, and it was de- 
 clared that his declamation of 
 some lines in " Cato " was as 
 follows : 
 
 " My bane and (/*««/£} tidote are both 
 
 before me, 
 This is a moment brings me to my (Jiaiolc), 
 And this informs me I can never \spit)" 
 
 TRUE PATHOS. 
 
 Charles Kemble told Mr. 
 Adolphus that whenever he acted 
 Cassio, on his brother John's 
 pronouncing the words, " I do 
 believe it, and I ask your par- 
 don," he made the tears gush 
 from his eyes. 
 
 A MANAGER AND HIS 
 ACTRESS. 
 
 The airs and caprices of 
 " Kitty Clive " were often not a 
 little amusing. When Garrick 
 
 heard of her proposed retire- 
 ment, he sent his prompter to 
 ask if she were really in earnest. 
 To such a messenger she dis- 
 dained to give any reply. The 
 manager then deputed his 
 brother, who received for reply, 
 that if the manager desired to 
 know her intentions, he might 
 come himself. The good-hu- 
 moured Garrick waited on her, 
 paid her many compliments, and 
 begged her to stay with him. 
 She answered by a look of con- 
 tempt. He then asked " how 
 much she considered herself 
 worth." She replied briskly, 
 " As much as yourself." Upon 
 his smiling, she added tartly that 
 " she always knew when she had 
 enough, though he never did." 
 On leaving, he again repeated 
 that he was sorry she was leav- 
 ing him. She told him that 
 " she hated hypocrisy, and was 
 sure that he would light up 
 candles for joy at her departure — 
 only that such a thing would be 
 attended with expense." 
 
 HAMLET WITH ALTERA* 
 TIONS. 
 
 It is well known that the best 
 known and most popular of 
 Shakspeare's plays have been 
 "prepared" for the stage by 
 Cibber and other workmen. No 
 tragedian would resign the 
 familiar line, — 
 
 " Off with his head !— so much for 
 Buckingham ! " 
 
 or,- 
 
 " Richard's himself again ! " 
 
 Yet these are only imitation 
 jewellery. So with the entire 
 
THEATRICAL ANECDOTES. 
 
 67 
 
 pathetic scene at the end of 
 Romeo and Juliet, which was 
 supplied by Garrick. These 
 instances, however, are pretty 
 familiar. Not so well known is 
 the profanity with which Hamlet 
 has been occasionally treated. 
 Previous to taking the piece in 
 hand Garrick consulted friends 
 of taste, such as Steevens and 
 Hoadley. The former jocularly 
 suggested throwing the last por- 
 tion into the shape of a farce, to 
 be called "The Gravecliggers." 
 Hoadley suggested that Ophelia 
 should produce a letter of Ham- 
 let's, with lines like the follow- 
 ing :— 
 
 " Oph. There's his last letter to me : 
 This packet, when the next occasion suits, 
 I shall return. 
 
 " Pol. Go we with this to the king. 
 This must be known," 
 
 with a good deal more of the 
 same mock Shakspearean. 
 
 Garrick, however, went more 
 boldly to work, left out what 
 he called " the rubbish of the 
 fifth act," including the grave- 
 diggers, and made the king fight 
 a grand battle for his life. But 
 this is nothing to Alexander 
 Dumas' u alterations." He 
 makes the play close in this 
 novel fashion. Laertes begs for 
 mercy. The ghost sternly bids 
 him go down to judgment, where 
 he may not hope for indulgence. 
 Laertes, pray and die ! " (Laer- 
 tes dies.) The queen exclaims, 
 " Pity, pity ! " The ghost says 
 that it was her love that led her 
 into crime : " Poor woman, the 
 Lord loves those who love. Go ; 
 tears have washed away the 
 shame. Woman below, queen 
 above. Gertrude, hope and die ! " 
 (Gertrude dies.) The king begs 
 
 for " Pardon ! " The ghost con- 
 signs him to Satan : " Go, traitor, 
 go; despair and die!" {The 
 king dies.) Hamlet complains 
 piteously of being the only one 
 left, after he himself had been 
 the cause of the death of four 
 persons. What was in store for 
 him ? The ghost : " Thou shall 
 live ! " (Curtain falls.) This 
 denouement won the praise of 
 TJieophile Gautier^ as being 
 " grand and poetic. The action 
 begins and concludes logically, 
 and the punishment allotted is 
 sublime." With some grace, 
 however, he allows that per- 
 haps, on the whole, Shaks- 
 peare's finale is not less grand 
 nor less philosophic. 
 
 A MODEST ALLOWANCE. 
 
 MRS. Siddons' salary on her 
 successful appearance at Drury 
 Lane was not higher than ten 
 guineas a week. A couple of 
 years later it was raised to 
 twenty-four pounds ten shillings. 
 
 A DEVICE. 
 
 Shuter was a genuine hu- 
 morist, and his company was 
 much sought by people of high 
 rank, perhaps on the ground of 
 his independence. One night, 
 when he had an arduous part to 
 perform, and was anxious to be 
 left alone, two royal dukes came 
 behind the scenes, and kept fol- 
 lowing him about, even into his 
 dressing-room. " By Jove," he 
 said at last, " the prompter has 
 got my book. Will your royal 
 highness kindly hold my skull- 
 
 F 2 
 
68 
 
 THEATRICAL ANECDOTES. 
 
 cap to the fire ? and you, your 
 royal highness, would you air 
 my breeches ?" They good hu- 
 mouredly agreed to do so, and 
 he thus got away. Several of 
 the performers came and peeped 
 through the keyhole, and saw 
 the royal brothers conscien- 
 tiously performing the duty they 
 had undertaken. 
 
 THE FATE OF BEN NAZI R. 
 
 Audiences have not been 
 the only "executioners" of plays. 
 There are several instances on 
 record where the leading per- 
 former has taken that office 
 on himself. Kemble thus sacri- 
 ficed Colman's play of the " Iron 
 Chest," destroying it slowly by a 
 solemn impassiveness. He also 
 contributed his aid to the failure 
 of Ireland's " Vortigern," rolling 
 out with lugubrious and mali- 
 cious emphasis some lines that 
 began — 
 
 " And when this solemn mockery is o'er," 
 
 which proved to be the signal 
 for the final despatch of the 
 piece. His more merciful but 
 not less effectual treatment of 
 " Antonio " has been shown. 
 
 Edmund Kean had such an 
 opportunity in the case of a tra- 
 gedy called " Ben Nazir," whose 
 very title might be considered an 
 invitation to a speedy damning. 
 The unhappy author tells the 
 story himself. 
 
 " Kean arrived in London en- 
 thusiastic, and, as he said perfect 
 in his part. He repeatedly said 
 that he hoped to reap tis much 
 fame from it as from Maturin's 
 ' Bertram/ and that he reckoned 
 
 on playing it a hundred nights. 
 His portrait in the part was to 
 be immediately engraved. A 
 new wherry, which Kean was 
 then getting built for his annual 
 prize race on the Thames, was 
 to be called the ' Ben Nazir.' 
 The dress in which he was to 
 appear was to be the most splen- 
 did possible ; and a notion may 
 be formed on that head from the 
 fact that Kean was to pay fifty 
 guineas for it, over and above 
 the allowance from the theatre. 
 I might cite many other proofs 
 of his enthusiasm. 
 
 " In the meantime the rehear- 
 sals were going on admirably. 
 Every one was already perfect 
 in their parts with one excep- 
 tion, but the one was unfortu- 
 nately out of control, and con- 
 sequently beyond discovery. 
 Kean attended but two rehear- 
 sals, and both of these with the 
 written part in his hand. On 
 one occasion he read his part 
 with great energy and effect. It 
 was everything I could wish ; no 
 one had a shadow of doubt as 
 to the impression it wculd pro- 
 duce on an audience. Congra- 
 tulations were poured on me on 
 all sides with premature profu- 
 sion. 
 
 " Kean now claimed the pri- [ 
 vilege of absenting himself from 
 the subsequent rehearsals, alle- 
 ging his unwillingness to lose 
 time from the close study he 
 wished to give to the minutest 
 details of the part. It was 
 thought better to let him have 
 everything his own way in a 
 matter into which he had so 
 evidently put his heart and soul, 
 and which was of infinitely more 
 
THEATRICAL ANECDOTES. 
 
 69 
 
 importance to him than any one 
 else. I was quite satisfied, for 
 I saw him almost daily, and 
 witnessed the unceasing indus- 
 try with which he laboured at 
 the part. He used regularly to 
 order his carriage after break- 
 fast and set out for Kensington 
 Gardens, where he studied a 
 couple of hours. Frequently he 
 sailed in his boat on the river, 
 and there spouted away to the 
 free benefit of the watermen and 
 the Naiades. I often called on 
 him at night, knowing that my 
 presence would keep away others, 
 and about ten or eleven o'clock 
 he invariable went to • bed, and 
 went to bed sober. 
 
 " The night at length arrived. 
 Everything was ready ; I saw 
 Kean in the morning ; he ex- 
 pressed himself with the utmost 
 confidence ; strutted about his 
 drawing-room in his lodgings, 
 Duke Street, Adelphi, decked 
 out in his magnificent dress ; and 
 declaimed with great spirit some 
 of his favourite passages — the 
 book in his hand. Notwith- 
 standing all this, I had serious 
 doubts of the night's result. I 
 was certain he would be imper- 
 fect ; but I reckoned fully on 
 him giving the principal passages 
 with ample effect ; and I calcu- 
 lated on subsequent represen- 
 tations repairing any defects 
 which might appear on the first 
 night. 
 
 "In this mood I took leave 
 of Kean, resolved n:t to inter- 
 fere with him further ; and I 
 prepared to go to the theatre, in 
 a state of some anxiety certainly, 
 but one more pleasurable than 
 the contrary. Mr. Wajlack haxl 
 
 secured me a private box behind 
 the dress circle, to which I re- 
 paired about half-an-hour before 
 the play began. The house was 
 crowded in all parts. A fair 
 share of applause was given to 
 some of the early passages ; and 
 the audience seemed well pre- 
 pared for Kean's appearance, 
 with which the third scene was 
 to open. 
 
 "He did at length appear. 
 The intention of the author and 
 the keeping of the character re- 
 quired him to rush rapidly on the 
 stage, giving utterance to a burst 
 of joyous soliloquy. What was 
 my astonishment to see him, as 
 the scene opened, standing in 
 the centre of the stage, his arms 
 crossed, and his whole atititude 
 of thoughtful solemnity. His 
 dress was splendid ; and thun- 
 ders of applause greeted him 
 from all parts of the house. To 
 display the one and give time 
 for the other were the objects for 
 which he stood fixed for several 
 minutes, and sacrificed the sense 
 of the situation. He spoke ; 
 but what a speech ! The one I 
 wrote consisted of eight or nine 
 lines ; his was of two or three 
 sentences, but not six consecu- 
 tive words of the text. His look, 
 his manner,' his tone, were to me 
 quite appalling ; to any other 
 observer they must have been 
 incomprehensible. He stood 
 fixed, drawled out his incoherent 
 words, and gave the notion of a 
 man who had been half hanged 
 and then dragged through a 
 horse-pond. My heart, I con- 
 fess it, sank deep in my breast. 
 I was utterly shocked. And as 
 the business of the play went on, 
 
7° 
 
 THEATRICAL ANECDOTES, 
 
 and as lie stood by with moveless 
 muscle and glazed eye, through 
 the scene which should have been 
 one of violent, perhaps too vio- 
 lent, exertion, a cold shower of 
 perspiration poured from my 
 forehead, and I endured a revul- 
 sion of feeling which I cannot 
 describe, and which I would not 
 for worlds one eye had witnessed. 
 I had all along felt that this 
 scene would be the touchstone 
 of the play. -Keen went through 
 it like a man in the last stage of 
 exhaustion and decay. The act 
 closed — a dead silence followed 
 the fall of the curtain, and I 
 felt, though I could not hear, the 
 voiceless verdict of i damnation.' 
 When the curtain fell, Mr. Wal- 
 lack came forward and made an 
 apology for Kean's imperfection 
 in his part and an appeal on 
 behalf of the play. Neither ex- 
 cited much sympathy ; the audi- 
 ence were quite disgusted. I 
 now, for the first time during the 
 night, w r ent behind the scenes. 
 On crossing the stage towards 
 the green-room I met Kean, sup- 
 ported by his servant and another 
 person, going in the direction of 
 his dressing-room. When he 
 saw me, he hung down his head 
 and waved his hand, and uttered 
 some expressions of deep sorrow 
 and even remorse. ' I have 
 ruined a fine play and myself; 
 I cannot look you in the face ! ' 
 were the first words I caught. 
 I said something in return, as 
 cheering and consolatory as I 
 could ; I may say that all sense 
 of my own disappointment was 
 forgotten in the compassion I 
 fejt for him/' 
 
 DROP SCENES. 
 
 A FRAMED picture is a com- 
 mon pattern of drop scene in 
 our London theatres. On artistic 
 grounds, at least, this has been 
 considered iucorrect, as there is 
 an aesthetic impropriety in see- 
 ing the Bay of Naples, with a 
 handsome frame, mouldings, 
 &c, all rolled up. Genuine 
 curtains of silk or velvet soon 
 grow dirty and creased. M. Gar- 
 nier, the architect of the new 
 French Opera House, thinks that 
 a painted curtain, with its folds, 
 cords, tassels, &c, is the most 
 correct ; and this is adopted at 
 some London theatres, notably 
 at the Princess's, which is a 
 very graceful piece of workman- 
 ship. Opera-goers will recall 
 the rich amber folds of Govent 
 Garden Theatre, which, how- 
 ever, goes up in a very ungrace- 
 ful fashion, as though, during its 
 ascent, some hands caught it on 
 each side so as to raise it faster. 
 The old green curtain was in- 
 valuable for its dramatic impres- 
 sions,— the great lugubrious 
 folds descending slowly, and 
 shutting out the prostrate 
 bodies : now it is considered 
 vulgar or old-fashioned. One 
 theatre has a mauve-coloured 
 curtain, another a crimson one ; 
 the generality none at all. The 
 playbills, too, have been re- 
 formed : the old " silver paper " 
 glove-smirching bills, half a yard 
 long, have all but gone out. 
 
 STAGE EFFECT. 
 
 Audiences in the present 
 (lay are accustomed to theatres 
 
THEATRICAL ANECDOTES. 
 
 71 
 
 brilliant with floods of light ; 
 and, indeed, every year, what 
 with the " lime light," and newer 
 fashions of illumination, the glare 
 seems to increase in intensity. 
 Before gas was introduced thea- 
 tres must have been gloomy 
 enough, being lit with oil, save 
 on certain gala nights, when it 
 was announced that " the house 
 would be lit with wax." One 
 of the Dublin managers always 
 paid Shakspeare this compli- 
 ment. The stage, too, in the last 
 century was lit by four large 
 chandeliers, so that the light fell 
 downwards on the faces of the 
 actors. As the audience were 
 leaving the house they always 
 saw these huge lamps being 
 let down, just as now we see 
 the housekeeper and the hol- 
 land covers appear. Garrick, it 
 is said, introduced footlights on 
 his return from one of his visits 
 to France ; but there are some 
 prints of Drury Lane, done many 
 years later, in which this improve- 
 ment is not shown. 
 
 With all the advance that is 
 supposed to have been made in 
 stage arrangements, there can 
 be no question but that scenic 
 effects have not improved. The 
 fierce glare and gaudy colours 
 on which the lights play make 
 up an unnatural order of things, 
 which represents nothing on 
 earth. In this fiery light, figures, 
 features, and even voice become 
 distorted ; the mellow harmonies 
 of real life are absent. There 
 can be little doubt that the 
 only way in which objects 
 such as houses, &c, should be 
 presented on the stage is by 
 painting, not by imitation or, 
 
 worse, by their own actual pre- 
 sence. 
 
 Many interesting questions 
 have arisen as to the arrange- 
 ment of the scene. The French 
 enclose it altogether, giving the 
 whole the effect of a real room — 
 an arrangement we have copied 
 from them. By this, however, a 
 contracted look is given to the 
 stage, though the voice is im- 
 proved. The " sky borders " 
 are being gradually abolished, 
 except in landscapes and great 
 set-scenes, a regular painted 
 ceiling being let down and laid 
 flat on the side scenes. Various 
 devices have been suggested for 
 readily changing this roof : one, 
 which was proposed for the new 
 Opera House at Paris, was to 
 be in the shape of a lady's fan, 
 which unclosed from a centre, 
 and could be shut up to give 
 place to another. 
 
 THE INTELLIGENT 
 BRITISH PUBLIC. 
 
 " Sir/' would say the late Mr. 
 Bartley to Mr. Planche, when 
 explaining how an English au- 
 dience was to be affected, " you 
 must first tell them you are 
 going to do so and so, you must 
 then tell them you are doing it, 
 then that you have done it ; and 
 
 then, by G ?> with a slap on 
 
 his thigh, "perhaps they will 
 understand you ! n Every good 
 dramatist has to concede a trifle 
 to the principle involved in this 
 comic explanation. Experienced 
 barristers have often given the 
 same advice as the result of their 
 experience with another kind of 
 audience. 
 
72 
 
 THEATRICAL ANECDOTES. 
 
 TRUE BOMBAST. 
 
 If we were looking for a per- 
 fect specimen of bombast, the 
 following would answer to per- 
 fection : — " Thou on Panama's 
 brow didst make alliance with 
 the raving elements, that tore 
 the silence of that horrid night ; 
 — when thou didst follow, as thy 
 pioneer, the crashing thunder's 
 drift, and, stalking o'er the trem- 
 bling earth, didst plant thy 
 banner by the red volcano's 
 mouth. Thou who, when bat- 
 tling on the sea, and thy brave 
 ship was blown to splinters, wast 
 seen, as thou didst bestride a 
 fragment of the smoking wreck, 
 to wave thy glittering sword 
 above thy head, as thou wouldst 
 defy the world in that extremity. 
 Come, fearless man, meet and 
 survive an injured woman's fury, 
 if thou canst." Yet this stuff, 
 which would now hardly be ac- 
 cepted at a transpontine theatre, 
 was written by the author of the 
 " School for Scandal," and de- 
 claimed by the incomparable 
 Queen of tragedy, Mrs. Siddons. 
 
 "BRING IN THE BISHOP." 
 
 Mrs. Siddons once played in 
 a new tragedy by Miss Burney. 
 Much might be expected from 
 the lively author of " Evelina," 
 but this was a tragedy. It was 
 called " Elvira," and furnished 
 an evening of harmless mirth to 
 the audience. This was owing 
 to the presence of no less than 
 three bishops in the piece. "At 
 that time, it seems, there was a 
 liquor much in popular use, 
 called Bishop, and when jolly 
 fellows met at a tavern the first 
 
 order to the waiter was, to bring 
 in the Bishop. Unacquainted 
 with the language'of taverns, Miss 
 Burney made her king exclaim, 
 in an early scene, ' Bring in the 
 Bishop ! ' and the summons 
 filled the audience with as much 
 hilarity as if they had drunk of 
 the exhilarating liquor. They 
 continued in the best possible 
 humour throughout the piece. 
 The dying scene made them 
 still more jocose, when a pass- 
 ing stranger proposed, in a tragic 
 tone, to carry the expiring hero- 
 ine to the other side of a hedge. 
 This hedge, though supposed 
 to be situated remotely from any 
 dwelling, nevertheless proved to 
 be a very accommodating re- 
 treat ; for in a few minutes after- 
 wards, the wounded lady was 
 brought from behind it on an 
 elegant couch, and, after dying, 
 in the presence of her husband, 
 was removed once more to the 
 back of the hedge. The solemn 
 accents of the Siddons herself 
 were not a match for this ludi- 
 crous circumstance, and she was 
 carried off amidst roars of 
 mirth." 
 
 THE PENALTY OF GREAT- 
 NESS. 
 
 Nearly every celebrity who 
 has made his or her fame by en- 
 tertaining the public can tell 
 some startling histories of the 
 irrepressible forwardness of their 
 admirers. Siddons relates her 
 experience of this description of 
 persecution. 
 
 " My door," she says, " was 
 soon beset by various persons 
 quite unknown to me, whose 
 
THEATRICAL ANECDOTES. 
 
 73 
 
 curiosity was on the alert to see 
 the new actress, some of whom 
 actually forced their way into 
 my drawing-room, in spite of 
 remonstrance or opposition. 
 This was as inconvenient as it 
 was offensive ; for, as I usually 
 acted three times a week, and 
 had, besides, to attend the re- 
 hearsals, I had but little time to 
 spend unnecessarily. One morn- 
 ing, though I had previously 
 given orders not to be inter- 
 rupted, my servant entered the 
 room in a great hurry, saying, 
 * Ma'am, I am very 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 par- 
 ticularly engaged, but all in vain ; 
 and now, ma'am, you may ac- 
 tually hear them on the stairs.' 
 I felt extremely indignant at 
 such unparalleled impertinence ; 
 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 
 succession. A very awkward 
 silence took place, when pre- 
 sently the first lady began to 
 accost me with a most inveterate 
 Scotch twang, and in a dialect 
 which was scarcely intelligible 
 to me in those days. She was a 
 a person of very high rank ; her 
 curiosity, however, had been too 
 powerful for her good breeding. 
 1 You must think it strange,' said 
 she, ' 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 to 
 look at you here.' She accord- 
 ingly sat down to look, and I to 
 be looked at for a few painful 
 moments, when she arose and 
 apologised ; but I was in no 
 humour to overlook such inso- 
 lence, and so let her depart in 
 silence." 
 
 STAGE SLANG. 
 
 The stage, like many other 
 professions, has its argot. This, 
 however, is a little coarse, though 
 expressive enough. A play that 
 is hissed is always " goosed ; " 
 an actor looks that his part 
 should have plenty of " fat," and 
 if it be deficient in this essential 
 point he supplies the loss with 
 " gags." The " ghost walks " 
 on Saturday, when salaries are 
 paid. A "quick study" is a 
 rapid learner ; a " cue-hunter " 
 is one who requires the exact 
 words to be given him, while 
 the part he studies has so many 
 " lengths." 
 
 A RUDE INTERRUPTION 
 
 One night at a country theatre 
 Mrs. Siddons was " taking the 
 poison " in the last act of some 
 gloomy tragedy, when a boor in 
 the gallery called out, "That's 
 right, Molly ; soop it oop, ma 
 lass." 
 
 A GOOD OMEN 
 
 On the very morning of Mrs. 
 Siddon's triumphant first appear- 
 ance, the Morning Post had the 
 following note : — 
 
74 
 
 THEATRICAL ANECDOTES. 
 
 " Mrs. Siddons, of Drury Lane 
 Theatre, has a lovely little boy, 
 about eight years old. Yester- 
 day, in the rehearsal of the 
 1 Fatal Marriage,' the boy, ob- 
 serving his mother in the agonies 
 of the dying scene, took the fic- 
 tion for reality, and burst into a 
 flood of tears, a circumstance 
 which struck the feelings of the 
 company in a singular manner." 
 
 It is amusing to read the busi- 
 ness-like description of the ob- 
 scure postulant, " Mrs. Siddons, 
 of Drury Lane Theatre." By 
 the next morning she was famous, 
 and every one knew who " Sid- 
 dons" was. 
 
 MRS. PRITCHARD. 
 
 Campbell thus oddly writes 
 on Johnson's well-known critique 
 of this actress : — 
 
 " Mrs. Pritchard, I dare say, 
 was a vulgar woman; but, when 
 I read the accounts of her acting 
 worthily with Garrick, I cannot 
 consent to Dr. Johnson calling 
 her a vulgar idiot, even though 
 she did pin an unnecessary d to 
 her gown. Encrusted with in- 
 dolence as she was, she was still 
 a diamond. At the same time, 
 being palpably devoid of devo- 
 tion to her profession, she must 
 have been unequal in. her appeai r - 
 auces. Accordingly, we find that 
 her popularity in London fell ; 
 and, when she went over to 
 Dublin, that she electrified the 
 Irish with disappointment? 
 
