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THE 
 
 • LIFE AND WRITINGS 
 
 or 
 
 T. W. ROBERTSON 
 
 BY 
 
 T. EDGAR PEMBERTON 
 
 1 1 1 
 
 author of 
 'a memoir of e. a. sothern,' etc. 
 
 LONDON 
 RICHARD BENT LEY AND SON 
 
 JJublishcv? in (l")ri)imii7) to gjcr c*tVa.jeeti) the (Qurcn 
 
 1893 
 
 [All rights resen'ed] 
 
5:2.32. 
 
 PREFACE 
 
 Although my name appears as the writer of this 
 book, I desire to state that it could not have been 
 produced without the cordial co-operation of my 
 friend, the present T. W. Robertson, who, in collect- 
 ing facts connected with his father's life, did, in 
 fact, a large share of the work. Ha.ving exhausted 
 every possible source of information, he generously 
 left the entire matter in my hands, and this volume 
 would be incomplete without the record of his 
 labours, and the expression of my appreciation of 
 his confidence. 
 
 In view of my somewhat voluminous quotations, 
 I think it not unlikely that I may be accused of 
 " book-making." It has been my aim to deal not 
 
 292470 
 
vi PREFACE 
 
 only with the life, but with the early and forgotten 
 writings of the author of "Caste"; and if I succeed 
 in gaining for these appreciative readers, it is a 
 charge to which I shall willingly plead guilty. 
 
 T. EDGAR PEMBERTON. 
 
 August Uth, 1892. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE LINCOLN CIRCUIT - - - - - 1 
 
 CHAPTER n. 
 
 EARLY DAYS — STRUGGLES - - - - - 40 
 
 CHAPTER HI. 
 
 "DAVID GARRICK," "SOCIETY," AND " OURS " - - U4 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 LATER DAYS — TRIUMPHS - - - - - 196 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 LATER PLAYS AND LAST DAYS - - - - 255 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 CONCLUSION ------- 29U 
 
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 Portrait of T. W. Robertson {from an etching hy R. W. 
 
 Macbeth, A.R.A., after a painting hy E. C. Barnes) ; see 
 
 p. 223 - - - - - Frontispiece. 
 
 Sketches from an Old Song Book (hy James 
 
 Robertson) ----- To face page 
 Interior of the Regency, afterwards 
 
 Prince of Wales's, Theatre - - „ 66 
 
 Exterior of the Regency Theatre - - „ 67 
 
 Facsimile of Handwriting {from original MS. 
 
 of 'Caste') - - - - - „ 204 
 
; , ) ' > 3 
 
 THE 
 
 LIFE AND WRITINGS OF T. W. ROBERTSON 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE LINCOLN CIRCUIT. 
 
 The honourable connection of the Robertson family 
 with the English stage dates back far more than a 
 century ; for the following obituary notice appeared, 
 in the latter part of 1795, in the European Magazine 
 and London Review : 
 
 " At York, aged 82, Mr. James Robertson, 
 formerly the Shuter or Edwin * at the York theatre, 
 from which he retired in 1779, after forty years' 
 service. He possessed the estimable qualities of 
 private life in a high degree, and was the author of 
 many pieces of merit, and particularly a volume 
 of poems by ' Nobody,' as the title-page announced." 
 
 * Shuter and Edwin were celebrated comedians in their day, 
 and those who took their parts were inevitably associated with 
 their names. 
 
2 7777: LIF£ AND WRITINGS OF T. W. ROBERTSON 
 
 This James Robertson, who originally came from 
 Perth, was the great-grandfather of the subject of this 
 memoir, and was, as this little notice points out, 
 himself an actor and an author. He niarried a Miss 
 Fowler, an heiress, and became the father of three 
 sons — Thomas, fJames, and George. Following in 
 their father's footsteps (it seemed as natural for the 
 Robertsons to take to the stage as ducklings do to 
 w^ater), Thomas and James became actors. The 
 former assumed the management of the Lincoln 
 circuit, and the latter achieved the then important 
 position of principal comedian in the York Company. 
 Referring to the elder James, Tate Wilkinson, in his 
 " Memoirs," speaks of visiting York as a " star," and 
 says that he was not very well received in a certain 
 part, because the audience " preferred their favourite 
 Robertson, and deservedly, as he was a comedian of 
 true merit." The younger James Robertson ran 
 away with and married a Miss Robinson, the eldest 
 daughter, by a former husband, of Mrs. Wrench, the 
 wife of Wrench, the celebrated Corinthian Tom in 
 " Tom and Jerry." 
 