 KEMBLE A T THE "FINISH" 
 CLUB. 
 
 But the highest and the low- 
 
 est, the most whimsical and the 
 most extraordinary, of all these 
 places of resort was the "Finish," 
 in Covent Garden Market. Its 
 original institution seems to 
 have been as a house where the 
 gardeners and early frequenters 
 of the market might obtain ne- 
 cessary refreshments ; but what 
 is early to one man is late to 
 another. The child of laborious 
 industry prepares to begin his 
 day's work at the very time when 
 the frolicksome son of dissipa- 
 tion thinks of retiring to his 
 night's rest. To both these par- 
 ties " Carpenter's Coffee House " 
 (as it was properly called), or 
 the " Finish," as it was conven- 
 tionally denominated, afforded 
 an agreeable recess. While the 
 market people were regaling on 
 tea, coffee, purl, or such other 
 refreshments as their necessities 
 or their habits demanded, an- 
 other set of persons enjoyed, in 
 a separate coffee-room, such re- 
 gales as suited their fancy. This 
 party was made up of everything 
 strange and eccentric that the 
 town could afford. In the room 
 might be found men who, from 
 hard drinking at other taverns, 
 came to cool their palates in the 
 morning with a " doctor," or 
 some milder beverage. But con- 
 cerning these young men there 
 was one standing rule, that if 
 any one of them appeared in a 
 cocked hat some regular cus- 
 tomer of the house would force 
 him into a quarrel. 
 
 I shall commemorate one 
 scene as peculiarly striking and 
 characteristic. It was about five 
 in the morning, when the party 
 had a good deal thinned, but 
 
THEATRICAL AAECDOTES. 
 
 7$ 
 
 Jack Tetherington, Le Gai (com- 
 monly called " Sparring Le 
 Gai "), and eight or ten more in 
 full spirits, were surprised in 
 their carousal by the entrance 
 of John Philip Kemble, dressed 
 with his usual gentlemanly pro- 
 priety, very much the worse for 
 a late dinner party. He was 
 known to many of the party, 
 and joined in conversation with- 
 out form or ceremony. I do not 
 remember the exact course of 
 the conversation, but some of 
 the passages were comic and 
 singular. Mr. Kemble talked 
 unsuccessfully, perhaps, to such 
 an audience, but not with more 
 than a becoming confidence of 
 being now at the head of his 
 profession, and referred to 
 Tetherington's memory for the 
 prophecy of a common friend 
 that he would speedily become 
 so. He said he had a great wish 
 to form a play out of Shakspeare's 
 Henry VI., and sitting in his 
 chair gave a specimen of the 
 manner in which, as Duke of 
 Gloucester, he would address 
 the House of Lords. 
 
 " Brave Peers of England, pillars of the 
 
 State, 
 To yon Duke Humphrey must unfold his 
 
 grief." 
 
 He was frequently interrupted by 
 individuals of the party breaking 
 in upon him with all manner of 
 buffooneries. At last Le Gai 
 said, " Well/ Mr. Kemble, we'll 
 give you leave to go on." 
 
 " Give me leave, sir ? " said 
 Kemble, in the most exaggerated 
 extravagance of his own manner. 
 " Give me leave to go on ? As 
 well might a barber in Rome 
 
 have said to Caius Marcus Co- 
 riolanus, I give you leave to do 
 something." 
 
 " What do you mean by a 
 barber ? n said the Gai, in an 
 insolent tone. " Do you mean 
 any reflection upon barbers?" 
 
 " No, sir," said Kemble, " God 
 forbid that I should, for a rela- 
 tion of my own " (and he named 
 him) " was once a barber." 
 
 Jack Tetherington, foreseeing, 
 perhaps, that this style of con- 
 versation might lead to unplea- 
 sant consequences, here broke 
 in in this manner, " Now, my 
 dear Mr. Kemble, my good 
 friend, John Philip Kemble, I 
 wish to ask you a question. I 
 wish to be particular myself, 
 and I have some daughters 
 (God bless them) that I wish to 
 grow up as perfect as women 
 can be. Do tell me, then, why 
 you say Cor Planus, when all 
 other men that ever I heard 
 have called it Coriohz/nis?" 
 
 Kemble, whose spirits began 
 rather to subside (for this is part 
 of a scene of some hours' dura- 
 tion), was feebly producing some- 
 thing about classic authority, 
 and the rhythm of current lines 
 in the play, when Jack inter- 
 rupted him with, " Why, my 
 dear sir, we know all that ' Co- 
 riolanus in Corioli,' but what I 
 want is — " Here the rest of the 
 company began a tremendous 
 row, and Jack concluded his 
 discussion by singing — 
 
 " Ligga digga, digga di, digga de, digga 
 
 di, 
 Ligga, digga, digga di, digga dee." 
 
 The noise and racket went on, 
 but Kemble's ill-humour seemed 
 to increase j at last the landlady 
 
76 
 
 THEATRICAL ANECDOTES. 
 
 came in, a little round woman, 
 whom, colour excepted, we might 
 term a snowball. She brought 
 a tray filled with glasses of 
 liquor, which had been called 
 for. In passing she gave some 
 offence to Mr. Kemble, who 
 immediately, with one tragic 
 sweep of his arm, dashed all the 
 glasses against the opposite 
 wall. "There, Mr. Kemble," 
 said the little woman, "that's 
 the second time you've served 
 me so, and now you owe eight 
 shillings for broken glass." 
 Kemble made no reply, for in 
 his performance of this exploit 
 he had cut his hand, and the 
 blood was streaming down. I 
 was sitting next him, and seeing 
 the end of a cambric handker- 
 chief appear from his pocket, 
 I took it, and bound up his 
 wound as well as I could. When 
 I had done, the hero said, " Sir, 
 I am much obliged to you, but 
 I am afraid I shall deprive you 
 of your handkerchief." "Sir," 
 said 1, " you will not deprive me 
 of my handkerchief; it is your 
 own. I took it out of your 
 pocket." I shall never forget 
 the manner in which this great 
 player coursed his commanding 
 eye over my whole person, from 
 top to bottom, and back again, 
 expressing as clearly as if he 
 had uttered the words, "Is it 
 possible my handkerchief was 
 in my pocket, and afterwards in 
 your possession, and now is in 
 my own hands again ? Can 
 these things be ? " I was so 
 struck with the obvious meaning 
 of the look that I turned from 
 him in a fit of uncontrollable 
 laughter. At this moment a 
 
 hackney-coach came to the 
 door, and some, who really were 
 his friends, put him into it and 
 sent him home. 
 
 SCENES IN THE CIRCLE. 
 
 An unvarying and time-hon- 
 oured entertainment at the Circus 
 is the occasional dialogue be- 
 tween the ring-master and Mr. 
 Merryman, the " Shakspearean" 
 or "Chaucerian" (as the case 
 may be) clown, who enlivens the 
 entertainment, and gives time to 
 the female rider and her highly 
 trained steed to recover breath. 
 The interchange of repartee and 
 " chaste quips and jests " never 
 fails to evoke a hearty and 
 genuine enjoyment, which might 
 fairly be envied by the come- 
 dian of a professed theatre. 
 Nearly a hundred years ago, a 
 dialogue of this kind between 
 Astley and his Merryman was 
 taken down ; and it will be seen 
 how stern and unchangeable are 
 the traditions of the circus. 
 
 " One evening I was very 
 much entertained at Astley's 
 Theatre, at the time he amused 
 the public with his dialogue with 
 Master Merryman. Having a 
 pencil in my pocket, I could not 
 refrain from writing it down. 
 He seemed so- confident and 
 pleased with every word he ut- 
 tered, bawled so loud, smiling 
 at his own wit, and the superi- 
 ority which he must convince 
 the audience his eloquence dis- 
 played over the clown's. He 
 excited my curiosity to retain it 
 in my memory. Those that 
 have seen him, cannot forget 
 what Astley's erudition wa§. 
 
THEATRICAL ANECDOTES. 
 
 77 
 
 " Astley — Alto.— Mister Mec- 
 ryman, Mister Merryman, where 
 are you, Mister Merryman ? 
 
 " M. I be coming directly, 
 master. 
 
 "A. Coming directly, Mister 
 Merryman, so is Christmas. 
 
 " M. I am glad to hear that, 
 master. 
 
 " A. Why, Mister Merryman? 
 
 " M. Because I likes plum- 
 pudding and roast beef, dearly. 
 
 "A. Plum-pudding and roast 
 beef, dearly ! that's very good 
 stuff, Mister Merryman ; but 
 come, sir, get up upon the top 
 of that there horse, and let the 
 ladies see as how you used to ride 
 before the Emperor of Tuscany 
 and the Grand Duke of Swit- 
 zerland. Mister Merryman, 
 ladies and gentlemen, has had 
 the honour to attend me in my 
 different excursions out of the 
 kingdom, and has been much 
 admired for his wit and activity. 
 Come, sir, mind as how you sit 
 upright on that there horse, sir. 
 What are you about ? 
 
 "M. Why, master, I am only 
 combing his wig. 
 
 u A. Combing his wig, sir; 
 did you ever hear of a horse 
 wearing a wig ? 
 
 " M. Yes, master ; and an 
 ass, too. 
 
 "A. Vastly well, indeed, 
 Mister Merryman. Ladies and 
 gentlemen, Mister Merryman 
 has a great deal of wit. 
 
 " M. Yes, master; I should 
 like to be poet-laureate. 
 
 "A. Poet-laureate, Mister 
 Merryman ? what ! I suppose, 
 as how you would write manu- 
 script on horseback, like the 
 Roman Arabs in the time of 
 
 Pontius Pirate — you would never 
 want a bridle or saddle. 
 
 " M. No, master ; I would 
 write a book about the French 
 war. 
 
 "A. About the French war, 
 Mister Merryman? why you 
 know nothing about it. You 
 must leave it to Mr. Parnassus, 
 and people of high breeding 
 and learning ; but come, sir, let 
 us see you off. 
 
 " M. I go, sir. 
 
 " A. I go, sir! but you have 
 got your face the wrong way. 
 
 " M. Never mind, master ; it 
 will be right if I go to fight the 
 French. 
 
 "A. How so, Mister Merry- 
 man ? 
 
 " M. Why, master, if my 
 horse was to take fright and 
 run away, I should not like to 
 have it said I turned my back 
 on Mounscer. 
 
 " A. Vastly well, indeed, 
 Mister Merryman ; but as our 
 brave countrymen will prevent 
 the French from coming to eat 
 up all our roast beef and pud- 
 ding, you had better turn about ; 
 so off you go." 
 
 ELLISTON AND THE 
 AUDIENCE, 
 
 "All stories of Elliston are 
 characteristic and entertaining. 
 On one night when a popular 
 actor, named Carles, had been 
 arrested on his way to the thea- 
 tre and another substituted, the 
 audience began to show its dis- 
 approbation in a noisy way ; the 
 question of " Where's Carles ? " 
 became the (dis) order of the time, 
 and " Carles ! Carles ! " was the 
 
7S 
 
 THEATRICAL ANECDOTES. 
 
 popular demand — a demand 
 which Mr. Elliston was not back- 
 ward to answer in his own way, 
 and coming promptly forward 
 with his most profound bow, 
 respectfully, though haughtily, 
 inquired of the "Ladies and 
 Gentlemen" what was " their 
 pleasure? 
 
 Several voices vociferated, 
 " Carles /" Elliston knitted his 
 brows with excessive earnest- 
 ness, affecting to be confounded 
 by the noise, and, with increas- 
 ing gravity, again desired to be 
 acquainted with the occasion of 
 the extraordinary tumult, adding, 
 with something like command in 
 his tone, " One at a time, if you 
 please." Again the popular cry 
 was audible to those who " had 
 ears to hear." But Mr. Elliston's 
 tympanum was strangely insen- 
 sible and dull. One malcontent, 
 raising his voice, however, louder 
 than the rest, enforced Mr. Ellis- 
 ton's attention, and, fixing his 
 eyes suddenly upon the man, the 
 manager then turned his face 
 from him for a moment, and 
 haughtily begging pardon of the 
 rest of the pit, added, " Let me 
 hear what this gentleman has to 
 say ; " and pointing to the tur- 
 bulent individual in question, 
 observed sternly, " Now, sir, 
 I'll attend to you—Jirst, if the 
 rest of the gentlemeti will allow 
 me ; " and here he made a stiff 
 bow to the gentlemen in ques- 
 tion. All now became suddenly 
 silent, and the selected person 
 sat down, looking rather sheep- 
 ish at the distinction shown him 
 above "his fellows," and Mr. 
 Elliston, stooping over the or- 
 chestra, and axing his eyes like 
 
 a browbeating barrister, on his 
 victim, thus emphatically ad- 
 dressed his chosen man : — 
 
 " Now, sir, be so good as to 
 inform me what it is you re- 
 quire ? " 
 
 The man, still abashed at 
 being thus singled out for par- 
 ticular notice, in rather a sub- 
 dued tone, but affecting his 
 former valour, answered — 
 " Carles ! Carles ! " 
 
 " Oh ! Carles ! ! '!* exclaimed 
 Elliston, in a tone of surprise, 
 as if only at that moment aware 
 of the cause of dissatisfaction. 
 " Oh ! ah ! you want Mr. 
 Carles ? Is that what you say, 
 sir?" 
 
 " Yes" responded the Pit-ite, 
 with renewed confidence; "his 
 name's in the bill ! " 
 
 " Very good, sir ! " said the 
 manager, who, throughout, car- 
 ried himself with the air of one 
 who felt himself the injured 
 party, " I understand you now / 
 — you are right, so far, sir, — Mr. 
 Carles's name is in the bill." 
 
 Here Mr. Elliston was inter- 
 rupted by others who repeated — 
 
 " Yes ! yes ! — his name's in 
 the bill ! — his name's in the 
 bill!" 
 
 " Gentlemen ! with your leave, 
 I will say a few words — " (all 
 was again silent, and the man- 
 ager's earnestness and dignity 
 increased as he proceeded) — " I 
 admit that Mr. Carles's name is 
 in the bill — I don't wish to deny 
 it, but " — (and here he assumed 
 a solemnity of face and voice, 
 and with his deepest tragedy- 
 manner, impressively observed) 
 — " But are you to be reminded 
 of the many accidents that may 
 
THEATRICAL ANECDOTES. 
 
 79 
 
 intervene between the morning's 
 issuing of that bill and the even- 
 ing's fulfilment of its promise? 
 Is it requisite to remind the en- 
 lightened and thinking portion 
 of the public here assembled 
 (and he took a sweeping glance 
 round the house), that the 
 chances and changes of human 
 life are dependent on circum- 
 stances and not upon our- 
 selves?" 
 
 Here the "enlightened" ex- 
 claimed, " Aye, aye ; bravo ; " 
 and Mr. Elliston, gaining cou- 
 rage from this slight manifesta- 
 tion of sympathy, turned himself 
 once more to his man with re- 
 newed hauteur ; crying sharply, 
 " And you, sir, you who are so 
 loud in your demand for Mr. 
 Carles, cannot jw/ also imagine 
 that his absence may be occa- 
 sioned by some dire distress, 
 some occurrence not within 
 human foresight to anticipate or 
 divert? Can you not picture 
 to yourself the possibility of Mr. 
 Carles at this moment lying upon 
 a sick— nay, perhaps, a dying 
 bed — surrounded by his weeping 
 children and his agonized wife ! " 
 — (Mr. Carles was a bachelor) — 
 "whose very bread depends 
 upon the existence of an affec- 
 tionate, devoted husband and 
 father— and who may be de- 
 prived of his exertions and sup- 
 port for ever? Is it so very 
 difficult to imagine a scene like 
 this taking place at the very 
 moment you are calling for him 
 so imperiously to appear before 
 you— selfishly desirous of your 
 present amusement, and un- 
 mindful of his probable danger ! n 
 —(great and general applause). 
 
 "And you, sir, will, perhaps, 
 repeat your demand to have 
 Mr. Carles brought before you ! 
 Are you a husband ? are you a 
 father?" 
 
 " Oh, shame ! shame ! " re- 
 sounded now from every part of 
 the pit. 
 
 " You are right, sirs," resumed 
 the manager ; " you are quite 
 right. It is a shame ; I blush at 
 such inhumanity !" 
 
 " Turn him out ! turn him 
 out ! " was now generally voci- 
 ferated, even by those who had 
 originally joined in the objec- 
 tionable demand ; and Elliston, 
 choosing to receive this sugges- 
 tion as a question addressed to 
 himself, promptly replied with 
 the most dignified assent — 
 
 " If you please/* 
 
 " Aussitot dit, aussitvt fait/' 
 In the next moment the offend- 
 ing individual was lifted above 
 the heads of his brother mal- 
 contents, and, in spite of his 
 vehement remonstrances and 
 struggles, hoisted across the pit, 
 actually ejected, and the door 
 closed upon him by his removers. 
 Mr. Elliston, who had waited 
 the result with great composure, 
 now bowed very low, while he 
 received the general applause of 
 the house, and retired in grave 
 triumph, laughing heartily (in 
 his sleeve) at the gullibility of 
 Olympian intellect. 
 
 This scene is really dramatic. 
 
 LISTON. 
 
 It is curious, too, that some of 
 the most celebrated comic actors 
 actually began their career, from 
 
8o 
 
 THEATRICAL ANECDOTES. 
 
 their own choice, as tragedians. 
 Among these were Munden, 
 Lewis, Bannister, Elliston, Daw- 
 ton, Wrench, and Liston. The 
 latter's early attempts in the 
 tragic direction were attended 
 with grotesque discomfiture, his 
 singular face inviting hilarity, 
 and rather suggesting — and his 
 earnestness contributing — that 
 he intended burlesque. He felt 
 this acutely. 
 
 Mrs. Siddons had been en- 
 gaged as a star ; and the first 
 character in which he was ap- 
 pointed to perform with the 
 illustrious actress was that of 
 the venerable but somewhat 
 tedious Jarvis in the " Game- 
 ster." 
 
 At the morning's rehearsal of 
 the " Gamester,'' Mrs. Siddons 
 was obviously struck with a 
 sense of the ludicrous, when the 
 appointed representative of the 
 good old Jarvis appeared upon 
 the stage before her. His amour 
 ftropre was, however, more posi- 
 tively touched when Mrs. Sid- 
 dons afterwards addressed him 
 in the language of undisguised 
 correction ; there was something 
 in her tone and manner of doing 
 this which greatly offended him, 
 and he felt inclined to resent 
 what he could not help thinking 
 carried with it an unfeeling air 
 of ridicule, ill concealed during 
 the greater part of the remarks 
 directed to him, so that by the 
 time that the last scene came 
 on, the amiable and devoted 
 Jarvis was found sullen and im- 
 practicable. 
 
 Amongst other things required, 
 the great actress laid serious 
 stress upon the manner in which 
 
 she desired the co-operation of 
 her aged friend in the concluding 
 scene of the tragedy ; in the 
 course of which, he would have 
 to place his arms around her 
 waist, in order to restrain the 
 effort she was accustomed to 
 make to reach the dead body of 
 her suicidal husband — explain- 
 ing at the same time how great 
 her own personal strength really 
 was, and that in the energy of 
 her feelings it would be strenu- 
 ously exerted to release herself 
 from his grasp — giving at the 
 same time a practical lesson to 
 the young actor by placing his 
 hands as she wished him to 
 place them at the appointed time, 
 and enjoining him to hold her 
 firmly and determinately, other- 
 wise she should break from him 
 and the effect of the scene would 
 be lost, &c, &c. 
 
 The young gentleman was 
 silently and sullenly attentive to 
 these instructions — in his heart 
 still resentful of the great ac- 
 tress's suspected unkindncss, 
 and he appeared listless and 
 languid in his obedience, appa- 
 rently incompetent to so great a 
 demand upon his strength, — so 
 that, at length, after several 
 trials, Mrs. Siddons gave up the 
 point, doubting the result of her 
 great scene. 
 
 Night came, and the venerable 
 Jarvis passed on from scene to 
 scene with due propriety, his 
 merit shadowed by the resplen- 
 dent lustre of the evening-star 
 upon which all eyes were turned. 
 
 The closing scene arrived, and 
 the old Jarvis entered into his 
 share of it with a determination 
 to show no favour to her whom he 
 
THEATRICAL ANECDOTES. 
 
 Si 
 
 fancied had rendered no justice 
 to him. " What was the fame 
 of Mrs. Siddons to him ? had 
 she considered his when she 
 threw ridicule over his tragic 
 efforts? He had not, in fact," 
 he persuaded himself, " personal 
 strength sufficient to hold back 
 this powerful woman as she re- 
 quired, and if he had, he was 
 engaged for the powers of his 
 mind, and not hired for the mus- 
 cular force of his body ; why, 
 then, should he strain a point, 
 to hold up one who seemed 
 willing to keep him down ? " In 
 short, the no longer friendly 
 and faithful Jarvis resolved " to 
 do his spiriting so gently," that 
 though he would not let Mrs. 
 Beverly fall, yet would he not 
 assist her effectively. But lo ! 
 before the injured youth could 
 perpetrate his deliberate malice, 
 all-conquering genius asserted 
 its power ; the great actress 
 took him so by surprise, and 
 worked so entirely upon his 
 more natural and generous feel- 
 ings by her harrowing repre- 
 sentation, that the astonished 
 novice was so wholly engrossed 
 by her sorrow, and absorbed by 
 the truthfulness of her despair 
 and agony, that his best sympa- 
 thies were involuntarily enlisted 
 in her cause, and when she at- 
 tempted to propel herself upon 
 the breathless body of her hus- 
 band, Liston seized her with 
 such reality of terror, and zeal 
 of purpose — so forcibly strug- 
 gled against the efforts of the 
 distracted wife, and so feelingly 
 did his eyes overflow with sym- 
 pathy in her misery, that never 
 had co-operation been more effi- 
 
 cient. A tumult of applause 
 followed, and the accomplished 
 actress was borne off the stage 
 by her now devoted and sobbing 
 Jarvis in a triumph of feeling 
 and admiration. 
 
 THE RULING INSTINCT. 
 
 A manager of a small Welsh 
 theatre had lost his wife, and 
 showed much grief on the occa- 
 sion. With a view to pay her 
 all respect at the dismal proces- 
 sion to the grave, he requested 
 that the members of the com- 
 pany would all attend in proper 
 mourning. They repaired to the 
 house on the morning of the 
 funeral, and found him struggling 
 with his tears, but still with the 
 instinct of his office, giving suit- 
 able directions, — appointing to 
 each his partner in the mournful 
 procession, and, as it occurred 
 to some present, with the same 
 intelligence and prevision that 
 he brought to more cheerful 
 arrangements upon his stage. 
 When all was ready to start, a 
 question suddenly arose. Who 
 was to follow immediately after 
 the chief mourner ? No one was 
 eager to take this place, and it 
 was at last, to prevent confusion, 
 hurriedly submitted to him. He 
 gazed distressfully at his inter- 
 rogator, his eyes streaming with 
 tears, for he had really thought 
 that having done with business 
 he might now indulge his grief ; 
 but in a moment the manager 
 asserted himself, and he answer- 
 ed with professional decision, — 
 " O, the tragedy people first, by 
 all means ! n 
 
82 
 
 THEATRICAL ANECDOTES. 
 
 PLAYERS INTERRUPTED. 
 Mr. Calcraft was for many 
 years manager of the Dublin , 
 Theatre, and was well known in 
 the profession. He used to tell 
 many good stories of the be- 
 haviour of his patrons in the 
 galleries, who are notorious in 
 that city for their lively and even 
 humorous comments. " What is 
 your pleasure ? " said the stage- 
 manager, who had been brought 
 out by the roars of the over- 
 crowded gallery. " None at all," 
 was the answer, "but a d — d 
 sight of pain, for we're smother- 
 ing up here." There is a de- 
 lightful tradition of Mrs. Sid- 
 dons, who was interrupted in one 
 of her grand scenes by vociferous 
 yells for " Garry Owen ! » She 
 was bewildered, but earnestly 
 anxious to conciliate, she came 
 forward and solemnly asked, 
 " What is Garryowen? Is it any- 
 thing I can do for you ? p This 
 is a picture. Her brother was 
 also interrupted with cries to 
 " Speak up ! " during some of 
 the most interesting soliloquies 
 of Hamlet. He always suffered 
 from an asthmatic complaint, 
 but he answered promptly, 
 " Gentlemen of the gallery, I 
 can't speak up, but if you don't 
 speak at all, you'll hear every 
 word I say ! " 
 
 AT THE VICTORIA. 
 
 A MOST characteristic dramatic 
 scene once took place at the 
 Victoria Theatre, where Ed- 
 mund Kean had been engaged 
 
 at an enormous expense. On 
 the second night he appeared as 
 Othello, on which occasion Iago 
 was personated by Cobham, a 
 prodigious local favourite. The 
 house was crowded, but was 
 noisy and inattentive. There 
 were nearly twelve hundred per- 
 sons in a gallery measured for 
 about half the number. The 
 best speeches in the most strik- 
 ing scenes were marred by 
 such interruptions as a Coburg 
 audience were given to dispense, 
 in those days with more freedom 
 than politeness — by the inces- 
 sant popping of ginger-beer 
 bottles, but, above all, by yells 
 of " Bravo, Cobham ! " whenever 
 Kean elicited his most brilliant 
 points. The great tragedian 
 felt disconcerted, and by the 
 time the curtain fell, he over- 
 flowed with indignation, a little 
 heightened by copious draughts 
 of brandy and water. He was 
 then loudly called for, and after 
 a considerable delay came for- 
 ward, enveloped in his cloak, his 
 face still smirched, not more 
 than half cleansed from the 
 dingy complexion of the Moor, 
 and his eyes emitting flashes as 
 bright and deadly as forked 
 lightning. He planted himself 
 in the centre of the stage, near 
 the footlights, and demanded, 
 with laconic abruptness, " What 
 do you want?" There was a 
 moment's interval of surprise, 
 when, " You ! you ! " was re- 
 iterated from many voices. 
 " Well, then, I am here." An- 
 other short pause, and he then 
 proceeded to make this charac- 
 teristic speech : " I have acted 
 in every theatre in the United 
 
THEATRICAL ANECDOTES. 
 
 33 
 
 Kingdom of Great Britain and 
 Ireland, I have acted in all the 
 principal theatres throughout 
 the United States of America, 
 but in my life I never acted to 
 such a set of ignorant unmiti- 
 gated brutes as I now see before 
 me." So saying, he folded his 
 mantle majestically, made a 
 slight, contemptuous obeisance, 
 and stalked oft, with the dignity 
 of an offended lion. The actors, 
 carpenters, and property men, 
 who listened to this harangue, 
 stood aghast, evidently expecting 
 that the house would be torn 
 down. An awful silence en- 
 sued for a moment or two, like 
 the gathering storm before the 
 tempest, when suddenly a 
 thought of deadly retaliation 
 suggested itself, and pent-up 
 vengeance burst out in one 
 simultaneous shout of " Cob- 
 .ham ! Cobham ! n Cobham, who 
 was evidently in waiting, at the 
 wing, rushed forth at once, 
 bowed reverentially, placed his 
 hand on his heart again and 
 again, and pantomimed emotion 
 and gratitude after the pre- 
 scribed rules. When the thun- 
 ders of applause subsided, he 
 delivered himself as follows : — 
 " Ladies and gentlemen, this 
 is unquestionably the proudest 
 moment of my life. I cannot 
 give utterance to my feelings ; 
 but to the latest hour of my 
 existence I shall cherish the 
 remembrance of the honour 
 conferred upon me by one of the 
 most distinguished, liberal, and 
 enlightened audiences I ever had 
 the pleasure of addressing." On 
 another occasion Mrs. Siddons 
 took leave of a barbarian audi- 
 
 ence with a " Farewell, ye 
 brutes I n 
 
 MATHEWS AND THE 
 DUBLIN GODS. 
 
 Mathews was once inter- 
 rupted at Dublin in pretty much 
 the same way, though not with 
 such brutality. In the farce of 
 " Monsieur Tonson " the part of 
 Morbleu had been originally 
 personated with great success by 
 Montague Talbot, a favourite of 
 long standing in the Dublin 
 company, and still remembered 
 by the patriarchs of the expiring 
 generation. During the first 
 scene, when Mathews was be- 
 ginning already to make a 
 favourable impression, some 
 half-dozen malcontents in the 
 gallery raised a cry of " Tal- 
 bot ! Talbot ! " which operated 
 like an epidemic, and was 
 speedily caught up by a few 
 more. Mathews paused, ap- 
 peared astonished, and at length 
 said, " I hear a cry of ' Talbot ! 
 Talbot ! ' but I am unable to 
 follow the meaning." " We 
 want Talbot," was the reply. 
 " You may have him," muttered 
 the indignant actor sot to voce, 
 bowed, and walked off the stage, 
 under considerable excitement. 
 The interruption then increased 
 to an uproar. The manager 
 came forward, and stated that 
 his friend Mr. Mathews was 
 merely there for a short engage- 
 ment, to serve and oblige him ; 
 that he performed, as a matter 
 of course, his usual round of 
 characters ; and that he was not 
 come to displace Mr. Talbot, or 
 succeed to his position. This 
 
 G 2 
 
84 
 
 THEATRICAL ANECDOTES. 
 
 address was received with uni- 
 versal acclamations, which re- 
 doubled when Mathews entered, 
 immediately afterwards, and re- 
 sumed his character. But, in a 
 few moments, the mischievous 
 spirits again shouted " Talbot ! 
 Talbot ! * Mathews, never the 
 most patient of men, now lost 
 his temper entirely. He came 
 forward and said, with brusque 
 irritation, " Either you want to 
 see this farce, or you do not ; so 
 make up your minds at once. If 
 I am interrupted again by this 
 cry of ' Talbot ! Talbot ! ' I shall 
 relieve you from my perform- 
 ance ; but it is rather too good, 
 after having acted this part with 
 universal applause in London 
 and all the principal theatres in 
 England, to come here and be 
 annoyed by you and your Tal- 
 bot." It was thought he had 
 now committed himself beyond 
 recovery, and would be pelted 
 off; but the audience suddenly 
 veered round to the humorous 
 point, took it all in good part, 
 and there was no more " Tal- 
 bot ! " during the remainder of 
 the engagement. A theatre has 
 been sacked upon less provoca- 
 tion. But Mathews visited Dub- 
 lin no more, and never forgot the 
 affront. To all subsequent ap- 
 plications he replied laconically, 
 "Talbot! Talbot!" 
 
 ROMANTIC STAGE MAR- 
 RIAGES. 
 
 A pretty romance attended 
 the marriage of Garrick with 
 La Violettc, a German dancer. 
 She was the protegee of Lady 
 
 Burlington, who guarded her 
 jealously, and disapproved of 
 Garrick' s advances. He, how- 
 ever, contrived to see her in 
 disguise as she came away from 
 fashionable routs, and get inter 
 her carriage. A picture of her 
 by Zoffany in a hat now grown 
 fashionable again under the title 
 of " Dolly Varden," which is in 
 the possession of Mr. Hill, of 
 Richmond, offers one of the most 
 graceful and delicate faces con- 
 ceivable. She must have been 
 a most attractive woman. No 
 player was ever married so 
 fashionably as the young and 
 successful Mr. Garrick. It turned 
 out one of the happiest mar- 
 riages in the world, and Garrick 
 used to say that from the date 
 of their wedding they had never 
 been separated a day. 
 
 Mrs. Siddons had her little 
 glimpse of romance in early 
 life. A young member of her 
 father's corps, who was good- 
 looking but no actor, became 
 attached to her. The parents 
 vehemently opposed the match 
 after, it would seem, not inter- 
 fering at the proper time, and 
 dismissed the offender from the 
 company. The young man 
 brought the matter before the 
 audience in a long doggerel bal- 
 lad, composed for the occasion, 
 in which he very ungallantly 
 accused his "flame" of having 
 joined her parents in treating 
 him so badly. 
 
 " Ye ladies of Brecon, whose hearts ever 
 
 feel, 
 For wrongs like to this I'm about to 
 
 reveal, 
 
THEATRICAL ANECDOTES. 
 
 85 
 
 Excuse the first product, nor pass dis- 
 regarded, 
 
 The complaints of poor Colin, a lover dis- 
 carded. 
 
 Derry down. 
 
 * * * * 
 
 Y Dear ladies, avoid one indelible stain, 
 Excuse me, I beg, if my verse is too 
 
 plain, 
 But a jilt is the devil as has now been 
 
 confessed, 
 Which a heart like poor Colin's must ever 
 
 detest. 
 
 Derry down." 
 
 This was unjust, for the young 
 lady was faithful, forgave this 
 attack, went into service as a 
 ladies' maid, and at last obtained 
 a slow consent from her parents. 
 The swain proved, as might be 
 imagined, an unsuitable husband, 
 cold and selfish, and, indeed, 
 seemed to have effectually ex- 
 tinguished all romance for the 
 future. 
 
 John Kemble appears to have 
 been attached to Mrs. Inchbald, 
 but was too prudent to burden 
 his promising talents with the 
 responsibility of marriage. It 
 was thought the beautiful Miss 
 Philips, afterwards Mrs. Crouch, 
 was also favoured with his at- 
 tentions. His marriage, which 
 did not take place until he was 
 somewhat mature, was arranged 
 in rather a grotesque way. He 
 one day passed a pretty actress 
 belonging to the Drury Lane 
 company, the widow of Brereton, 
 and chucking her under the 
 chin, said, " Pop, you will hear 
 of something presently that will 
 surprise you." " Pop," which 
 was a familiar abbreviation for 
 Priscilla, consulted her mother, 
 who knew enough of the trage- 
 dian's manner to translate this 
 oracular signification into a kind 
 of proposal, and so it proved. 
 
 Mr. Charles Kean and Miss 
 Ellen Tree, after a long engage- 
 ment or attachment, were mar- 
 ried in Dublin, and performed 
 on the same evening in " The 
 Honey Moon." The choice of 
 this play, the manager tells us, 
 was purely accidental, but the 
 coincidence was curious. 
 
 DEMANDS ON THE ACTOR. 
 
 No one can tell better than the 
 successful actor of the surpris- 
 ing and unconscionable claims 
 for aid made by the needy, or 
 the patrons of charities. In the 
 first three months of his early 
 success, Mr. Charles Kean had 
 received applications for assist- 
 ance to the modest amount of 
 6,000/. 
 
 OLD ACTORS. 
 
 Macklin and Dowton (who 
 retired in 1840) were perhaps 
 the only two English actors who 
 remained on the stage till close 
 upon eighty. 
 
 A PRACTICAL MIND. 
 
 Mrs. Siddons seemed to 
 agree with Johnson's notion that 
 the actor should not be so far 
 carried away in his part as to 
 identify himself with the cha- 
 racter he is acting. She had an 
 eminently practical turn of mind. 
 Some one was speaking in her 
 presence of the effect of applause. 
 "It must give one heart," they 
 said. " Aye," she added, " and, 
 better still, breath? A very 
 intimate friend of hers was jocu- 
 larly asked why he had never 
 made love to such a beautiful 
 
S6 
 
 THEATRICAL ANECDOTES. 
 
 woman, and made the well- 
 known answer, " that he should 
 as soon have thought of making 
 love to the Archbishop of Can- 
 terbury." 
 
 THE JUSTE MILIEU. 
 
 When Mr. Glover married 
 Miss Betterton "off the stage," 
 he would not allow her to bear 
 her new name, which he thought 
 would affect his dignity, while 
 she did not like continuing to 
 bear her old one, as it would 
 impair her dignity. As a sort 
 of compromise, she was for a 
 time named in the bills as " the 
 late Miss Betterton." 
 
 THE LONDON THEATRES. 
 
 London is perhaps better 
 furnished with theatres than any 
 city in the world. The list in 
 Paris may seem longer, but many 
 of the houses do not deserve the 
 title, no more than a music hall 
 does. To the first class in Lon- 
 don belong Covent Garden and 
 Drury Lane, the Haymarket, 
 Prince of Wales, Lyceum, Vau- 
 deville, Globe, Adelphi, Olym- 
 pic, Court, Strand, Princess's 
 and St. James', Royalty, Charing 
 Cross, Gaiety, Opera Comique 
 and Philharmonic. The two last 
 arc devoted to Opera Bouffe, 
 while the Gaiety holds quite a 
 special position of its own, de- 
 pending on splendid scenery, 
 handsome dresses, good music, 
 burlesque of more solid kind 
 than usual, and, it must be 
 added, the humours of a well- 
 known comedian, who is the 
 mainstay of the house. Covent 
 
 Garden and Drury Lane, when 
 not engaged with the Italian 
 opera, are given over to the 
 spectacular drama, the vast size 
 of the houses requiring that the 
 eye should be entertained more 
 than the ear. This leaves about 
 twelve theatres of the first class 
 for the drama proper. At only 
 one of these is tragedy given — 
 viz., the Lyceum. There are 
 besides the Holborn and New 
 Royalty, — theatres that seem to 
 be opened only occasionally. In 
 addition, there are what may be 
 called the People's theatres : the 
 Standard, Surrey, Alfred, Vic- 
 toria, Britannia, Grecian, New 
 East London, New Pavilion, 
 Oriental, Elephant and Castle. 
 There is also a small theatre at 
 King's Cross, and the Gallery of 
 Illustration, where operettas and 
 comediettas are given. At the 
 Alhambra there is perhaps the 
 most sumptuous display of all in 
 the matter of dresses, decora- 
 tions, music, and auxiliaries, and 
 its performances are of the same 
 class as those at the Gaiete at 
 Paris. This makes a total of 
 about thirty-three theatres. A 
 new one at the Regent's Park is 
 just completed. On an ave- 
 rage, however, not more than 
 twenty are open all the year 
 round. Twenty theatres is not 
 a very large proportion for such 
 a vast population as that of 
 London. 
 
 Most of the great actors and 
 actresses seem to have taken 
 their position in London by a 
 surprise. One brilliant night of 
 tumultuous delight and wonder, 
 
THEATRICAL ANECDOTES. 
 
 87 
 
 and they awoke the next morn- 
 ing famous. Perhaps there is 
 no such awakening to be com- 
 pared with the histrionic one, 
 for there is the change from 
 obscurity, and the straits of 
 poverty, to fame, wealth, and 
 rank, all effected within a few 
 hours. Garrick, Mrs. Siddons, 
 
 and Edmund Kean, all enjoyed 
 this delicious sensation. Kem- 
 ble's was only a " success of 
 esteem," and, like many other 
 good actors, he had to gain his 
 way to position rather slowly. 
 
 Here is a copy of the play-bill 
 announcing Garrick's appear- 
 ance : — 
 
 October 19th, 1741. 
 
 Goodman's Fields. 
 
 At the late Theatre, in Goodman's-fields, this day, will be 
 performed a Concert of Vocal and Instrumental Music, divided 
 into Two Parts. 
 
 Tickets at three, two, and one Shilling. 
 
 Places for the Boxes to be taken at the Fleece Tavern, next 
 the Theatre. 
 
 N. B. Between the two parts of the Concert, will be presented, 
 an Historical Play, called 
 
 THE LIFE AND DEATH OF 
 
 KING RICHARD THE THIRD. 
 Containing the distress of K. Henry VI. 
 
 The artful acquisition of the Crown 
 by King Richard. 
 The murder of young King Edward V. / 
 
 and his brother in the Tower. 
 The landing of the Earl of Richmond ; and the death of King 
 Richard in the memorable battle of Bosworth-field, being the 
 last that was fought between the houses of York and Lancaster. 
 With many other true Historical passages. 
 The part of King Richard by a Gentleman (who never ap- 
 peared on any Stage). 
 
 King Henry by Mr. GifTard ; Richmond, Mr. Marshall ; 
 Prince Edward by Miss Hippisley ; Duke of York, Miss Naylor ; 
 Duke of Buckingham, Mr. Patterson; Duke of Norfolk, Mr. 
 Blakes ; Lord Stanley, Mr. Pagett ; Oxford, Mr. Vaughan ; 
 Tressel, Mr. W. GifTard ; Catesby, Mr. Marr ; Ratcliff, Mr. 
 Crofts ; Blunt, Mr. Naylor ; Tyrrel, Mr. Puttenham ; Lord 
 Mayor, Mr. Dunstall ; The Queen, Mrs. Steel ; Duchess of 
 York, Mrs. Yates ; 
 
 And the part of Lady Anne 
 By Mrs. Giffard. 
 
THEATRICAL ANECDOTES, 
 
 With Entertainments of Dancing, 
 
 By Mons. Fromet, Madam Duvalt, 
 
 And the two Masters and 
 
 Miss Granier. 
 
 To which will be added, 
 
 A Ballad Opera of One Act, called 
 
 The Virgin Unmask'd. 
 
 The part of Lucy by Miss Hippisley, 
 
 Both of which will be performed gratis, by persons for their 
 diversion. 
 
 The Concert will begin exactly at Six o'clock. 
 
 Mrs. Siddons was on the stage 
 before she was twelve years 
 old. The earliest record of her 
 
 appearance is the following, 
 which suggests Mr. Crummle's 
 family arrangements : — 
 
 Worcester, April \6t/i, 1767. 
 
 Mr. Kemble's Company of Comedians. 
 
 At the Theatre at the King's Head, on Monday evening next, 
 being the 20th of April instant, will be performed a Concert of 
 MusiCK, to begin at exactly half-an-hour after six o'clock. 
 Tickets to be had at the usual places. Between the parts of the 
 Concert will be presented, gratis, a celebrated Comedy, call'd 
 
 The TEMPEST : or the Inchanted Island. 
 
 {As altered from Shakspeare by Mr, Dry den and 
 
 Sir W. D'Avenant.) 
 
 With all the Scenery, Machinery, Musick, Monsters, 
 and other 
 Decorations proper to the piece, entirely new. 
 
 Alonzo (Duke of Mantua) Mr. Kemble. 
 
 Hyppolito (a Youth who never saw a Woman) Mr. Siddons. 
 
 Stephano (Master of the Duke's Ship) Mr. Kemble. 
 
 A 7 np hi trite by Mrs. Kemble. 
 
 Ariel (the Chief Spirit) by Miss Kemble. 
 
 And Milcha by Miss F. Kemble. 
 
 The performances 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 conclude with a Calm 
 Sea, on which appears Neptune, Poetick God of the Ocean, 
 and his Royal Consort Amphitrite, in a Chariot drawn by Sea- 
 horses, accompanied with Mermaids, Tritons, &c. 
 
THEATRICAL ANECDOTES. 
 
 In both these bills it will be 
 seen that the pieces are an- 
 nounced to be given gratis, 
 which was a ruse to escape the 
 penalties of the law. 
 
 The following is the an- 
 nouncement of Mrs. Siddons' 
 first appearance at Drury 
 Lane : — 
 
 DRURY LANE. 
 (Not acted these Two Years.) 
 
 By his 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 ; Duke, Mr. Branby. 
 
 »Launcelot (first time) Mr. Parsons. Gobbo, Mr. Waldron. 
 Salanio, Mr. Fawcett. Salarino, Mr. Farren. 
 Tubal, Mr. Messink. Bassanio, Mr. Bensley. 
 Jessica (with a song) Miss Tarratt. Nerissa, Mrs. Davies. 
 Portia by a YOUNG lady (being her first appearance). 
 
 It will be seen that, as in 
 Garrick's case, the name of the 
 debutante was not given. 
 
 KEANS END. 
 
 Mr. Procter's account of 
 Kean's last appearance is truly 
 dramatic : — 
 
 " There was no rehearsal, nor 
 any arrangement as to the mode 
 of play ; but when the son ar- 
 rived at the theatre in the even- 
 ing, he was told that his father 
 desired to see him. He went 
 accordingly to his dressing- 
 room, and found him shivering 
 and exceedingly weak. ' I am 
 very ill/ he said ; ' I am afraid 
 I shall not be able to act.' The 
 actors who were present cheered 
 him up ; but to provide against 
 the worst a servant was desired 
 to air a dress (such as Othello 
 wears), in order that Mr. Warde 
 
 might take up the part, in case 
 Kean should actually break 
 down before the conclusion. 
 The play commenced. After 
 the first scene, Kean observed, 
 ' Charles is getting on to-night; 
 he's acting very well ; I suppose 
 that's because he is acting with 
 me.' He himself was very 
 feeble. He was, however, per- 
 suaded to proceed, and brandy 
 and water was administered to 
 him as usual. By this help he 
 went on pretty well until the 
 commencement of the third act ; 
 but before the drop-curtain rose, 
 he said to his son, ' Mind, 
 Charles, that you keep before 
 me ; don't get behind me in 
 this act. I don't know that I 
 shall be able to kneel ; but if I 
 do, be sure that you lift me up.' 
 Still, he pursued his way with- 
 out faltering. He went off with 
 Desdemona, and no one ob- 
 served any change. But, on 
 
90 
 
 THEATRICAL ANECDOTES. 
 
 entering again, when he says, 
 ' What, false to me, &c.' he was 
 scarcely able to walk across the 
 stage. He held up, however, 
 until the celebrated ' Farewell/ 
 which he uttered with all his 
 former pathos ; but on con- 
 cluding it, after making one or 
 two steps towards his son (who 
 took care to be near him), and 
 attempting the speech, ' Villain, 
 be sure, &c.' his head sank on 
 his son's shoulder, and the tra- 
 gedian's acting was at an end. 
 He was able to groan out a few 
 words in Charles's ear, ' I am 
 dying — speak to them for me ;' 
 after which (the audience re- 
 fusing in kindness to hear any 
 apology) he was borne from the 
 stage. His son, assisted by 
 other persons, carried him to his 
 dressing-room, and laid him on 
 the sofa. He was as cold as 
 ice ; his pulse was scarcely per- 
 ceptible, and he was unconscious 
 of all that was going on around 
 him. In this state he remained 
 some time, when the remedies 
 which were applied having re- 
 stored him to his senses, he was 
 taken to the Wrekin tavern, near 
 the theatre, and the surgeons 
 were sent for." 
 
 After a week's stay he was 
 removed to Richmond, when he 
 rallied a little, and was soon 
 enabled to go out in a carriage. 
 But the weather was cold, and 
 he fancied that this airing gave 
 him his death-blow. On the 
 15th of May he died. A short 
 time before his death, during an 
 interval of serious reflection, he 
 wrote a penitential and affec- 
 tionate letter to his wife, entreat- 
 ing her forgiveness and oblite- 
 
 ration of the past. "If I have 
 erred," he said, " it was my head 
 and not my heart, and most 
 severely have I suffered for it. 
 Come home, forget and forgive" 
 The letter produced the desired 
 effect. Mrs. Kean answered 
 this appeal by proceeding at 
 once to Richmond. She saw 
 her husband once more after 
 seven years of estrangement, 
 and the most perfect reconcilia- 
 tion followed. 
 
 GARRICK'S PRACTICAL 
 JOKING. 
 