 At this time James Robertson was a member of 
 Mrs. Wrench's Company, and Miss Robinson, who 
 was only sixteen years of age, was at a boarding- 
 school at York. They were married on a Saturday, 
 and it is on record that he sent an invitation to his 
 
THE LINCOLN CIRCUIT 
 
 mother-in-law, who was very averse to the match, to 
 dine with them on the following Monday, the induce- 
 ment held out being- " roast goose." 
 
 The young couple had seven children — (Jeorgina, 
 Henry, William, Fanny, Caroline, Maria, and Eliza. 
 
 This second James Robertson (the grandfather of 
 T. AV. Robertson) had his inevitable share of domestic 
 worr}', and drifted into the anxieties of theatrical 
 manag'ement, as is shown by the following extracts 
 from two characteristic letters addressed by him to 
 his friend Mr. Craven, *' Opposite Saddler's Wells 
 Toll-bar, Islington ": 
 
 "Chesterfield, September 19, 1813. 
 
 •' Dear Cravp:n, 
 
 " It is a long time since I have written 
 to you, as I conceived writing to Henry was the 
 same ; but I fancy I have been mistaken, for I think 
 he has sunk some part of my letters. His have been 
 merely a recapitulation of his poverty and requesting 
 assistance, and every time was to be the ' last.' 
 I have always sent him what he asked for till the 
 last time, when he sent for a loan of two pounds. 
 It was not convenient to send two^ therefore I sent 
 one as a present. By Mr. Miller's letter to me, 
 he seems to accuse me of sending him nothing. 
 What has become of Henry's independence of spirit, 
 
4 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF T. W. ROBERTSON 
 
 which he has ever professed, when he sinks into 
 supineness, neglects his business, and wishes to 
 deprive his younger sisters of having as good an 
 education as himself, by applying for repeated loans, 
 w^hen I expected he was independent of me two 
 3'ears ago ? I wrote him my mind in my last. 
 However, to keep him from going to the devil head- 
 long a little sooner (for it must happen when laziness 
 comes in the way), I will send him two or three 
 pounds upon receiving an answer from you signifying 
 I am right in so doing. It is the disposition of every 
 child I have (as well as my wife) to have no 
 ' middle ' in their disposition. They are always in 
 the cellar or garret. I want them to find a dining- 
 room — neither to be too much depressed by common 
 occurrences, nor too elevated at trifling success. 
 Apropos, at the back of the song which Henry 
 sent me a year ago (now lying on the table) 
 are the following words : ' Dear Father, your last 
 has most sensibly affected me, and I shall not be 
 entirely easy from apprehension for some time ; but, 
 come American war or European famine — and if 
 credit or money were both spent — whilst a morsel 
 is to be had you and I shall share it.' When he 
 Avrote that, I sincerely believe he meant what he 
 said ; still, it is what I call being ' in the garret,' 
 for he forgot, should I have wanted, he had not the 
 
THE LINCOLN CIRCUIT 
 
 means to give it to me, no more than I have always 
 the means to give him what he wants, or thinks he 
 wants. 
 
 " I am not one that grumbles much about ' times.' 
 If I can make all ends meet at the year's end I 
 think I have done well — which, thank God, I have 
 this year, and cleared a little by management, for 
 the first time these two years. But that has gone 
 to ray daughter Georgina. You would perhaps hardly 
 credit that. Well as she says she is doing, she is 
 continually writing to me for money. I sent her 
 last week £20, which makes £70 she has had of 
 me since she has settled, which is only a year and 
 a quarter. This is one draw. William,* at Derby — 
 I give Mary half a guinea per week to board him 
 and wash him. I paid that up, and left twelve 
 guineas in hand to keep him till Christmas. 
 Caroline's last half-year's boarding school was £20, 
 and Maria's £l3, which, together with my travelling 
 expenses, and £50 worth of different articles in my 
 house at Nottingham, can't have left me a deal in 
 hand. However, I don't owe one guinea. 
 