 " Dr. Monsey once had occa- 
 sion to accompany him and Mr. 
 Windham of Norfolk, father of 
 the late Mr. Windham the states- 
 man, into the city. On their 
 return, Garrick suddenly left 
 them at the top of Ludgate Hill, 
 and walking into the middle of 
 the street, looked upwards, and 
 repeated several times to himself, 
 " I never saw two before." The 
 strange appearance of a man in 
 this situation talking to himself, 
 naturally attracted some persons 
 towards him, more followed, and 
 at length a great crowd was 
 collected round him. Several 
 persons asked him what he saw. 
 He made no answer, but re- 
 peated the same words. A man 
 then observed that the gentleman 
 must see two storks, as they are 
 rarely if ever seen in pairs. This 
 observation contented the multi- 
 tude, till another said, "Well, 
 but who sees one besides the 
 gentleman?" Monsey, for fear 
 of getting into a scrape, moved 
 off, lest he should be taken for a 
 
THEATRICAL ANECDOTES. 
 
 91 
 
 confederate to make people fools ; 
 but Mr. Windham, who like his 
 son, was a good boxer, deter- 
 mined to witness the end of 
 this whimsical freak. Garrick 
 affected an insane stare, cast his 
 eyes around the multitude, and 
 afterwards declared that from 
 the various expressions in the 
 faces of the people, and their 
 gestures, he had derived hints 
 that served him in his profession. 
 
 Another time, when Garrick 
 was with Monsey, at the joyful 
 sound of twelve at noon, a great 
 many boys poured out of school. 
 Garrick selected one whom he 
 accused of having treated 
 another cruelly who stood near 
 him. The boy declared that he 
 had not been ill-treated ; and 
 Garrick then scolded the other 
 still more, affecting to think how 
 little he deserved the generosity 
 of the boy who sought to excuse 
 him by a falsehood. The boys 
 were left in a state of consterna- 
 tion by Garrick's terrific de- 
 meanour and piercing eye ; and 
 he told Monsey that he derived 
 much advantage from observing 
 their various emotions. 
 
 While he was walking with 
 Monsey on another occasion, he 
 saw a ticket-porter going before 
 them at a brisk pace, and hum- 
 ming a tune. They were then 
 at old Somerset House. " I'll 
 get a crowd around that man," 
 said Garrick, " before he reaches 
 Temple Bar." He then advanced 
 before the man, turned his head, 
 and gave him a piercing look. 
 The man's gaiety was checked 
 in a moment, he kept his eye on 
 Garrick, who stopped at an 
 apple-stall till the man came 
 
 near, then gave him another 
 penetrating glance, and went im- 
 mediately on. The man began 
 to look if there were anything 
 strange about him that attracted 
 the gentleman's notice, and, as 
 Garrick repeated the same ex- 
 pedient, turned himself in all 
 directions, and pulled off his wig, 
 to see if anything ridiculous was 
 attached to him. By this time, 
 the restless anxiety of the man 
 excited the notice of the passen- 
 gers, and Garrick effected his 
 purpose of gathering a crowd 
 round the porter before he 
 reached Temple Bar. 
 
 Dr. Monsey said that he once 
 was in danger of receiving a 
 severe blow in consequence of 
 one of Garrick's vagaries of a 
 similar kind. They had dined 
 at Garrick's house-in Southamp- 
 ton Street, Covent Garden, and 
 had taken a boat in order to go 
 in the evening to Vauxhall. A 
 smart-looking young waterman 
 stood on the strand at Hunger- 
 ford Stairs. As soon as they 
 were seated in their boat, Gar- 
 rick addressed the young water- 
 man in the following manner: 
 " Are you not ashamed to dress 
 so smart, and appear so gay, 
 when you know that your poor 
 mother is in great distress, and 
 you have not the heart to allow 
 her more than three-pence a 
 week ? " The young man turned 
 his head to see if anybody was 
 near to whom the words might 
 apply, and, seeing none, he took 
 up a brickbat and threw it very 
 near Garrick's boat, and con- 
 tinued to aim stones at him. 
 Garrick's boatman pulled hard 
 to get out of the way of this 
 
Q2 
 
 THEATRICAL ANECDOTES. 
 
 missile hostility, or,Monseysaid, 
 they might have otherwise suf- 
 fered a serious injury. 
 
 Garrick peculiarly excelled 
 in relating a humorous story. 
 To one in particular, though of 
 a trifling nature, I am told he 
 gave irresistible effect. A man 
 named Jones had undertaken to 
 eat a bushel of beans, with a pro- 
 portionable quantity of bacon. 
 A vast crowd assembled before 
 the front of a public house at 
 Kensington Gravel-pits, and 
 Garrick happened to be present. 
 The crowd were there a long 
 time before the man appeared, 
 and he came forward without 
 his coat, and his shirt sleeves 
 tied with red ribbons. He was 
 well received, and a large dish 
 of boiled beans with a huge 
 lump of bacon was placed before 
 him ; he began to eat with 
 vigour, but at length was so 
 slow in his progress that the 
 people became impatient. He 
 suddenly arose, ran into the 
 house, and escaped through a 
 back door. The mob then broke 
 every window in the house, tore 
 up all the benches, and severely 
 ill-treated the landlord and his 
 wife. Garrick's imitation of the 
 cries of the mob before the man 
 appeared ; the continual noise 
 of " Jones," and " Beans," to 
 bring him forward ; his imitation 
 of the man, and description of 
 the whole event, were exquisitely 
 diverting." 
 
 FREE ADMISSION. 
 
 An elephant was brought to 
 Dublin, and as it was the only 
 one that had ever been seen in 
 
 Ireland, the proprietor charged 
 a crown for the sight. Tether- 
 ington, a well-known joker, who 
 wanted to see, but was not in- 
 clined to pay, hastily entered 
 the place, exclaiming in a 
 hurry, u Where's your elephant ? 
 What ! is that him ? Turn 
 him about : Lord, what a smell ! 
 — I can't stay any longer?" and, 
 holding his nose while he ut- 
 tered this complaint, he as has- 
 tily left the place as he had 
 entered, and the keeper was 
 afraid to stop him and demand 
 payment, lest he should bring 
 a disgrace upon the animal, and 
 lessen its attraction. If this 
 story had reached London be- 
 fore Tetherington, he might have 
 been deemed, in the words of 
 Pope upon Gay, " in wit a man," 
 rather than u in simplicity a 
 child? 
 
 DOGS ON THE STAGE. 
 
 A CHARACTERISTIC story is 
 told of Cumberland, who, a 
 veteran dramatist, was reading 
 one of his comedies in the 
 green-room at Covent Garden. 
 He had arrived at an interest- 
 ing passage, when suddenly a 
 din of scampering and yelpings 
 was heard, and a number of 
 animals came rushing past the 
 door in great confusion. The 
 indignant dramatist asked what 
 all this meant, and was told 
 that a pack of hounds were 
 kept under the stage for some 
 spectacular hunting piece then 
 in preparation, and that, scent- 
 ing the workmen's dinners which 
 had been carried by, they had 
 all broken out in full cry and 
 
THEATRICAL ANECDOTES. 
 
 93 
 
 full pursuit ! The veteran flung 
 down his play in disgust at the 
 desecration. 
 
 SUBJECT FOR A PICTURE. 
 
 There is a little scene de- 
 scribed by Boswell, which would 
 make an excellent subject for 
 Mr. Frith or Mr. Ward. 
 
 " I met him (Johnson) at 
 Drury Lane play-house in the 
 evening. Sir Joshua Reynolds, 
 at Mrs. Abington's request, had 
 promised to bring a body of wits 
 to her benefit, and having se- 
 cured forty places in the front 
 boxes, had done me the honour 
 to put me in the group. John- 
 son sat on the seat directly 
 behind me, and as he could 
 neither see nor hear at such a 
 distance from the stage, he was 
 wrapped up in grave abstraction, 
 and seemed quite in a cloud 
 amidst all the sunshine of glitter 
 and gaiety. I wondered at his 
 patience in sitting out a play of 
 five acts, and a farce of two." 
 
 Such a picture would be highly 
 dramatic — the gaiety of the 
 scene — the laughing, intelligent 
 faces of the wits — the rich 
 dresses under the lights — all 
 contrasted with the face of the 
 fine old man lost in abstraction, 
 and bereft of the two senses 
 necessary to the enjoyments of 
 a theatre. 
 
 DRAMATIC PARALYSIS. 
 
 When news of Mrs. Prit- 
 chard's death was brought to 
 Garrick, he exclaimed, " Barry 
 and I still remain, but tragedy 
 is dead on one side." 
 
 LARGE RECEIPTS. 
 
 During eleven years from 
 1809 to 1 82 1, it was calculated 
 that a sum of a million sterling 
 was taken at the doors of Covent 
 Garden Theatre ! During the 
 season 1 810- 11 one hundred 
 thousand pounds were received, 
 supposed to be the largest sum 
 ever taken at any theatre during 
 a similar time. The expenses 
 averaged ^300 a night. 
 
 SPEECHES FROM THE 
 
 STAGE. 
 Many theatrical imeutes have 
 been caused by the clumsiness 
 of the speaker sent out to an- 
 nounce some disappointment to 
 the audience. There is a great 
 art in communicating such in- 
 telligence. It should not be 
 blurted out, and the proposed 
 compensation should be skilfully 
 compounded with the bad news, 
 so that the disaster and the 
 remedy should be communicated 
 almost together. The editor 
 was present one night in a large 
 theatre in the provinces, when 
 an Italian Opera was being 
 played to a vast audience. The 
 stage-manager came out and 
 with much dismay announced 
 that " he regretted to say 
 that Signor Mario, the leading 
 tenor, was so hoarse that he — " 
 He was not allowed to proceed 
 further ; a storm of disappoint- 
 ment and fury broke out which 
 raged for nearly an hour. A 
 hearing was attempted to be 
 gained, but in vain. The mana- 
 ger—the " farmer" of the voices 
 
94 
 
 THEATRICAL ANECDOTES. 
 
 — all made their appearance, 
 but would not be listened to. 
 They had come to hear Mario, 
 and would hear no one else. At 
 last the great tenor himself ap- 
 peared. There came a lull, and 
 it then turned out that he had 
 intended singing all through, but 
 that all that had been sought was 
 a little indulgence, as he had a 
 cold. Kemble was notoriously 
 awkward on such occasions, and, 
 it was said, inflamed the O. P. 
 riots by his ill-chosen phrases. 
 One night he secured a hearing 
 after enormous patience, and 
 wishing to prove that the prices 
 had been always high from time 
 immemorial, began with an un- 
 lucky allusion : 
 
 " Ladies and Gentlemen, — 
 Queen Anne—" A roar came 
 from the galleries, " Queen 
 Anne 's dead," and not another 
 word was listened to for the 
 evening. 
 
 A night or two later he was 
 eager to submit a proposal of 
 appointing a committee formed 
 of the most distinguished per- 
 sons, and again led off with an 
 unlucky allusion to " the Attor- 
 ney-General," then a most un- 
 popular official associated with 
 prosecutions. This stopped 
 further speech for the night. 
 
 AMATEURS v. PROFES- 
 SIONALS. 
 
 There is an immeasurable 
 distance in every calling between 
 the amateur and the regular en- 
 rolled professional. The former 
 
 has often resented this distinc- 
 tion, and objects that it cannot 
 hold where equal genius and 
 equally long practice with the 
 professional are forthcoming on 
 his side. A clever amateur may 
 have actually seen greater ser- 
 vice than a regular, and yet is 
 inferior. The truth is, it is en- 
 rolment in the ranks and sacri- 
 fice of self, and subjection to the 
 inconveniences of discipline that 
 makes the difference ; just as in 
 the case of volunteers, who, for 
 this reason, can never be put on 
 a level with the line. 
 
 The difference in the case of 
 actors has been often illustrated 
 by some rather candid critics. 
 One great actor declared that 
 the best amateur actor he had 
 seen, and he had seen many 
 good ones, was not worth more 
 than eighteen shillings a week ; 
 i.e., as a good serviceable player 
 who would be useful, and bring 
 money to the house. Another 
 great actor was at some private 
 theatricals where every one was 
 exerting himself to win praise 
 from such a judge. He, however, 
 remained silent, and showed no 
 emotion until a stage servant 
 entered to announce that a car- 
 riage was at the door. The judge 
 was at last pleased. " Ah," he 
 said, " that gentleman knows 
 how to act?" It proved that it 
 was a " super " hired from one 
 of the theatres. This uncon- 
 scious sarcasm was more cutting 
 than the severest condemnation 
 Macklin always declared that 
 the best private actor was not 
 "half so good as Dibble Da- 
 vies," a third-rate actor of his 
 time. 
 
THEATRICAL ANECDOTES. 
 
 95 
 
 MAL APROPOS. 
 
 Garrick used to tell a good 
 story of the days of his early 
 triumphs. He had been brought 
 by a friend to the house of 
 Speaker Onslow, before whom 
 it was desired that he should 
 exhibit his powers. The Speaker 
 did not care much for plays ; 
 and when he was told that the 
 famous new actor had been in- 
 duced " to stand up and favour 
 the company with his great 
 dagger scene in Macbeth," he 
 merely bowed assent. Suddenly, 
 during one of the grand pauses, 
 the old man's voice was heard, 
 " Pray, sir, was you at the turn- 
 pike meeting at Epsom on 
 Thursday?" 
 
 BUSINESS. 
 
 Dowton was so persuaded 
 of the strength of his tragic 
 powers that he never rested until 
 he had given a performance of 
 " Shylock." His grand point 
 was the having a number of 
 Jew friends to attend on Shylock 
 in the Court scene, into whose 
 arms he fell, when he was told 
 that he must become a Christian. 
 This produced universal merri- 
 ment. 
 
 APROPOS 
 SHAKESPEREAN. 
 
 An ingenious writer in the 
 London Figaro has thought of 
 describing the various managers, 
 actors, and theatres by quotations 
 
 from Shakespeare. Some of 
 these are very happy. Thus : — 
 
 " F. B. CHATTERTON (Drury 
 Lane). ' Give me a box/ 
 Second Part of King Henry VI., 
 act 4, sc. 7." 
 
 " H. L. Bateman (Lyceum). 
 ' I have heard, sir, of such a 
 man, who hath a daughter of 
 most rare note/ Winter's Tale, 
 act 4, sc. 2." 
 
 " B. Webster (Princess's). 
 1 A broken voice, and his whole 
 function suiting — ' Hamlet, act 
 2, sc. 2." 
 
 "The Alhambra. 'It is 
 legs and thighs.' Twelfth Night, 
 act 1, sc. 3." 
 
 "A. Harris (Covent Gar- 
 den). [Sometimes in Britain, 
 sometimes in Italy.] Cymbeline 
 (Scene)." 
 
 "Miss Ada Swanborough 
 (Strand). ' Her mother is the 
 lady of the house.' Romeo and 
 Juliet, act 1, sc. 5." 
 
 " Levying Box-keeper's 
 Fees. * Be clamorous and leap 
 all civil bounds, Rather than 
 make unprofitable returns.' " 
 
 These trifles are a fresh testi- 
 mony to the depth of Shakes- 
 peare's gifts. No two lines could 
 betterdescribe that short-sighted 
 rapaciousness of which the box- 
 keeper nuisance is a specimen. 
 
 GARRICK' S END. 
 
 Garrick, a few hours before 
 his death, became a little clouded 
 in his faculties. He noticed 
 that the room was full of strange 
 figures gliding about, and in this 
 half-waking state asked who 
 these were. He was told they 
 
9 6 
 
 THEATRICAL ANECDOTES. 
 
 were physicians, and, indeed, 
 the first doctors in London had 
 crowded to his bedside. The 
 dying actor raised his head, 
 and was heard to mutter — 
 
 " Another and another still succeeds, 
 And the last fool is welcome as the 
 former." 
 
 A 
 
 COMPLAISANT 
 MANAGER. 
 
 The crowds of young ladies 
 who figure in opera bouffe, as 
 well as in what Dickens's old 
 bard happily called " leg pieces," 
 has developed, especially in 
 Paris, a new use for the stage, 
 viz., the exhibition of personal 
 charms. These being gifts of 
 nature, and requiring neither 
 "training" nor histrionic gifts 
 of any kind, it was soon dis- 
 covered that the advantages 
 offered by the stage for the ex- 
 hibition of such attractions was 
 singularly valuable, and, by an 
 odd inversion, the exhibitors, 
 instead of receiving salaries, 
 soon came to paying the man- 
 ager substantial sums for the 
 privilege of a place on his stage. 
 A rather innocent patron of one 
 of these damsels, ignorant of 
 this custom, promised to use 
 his influence with a manager 
 to secure an engagement, and 
 was surprised at the -cordial and 
 gracious way in which his pro- 
 posals were accepted. " What 
 salary ? " he asked.—" Oh, that 
 I would leave to you," said the 
 other. — " Let us say ten pounds 
 a week," said the manager. De- 
 lighted at this liberality, the 
 patron was departing, when he 
 was reminded that he had better 
 
 pay the first week's amount in 
 advance ! 
 
 IRVING. 
 It is not, perhaps, well known 
 that Irving, the celebrated 
 preacher, had at one time been 
 a member of Ryder's Company 
 at Kirkcaldy, and was passion- 
 ately devoted to the stage. His 
 strange gait, grotesque delivery, 
 and general oddity caused so 
 much derision that he aban- 
 doned the profession in disgust. 
 These disadvantages were found 
 to be great helps to his success 
 in another profession. 
 
 MILITARY "EPILOGUES." 
 
 Miles Andrews, a well- 
 known prologue and epilogue 
 writer, had been appointed to a 
 command in some Militia regi- 
 ment, and was reviewing his 
 corps. Some one asked a wit 
 who was standing next him, 
 which was the person in com- 
 mand — " That officer there," was 
 the reply, " with the epilog ues 
 on his shoulders." 
 
 DOCTORS DISAGREEING. 
 
 A PIECE, by a well-known 
 popular author, was not long 
 ago brought out at the Prince of 
 Wales' Theatre, and it is amus- 
 ing to read the contradictory 
 opinions of the professed critics 
 on its merits. Of the play itself, 
 apart from the characters, one 
 said, " that it was quite masterly 
 in its construction, and a brilliant 
 example of dramatic workman- 
 ship : " another, that it was 
 merely " a clever piece of the or- 
 dinary sort." Of the catastrophe 
 
THEATRICAL ANECDOTES. 
 
 97 
 
 one considered it "a masterly 
 finish ; " while another looked on 
 it as " a commonplace conclu- 
 sion." But about a certain 
 comic character and its interpre- 
 tation there was a most amusing 
 discrepancy. One held it to be 
 "an excrescence," which the skill 
 of the acting could not render 
 amusing ; another held that the 
 actor " wanted geniality and 
 colour;" another that, " as a 
 piece of acting, it was altogether 
 unsurpassed in its way." One 
 declared that the player's " mas- 
 tery of the dialect " was perfect ; 
 another, that the whole part was 
 spoiled by the actor's ignorance 
 of the local dialect. One said 
 his playing was poor and weak ; 
 another, that it was marked with 
 truth and vigour ; a third, that 
 it was amusing, though " too 
 prolix." 
 
 Of a sharp old gentleman acted 
 by a player of great reputation, 
 it was pronounced that " it did 
 not stand out" like the other 
 elaborate personations by which 
 the actor had made his name at 
 that house. A second critic de- 
 clared this performance to be 
 " the main feature," full of " a 
 consummate art," and u than 
 which nothing more careful and 
 finished has ever been seen even 
 at this house ! " While a third 
 declared that "it left his reputa- 
 tion pretty much where it was." 
 Finally, the denouement being 
 made to turn on the finding of a 
 letter, it was remarked of this 
 incident by one critic, that it 
 was a device that " displayed a 
 sort of peddling ingenuity ;" 
 while another declared,"the letter 
 is the foundation and prop of 
 
 the story ; and mark how craftily 
 the author uses it ! " 
 
 These contradictory opinions 
 are taken from the leading 
 authorities of the day. 
 
 " SHE STOOPS TO CON- 
 QUER." 
 
 Perhaps the best modern 
 comedy of the English stage is 
 Goldsmith's " She stoops to 
 Conquer." This may be 
 thought a sweeping assertion, 
 for the names of other cele- 
 brated pieces, notably that 
 of the "School for Scandal," 
 will recur as more witty and 
 brilliant. But most of these 
 will be found to be imperfect in 
 certain directions. Thus the 
 wit in the early part of the 
 " School for Scandal " is un- 
 dramatic, and more adapted to 
 the closet than the stage. In 
 Goldsmith's comedy there is an 
 atmosphere of pure natural 
 humour ; there are no good 
 things introduced by " head and 
 shoulders," — everything is spon- 
 taneous. And this test may be 
 applied, that we return from a 
 well-acted representation in a 
 vein of good humour and placid 
 enjoyment. Young Marlow is 
 one of the most original charac- 
 ters in the whole round of the 
 stage, and will hold his own with 
 any of Congreve's. It has been 
 delicately discriminated by Mr. 
 Forster. " In the transition from 
 stammering modesty with Miss 
 Hardcastle to easy familiarity 
 with the supposed barmaid, the 
 character does not lose its iden- 
 tity ; for the over-assumption of 
 H 
 
** 
 
 THEATRICAL ANECDOTES. 
 
 ease, and the ridiculous want of 
 it, are perceived to have exactly 
 the same origin. The nervous- 
 ness is the same in the excess of 
 bashfulncss, as when it tries to 
 rattle itself off by an excess of 
 impudence." This analysis not 
 only furnishes the actor with the 
 true key of the character, but 
 need not be disdained by our 
 modern critics as a specimen 
 of theatrical criticism. 
 
 A STIMULANT. 
 
 In his latter days, Macklin, 
 from the languor of age, found 
 that he could not call up the 
 violence of passion necessary to 
 give Shylock with due impetuo- 
 sity ; and it is said, that when 
 on the point of rushing on the 
 stage, he used to call to the 
 prompter, " Kick my shins ! 
 kick my shins !" hoping that 
 the physical pain would supply 
 what was wanting. This is 
 quite characteristic of Macklin. 
 
 DISCREET IN HIS CUPS. 
 
 Cooke's feeling towards Kern- 
 ble was not so much professional 
 jealousy as rage at the advantage 
 which deliberate coolness and 
 self-restraint gave his rival. Both 
 drank deeply ; but Cooke could 
 not carry his liquor so discreetly, 
 and was betrayed into those dis- 
 creditable exhibitions to which 
 the same quantity of liquor never 
 provoked Kemble. Wewitzer, 
 coming out of a public-house 
 quite drunk, was met by Kemble, 
 who was at that time his man- 
 ager, and who was quite as far 
 
 gone. The latter did not lose 
 his composure, and, with a tipsy 
 air of reproof, raised his hand 
 and shook his head solemnly, 
 " Wewitzer, this will never do." 
 This explains the feeling of the 
 profession against the respect- 
 able and decorous Kemblcs. 
 
 GENIUS IN OBSCURITY. 
 
 A FRIEND of Munden's recol- 
 lected seeing an actress walking 
 up and down both sides of the 
 street of a provincial town, and 
 knocking at every door to de- 
 liver play-bills for her benefit. 
 She was dressed in a red woollen 
 cloak, such as used to be worn 
 by servants. This was Mrs. 
 Siddons, then a member of her 
 father's strolling company. 
 
 ACTING OFE THE STAGE. 
 
 Some of the methods by 
 which great actors exhibited 
 their talents in private society 
 have been curious. Garrick, as 
 is well known, was fond of giving 
 his " rounds," as he called it, 
 and would stand up in a mixed 
 company with a chair, to simu- 
 late a father who had just 
 dropped his child from a window. 
 In Paris, he and Clairon, the 
 actress, delighted a large party 
 of wits and beaux csprits with 
 alternate exhibitions of this kind. 
 He was, however, seriously dis- 
 composed on one occasion, when 
 a youth gravely rose and laid 
 two lighted candles on the floor 
 by way of foot-lights. Bannis- 
 ter would imitate water falling 
 
THEATRICAL ANECDOTES. 
 
 99 
 
 gradually from a height until it 
 splashed into the river. He 
 would transform himself into a 
 father on his death-bed about to 
 disinherit his son. A napkin 
 was put round his chin to give 
 the idea of bed-clothes ; his eyes 
 became glazed, his lips clammy, 
 and his cheeks ghastly pale. 
 There were all the signs of ap- 
 proaching dissolution. He was 
 raised up, a pen placed in his 
 trembling fingers ; he signed with 
 a convulsive resolution, and fell 
 back lifeless. This disagreeable 
 exhibition once recalled too 
 vividly to a Mr. Lovegrave, 
 who was present, the recent 
 death of his wife, and sent him 
 off into a faint. 
 
 HOMAGE TO GENIUS. 
 
 Mrs. Siddons had many 
 compliments paid to her talents, 
 and some of an unusual kind. 
 The Bar of England, as well as 
 that of Scotland, presented her 
 with a testimonial. But it is 
 probable that she was most 
 pleased with the flattering hom- 
 age paid to her by the Commis- 
 sioners of Woods and Forests, 
 who directed that the plan of 
 the Regent's Park should be 
 altered, so that the view from 
 her windows in Baker Street 
 should not be interfered with. 
 In these days it is difficult to 
 conceive so graceful an act 
 being done by any of the local 
 authorities. 
 
 FAMILIAR! 
 A popular dramatist, lon^ 
 
 since dead, was taken, when a 
 boy, to see Mr. and Mrs. Barry 
 in Othello. At the close of the 
 tragedy he was astonished to see 
 a comic-looking personage put 
 his head through a hole in the 
 green curtain, and say facetious- 
 ly to the audience, " Remember 
 me to-morrow ! " on which there 
 followed a loud laugh. It turned 
 out that this was Shuter, whose 
 benefit was to take place on the 
 following night. 
 
 HISTRIONIC DOGS. 
 
 There are some rather humi- 
 liating pages in the history of 
 the London theatres, notably 
 those associated with the tri- 
 umphs of popular dogs, horses, 
 &c. 
 
 " A subordinate but enterpris- 
 ing actor, of the name of Costello, 
 collected, at the great fairs of 
 Frankfort and Leipsic, a com- 
 plete company of canine perfor- 
 mers, and arriving with them 
 in England, Wroughton, then 
 manager of Sadler's Wells, en- 
 gaged him and his wonderful 
 troupe. They were fourteen in 
 all, and, unlike those straggling 
 dancing dogs still occasionally 
 seen in the streets, they all 
 acted, respondently and con- 
 jointly, with a truth that ap- 
 peared almost the effect of rea- 
 son. The star, the real star of 
 the company, was an actor 
 named Moustache, and the piece 
 produced, as a vehicle for their 
 first appearance, was called 
 The Deserte)'. 
 
 " As formerly all Loudon 
 flocked to Goodman's Fields to 
 
 H 2 
 
IOO 
 
 THEATRICAL ANECDOTES. 
 
 see Garrick, so now the rage was 
 to visit Spa Fields, to see Mous- 
 tache and his coadjutors. The 
 night I was first present at this 
 performance, Sadler's Wells, in 
 point of fashion, resembled the 
 Opera House on a Saturday 
 night, during the height of the 
 season ; princes, peers, puppies, 
 and pickpockets, all crowding to 
 see what Jack Churchill, with 
 his accustomed propensity to 
 punning, used to term the illus- 
 trious dog-stars. 
 
 " The curtain shortly after- 
 wards rose. I will pass over the 
 performance till the last scene, 
 merely remarking that the actors 
 oiSimpkin^Skinnish and Louisa 
 were so well dressed, and so 
 much in earnest, that, in a slight 
 ^degree, they actually preserved 
 "the interest of the story and the 
 illusion of the scene. But Mous- 
 tache, as the Deserter ! I see 
 him now, in his little uniform, 
 military boots, with smart mus- 
 ket and helmet, cheering and 
 inspiring his fellow-soldiers to 
 follow him up scaling-ladders 
 and storm the fort. The roars, 
 barking, and confusion which 
 resulted from this attack may 
 be better imagined than de- 
 scribed. 
 
 " At the moment, when the 
 gallant assailants seemed secure 
 of victory, a retreat was sounded, 
 and Moustache and his adher- 
 ents were seen receding from 
 the repulse, rushing down the 
 ladders, and then staggering to- 
 wards the lamps in a state of 
 panic and dismay. 
 
 " How was this grand military 
 manoeuvre so well managed? 
 probably asks the reader. I will 
 
 tell him. These great performers 
 having had no food since break- 
 fast, and knowing that a fine, 
 hot supper, unseen by the audi- 
 ence, was placed for them at the 
 top of the fort, they naturally 
 speeded towards it, all hope and 
 exultation ; when, just as they 
 were about to commence opera- 
 tions, Costello and his assist- 
 ants commenced theirs, and, by 
 the smacking of whips and 
 other threats, drove the terri- 
 fied combatants back in dis- 
 grace. 
 
 " Wroughton frequently told 
 me that he cleared upwards of 
 seven thousand pounds by these 
 four-legged Roscii. 
 
 " There was another dog 
 performer that made even a 
 greater reputation. Reynolds 
 had written a spectacular piece 
 for Drury Lane, entitled The 
 Caravan. 
 
 " The introduction of real 
 water on the stage, and of a dog 
 to jump into it from a high rock, 
 for the purpose of saving a child, 
 were both incidents, at that 
 time, so entirely unknown in 
 theatrical exhibitions, that their 
 very novelty rendered everybody, 
 during the production of the 
 piece, most sanguine as to its 
 success ; provided (for there is 
 always one or more provisos on 
 these occasions) that the two 
 principal performers, the animal 
 and the element, could be 
 brought into action. Accordingly 
 proposals and inquiries were 
 soon set on foot ; and being pro- 
 secuted ' with a little industry ' 
 (as one of the principal agents 
 on this occasion invariably ex- 
 pressed himself), the objects of 
 
THEATRICAL ANECDOTES. 
 
 101 
 
 their search were at length 
 found, — the water was hired 
 from old father Thames, and 
 the dog of the proprietor of an 
 a la mode beef shop. 
 
 "The water we found tractable 
 and accommodating ; but, during 
 the first and second rehearsals, 
 Car/o (for such was the name of 
 our hero) sulked, and seemed, 
 according to the technical 
 phrase, inclined to ' play booty J 
 After several other successive 
 trials, he would not jump ; but 
 at last, owing to the platform on 
 which he stood being enclosed 
 by two projecting scenes, and 
 his attention being thus removed 
 from the distractions of stage- 
 lights, boards, et cetera, he im- 
 mediately made the desired leap, 
 and repeated it at least a dozen 
 times, as much to his own as to 
 our satisfaction. On the first 
 representation of The Caravan, 
 after his performance of this ex- 
 traordinary feat, and after his 
 triumphant exit with the sup- 
 posed drowning child, the effect 
 far exceeded our most sanguine 
 expectations. 
 
 M After witnessing the first re- 
 presentation, I had not quitted 
 the theatre above ten minutes, 
 when Sheridan suddenly came 
 into the green room, on purpose, 
 as it was imagined, to wish the 
 author joy. 
 
 " ' Where is he ?' was the first 
 question, ' where is my guardian 
 angel V 
 
 " ' The author has just retired/ 
 answered the prompter. 
 
 " i Pooh/ replied Sheridan, C I 
 mean the dog ; actor, author, 
 and preserver of Drury Lane 
 Theatre.' " 
 
 GOSSIP ABOUT THE 
 SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL. 
 
 A VOLUME might be filled with 
 details concerning this famous 
 comedy, which seems destined 
 to enjoy a never-failing youth. 
 It l?,as been called she "best 
 comedy m ■'■ the* .'language •■ but 
 what perhaps is the most re,- 
 markc ble-facl^oi'mecfeci with it 
 is,- that :t 'should haVe"' been the" 
 work of a young man of six-and- 
 twenty. 
 
 In his note-books were found 
 many experiments, scraps of the 
 dialogue pursued carelessly, in 
 the hopes of some lively points 
 or epigrams turning up. From 
 these it is plain that he had two 
 successive plans for the piece — 
 onebasedon themachinery of the 
 " Scandalous College/' another 
 on the conjugal differences of 
 ' The Teazles/ It, no doubt, 
 occurred to him that the first was 
 too weak, and the second too 
 heavy a motive to supply interest 
 for a comedy ; later, he fused 
 the two together, which has 
 given a disjointed and artificial 
 air to the piece. 
 
 He was long before he could 
 satisfy himself with the names of 
 the characters. His first list 
 ran — 
 
 Sir Roland Harpur. 
 
 Plausible. 
 
 Capt. Harry Plausible. 
 
 Freeman. 
 
 Old Teazle. (Left of trade.) 
 
 Mrs. Teazle. 
 
 Maria. 
 
 His intention was, as appears 
 from his introductory speech, to 
 
102 
 
 THEATRICAL ANECDOTES. 
 
 give Old Teazle the Christian 
 name of Solomon. Sheridan 
 was, indeed, most fastidiously 
 changeful in his names. The 
 present Charles Surface was at 
 first Clerimont, then Florival, 
 then Captain Harry Plausible, 
 then Harry Pliant or Pliable, 
 then, Young Harrier, and then 
 Frank ; while .his e£d,er;broHier 
 was succ.essi.vejy Plausible, Plia- 
 ble, Young Pliant, : Tom? - and,- 
 lastly,' Joseph Surface. Trip 
 was originally called Spunge ; 
 the name of Snake was, in the 
 earlier sketch, Spatter; and, even 
 after the union of the two plots 
 into one, all the business of the 
 opening scene with Lady Sneer- I 
 well, at present transacted by 
 Snake, was given to a character 
 afterwards wholly omitted, Miss 
 Verjuice. 
 
 Here are some notes for the 
 Scandal scenes : — 
 
 "The Slanderers. 
 "A Pump-Room Scene. 
 
 " Friendly caution to the news- 
 papers. 
 
 " It is whispered — 
 
 " She is a constant attendant 
 at church, and very frequently 
 takes Dr. M 'Brawn home with 
 her. 
 
 " Mr. Worthy is very good to 
 the girl ; for my part, I dare 
 swear he has no ill intention. 
 
 u What ! Major Wesley's Miss 
 Montague ? 
 
 " Lud, ma'am, the match is 
 certainly broke — - no creature 
 knows the cause ; — some say a 
 flaw in the lady's character, 
 and others in the gentleman's 
 fortune. 
 
 " To be sure they do say 
 
 " J hate to repeat what I hear, 
 
 " She was inclined to be a 
 little too plump before she went. 
 
 " The most intrepid blush ; — 
 I've known her complexion 
 stand fire for an hour together. 
 
 u ' She had twins,' — how ill- 
 natured! As I hoped to be saved, 
 ma'am, she had but one ! and 
 that a little starved brat not 
 worth mentioning. 
 
 " Spat. O Lud, ma'am, I'll 
 undertake to ruin the character 
 of the primmest prude in Lon- 
 don with half as much. Ha ! ha ! 
 Did your ladyship never hear 
 how poor Miss Shepherd lost 
 her lover and her character last 
 summer at Scarborough ? This 
 was the whole of it. One even- 
 ing at Lady 's the conver- 
 sation happened to turn on 
 the difficulty of breeding Nova 
 Scotia sheep in England. ' I 
 have known instances/says Miss 
 
 , * for last spring a friend of 
 
 mine, Miss Shepherd of Rams- 
 gate, had a Nova Scotia sheep 
 that produced her twins.' 
 ' What !' cries the old deaf dow- 
 ager, Lady Bowlwell, 'has Miss 
 Shepherd of Ramsgate been 
 brought to-bed of twins ?' This 
 mistake, as you may suppose, 
 set the company a-laughing. 
 However, the next day, Miss 
 Verjuice Amarilla Lonely, who 
 had been of the party, talking of 
 Lady Bowlwell's deafness, be- 
 gan to tell what had happened ; 
 but, unluckily, forgetting to say 
 a word of the sheep, it was under- 
 stood by the company, and, in 
 every circle, many believed, that 
 Miss Shepherd of Ramsgate had 
 actually been brought to-bed of 
 a fine boy and girl ; and, in less 
 than a fortnight, there were 
 
THEATRICAL ANECDOTES. 
 
 103 
 
 people who could name the 
 father, and the farm-house where 
 the babes were put out to nurse. 
 u Lady S. Ha! ha! well, for 
 a stroke of luck, it was a very 
 good one. I suppose you find 
 no difficulty in spreading the 
 report on the censorious Miss 
 
 u Spat. None in the world, — 
 she has always been so prudent 
 and reserved, that everybody 
 was sure there was some reason 
 for it at the bottom. 
 
 "LadyS. Yes, a tale of scandal 
 is as fatal to the credit of a 
 prude as a fever to those of the 
 strongest constitutions ; but there 
 is a sort of sickly reputation 
 that outlives hundreds of the 
 robuster character of a prude." 
 
 Another fault that has been 
 found with this great piece is, 
 that every character, with the 
 exception of Old Rowley, talks 
 wit. Even Trip, the servant, is 
 full of sparkling conceits ; but 
 it may be remarked that these 
 rarely tell with an audience who 
 seems to feel the incongruity, 
 being, as it were, surprised to 
 hear such language coming from 
 the lips of a servant. But this 
 may be the fault of the modern 
 acting of comedy, which gives 
 too much intention and empha- 
 sis to such good things. 
 
 Many of these bits of wit, 
 being found un suited for the 
 position where they first oc- 
 curred to the author, are noted 
 in the margin to be carried for- 
 ward, and fitted in at some more 
 appropriate place. 
 
 The fashion in which he po- 
 
 lished and trimmed some of his 
 happy thoughts is well known, 
 but no better specimen could be 
 given than the following. The 
 idea occurred to him of likening 
 the responsibility of the circula- 
 tors of scandal to that of the 
 indorsers of forged bills. He 
 began with this attempt : — 
 
 "People who utter a tale of 
 scandal, knowing it to be forged, 
 deserve the pillory more than 
 for a forged bank-note. They 
 can't pass the lie without putting 
 their names on the back of it. 
 You say no person has a right 
 to come on you, because you 
 did not invent it ; but you should 
 know that, if the drawer of the 
 lie is out of the way, the injured 
 party has a right to come on 
 any of the indorsers." 
 
 By the time we get to the 
 close of this rather roundabout 
 explanation the liveliness of the 
 comparison has evaporated. 
 How superior its present shape. 
 
 " Yes, madam, I would have 
 law-merchant for them too, and 
 in all cases of slander currency, 
 wherever the drawer of the lie 
 was not to be found, the injured 
 party should have a right to 
 come on any of the indorsers." 
 
 Even in this shape the two 
 technical words " law-merchant" 
 and " slander currency " seem a 
 little superfluous, and take off 
 from the effect. 
 
 On the first night of perform- 
 ance, Merry, the well-known 
 Delia Cruscan, was listening 
 rather impatiently to the inter- 
 change of wit between the char- 
 acters in the first scene, and 
 was heard to exclaim, " I 
 wish the characters would leave 
 
io4 
 
 THEATRICAL ANECDOTES. 
 
 off talking, and let the play 
 begin." 
 
 " Of theatrical occurrences in 
 this year," says Reynolds, " I 
 can only recollect that I saw 
 Barry and Foote buried in the 
 cloisters ; and that on the first 
 night of the ' School for Scandal/ 
 returning from Lincoln's Inn 
 about nine o'clock, and passing 
 through the pit passage from 
 Vinegar Yard to Brydges Street, 
 I heard such a tremendous noise 
 over my head, that, fearing the 
 theatre was proceeding to fall 
 about it, I ran for my life ; but 
 found the next morning that the 
 noise did not arise from the 
 falling of the house, but from 
 the falling of the screen in the 
 fourth act, so violent and so 
 tumultuous were the applause 
 and laughter. 
 
 EXAGGERATED PRAISE. 
 
 In 1777 Lord Villiers opened 
 a new theatre near Henley-on- 
 Thames, and gave "The Pro- 
 voked Husband," with a little 
 French after-piece. Lord Mai- 
 den was Count Basset, the host 
 himself Loj'd Townly, and the 
 other characters were filled by 
 Mr. Miles, Mr. Turge, the Hon. 
 Mr. Onslow, and many more. 
 A prologue was spoken by Lord 
 Villiers, and it is characteristic 
 to find how at all times these 
 introductions have been couched 
 in the same strain of affected 
 humility and pretended trepi- 
 dation : — 
 
 " But now, alas ! the case is altered quite, 
 When such an audience opens on the 
 sight; 
 
 Garrick himself in such a situation, 
 Though sure to please, might feel some 
 
 palpitation. 
 Our anxious breasts no such presumption 
 
 cheers, — 
 Light are our hopes, but weighty are 
 
 our fears." 
 
 Who has not heard these well- 
 meant platitudes, even to " the 
 case is altered quite ; ' ? and we 
 almost expect that the appeal 
 to " kind friends " will follow, 
 with an entreaty to "give but 
 your applause." The reporters 
 were admitted, and dealt not 
 merely indulgently, but even 
 rapturously, with these noble 
 efforts. The Court newsman 
 then dared not be free or ir- 
 reverent with the distinguished. 
 Lo?'d Towjily was " admirable 
 both as to voice, figure, action, 
 and elocution, — easy, animated, 
 and graceful ; and perhaps the 
 character never appeared to 
 more advantage in the hands 
 of any performer, except Mr. 
 Barry." One fault, indeed, might 
 be found : " he was not enough 
 displeased at his lady's con- 
 duct." But this is explained 
 by an elegant compliment to 
 the noble hostess, " who never 
 gives him reason to practise it ; 
 and without practice it was im- 
 possible to be feigned, when 
 the enchanting Miss Hodges 
 was smiling before his eyes." 
 Mr. Turge was far superior to 
 either Yates or Macklin, and 
 " it would be for the advantage 
 of the London managers if they 
 engaged him at once." It was 
 a pity that Lord Maiden, who 
 played Count Basset, was not 
 "less delicate in his principles," 
 as it required a more unprin- 
 cipled person to do justice to 
 
THEATRICAL ANECDOTES. 
 
 105 
 
 the character. Squire Richard 
 was so good, that it almost 
 seemed as though Lord Villiers 
 had engaged ore of his own 
 rustics to do the part. Miss 
 Hodges was " incomparable . . . ; 
 it is but common justice to say- 
 that she performed her part in 
 a style far superior to anything 
 we have ever seen in the thea- 
 tres. The beauty of her face, 
 the melody of her voice, the 
 elegance of her person, her eyes 
 amazingly expressive, her easy 
 yet graceful deportment, were 
 such as have never been united 
 in any female who was an ac- 
 tress by profession." Miss Har- 
 vey seemed to show her stage 
 children "such truly maternal 
 affection, as makes one regret 
 she had 110 7ie of Iter own? 
 
 The secret of all this con- 
 tentment is presently disclosed. 
 "After the play Lord Villiers 
 entertained the company with 
 a 7nost elegant and sumptuous 
 supper and a ball. There was 
 a profusion of the choicest wines 
 and most exquisite viands; and 
 the most polite attention was 
 paid to every person present." 
 This last sentence explains the 
 generous enthusiasm of the re- 
 porters. 
 
 IGNORING THE AUTHOR. 
 
 When a comedy of Reynolds, 
 called " The Will," was in re- 
 hearsal at Drury Lane, an 
 amusing illustration of profes- 
 sional character was exhibited. 
 A discussion arose as to the 
 meaning of " School's up ! " a 
 phrase in the part of the he- 
 roine. Mrs. Jordan, King, Pal- 
 
 mer, Wroughton, Suett, and 
 others joined, one contending 
 that it was meant as a comic, 
 another as a serious phrase. It 
 was warmly debated ; and yet 
 the author of the piece was 
 standing by, and no one con- 
 descended to ask him ! 
 
 GEORGE THE SECOND AT 
 THE PLAY. 
 
 " His Majesty once arriving 
 at the theatre some minutes after 
 his time, the arbitrary audience 
 (who will rarely allow even a 
 regal actor to keep the stage 
 business waiting) received him 
 with some very hasty rude marks 
 of their disapprobation. The 
 King, taken by surprise for a 
 moment, expressed both chagrin 
 and embarrassment ; but, with a 
 prompt recollection, he skilfully 
 converted all their anger into 
 applause. He drew forth his 
 watch, and having pointed to 
 the hand, and shown it to the 
 lord-in-waiting, he advanced to 
 the front of the box, and direct- 
 ing the attention of the audience 
 to his proceedings, he deliber- 
 ately beat the misleading time- 
 keeper against the box — thus 
 proving he was a great actor, 
 and deserving of the full houses 
 he always brought. 
 
 " The play commenced and 
 concluded with its usual success ; 
 and no other unusual circum- 
 stance occurred until the middle 
 of the after-piece, where a Cen- 
 taur was introduced ; who having 
 to draw a bow, and therewith 
 shoot a formidable adversary, 
 through some confusion, erring 
 in his aim, the arrow entered 
 
io6 
 
 THEATRICAL ANECDOTES. 
 
 the royal box, and grazed the j 
 person of the King. The audi- 
 ence rose in indignation against 
 the perpetrator of this atrocious 
 attempt, and seemed preparing 
 to revenge the outrage ; when, 
 at that moment, the whole fore- 
 part of the Centaur fell on its \ 
 face among the lamps, in conse- I 
 quence of the carpenter, who I 
 played the posterior, rushing 
 from his concealment with the 
 most trembling humility, in order 
 to assure his Majesty, and all 
 present, that he was no party in 
 this treasonable transaction. 
 
 "At these words arose and ad- 
 vanced ' the very head and front 
 of the offence/ who, likewise 
 endeavouring to exculpate him- 
 self, energetically addressed the 
 audience. The noisy discussion, 
 and the ridiculous criminations 
 and vindications which ensued 
 between these two grotesque, ' 
 half-dressed, half-human beings, 
 so amply rewarded George the 
 Second and the spectators for 
 the previous alarm, that loud 
 and involuntary shouts of laugh- 
 ter from every part of the house 
 acknowledged that the Centaur's 
 head and tail were incomparably 
 the most amusing performers of 
 the evening/ 5 
 
 HUMBUG. 
 
 Reynolds, the lively drama- 
 tist, once wrote a prologue on 
 the subject of " humbug." The 
 few following lines will display 
 the character :— 
 
 " Yet coffins will take in the coffin-maker, 
 And death, at last, humbugs the under- 
 taker." 
 
 Then, after other instances of 
 the supremacy of humbug, it 
 proceeded thus: — 
 
 " Who can alone great humbug's power 
 
 defy, 
 You, who are born to conquer, or to die? 
 'Twas English liberty made despots 
 
 feel ! 
 'Twas English valour crushed the proud 
 
 Bastile !" 
 
 This, naturally, was expected 
 to have produced the loud ap- 
 plause which regularly accom- 
 panies these trumpery trap- 
 claps, and then it was intended 
 the speaker of the prologue 
 should have advanced to the 
 lamps, and added — 
 
 " Ha, ha ! — you're caught, and not by 
 something new ! 
 Go !— humbug others, as I've humbugged 
 you ! " 
 
 THE ELDER MATHEWS. 
 
 "The first time I ever saw 
 Mathews," says Mr. Raikes," was 
 at my own house at dinner. 
 Pope, the actor, had been draw- 
 ing my poor wife's picture in 
 crayons, for which he had a 
 peculiar talent. He brought 
 him to dine with me ; and his 
 imitations of Kemble, Munden, 
 Bannister, Quick, &c, were 
 inimitable. Pope, in the course 
 of conversation, alluded to some 
 old gentleman in the country, 
 who was so madly attached to 
 the society of Mathews that, 
 whenever he came to town, he 
 went straight to his house, and 
 if he did not find him at home, 
 would trace him, and follow him 
 wherever he might happen to 
 be. This did not excite much 
 attention ; but at about nine 
 
THEATRICAL ANECDOTES. 
 