 " The reason that I have cleared a little by manage- 
 
 * William Robertson, the father of T. W. Robertson was 
 articled to Mr. Whitson, a lawyer in Derby, but (being a Robert- 
 son) he left the study of the law to become an actor, and 
 ultimately found a home in his uncle Tom's Lincoln Company, of 
 which he afterwards became manager. 
 
6 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF T. W. ROBERTSON 
 
 ment this year is that I have put rny wife to be a 
 check-taker, and the receipts are so much better- 
 visible to every eye, except Mr. M 's, who, many 
 
 ])eople do not scruple to say, has had a finger in the 
 pie. Information of that nature made me place Mrs. 
 Robertson to take checks, and he could not refuse 
 it, as it was (as I observed) to save his pocket and my 
 own. I assure you, I^ottingham races before the 
 last, the houses were robbed as much as £lO per 
 night, and in proportion through the year. I might 
 well be minus! However, my eyes are opened, 
 though we have had a grand blow up, and a fight 
 in consequence, wherein I had the honour of being 
 victorious, if there is any honour in such blackguard 
 
 work. M has tried to sicken Mrs. Robertson 
 
 of check-taking after the first fortnight, by placing 
 obstacles, and finding fault to tire her ; but he forgot 
 woman's disposition. Opposition only adds fuel to 
 the fire, and has made her double her exertions for 
 my interest. . . . 
 
 " Your son is a fine boy, a pretty boy, and a 
 sharp boy. I doubt he is a little bit spoiled ; 
 but that is your concern and none of mine, for 
 I never interfere in a parent's system of educa- 
 tion. Mrs. Cowley observes in * The Wonder,' ' AYhen 
 parents have but one child, they generally make him 
 either a madman or a fool.' Now, it is impossible to 
 
THE LINCOLN CIRCUIT 
 
 make your boy a fool, and I think you will take care 
 that he shan't be a madman. . . . We have had 
 Mr. Betty with us, and answered very well. He 
 opens Sheffield Theatre with us the second week 
 in October." 
 
 The second letter, which is dated from Notting- 
 ham, November 26, 1822, shows, among other things, 
 how the grandfather of T. W. Robertson added the 
 art of scene-painting to his other theatrical occupa- 
 tions. " I anticipated," he says, " your having a cold 
 ride ; but am glad to hear you have not got a cold 
 from it. I continue in the old Gobbo and Launcelot 
 way, and I suppose I shall do till spring. However, 
 I never cough in bed, and sleep like a hound, which 
 is heaven in comparison to my brother Thomas, who 
 writes me word that he has rest neither night nor 
 day for his cough. . . . Your uncle yesterday sent 
 me his new ' Framed Chamber,' to paint on both 
 sides, and a rare lumber-headed thing it is ; also a 
 grove scene. These (as the days are short) will take 
 me till near Christmas. ... If I return with your 
 father to London, I think I shall give my wife the 
 slip for three weeks or a month, and say T am going 
 to Boston to paint the theatre, as that will be about 
 the time I should have gone ; but I believe my 
 brother means to put it off till next year, when I am 
 
8 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF T. W. ROBERTSON 
 
 to go over and do it thoroughly. . . . Do 3^ou know 
 (from opposition) we can buy fine oysters at jSTotting- 
 ham at eightpence per score ? . . . My brother sent 
 me word ' Tom and Jerr}^ ' brought them £20 the first 
 night at Xewark, when they would not have had £2 
 with anything else. It was lucky I persuaded him 
 
 to get it up. M is going on very badly indeed. 
 
 I doubt he must either sell his concern or do worse 
 in a few months. I hate writing to him, but I must, 
 as he owes me ^^1^ of my last half-year's income, 
 due last September. I know I shall receive a croaking 
 letter ; but I must have my bond — as Shylock says 
 — -indeed, I can't do without it." 
 