 107 
 
 o'clock we all heard a tremend- 
 ous rap at the street door, and 
 my servant came in to say that 
 a gentleman was in the hall, who 
 insisted on speaking with Mr. 
 Mathews. The latter appeared 
 very much disconcerted, made 
 many apologies for the intrusion, 
 and said that he would get rid 
 of him instantly, as he doubtless 
 must be the individual who so 
 frequently annoyed him. 
 
 u As soon as he had retired, 
 we heard a very noisy dialogue 
 in the hall, between Mathews 
 and his friend, who insisted on 
 coming in and joining the party, 
 while the other as urgently in- 
 sisted on his retreat. At length I 
 the door opened, and in walked 
 a most extraordinary figure, who ! 
 sat down in Mathews's place, ! 
 filled himself a tumbler of claret, \ 
 which he pronounced to be ex- ' 
 ecrable, and began in the most | 
 impudent manner to claim ac- 
 quaintance with all the party, 
 and say the most ridiculous 
 things to every one. We were 
 all, for the moment, thrown off 
 our guard ; but we soon detected 
 our versatile companion, who 
 had really not taken three 
 minutes to tie up his nose with 
 a string, put on a wig, and other- 
 wise so metamorphose himself 
 that it was almost impossible to 
 recognise him. Of that party 
 were also Tom Sheridan, C. 
 Calvert, and R. Calvert, all of 
 whom, alas ! are now numbered 
 with the dead. 
 
 " Mathews had one peculiarly 
 good quality, which may rather 
 be called good sense, and formed 
 a contrast to many of his con- 
 temporaries. He was always 
 
 amiable and obliging in com- 
 pany, and ready to enliven a 
 party with his talents ; whereas 
 I have seen many others who 
 refuse every proposal to assist 
 hilarity, lest it should be sup- 
 posed they were asked merely 
 for that purpose." 
 
 LITERAL. 
 
 Once, when John Kemble 
 played Hamlet in the country, 
 the gentleman who enacted 
 Guildenstern was, or imagined 
 himself to be, a capital musician. 
 Hamlet asks him, " Will you 
 play upon this pipe ?" — " My 
 lord, I cannot." — " I pray you.' 
 — " Believe me, I cannot." — " I 
 do beseech you." — " Well, if your 
 lordship insists on it, I shall do 
 as well as I can ;" and, to the 
 confusion of Hamlet, and the 
 great amusement of the audience, 
 he played " God save the King." 
 
 A RUSE. 
 
 The excitement and crush 
 during Garrick's last perfor- 
 mances are now matters of 
 theatrical history. That most 
 entertaining of memoir-writers, 
 Reynolds, who was present on 
 the last night, relates an amusing 
 incident : — 
 
 " Though a side box, close to 
 where we sat, was completely 
 filled, we beheld the door burst 
 open, and an Irish gentleman 
 attempt to make entry, vi et 
 armis. l Shut the door, box- 
 keeper !' loudly cried some of 
 the party. ' There's room, by the 
 pow'rs ! cried the Irishman, and 
 
io8 
 
 THEATRICAL ANECDOTES. 
 
 persisted in advancing. On this, 
 a gentleman on the second row 
 rose, and exclaimed, ' Turn out 
 that blackguard !' ' Oh, and is 
 that your mode, honey ? ' coolly 
 retorted the Irishman ; ' come, 
 come out, my dear, and give me 
 satisfaction, or I'll pull your nose, 
 faith, you coward, and shillaly 
 you through the lobby !' 
 
 " This public insult left the 
 tenant in possession no alterna- 
 tive ; so he rushed out to accept 
 the challenge ; when, to the pit's 
 general amusement, the Irishman 
 jumped into his place, and having 
 deliberately seated and adjusted 
 himself, he turned round, and 
 cried, ' P 11 talk to you after the 
 play is over! " 
 
 THEATRICAL CRITICISM 
 
 11 A NEW comedy, written by 
 one of my particular friends," 
 says Reynolds, "was put into 
 rehearsal. On the very evening 
 that it was to be produced, 
 meeting great a journalist, as 
 he was going out of town, 
 and asking him to speak good 
 -naturedly of my friend's play, 
 he kindly told me that I might 
 myself write the theatrical criti- 
 cism for the following morning s 
 newspaper, but to be sure to con- 
 fine my praise within rational 
 bounds. 
 
 " Speeding post haste, with 
 this good news, to my friend, the 
 author, he quietly heard my com- 
 munication, and then replied, 
 ' Pooh \—you write the account 
 of my piece ? I shall write it 
 myself !' 
 
 " He was as good as his word ; 
 and sending his precious mor- 
 
 ceau to the printer in my name, 
 it was, according to the previous 
 directions of the great critic and 
 editor, inserted verbatim. The 
 following morning, I was not a 
 little astonished when I read, 
 1 That the four first acts of the 
 comedy of the previous evening 
 were not inferior, in point of plot, 
 incident, language, and charac- 
 ter, to the greatest efforts of 
 Beaumont and Fletcher, and 
 other old dramatists;' and 'that 
 the last act might probably be 
 considered one of the finest on 
 the stage/ 
 
 "Meeting the friendly editor, on 
 his return to town, he exclaimed, 
 1 You pitched it too strong — I 
 shall never trust you again !' ;; 
 
 SCENE AT THE THEATRI- 
 CAL FUND DINNER. 
 
 " At the anniversary of the 
 Theatrical Fund, we passed a 
 most agreeable day," says Mr. 
 Reynolds. " The singing of 
 Johnstone and Incledon, the vi- 
 vacious anecdotes related by 
 Lewis and Quick, and the strong 
 interest excited by the presence 
 of the venerable founder, Mr. 
 Hull, rendered the whole scene 
 peculiarly amusing and gratify- 
 ing. 
 
 " But the principal comedian 
 on the occasion (though per- 
 fectly unconscious of the fact) 
 was one of the visitors, an 
 elderly gentleman, to whom 
 everybody present bore great 
 goodwill ; not only on account 
 of his private worth and urbane 
 manners, but for the rich enter- 
 tainment he afforded to them all, 
 by the extreme ingenuousness 
 
THEATRICAL ANECDOTES. 
 
 109 
 
 and simplicity lie so humorously 
 manifested, in allowing himself 
 to be persuaded into a tenfold 
 repetition of the same story. 
 
 " The mode by which these 
 theatrical hoaxers (on this day) 
 effected their purpose was most 
 ingenious. At the end of narra- 
 tive the first, they all roared and 
 encored it ; then, when the repe- 
 tition was terminated, some 
 member would affect not to 
 understand the leading circum- 
 stance, and therefore humbly 
 begged to hear it again. This 
 request being immediately grant- 
 ed by this gentleman of the true 
 old school, the story was re- 
 peated for the third time with 
 particular precision ; but, at the 
 close, the member with the 
 affectedly defective understand- 
 ing would continue to stare with 
 much stupidity, and at last im- 
 patiently confess that he could 
 not comprehend the joke. 
 
 " Then, Lewis and other wags 
 would privately inform our amus- 
 ing visitor that he had marred 
 his effects the last time by not 
 pressing a material point ; on 
 which, dwelling on every word 
 with a clearness and slowness 
 of utterance, as if he had in- 
 tended to make each word a 
 resting-place for life, he pro- 
 ceeded to gratify their love of 
 fun and laugh for the fourth 
 time. 
 
 " But still the dull defective 
 member being unable to take 
 the joke, he was called a thick, 
 potato-headed Irishman ; when, 
 manifesting much indignation at 
 this formidable epithet, a violent 
 discussion ensued relative to the 
 story's real meaning, when evi- 
 
 dent signs of a violent contest 
 rapidly arising, in the hope of 
 restoring peace, the kind, well- 
 meaning old gentleman would 
 advance and again repeat his 
 enigmatical tale. 
 
 " During the three years that I 
 attended this anniversary, the 
 above-mentioned circumstance 
 regularly proved the grand star 
 of the evening's amusement. 
 On one of these occasions, after 
 another angry altercation rela- 
 tive to the ' real meaning' of 
 the story, Munden and Sim- 
 mons fought on the table, with 
 such admirable assumption of 
 the appearance of reality, that 
 when, with the aid of a little 
 paint, the latter, seemingly 
 covered with blood and bruises, 
 and more than half in the arms 
 of death, was laid prostrate 
 among the plates and decanters, 
 the afflicted innocent cause of 
 the whole confusion, once more 
 deceived, was induced to ap- 
 proach Simmons, and impres- 
 sively whisper into his ear the 
 miraculous story, as the only 
 resuscitating remedy. 
 
 "Another time, when there ap- 
 peared to be not the smallest 
 hope of an additional repetition, 
 the master of the coffee-house, 
 entering, informed us that the 
 Persian Ambassador was below ; 
 and, desirous to see one of the 
 choicest specimens of English 
 theatrical society, he would con- 
 descend to honour us with his 
 presence. This request receiv- 
 ing the unanimous consent of 
 the room, the Ambassador, in 
 full costume, was immediately 
 introduced, followed by his 
 secretary and interpreter ; and 
 
THEATRICAL ANECDOTES. 
 
 no 
 
 though the old gentleman had 
 sat opposite to his Excellency, 
 (Liston) during the whole of 
 dinner, he never recognized him 
 in his disguise, but was among 
 the foremost in expressing the 
 gratification he received from 
 the honour of his presence. 
 
 " We all remained standing and 
 bowing; the hero of the day 
 mixing sherbet, callingfor cigars, 
 and proving he well understood 
 the etiquette of eastern courts. 
 His Excellency noticing this 
 attention in a marked manner, 
 all was very satisfactory ; but 
 when the grand desired moment 
 arrived — when the interpreter 
 signified that it was his Excel- 
 lency^ pleasure to be gratified 
 by hearing the far-famed humo- 
 rous story — what person that 
 was present can forget the glee, 
 the ecstacy, with which our ac- 
 commodating visitor fired off his 
 tenth evening gun? The roar 
 was tremendous, and the Am- 
 bassador and train left the room 
 apparently breathless with de- 
 light. Lewis proposed our comic 
 hero's health, with three times 
 three ; and, during the clamour, 
 Ids disrobed Excellency returned, 
 and imperceptibly taking his seat, 
 the scene concluded with all of 
 us congratulating the delighted 
 visitor on his having rendered 
 the story thus effective ; l and 
 to a person so particularly ig- 
 norant of our language/ added 
 Liston. 
 
 a : Ay, Mr. Liston,' was the 
 reply, 'and to a person so par- 
 ticularly ugly / ' 
 
 "As a proof of the paramount 
 power of actors in the art of 
 hoaxing, allow me to add, that 
 
 this amiable old gentleman on 
 general topics of conversation 
 always displayed great good 
 sense ; certainly his extreme 
 good nature, and willingness to 
 oblige, might have aided the 
 manoeuvres of his persevering 
 assailants, but I doubt whether 
 even the oldest and most ex- 
 perienced member of the cricket 
 club could singly have stood 
 against such a skilful combina- 
 tion of waggery." 
 
 TRUE REALISM I 
 
 There is an old theatre in 
 | Dublin — perhaps the oldest in 
 the kingdom — which has lately 
 been converted into a sort of 
 factory. Up to a recent period 
 ! it exhibited some tawdry but 
 • faded remains of the decorations 
 of the last century. Its con- 
 : venient proximity to the river 
 j Liffey suggested to its late man- 
 | ager a novel attraction, namely, 
 j the representation of the " Col- 
 leen Bawn," then in the height 
 j of its popularity, with " real 
 ! water effects/' The editor of 
 ! this little collection happened to 
 I be present, and a more enter- 
 taining evening could not be 
 ! conceived. Some one, whom wc 
 shall call Mr. J. W. Hartigan, 
 was the hero of the night, which 
 in some sense he deserved to be, 
 as it was the depth of winter — 
 frost and snow being abroad. 
 He was vastly popular, and 
 through the night received much 
 personal encouragement in the 
 way of familiar exhortations. 
 It must be said he deserved his 
 popularity by his untiring ex- 
 
THEATRICAL ANECDOTES. 
 
 ertions in the way of dancing, 
 nourishing sticks, love-making, 
 &c, and in this way seemed to 
 prepare himself for the great 
 performance of the night. 
 
 The scene disclosed was the 
 "Water Cave," — one not made 
 up with any such shifts as 
 lengths of transparent blue 
 gauze, but disposed on true 
 principles of realism. From a 
 high Box it could be seen that a 
 deep tank or cistern had been 
 let into the stage, but imperfectly 
 concealed by a couple of canvas 
 banks. The tank was certainly 
 not more than six or seven feet 
 long, and thus presented great 
 difficulties in the way of manoeu- 
 vring a boat. When the vil- 
 lanous Danny was preparing 
 for his deed of blood, it was 
 pleasant to see him appear in a 
 vessel scarcely bigger than a 
 washing-tub,but of greater depth, 
 into which he succeeded in de- 
 coying the fair Eily, red cloak 
 and all, whose trepidation at 
 embarking seemed more than 
 justifiable. For, to add to the 
 insecurity of the navigation, the 
 intended murderer was perfectly 
 drunk, as was conspicuous to 
 the audience, who, with loud 
 voices, warned the maid not to 
 trust herself to such a com- 
 panion — an interference which 
 he much resented. The result 
 anticipated came about, and the 
 next moment the boat turned 
 over completely, giving Eily and 
 her companion a complete duck- 
 ing ; but happily the river at this 
 part was not more than four or 
 five feet deep. They got to land 
 with teeth chattering. But the 
 absurdity was to come. For in 
 
 Hi 
 
 the full view of the audience 
 they had been seen to scramble 
 out of the tank ; yet here was 
 Myles coming to rescue her ! 
 It must be said that he redeemed 
 the failure by a gallant and sa- 
 tisfactory plunge that sent the 
 water splashing to the roof, and 
 when actually submerged, per- 
 formed feats of natation, rollings, 
 &c, his skill being only bounded 
 by the limited capacity of the 
 tank. The dramatic proprieties 
 of course required that he should 
 rescue something, and the still- 
 dripping Eily was drawn up 
 from somewhere behind the 
 tank. It was not surprising to 
 learn later that this heroic per- 
 former was laid up, it was said, 
 " with the rheumatics." 
 
 A HAUGHTY HOST. 
 
 At some private theatricals 
 given at Blenheim by the Duke 
 of Marlborough, everything was 
 arranged in the most sumptuous 
 style. At the end of the second 
 act, refreshments were served ; 
 but the Duke noticed with some 
 annoyance that the third act 
 had commenced before all the 
 guests had been attended to. 
 An obsequious relative of his 
 noticed this distress, and, when 
 Sir Harry Newburgh and Miss 
 Rivers were in the midst of a 
 most interesting love-passage, 
 hastily rose, and, advancing to 
 the stage, said authoritatively, 
 " Stop / some of the company 
 want more tea;" then turned 
 to the company with "Ladies 
 and gentlemen, you shall be 
 attended to in a moment." 
 
112 
 
 THEATRICAL ANECDOTES. 
 
 COOKE'S THREAT. 
 
 When performing at a theatre 
 in Ireland, Cooke had some 
 quarrel with an actor of the 
 company. Before going on as 
 Hamlet ', he was seen sharpening 
 his sword in the green room, 
 and was heard to say, " I and 
 Mr. Laertes will settle our little 
 dispute to-night." As he was 
 known to be violent and un- 
 scrupulous, this news alarmed 
 the intended victim, who, at the 
 very commencement of the 
 fencing-match, flung himself on 
 Hamlet, and, seizing him by the 
 collar, threw him down on his 
 back, and kept him there until 
 he had given a solemn but sotto 
 voce assurance that he would do 
 no mischief. 
 
 AMATEURS AT DRURY 
 LANE. 
 
 The Delaval family — men 
 about town, bitten with a 
 craze for acting — had per- 
 formed Othello at Lord M ex- 
 borough's, and were fired with a 
 desire for a larger field ot 
 action. In those days even a 
 small theatre would have been 
 sufficient publicity, but to ven- 
 ture on the large expanse of the 
 Drury Lane stage seemed al- 
 most too daring. Garrick, one 
 of whose little weaknesses was 
 an inclination to favour anything 
 associated with persons of 
 quality, interrupted his regular 
 performances and allowed his 
 theatre to be used for the night. 
 Such interest and curiosity were 
 
 excited by this performance, 
 that the House of Commons ad- 
 journed at three o'clock to at- 
 tend early. Never was there 
 such magnificence. No expense 
 was spared. The distinctions of 
 pit and gallery were abolished, 
 and all parts of the house shone 
 indifferently with laces and 
 jewels and costly dresses. Even 
 in the footmen's gallery it was 
 noticed that half-a-dozen stars 
 were glittering ; every part of 
 the house overflowed with the 
 best " quality" in London ; the 
 royal princes and some German 
 ones — rarely absent from any 
 Court show in England — were 
 in the side boxes. All these 
 glories were lit up by the soft 
 effulgence of waxlights. On the 
 stage there were fresh scenes 
 and new and gorgeous dresses. 
 The music was excellent. The 
 scene outside the playhouse is 
 described to have been almost 
 ludicrous from the confusion 
 and block of chairs and coaches, 
 which impeded each other from 
 getting near the door ; and the 
 mob were delighted at seeing 
 the fine ladies and gentlemen 
 picking their steps through the 
 mud and filth. Even at the 
 mean public-houses close by, 
 lords, in stars and garters and 
 silk stockings, were seen wait- 
 ing until the street should clear 
 a little. It was a perfect suc- 
 cess, and threw the critics into 
 obsequious raptures. 
 
 Garrick himself was often 
 invited to take part in private 
 performances ; but there was 
 only one house which he seems 
 to have thus favoured— that of 
 Sir Watkyn Wynne. The 
 
THEATRICAL ANECDOTES. 
 
 "3 
 
 theatricals at Wynnestay were 
 a regular series, and held for 
 many years. There was a great 
 festival, and the Welsh inns for 
 thirty miles around were filled 
 to overflowing. They lasted for 
 six weeks ; and the house was 
 filled with the best English 
 company, with sometimes thirty 
 people staying there. It was a 
 place that Garrick always turned 
 to with affection. Just before 
 his death he seems to have 
 meditated a visit, and there is 
 preserved among his papers a 
 draft of a prologue which he 
 meant to have himself spoken. 
 The theatre was always fitted 
 up in the kitchen, which was a 
 spacious hall ; and it had this 
 excellent feature, which might 
 well be considered in modern 
 theatres — that there were no 
 " floats," as they used to be 
 called, or footlights, as they are 
 now known to us : but the 
 scenery and performers were lit 
 up by a row of lights behind an 
 arch, which ran across the stage 
 high over their heads. The re- 
 hearsals were conducted on 
 diligent principles of sound 
 hard work, the morning being 
 devoted to good practice and 
 drilling, while the performers 
 had the advantage of the assist- 
 ance of the two Colmans, 
 father and son — the elder being 
 stage manager. The servants 
 of the house were pressed into 
 the service, to fill parts like the 
 ones they played in real life. 
 The butler was a little awkward, 
 and could not be got to present 
 a sword with freedom or natur- 
 ally — a more difficult thing, per- 
 haps, than might be supposed. 
 
 It was said that Colman lost 
 patience, and when the man 
 asked " how he was to do it," 
 answered, " Why, just as you 
 gave a gravy spoon to Sir Wat- 
 kyn at dinner yesterday, I 
 noticed you I " 
 
 AUTHORS ON THEIR 
 PROPERTY. 
 
 Mr. Hollingshead, the 
 spirited and successful manager 
 of the Gaiety Theatre, has 
 lately been exerting himself to 
 obtain some change in the laws 
 by which novelists may obtain 
 protection from predatory dra- 
 matists. He invited the opinions 
 of some leading writers, from 
 which the following is a selec- 
 tion : — 
 
 George Eliot. — " I 
 thoroughly concur in the opinion 
 that the Law of Copyright in 
 relation to the dramatisation of 
 novels ought to be changed, and 
 I shall willingly give my adhe- 
 sion to any energetic effort to- 
 wards attaining that end." 
 
 Wilkie Collins. — - " My 
 6 Poor Miss Finch' has been 
 dramatised (without asking my 
 permission) by some obscure 
 idiot in the country. I have 
 been asked to dramatise it, and 
 I have refused, because my 
 experience tells me that the 
 book is eminently u??jit for stage 
 purposes. What I refuse to do 
 with my own work, another man 
 (unknown in literature) is per- 
 fectly free to do against my 
 will, and (if he can get his rub- 
 bish played) to the prejudice of 
 my novel and my reputation." 
 
H4 
 
 THEATRICAL ANECDOTES. 
 
 Tom Taylor. — " I quite 
 agree with you that prior drama- 
 tisation by an author ought to 
 secure his property in a story 
 from infringement by another 
 dramatist without his permis- 
 sion." 
 
 Shirley Brooks.— " That 
 dramatisation question on which 
 you write is one that ought to be 
 taken up by all of us." 
 
 M. E. Braddon.— "I have 
 written twenty-four novels ; 
 many of these have been dra- 
 matised, and a few of the dra- 
 matic versions still hold the 
 stage. I have never received 
 the smallest pecuniary advan- 
 tage from any of these adapta- 
 tions, nor does the law of copy- 
 right in any way assist me to 
 protect what appears to be a 
 valuable portion of my copy- 
 right, namely, the 
 right to dramatise 
 creation." 
 
 Watts Phillips.— 
 Clark ' was founded on 
 of mine. A thief the other day 
 informed me he had as much 
 right to give his version of my 
 story as I had, by the law. 
 Nearly every one of my stories 
 has been dramatised, captured, 
 and conveyed to the Cave of 
 Adullam and elsewhere. Not a 
 farthing given to me ; only, 
 when I took up some of my 
 situations (situations created by 
 me), and worked them into a 
 piece, I was told, 'They have 
 been done before/ " 
 
 Westland Marston, 
 LL.D. — "I am warm in the 
 conviction that where a writer 
 creates a property for himself in 
 one branch of fiction, he should 
 
 exclusive 
 my own 
 
 -" ' Amos 
 a novel 
 
 not lose it because some one 
 else may be inclined to present 
 its substance with a mere modi- 
 fication of form." 
 
 W. S. Gilbert. — " < The 
 Wicked World/ ' Creatures of 
 Impulse/ ' On Guard/ ' Ran- 
 dall's Thumb/ are all dramatic 
 versions of stories I have pub- 
 lished." 
 
 Palgrave Simpson, Secre- 
 tary of the Dramatic Authors' 
 Society. — " You will benefit all 
 authors if you can bring about 
 a change in the Copyright Law 
 as regards novels, tales, and 
 dramas." 
 
 An ingenious calculator in 
 the Era has tried to estimate Mr. 
 Sothern's profits on the basis of 
 certain calculations, and with 
 the following rather startling re- 
 sult :— 
 
 " It would be interesting to 
 know how much the single 
 creation of Dundreary has pro- 
 duced to its talented delineator. 
 It was not at all supposed to be 
 the gold mine it has turned out, 
 and will yet prove, supposing 
 Mr. Sothern preserves all his en- 
 ergy and health. It is known 
 that Mr. Sothern played this 
 character for 1,100 nights in 
 America, between 1856 and 
 1863, and for these nights we 
 may put the profits at 55,000/. 
 From his arrival in this country 
 in 1863, it had an uninterrupted 
 run of 496 nights, the profits of 
 which could not be less than 
 40,000/. This is the longest run 
 upon record, and it can hardly 
 be said to have been the least 
 profitable. From 1864 to his 
 
THEATRICAL ANECDOTES. 
 
 "5 
 
 departure last year for America, 
 it is stated that he played Dun- 
 dreary not less than 700 times, 
 which would make another 
 56,000/. During the same period 
 he has appeared at least 700 times 
 in his other characters, David 
 Garricky &c., and putting these 
 upon a lower scale of profit 
 than Dundreary, we have, say, 
 another 42,000/. of earnings, 
 the summary of which is as 
 follows : — 
 
 American re- 
 pre s enta- 
 tions of Dun- 
 dreary ,£5$,ooo 
 
 English repre- 
 sentations... 96,000 
 
 Dundreary ^151 ,000 
 
 Other characters in 
 England 42,000 
 
 Thus, during the sixteen years, 
 down to the time of his leaving 
 England, Mr. Sothern has 
 averaged an income of 12,000/. 
 a year. This, of course takes 
 no account of outgoings. 
 
 " Mr. Sothern is now on a tour 
 in the United States, and has 
 been since the early part of last 
 year. As he plays every evening 
 without intermission, his profits, 
 clown to the time of his leaving 
 for Melbourne, cannot amount 
 to much less than 20,000/. 
 As his stay in Melbourne is 
 fixed for two months, and as he 
 will derive nearly as much gold 
 from the diggers of Australia as 
 from the Yankees, his profits 
 may be set down at 5,000/. He 
 is then to stay another thirteen 
 
 months in the United States, for 
 which say 32,000/. The addi- 
 tion of these figures show, there- 
 fore (approximately), that, from 
 the time Mr. Sothern's talents 
 developed themselves in Dun- 
 dreary in 1856 until he sets foot 
 again in England, he will have 
 earned in receipts from his 
 talents a sum not far short of 
 250,000/. 
 
 STAGE ADVERTISEMENTS 
 
 Certainly there are inci- 
 dents connected with the stage 
 which prove that, instead of 
 being a purely artistic matter, 
 it has become a mere affair of 
 shopkeeping. Imagine the 
 Royal Academy struggling with 
 a number of rival exhibitions, 
 and our morning papers choked 
 with advertisements like these : 
 " Splendid picture by Millais ; 
 crowds turned away from before 
 it. One of the greatest triumphs 
 ever produced on canvas."-- Tele- 
 graph. " Splendid colouring." 
 — Daily Nezvs. "No one should 
 be an hour without seeing it." 
 — Times. And that then it was 
 added in the programmes : 
 " The rich gilt frame by Messrs. 
 Fogotti, of Oxford-street ; the 
 reclining chairs by Messrs. 
 Farmer, of Pall-mall ; and the 
 new and brilliant reflecting 
 burners by Messrs. Rums." 
 Finally, let us imagine that a 
 curtain was hung in front of Mr. 
 Millais' work, covered over with 
 invitations to "Try Kitto's 
 Starch," or to " Use the Grass- 
 hopper Sewing-machine." I say, 
 in this state of things a foreigner 
 I 2 
 
n6 
 
 THEATRICAL ANECDOTES. 
 
 might reasonably assume the 
 pictorial art to be in a state of 
 decay. And why? Because, in 
 its flourishing condition, the 
 painter's performance ought to 
 be sufficiently powerful to attract 
 of itself; and such offensive 
 additions ought to repel — and 
 would repel — all persons of true 
 taste and judgment. I protest 
 anything more offensive than 
 the fashion in which theatres 
 are worked, the low shopman- 
 like principle on which the help- 
 less crowd that comes for 
 amusement is manipulated, can- 
 not be conceived. To find a 
 drop-scene let down slowly, as 
 it was one Christmas, all over 
 lines of staring advertisements, 
 the more audacious in gigantic 
 characters, all to be studied and 
 read between the acts, seemed 
 to me an affront of the grossest 
 and most discreditable kind. 
 I felt the colour rising to my 
 cheeks as I thought how our un- 
 willing eyes and enforced atten- 
 tion were, in truth, the treasury 
 out of which the cool manager 
 was paid by his tradesman. 
 So with the sewing-machines 
 dragged on by the clowns, and 
 the crackers and bonbons ex- 
 hibited to advertise perfumers. 
 To think that we should pay our 
 money at the doors to be told 
 of tradesmen who, should we be 
 weak enough to go and purchase 
 on the next day, will actually 
 put on the article the vails they 
 have paid to the manager for 
 the privilege ! At one house 
 that I could name, a few baskets 
 of artificial flowers were hung 
 about — poor dusty imitations — 
 and the name of the tradesman 
 
 who made them was thrust in 
 our faces. 
 
 AN AUTHOR'S REPLY. 
 
 Mr. Byron's name is associ- 
 ated with a witty story. When 
 one of his plays was brought out 
 at Liverpool, an awful " wait " 
 occurred after the second act. 
 The orchestra played, and played 
 again. Presently a harsh 
 grating sound was heard be- 
 hind — something like sawing. 
 Some one asked the author 
 what it meant. " I can't say," 
 he answered sadly. " I suppose 
 they are cutting out the third 
 actP 
 
 DISCOURAGING. 
 
 Macklin's rude humour at 
 rehearsals has been already al- 
 luded to. When his "True- 
 Born Irishman" was being re- 
 hearsed, he was dissatisfied with 
 the style of a particular actor, 
 and stepping up to him asked 
 in an angry tone, " What trade 
 are you, sir?" The other an- 
 swered, " I am a gentleman, 
 sir!" "Then," said the other, 
 " Stick to that, sir, for you will 
 never be an actor I " 
 
 AN ASIDE. 
 
 Munden's avarice was noto- 
 rious. On his last appearance, 
 as he was bowing his farewell 
 and retreating backwards up 
 the stage, he said in a whisper 
 to those at the wings, "Am I 
 near ; am I near ? " " Very," 
 said Liston, who was close by ; 
 "no one more so ! " 
 
THEATRICAL ANECDOTES. 
 
 "7 
 
 A DILEMMA. 
 
 COOKE, describing his failings, 
 said, " On Monday I was drunk 
 and appeared ; but they didn't 
 like that, and hissed me. On 
 Wednesday I was drunk, so I 
 didn't appear; and they didn't 
 like that. What the devil would 
 they have ? " 
 
 A LIST OF PROPERTIES. 
 
 When Barry disposed of his 
 theatre in Dublin, the inventory 
 of the properties excited much 
 amusement. Their condition 
 was thus candidly described : — 
 " Chambers, with holes in 
 them ; " " house, very bad ; " 
 " one stile, broken ; " " battle- 
 ments, torn j " " waterfall in the 
 Dargle, very bad ; " " woods, 
 greatly damaged ; " " clouds, 
 little worth ; " " mill, torn ; " 
 and " elephant, very bad." The 
 only good article appeared to be 
 11 eighty-three thunderbolts. " 
 
 QUIN AND WARBURTON. 
 
 Bishop Warburton \ and 
 Quin were debating the execu- 
 tion of Charles I. "By what laws 
 did those regicides justify it ? " 
 said the bishop. " By all the 
 laws he left them," was the reply. 
 Quin's humour was of a very 
 high order. He, and Foote, and 
 Macklin amply sustain the credit 
 of their profession in this de- 
 partment. 
 
 APPROPRIATE FOOD. 
 
 Mossop was said to have 
 always ordered his dinner to 
 suit the character he was about 
 to play. For Zanga in the 
 " Revenge," sausages ; for Bar- 
 barossa, veal cutlets; for Richard, 
 pork. 
 
 A NEW PLAY. 
 
 The following appears in the 
 theatrical newspapers : — 
 
 FOR SALE.— TO MANAGERS AND OTHERS. 
 
 THE KING'S BANNER/ an Original Romantic Serio- 
 Historical Drama, in Four Acts and several Tableaux, by Mrs. . 
 
 Period, the Civil War (from 1648) and the escape of Charles the First from Carisbrooke 
 Castle (to 1660), ending with the Restoration. Finished complete, July 1869 ; Copy- 
 right secured, March 1870. It contains a Hop-garden Ballet, the Authoress's Sole 
 Invention and Property ; also many New Sensational Effects, especially a Will-o'-the- 
 Wisp Scene, ending in a Bog Adventure during the search for Fugitive Cavaliers 
 through the Forest. An Admirable Ghost Scene in an Abbey Ruin, with an Original 
 Ghost Medley by the Authoress ; also two other Songs, composed expressly for it by 
 G. M. Sutherland, Esq. One of these, ' The Glorious Cause' (a loyal Cavalier drinking 
 song, occurring in last tableau of First Act), was recently sung with great success at a 
 
 Charity Concert in , second time. Part of the Play performed by Mr. and Mrs. 
 
 Bandmann last 5th December, at the Theatre Royal.— It has been read and highly 
 recommended by many leaders in the profession. 
 
 Part of the MSS. of this great Drama having been lost in London since November 
 1871, consisting of five full Illustrations, two Songs, full Scenario, Pattern of Ballet, and 
 several Letters, to avoid any mistakes on the part of the public, it is the Authoress's 
 intention to print and publish her work with as little delay as possible, and a duplicate 
 set of Illustrations to those which have disappeared (in defence of her entire 
 originality)- 
 
 Further particulars will be duly announced. 
 For terms apply to the Author ; or her Solicitor. 
 
THEATRICAL ANECDOTES. 
 
 AN A CTOR A T THE GRA VE. 
 
 Macklin, grown old and tot- 
 tering, attended Barry's funeral 
 in the cloisters of Westminster 
 Abbey. As he was looking into 
 the grave and murmuring " Poor 
 Spranger ! " some one attempted 
 to lead him away, when he said, 
 " Sir, I am at my rehearsal ; do 
 not disturb me ! " 
 
 STAGE DRESS. 
 
 Henderson was so indif- 
 ferent as to stage costume that 
 he boasted of having played ten 
 distinct characters during one 
 season in the same dress. " The 
 beautiful Mrs. Crouch," says 
 Dr. Doran, " acted one of the 
 witches in l Macbeth ' in a 
 killing hat, her hair superbly 
 powdered, rouge laid on with 
 delicate effect, and her whole 
 exquisite person enveloped in a 
 cloud of point lace and fine 
 linen." Lewis acted a Pagan 
 hero in knee-breeches and a silk 
 jacket ! 
 
 ALAS POOR YORICK ! 
 
 The wild George Frederick 
 Cooke was not allowed to rest 
 in his American grave,. "A 
 theatrical benefit," says Dr. 
 Francis, " had been announced 
 at the Park Theatre, and ■ Ham- 
 let ' the play. A subordinate of 
 the theatre at a late hour hurried 
 to my office for a skull. / was 
 compelled to loan the head of 
 my old friend, George Frederick 
 Cooke. It was returned in the 
 morning; but on the ensuing 
 
 evening, at the meeting of the 
 Cooper Club, the circumstance 
 becoming known to several of 
 the members, and a general 
 desire being expressed to inves- 
 tigate phrenologically the head 
 of the great tragedian, the arti- 
 cle was again released from its 
 privacy, when Daniel Webster, 
 Henry Wheaton, and many 
 others who enriched the meeting 
 of that night applied the prin- 
 ciples of craniological science 
 to the interesting specimen 
 before them." It would be in- 
 teresting to enumerate the 
 numbers of celebrated persons 
 whose remains have been sub- 
 jected to this sort of desecra- 
 tion. Sterne's body was carried 
 off by resurrection-men, and 
 sent to Oxford for dissection, 
 where one of his friends hap- 
 pened to come in, and was so 
 shocked at the recognition that 
 he fainted away. Swift's skull 
 was dug up a few years ago at 
 St. Patrick's, and handed round, 
 like Cooke's, at a party of 
 scientific gentlemen. It was 
 said that at the close of the 
 proceedings the larynx was 
 missing ! 
 
 AN UNREHEARSED PRO- 
 LOGUE. 
 
 Jack Palmer on one occa- 
 sion delivered a prologue with- 
 out having learned a line of it. 
 The feat was contrived thus : — 
 The prompter was placed under- 
 neath a table covered with a 
 cloth, and repeated every line, 
 which Palmer, with many inge- 
 nious smiles and gestures, to 
 
THEATRICAL ANECDOTES. 119 
 
 On the death of Mossop, a 
 powerful but turgid actor whom 
 Churchill satirised, a copy of 
 Wolsey's well-known speech was 
 found among his papers, with 
 elocutionary directions written 
 over each line. 
 
 cover the intervals of waiting, 
 repeated after him. 
 
 ELABORATE EMPHASIS. 
 
 No revelation of the prose of 
 stage life equals the following. 
 
 Eyes upwards. Surprise and peevish. 
 
 " What should this mean t What sudden anger's this ? 
 
 Sudden turn of voice — quick. 
 
 He parted frowning front me, as if ruin 
 
 Smart Wild. 
 
 Leafid from his eye 
 
 Voice quick and loud. 
 
 I must read this paper ; 
 
 Transition. Much breath. Opens paper very hastily. 
 
 I fear the story of his anger. — 'Tis so — 
 
 Strikes it quickly. Vast throbs of feeling. 
 
 This paper has undone me. 5 Tis the account 
 Of all that world of wealth I've drawn together 
 
 Cunning and head nod. Dislike, teeth quite close. Lips partly pressed ; 
 
 To gain the Popedom. O negligence ! 
 
 Quick and high. Wild, sudden, spitefully and peevishly. 
 
 Fit for a fool to fall by. What cross devil 
 
 Hurried spirit, and all in a breath. 
 
 Made me put this main secret in the packet 
 
 Pause. 
 
 I sent the king? — Is there no way to cure this? 
 
 Face full to audience, 
 Side look. Cunning, fretful and musing — swelling inward. 
 
 No new device to beat this from his brains? 
 
 Force. Loud. Pause. Then sudden turn. 
 
 I know 'twill stir him strongly. 
 
 Opens letter. 
 
 What's this .?— To the Pope. 
 
 Still look to the letter. Rest. Breathe out, slow step, and head declined. 
 
 The letter, as I live, with all the business 
 
 Quite calm and resigned. 
 
 I writ to's Holiness. Nay, then, farewell ! 
 
 G tone, with feeling, but low. 
 
 I have touch'd the highest point of all my greatness ; 
 
 No jerk. 
 
 Ancl, from that full meridian of my glory, 
 
 Finger G tone. 
 
 Under feeling. pointed down. Sudden pause. 
 
 I haste now to my setting ; I shall fall 
 
 Solemn. Mournful. 
 
 Like a bright exhalation in the evening, 
 
 Weak manner. Feeling restrained. Wildness of old man. 
 
 And no man see me more." 
 
THEATRICAL ANECDOTES. 
 
 A FAIR RETORT. 
 
 When Foote was beaten in a 
 lawsuit about a theatre, a 
 Scotch lawyer called on him to 
 receive the amount of his bill of 
 costs. The actor while paying 
 him indulged in a sneer at 
 Scotch economy, saying that 
 the agent, like all his country- 
 men, would travel back in the 
 cheapest manner possible. 
 "Ay, ay," said the agent drily, 
 and tapping his pocket, " I shall 
 travel— on Foot" 
 
 AN ODD BENEFIT. 
 
 Actors have often advertised 
 their benefits for odd purposes. 
 But few announcements have 
 been more singular than that of 
 Lillo, whose bill was headed, 
 " For the benefit of my poor re- 
 lations?' 
 
 A SITUATION. 
 One night in the year 1784, 
 Miss Farren and a leading actor 
 were taken ill, and it was an- 
 nounced that their parts (in 
 " Love in a Village ") would be 
 read. The following absurd 
 scene took place :— The manu- 
 script copy had to be used, as 
 the piece was not published ; 
 so Mr. Palmer and Miss Collett, 
 each with a candle in hand, 
 read alternately, passing the 
 piece from one to the other, 
 as their turn came. At last 
 Palmer came to a passage so 
 blotted and interlined that he 
 could not make it out. The 
 audience hissed, when he came 
 forward and offered to show the 
 passage to any gentleman in 
 
 the pit who would say if he were 
 to blame. The book was ex- 
 amined and the passage, amid 
 loud applause, declared to be un- 
 readable. The play then pro- 
 ceeded, permission being given 
 to pass over the illegible pas- 
 sages. 
 
 SHAKESPERE IMPROVED. 
 
 In 1805, when a piece called 
 " The Village," was uproariously 
 damned, Elliston came forward 
 and rebuked the audience, 
 adding in his own unique style, 
 " It is my opinion that the piece 
 has great merit." When he 
 took the Surrey Theatre he pro- 
 duced ut Macbeth' altered from 
 Shakespere by Mr. Lawlerl " in 
 which one of the passages ran : 
 
 ' ' Is this a dagger which I sec before me ? 
 My brains are scattered in a whirlwind 
 stormy." 
 
 INTERPOLATED MUSIC. 
 
 At a performance of " The 
 Rivals," in 1825, at Hastings, a 
 Mr. White, who had a good 
 voice, played the part of the 
 lover Falkland, and introduced 
 The Bay of Biscay, " by par- 
 ticular desire!" Something of 
 the same kind of inappropriate 
 introduction is recorded of Miss 
 Poole in "The Iron Chest," who, 
 when playing Barbara, wished 
 to introduce a popular Swiss air. 
 At a pathetic situation she pro- 
 ceeded thus : — " Poor Wiltord 
 has been dragged to prison : but 
 still never, never can forget the 
 old strain, * Merrily oh.' 
 
 (Cue for the orchestra.) 
 
 ' Merrily every bosom boundeth ; 
 Merrily oh ! merrily oh ! ' " 
 
THEATRICAL ANECDOTES, 
 
 121 
 
 A SUITABLE ANSWER. 
 
 An amateur wrote to Harry 
 Johnson, desiring an engage- 
 ment, expatiating on his own suit- 
 able gifts and qualifications, and 
 received the following reply : — 
 " I agree to engage you at once, 
 provided you are only half as 
 good as you describe yourself." 
 
 APPEAL BY PLACARD. 
 
 An absurd scene took place 
 during the stormy Booth riots 
 in 1 817. The actor, who had 
 offended the audience, would 
 not be allowed a hearing, when 
 a gentleman came forward on 
 the stage bearing a pole and 
 placard, on which was inscribed 
 the words, 
 
 "GRANT SILENCE TO EXPLAIN." 
 This was greeted with " a whirl- 
 wind of orange peel," and the 
 actor again presented himself, 
 but would not be listened to. 
 The placard-bearer now ap- 
 peared with another device — 
 
 "mr. booth is willing to 
 
 APOLOGISE." 
 But this produced no change. 
 The actor appeared again, and 
 was again hooted back. The 
 indefatigable placard-bearer 
 braved the storm once more, and 
 hid his head behind a board 
 bearing this appeal : — 
 
 " CAN ENGLISHMEN CONDEMN 
 UNHEARD?" 
 
 This, of course, produced cheers 
 in compliment to the audience, 
 but did not advance the actor's 
 cause. 
 
 COOKE AT LIMERICK. 
 
 The following adventure is 
 related of George Frederick 
 Cooke, when fulfilling an en- 
 gagement. It exactly fits with 
 the known recklessness of his 
 character. 
 
 "He had been performing at 
 the old theatre, Limerick. The 
 last night of his appearance he 
 acted Petruchio, and, before the 
 fall of the curtain, had paid such 
 constant attention to a little keg 
 of whisky, that the fumes over- 
 powered his faculties, and in 
 bestowing the whip upon the 
 unfortunate Grumio, he bela- 
 boured him so severely, that the 
 miserable actor roared in down- 
 right earnest, every now and 
 then threatening Cooke with a 
 retaliation. But the latter, doubly 
 inspired on the occasion, both 
 by the beverage he had drunk 
 and the protection of the audi- 
 ence, persevered till he had 
 made a clear stage for himself. 
 The actor who had been thus 
 treated vowed vengeance on 
 Cooke, which he was deter- 
 mined to inflict the moment he 
 had undressed himself. Some- 
 what sobered by these threats, 
 Petruchio bethought himself of 
 the advice of Hudibras — 
 
 ' He who fights, and runs away, 
 May live to fight another day.' 
 
 " Heedless of the strangeness 
 of his dress, he instantly slipped 
 down the back stairs, and sought 
 refuge in one of the obscure 
 alleys behind the theatre. It 
 was then just twelve o'clock, 
 and as he had rambled out of 
 the High Street, he did not even 
 
THEATRICAL ANECDOTES. 
 
 encounter a watchman asleep | 
 on his post. The sounds of 
 woe, issuing with strange solem- 
 nity from an humble hut, pre- 
 sently attracted his attention ; 
 they proceeded from an assem- 
 blage of persons, who (according 
 to a custom still continued in 
 the southern parts of Ireland, on 
 the death of a relation, or even 
 acquaintance) were assembled 
 round a dead body, chanting a 
 dismal song, or howl, in full 
 chorus. The reader must bear 
 in mind the broad-brimmed hat 
 and whimsical dress of Petru- 
 chio, and that, most likely, not 
 one individual assembled in 
 that place had ever seen a play ; 
 he may imagine, then, if pos- 
 sible, the wonder and horror 
 of the simple souls when 
 George Frederick applied his 
 shoulder to the slender wicket 
 of the cabin, plunged into the 
 midst of the group, sword in 
 hand, oversetting those he first 
 encountered, and advancing up 
 to the foot of the bed, on which 
 the body of an old woman was 
 placed, exclaiming, in his own 
 rough way, with his eyes dis- 
 tended to the utmost extent by 
 intoxication — 
 
 ' How now, ye secret black and mid- 
 night hags, 
 Whatis't ye do?' 
 
 " Thunderstruck by the figure 
 of the apparition, and the tones 
 which proceeded from it, some 
 of the mourners sought shelter 
 under the bed, others crept half 
 way up the chimney, while the 
 remainder sallied out into the 
 lane, praying most fervently to 
 be released from the visitation 
 of the devil, for a human being 
 
 none could suppose George, who, 
 left alone with the shrivelled re- 
 mains of the old peasant, taking 
 her parchment-coloured hand, 
 pathetically exclaimed — 
 
 ' O, my love ! my wife ! 
 
 Death that hath suck'd the honey of 
 thy breath, 
 
 Hath had no power yet upon thy 
 beauty. 
 
 Thou art not conquered — beauty's en- 
 sign yet 
 
 Is crimson on thy lips.' — 
 
 1 Beauty !— no, hang me, if it is though ; 
 Avaunt, thou horrid spe*tre ! ' 
 
 " ' But stop/ said George, for 
 his eye at that instant rested on 
 a jug of whisky punch, smoking 
 in the chimney corner ; — he 
 eagerly grasped the handle and 
 cried, 
 
 ' Here's to my love. 
 
 " The affrighted company 
 taking by degrees a little cou- 
 rage, ventured, one by one, to 
 peep through the key-hole, and 
 then observing George had 
 thrown away his sword, re- 
 turned into the apartment, when 
 he, in order to encourage them, 
 exclaimed — ' Don't fear me ; 'tis 
 only George Frederick Cooke ; 
 come, sit down, I'll smoke with 
 you, and drink with you, aye, 
 and pray with you, my jolly 
 lads and lasses. 7 Thus re- 
 assured, George became gradu- 
 ally a great favourite with them, 
 and revelled in the delights of 
 tobacco and whisky, ' until his 
 eyelids could no longer wag.' 
 He was then placed quietly on 
 a bed until next morning." 
 
 BADDELETS WILL. 
 
 Baddeley, an indifferent per- 
 former during the days of Gar- 
 
THEATRICAL ANECDOTES. 
 
 123 
 
 rick, has acquired a certain 
 reputation, though not from his 
 histrionic powers. He was the 
 husband of the notorious and 
 beautiful Mrs. Baddeley, whose 
 frailties were the talk of the 
 town ; and he was the author 
 of an eccentric will, the actual 
 language of which is worth re- 
 producing here. 
 
 It bears date April 23, 1793, 
 and proves his benevolent atten- 
 tion to the infirmities and dis- 
 tresses of his brother per- 
 formers : — 
 
 "To his faithful friend and 
 companion, Mrs. Catherine 
 Strickland, generally called and 
 known by the name of Mrs. 
 Baddeley, he bequeaths his life's 
 interest in his house in New 
 Store-street ; and in his freehold 
 messuages, garden, &c. After 
 her decease, the above estates, 
 with certain monies to arise 
 from the insurance of an an- 
 nuity, to go to the society esta- 
 blished for the relief of indigent 
 persons belonging to Drury- 
 lane Theatre. The house and 
 premises at Moulsey to be used 
 as an asylum for decayed actors 
 and actresses ; and when the 
 net produce of the property 
 amounts to 360/. per annum, 
 pensions are to be allowed. 
 Especial care to be taken to 
 have the words, ' Baddeley's 
 Asylum,' in the front of the 
 house. His executors to pub- 
 lish, every year, his letter, as it 
 appeared in The General Adver- 
 tiser, April 20, 1790, respecting 
 the disagreement with his un- 
 happy wife, to prevent the world 
 looking upon his memory in the 
 villainous point of view, as set 
 
 forth in certain books, pam- 
 phlets, &c. One hundred 
 pounds, three per cent, consoli- 
 dated bank annuities, which 
 produce three pounds per an- 
 num, is left to purchase a 
 twelfth-cake, with wine and 
 punch ; which the ladies and 
 gentlemen of Drury-lane Thea- 
 tre are requested to partake of, 
 every Twelfth Night, in the 
 great Green- Room." 
 
 ACTORS' EPITAPHS. 
 
 The simple epitaph on Bur- 
 bage is well known — 
 
 " Exit Burbage ! " 
 and this idea of adapting pro- 
 fessional allusions to " Lapidary 
 inscriptions" has been rather a 
 favourite one with players. 
 Thus, the merits of Jackson, a 
 favourite provincial actor, are 
 thus recorded in a Norfolk 
 churchyard : — 
 
 "Sacred to the memory of 
 Thomas Jackson, comedian, 
 who was engaged December 
 21, 1 74 1, to play a comic cast of 
 characters in this great Theatre, 
 the World, for many of which 
 he was prompted by nature to 
 excel. The season being ended, 
 his benefit over, the charges all 
 paid, and his account closed, he 
 made his exit in the Tragedy of 
 ' Death,' on the 17th of March, 
 1 798, in full assurance of being 
 called once more to rehearsal j 
 when he hopes to find his for- 
 feits all cleared, his cast of 
 parts bettered, and his situa- 
 tion made agreeable by Him 
 who paid the great stoch-debt 
 for the love he bore to per- 
 formers in general." 
 
124 
 
 THEATRICAL ANECDOTES. 
 
 GREEN-ROOM JOKES. 
 
 There are many collections 
 of good stories connected with 
 actors and the stage, and it is 
 amazing of what "poor stuff" 
 such miscellanies are composed. 
 The following is a common type 
 of the Green-room jests, and it 
 is surprising how such should 
 have been thought worthy of 
 preservation : — 
 
 "When Lee Lewis was out 
 shooting, the proprietor attacked 
 him violently. ' I allow no one 
 to shoot here but myself. I'll 
 shoot you if you come here 
 again.' ' What ! ' said Lewis, 
 " I suppose you mean to make 
 game of me?" 
 
 "Munden, when confined to 
 his bed by illness, was much 
 rallied by his friends, it being 
 supposed that he was sham- 
 ming. He was told that they were 
 all laughing at him. ' I assured 
 them/ he answered, ' I had 
 much rather they had made me 
 a standing joke.'" 
 
 It is incredible what a num- 
 ber of Green-room jokes are 
 based on some such indif- 
 ferent quips. This little weak- 
 ness is admirably touched in 
 "Nicholas Nickleby"— 
 
 " Except when Old Bricks 
 and Mortar takes it into his head 
 to do it himself, you should add, 
 Tommy," remarked Mr. Len- 
 ville : " You know who Old 
 Bricks and Mortar is, I sup- 
 pose, sir?" " I do not, indeed," 
 said Nicholas. " We call Crum- 
 mies that, because his style of 
 acting is rather in the heavy 
 
 and ponderous way? said Mr. 
 Lenville. Imusttvt be cracking 
 jokes, though, for I've got a part 
 of twelve lengths here," &c. 
 
 Indeed the whole of this por- 
 tion of the story relating to the 
 country theatre is unrivalled for 
 its humour and vivacity, and is 
 evidently drawn from the life. 
 
 AN UNLUCKY COMPANY. 
 
 IN the year 1733, a company 
 of indifferent players was formed 
 to go abroad and act, which 
 found its way even to the island 
 of Jamaica. They made a good 
 deal of money, and on the first 
 night of the " Beggar's Opera " 
 "took" 370 pistoles. But the 
 corps was not exempt from the 
 disagreeable casualties of the 
 place, and within two months 
 they had buried their Polly, 
 Mrs. Slammakin, Filch, and 
 two more members of the 
 "gang." In this state of things 
 some gentlemen of the island, 
 of a histrionic turn, took parts, 
 and contrived to keep the enter- 
 prise alive for a time ; but this did 
 not last long, for in a short time 
 some other members dropped 
 off, and there was only an old 
 man, a boy, and a woman of the 
 original corps left surviving. 
 They had all died of the Jamaica 
 fever, or of the more fatal rum- 
 punch, the national beverage. 
 The shattered remnant em- 
 barked with upwards of two 
 thousand pistoles, the earnings 
 of the troupe, to join another 
 company that was playing at 
 Charleston, but they also per- 
 ished, being cast away on the 
 voyage. 
 
INDEX. 
 
 A. 
 
 Absent Critics, 58 
 Acting, Genuine, 25 
 
 Literal, 107 
 
 off the Stage, 98 
 
 Actor, Demands on the, 85 
 
 turned Wine Merchant, 6 
 
 Actors, Old, 85 
 Actors' Epitaphs, 123 
 
 Jests, 63 
 
 Salaries, 28 
 
 Advertisement, Stage, 36, 115 
 Advertisements, Payment for, 60 
 Alhambra, The, 95 
 Amateurs at Drury Lane, 112 
 
 v. Professionals, 94 
 
 Appeal by Placard, 121 
 
 of Kemble, 16 
 
 to Rhyno, 24 
 
 Aside, An, 116 
 Astley's Eccentricities, 41 
 At the Victoria, 82 
 Audiences, London, 65 
 
 Paris, 65 
 
 Author, A Bold, 47 
 
 Ignoring the, 105 
 
 Author's Reply, An, 116 
 Awkward Enthusiasm, 6 
 
 B. 
 
 Baddeley's Will, 122 
 
 Bateman, H. L., 95 
 
 Barry and the Barber, 14 
 
 Barry's Pathos, 12 
 
 Bathos, 18 
 
 Belfast, Sovereign of, 38 
 
 Bereaved Pair, A, 7 
 
 Betrayed, The Player, 33 
 
 Betterton and Archbishop Sancroft, 19 
 
 Bibb, The Original of Jeremy Diddler, 54 
 
 Blunt Speech, A, 33 
 
 Bombast, True, 72 
 
 Booth's, Mr,, Appeal by Placard, 121 
 
 Box-Keeper's Fees, Levying, 95 
 
 Braddon, Miss, on Copyright, 112 
 
 " Bring in the Bishop," 72 
 
 Briti-h Public, The Intelligent, 71 
 
 Brooks, Shirley, on Copyright, 112 
 
 Burney's, Miss, Tragedy of " Elvira," 72 
 
 Business, 26, 95 
 
 C. 
 
 Cautious Criticism, 27 
 Centaur, The, at fault, 105 
 Characters, Unsuitable, 64 
 Chatterton, F. B., 95 
 Cherry, Andrew, as Autolycus, 62 
 Circle, Scenes in the, 76 
 Clive, Mrs., and Garrick, 10 
 Clown's, A, Letter to his Wife, 23 
 Collins, Wilkie, on Copyright, 112 
 Colman and Harris at Covent Garden, 49 
 Company, An Unlucky, 124 
 Compliment, A, 29 
 
 False, 44 
 
 Flattering, 60 
 
 Contradiction, A Walking, 24 
 
 Cooke, George Frederick] at Limerick, 121 
 
 and Kemble, 98 
 
 and the Theatrical Tailor, it 
 
 Cooke's Dilemma, 117 
 Threat, 112 
 
 "Cooke, Tom," in the Dying Scene in 
 
 u George Barnwell," 17 
 Correct Elocution, 66 
 Criticism, Friendly, 48 
 Critics, Absent, 58 
 Cue-Hunter, The Unlucky, 60 
 
 D. 
 
 Dead Alive, 36 
 
 Defaulter Acquitted, A, 29 
 
 Demands on the Actor, 85 
 
 Device, A, 49, 67 
 
 Diddler, Jeremy, Original of, 54 
 
 Difference, A Slight, 26 
 
 Dignity, True, 10 
 
 Dilemma, A, 117 
 
 Disagreeing, Doctors, 96 
 
 Discouraging, 116 
 
 Discreet in his Cups, 98 
 
 Doctor, The, Hoaxed, 9 
 
 Dogs on the Stage, 92, 99 
 
 " Done to Order," 6 
 
 Douglas, Isle of Man, The H. B. of, 38 
 
 Dowton on Large Type, 35 
 
 Drama, A Strange, 24 
 
 Drama for Sale, 117 
 
 Dramatic Paralysis, 93 
 
 Dramatist's Note-Book, A, 53 
 
 Dress, Stage, 50, 118 
 
126 INDEX. 
 
 Droll Transpositions, 43 
 
 Drop Scenes, 71 
 
 Drury Lane, Amateurs at, 112 
 
 Mrs. Siddons at, 89 
 
 Dulness of Retirement, The, 5 
 Du?u1reary y Mr. Sothern's Profits on, 114 
 
 E. 
 
 Early Days of Mr. Webster, 41 
 Eccentric Manager, An, 43 
 Effect of a Look, 1 1 
 Effect, Stage, 71 
 Efficacious Hint, An, 36 
 Elaborate Emphasis, 119 
 Electioneering on the Stage, 25 
 Eliot, George, on Copyright, 112 
 Elliston and his Audience, 77 
 Emery and Kemble, 29 
 Enthusiast, A Shakesperean, 53 
 Epilogues, Military, 96 
 Epitaphs, Actors', 123 
 Exaggerated Praise, 104 
 
 F. 
 
 Faces or Fasces, 8 
 
 Fair Retort, A, 119 
 
 Familiar, 99 
 
 Father, A Second, 36 
 
 Feasts, Stage, 36 
 
 Feelings of Actors in playing their Parts, 27 
 
 " Finish" Club, Kemble at the, 74 
 
 Flight from the Altar, 13 
 
 Food, Appropriate, 117 
 
 Forrest ' playing with " Selwyn, 15 
 
 Fortitude, Spartan, 7 
 
 Free Admission, 92 
 
 Free and Easy, 27 
 
 Friendly Criticism, 48 
 
 Gags, 25, 51 
 
 Garrick and Barry, 8 ; " Kitty Give," 66 ; 
 
 Foote, 30 ; Lord Mansfield, 28 ; Dr. 
 
 Monsey, 9 ; Speaker Onslow, 95 : The 
 
 Quack Doctor, 8 
 Garrick, Arthur Murphy's Recollection of, 9 
 
 as "Abel Drugger," 25 
 
 at Goodman's Fields, 87 
 
 Mrs. Clive's Criticism on, 10 
 
 Garrick' s End, 95 ^ 
 
 Expressive Look, n 
 
 last Performance, 107 
 
 Practical Joking, 90 
 
 Sensitiveness as to praise of other 
 
 Actors, 48 
 Garrick, Mrs., and Edmund King, 35 
 Genius, Homage to, 99 
 
 in Obscurity, 98 
 
 Genuine Acting, 25 
 George the Second at the Play, 105 
 Gilbert, W.S., on Copyright, 114 
 Glass " Carved from the Tree," 37 
 Glover, Dr. , Physician and Actor, 36 
 Godwin's Tragedy, Representation of, 56 
 
 Goldsmith's " She Stoops to Conquer," 7 
 
 97 
 Good Benefit, A, 62 
 
 Device, A, 49 
 
 Omen, A, 73 
 
 Grave, Macklin at Barry's, 118 
 Green-room Jokes, 124 
 Griinaldi's House, " No Religion" in, 62 
 Guard of Soldiers at Drury Lane an( 
 
 Covent Garden, 28 
 
 H. 
 
 " Hamlet," with Alterations, 66 
 Harris, A., 95 
 
 Harris, Mr., and C. J. Mathews, 31 
 Haughty Host, A, in 
 Histrionic Dogs, 99 
 Spit, A, 33 
 
 Hoaxed, The Doctor, 9 
 " Hobby, A," 51 
 Holman at Cheltenham, 6 
 Homage, Inconvenient, 26 
 Humbug, 106 
 
 I. 
 
 Ignoring the Author, 105 
 
 Impromptu, 7 
 
 " In and Out, and Out and In again," 19 
 
 Instinct, The Ruling, 8x 
 
 Interpolated Music, 120 
 
 Interruptions to Players, 82 
 
 Irving, Rev. Edward, 96 
 
 11 I will return anon," 15 
 
 J- 
 
 Jerrold's (Douglas) Stage Jests, 6, 51 
 Jests, Actors', 63 
 Jocoseness in Tragedy, n 
 Jokes, Green-room, 124 
 Juste Milieu, The, 86 
 
 K. 
 
 Kean and Cobham, 82 ; Talma, 54 ; Th 
 
 Cue-hunter at Edinburgh, 60 
 Kean's Last Appearance and Death, 89 
 Kean, Edmund, and his Eight "best' 
 
 Iagos, 44 ; Young Phelps, 52 
 Kean's, Edmund, Failure in " Ben Nazir, 
 
 68 ; his Income and Expenditure, 64 
 Kelly, Teddy, alias Zuchelli, 26 
 Kemble, Actor and Architect, 29 
 Kemble and Emery, 29 ; Lewis, 17 ; Mr 
 
 St. John, 10 
 Kemble's Appeal, 16 
 
 Discretion in his Cups, 98 
 
 School of Acting Described, 24 
 
 " Lakers," 37 
 
 Lamb, Charles, on the Representation c 
 
 Godwin's Tragedy, 56 
 Large Receipts, 93 
 Lawler's Improvements -on "Macbeth, 
 
 120 
 
INDEX. 
 
 127 
 
 Letter-Box, A Manager's, 19 
 
 Letter from a Clown to his Wife, 23 
 
 Lewis, Lee, 124 
 
 Linsey Woolsey, 6 
 
 List of Properties, 117 
 
 Liston at Dinner in the City, 17 
 
 on Munden's Avarice, 116 
 
 Liston's First Success, 79 
 
 Literary Acting, 107 
 
 Liverpool Audience, C ooke and the, 16 
 
 London Theatres, The, 86 ; Number of 
 
 Persons attending, 65 
 Longevity of Actors, 31 
 
 M. 
 
 Macklin and Sheridan, 47 
 
 at Barry's Grave, 118 
 
 at Rehearsal, 51 
 
 instructing a Pupil, 46 
 
 , Quin's Opinion of, 9 
 
 Macklin's Discouraging Remark to an 
 Actor, 116 
 
 Polite Request, 17 
 
 Stimulant in acting Shylock, 98 
 
 Macready, as Otliello, at Paris, 26 
 
 Macready, Criticism of, by Richardson, 
 the Showman, 41 
 
 Mai Apropos, 95 
 
 Management of the Voice, Macklin's 
 Method, 46 
 
 Manager, A, and his Actress, 66 
 
 Manager, A Complaisant, 96 ; Eccentric, 
 43 ; Pious, 25 
 
 Manager's Explanation, A, 32 1 
 
 Letter-Box, A, 19 
 
 Mansfield, Lord, and Garrick, 28 
 
 Marston, Westland, on Copyright, 112 
 
 Marriages, Romantic Stage, 84 
 
 Mathews and Dublin Gods, 83 
 
 Mathews, The Elder, 106 
 
 Military " Epilogues," 96 
 
 Miller, the Theatrical Bookseller, and Lis- 
 ton, 63 
 
 Mind, A Practical, 85 
 
 Miser, A, 43 
 
 Mistake, 49, 62 
 
 Modern Play, A, Damned, 44 
 
 Modest Allowance, A, 67 
 
 Mossop's Elocutionary Directions for Wol- 
 sey's Speech, 118 
 
 Motto for French Adapters, Jerrold's, 6 
 
 Munden's Avarice, 116 
 
 Murphy's, Arthur, Recollection of Gar- 
 rick, 9 
 
 N. 
 "Nail, The," 27 
 New Play, A, 117 
 
 " No Religion" in Grimaldi's House, 62 
 Note-Book of a Dramatist, 53 
 
 O. 
 
 Obscurity, Genius in, 98 
 Odd Advertisement, 17; Benefit, 119; 
 Phrases, 30 
 
 OffixA On the Stage, 26 
 
 Off the Stage, Acting, 98 
 
 Old Actors, 85 
 
 Omen, A Good, 73 
 
 Onslow, Speaker, and Garrick, 95 
 
 P. 
 
 Paralysis, Dramatic, 93 
 Paris Theatres, Number of Persons attend- 
 ing, 65 
 Pathos, Barry's, 12 
 
 , True, 66 
 
 Penalty of Greatness, The, 72 
 
 Phillips, Watts, on Copyright, ira 
 
 Picture, Subject for a, 93 
 
 Pit, A Tar in the, 10 
 
 Pit Refreshments, 37 
 
 Placard, Appeal by, 121 
 
 Play, A New, 117 
 
 Play Bills, 33 
 
 Play, Rustics at the, 19 
 
 Player, The, Betrayed, 33 
 
 Players Interrupted, 82 
 
 Polite Request, A, 17 
 
 Practical Mind, A, 85 
 
 Praise and No Praise, 48 
 
 Praise, Chary, 27 : Exaggerated, 104 
 
 , Forcible, 10 
 
 Preachers and Actors, 19 
 Predicament, Unpleasant, 32 
 Pritchard, Mrs., 7, 74 
 Prologue, An Unrehearsed, 118 
 Properties, List of, 117 
 Prophetic, 52 
 Prose and Poetry, 11 
 Puffs, 6 
 
 Q. 
 
 Quack Doctor, The, and Garrick, 8 
 
 Quick and the Furniture Broker, 5 
 
 Quin and Mrs. Pritchard, 7 ; Rich, 35 ; 
 
 War burton, 117 
 Quin's Humour, 8 
 Tricks of Pronunciation, 8 
 
 R. 
 
 Realism, True, no 
 
 Rebuke to Liverpool Slaveowners and 
 
 Merchants by Cooke, 16 
 Receipts, Large, 93 
 Recognition, A., 26 
 Refreshments Sold in Theatres, 37 
 " Remember Me To-morrow !" 99 
 Reply of an Author, 116 
 Retirement, The Dulness of, 5 
 Retort, A Fair, 119 
 
 Reynolds' Prologue on •' Humbug," 106 
 Rhyno, Appeal to, 24 
 Richardson, the Showman,on Macready, 41 
 Romantic Stage Marriages, 84 
 Rough Treatment, 15 
 Rude Interruption, A, 73 
 Ruling Instinct, The, 81 
 Ruling Passion Strong in Life, 10 
 Ruse, A, 107 
 
128 
 
 INDEX. 
 
 Salaries of Actors, 28 
 
 Sancroft, Archbishop, and Betterton, 19 
 
 Scene at the Theatrical Fund Dinner, 108 
 
 Scenes, Drop, 71 
 
 School, A, of Acting described, 24 
 
 " School for Scandal," Gossip about the, 101 
 
 " School's Up ! " 105 
 
 Serve them Right, 18 
 
 Severe, 8, 51 
 
 Shakespeare Improved, 120 
 
 Shakespearean Apropos, 95 
 
 Enthusiast, A, 53 
 
 Sheridan and Boaden, 30 ; Monk Lewis, 
 
 30 ; Sparks, a Dublin Actor, 52 
 Sheridan and the Dog Actor at Drury 
 
 Lane, 101 
 '* She-r-i-dan for ever ! " 25 
 " She Stoops to Conquer," 97 
 Short and Blunt, 35 
 Should an Actor Feel ? 27 
 Shuter and the Two Royal Dukes, 67 
 Siddons, Mrs., and Liston, 79 
 
 and the Country Pot-boy, 5 
 
 atBath, 17 ; at Drury Lane, 
 
 89; at Worcester, 88 
 Siddons', Mrs., First Appearance at Edin- 
 burgh, 27 
 Siddons' Mrs., Salary at Drury Lane, 67 
 Simpson, Palgrave, on Copyright, 114 
 Situation, A, 120; Absurd, 47; Spoiled, 5 
 Skating on the Stage, 49 
 Slang, Stage, 73 
 Soldiers at Theatres, 28 
 Sothern's, Mr., Profits on Dundreary, 114 
 Rebuke to an Officers' 
 
 Mess, 18 
 Sovereign and " H. B.," 38 
 Spartan Fortitude, 7 
 Speeches from the Stage, 93 
 " Spelling" of Kitty Clive, 54 
 Spit, A Histrionic, 33 
 " Sport to you, Death to me," 46 
 Stage Advertisement, 36, 115; Directions, 
 
 6; Dogs on the, 92; Dress, 50, 118; 
 
 Effect, 71 ; Electioneering on the, 25 ; 
 
 Feasts, 36 
 Stage, (9^" and On the, 26 
 
 Thunder, 30 
 
 Trick, A, 47 
 
 "Stick to the Coo!" 18 
 
 Stimulant, A, 98 
 
 Story ten times told, 108 
 
 Struggles of an Actor (Mr. Webster), 41 
 
 Stuart, Beatt'y, a Dublin Actor, 46 
 Swanborough, Miss Ada, 95 
 Sympathy, Well-paid, 8 
 
 Tar, A, in the Pit, 10 
 Taylor, Tom, on Copyright, 112 
 Theatres, The London, 86 
 Theatrical Criticism, 108 
 
 Fund Dinner, Scene at, 108 
 
 Law-suits, 51 
 
 Puffs, 6 
 
 Thunder, 30 
 
 Tipsy Actor in a Tank, 1 10 
 Tit for Tat, 29 
 Tout Punished, A, 5 
 Tragedy, Unintentional, 64 
 Transpositions, Droll, 43 
 True Bombast, 72 ; Dignity, 10 ; Pathos, 
 66 ; Realism, no 
 
 U. 
 
 I Unanswerable, 35 
 Unlucky Company, An, 124 ; Cue-Hunter, 
 
 60; Dresser, 12 
 Unpleasant Predicament, 32 
 Unrehearsed Prologue, An, it8 
 Unsuitable Characters, 64 
 
 V. 
 
 Vanity, 49 ! Youthful, 31 
 Veteran, A. 61 
 
 Villiers, Lord, and his Performances at 
 Henley-on-Thames, 104 
 
 W. 
 
 Walking Contradiction, A, 24 
 
 Warburton and Quin, 117 
 
 Webster, B., 95 
 
 Well Deserved, 17 
 
 Well-paid Sympathv, 8 
 
 "Which be Joey? "26 
 
 Wignell's Apology for a Prologue, n 
 
 Will, Baddeley's, 122 
 
 Wolsey's Speech emphasised by Mos>op, 1 13 
 
 Wood v. Glass, 37 
 
 Y. 
 
 Yorick! Alas Poor, 118 
 
 Z. 
 
 Zuchelli and Michael Kelly, 26 
 
 THE END. 
 
 BRADBURY, AGNEW, & CO. PRINTERS, WHITEFRIARS. 
 
 • 3852 
 
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