 James Robertson used the author's pen as well as 
 the artist's brush, and there is in existence a little 
 volume, dated 1804, the title-page of which runs as 
 follows : " A Collection of Comic Songs, Written, 
 Compil'd, Etch'd, and Engrav'd, by J. Robertson, 
 and sung by him at the theatres at Nottingham, 
 Derby, Stamford, Halifax, Chesterfield, and Redford." 
 It was published at Peterborough, and " printed and 
 sold by C Robertson."* These comic songs were, 
 according to the custom of those days, sung by the 
 low comedian of the company between the plays that 
 formed the dramatic entertainment of the evening, 
 and something of their nature may be gathered from 
 
 * His younger brother. 
 

THE BEGGARS. 
 
 By J:JR.ol) erts oai . 
 TUNE. 
 
 W 
 
 S 
 
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 fn7iJiH^0Uir ^^ 
 
 ^ 
 
 i 
 
 ._ »Md . 
 
 i£ 
 
 f [jplJPnhH44 fK^-^^^^ 
 
 Spea»kin6 
 
 JR.ScVlp 
 
 SKETCH FROM AN 0L15 SONG BOOK. 
 

 TGffiHuMouns OF tmeIuiRI^ 
 
 jSfMf(pi804-* 
 
 w^r-c/i^e^z- c^Au/yy/ah-J'Mohertson- 
 
 TUME 
 
 4* 
 
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 g^M 
 
 iji[f;|[iiia[fil'rii/[f!l^ ^ 
 
 iSjJ;^ y£ Li4J4j^ : ^ f^ 
 
 SKETCH FROM AN OLD SONG BOOK. 
 
THE LINCOLN CIRCUIT 
 
 their titles — such as " The Humours of the Turf." 
 " The Drunken Bucks," " The Medley of Lovers," 
 '• The Contented Tar," " What's a Back without a 
 Tain" "John Bumpkin upon Drill," "Dr. Last, 
 Sole and Body Mender," " Tommy Strawyard's Dance 
 at the Wake," " The Pig-selling Jew," and so forth. 
 
 Here is; the opening verse of one entitled " The 
 Begfirar's Imitations " : 
 
 .00* 
 
 " There's a difference between a beggar and a queen, 
 And I'll tell you the reason why ; 
 A queen cannot swagger, nor'get drunk as a beggar, 
 Nor be half so happy as I. 
 
 " Speakmg.— To be sure, they are obliged to support a dignified 
 character. Now, I can change my character as often as I please, 
 though, I believe, I am generally a solicitor ; for I practise at the 
 court of requests ; and as to honesty — why, honesty is — 
 
 " Toll de roll— toll de roll." {Once through for chorus.) 
 
 These choruses are exceedingly varied, and quaintly 
 characteristic of their period. For example, a racing 
 sons: has for its rcifrain : 
 
 " Fillaloo, Smalliloo, Ditheroo, whack. 
 If you're young on the turf, I'd have you go back, 1 
 Or the knowing and deep ones will pocket your pelf. 
 That you may go to the devil and shake yourself." 
 
 A drinking song winds uj) with : 
 
 "Tipsy, dizzy, muzzy, fuzzy, groggy drinking port, 
 We bucks are always muzzy— Oh, damme, that's your sort !" 
 
lo THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF T. W. ROBERTSON 
 
 — and one in which an impossible stage Frenchman is 
 held up to ridicule has for its chorus : 
 
 " With my dau9a, la, la, dan9a long merry ton, 
 Dan9a long merry ton, dan9a, la, la." 
 
 The etched, and in some instances coloured, illustra- 
 tions to these songs are exceedingly droll and clever, 
 remindinof one of the best work of Rowlandson and 
 Cruikshank, An old play-bill, dated Nottingham, 
 1806, where this most industrious of men took a 
 benefit, shows how, in addition to acting (among 
 other things he played clown), and singing between 
 the acts, he painted the scenery, and had a hand in 
 writing the pieces. It also has the odd announcement 
 that " admittance behind the scenes " is rated at 
 " half a gmnea," and it concludes as follows : 
 
 " Mr. Robertsoai respectfully informs those ladies 
 and gentlemen that did him the favour of subscribing 
 to the Print of Nottingham Market- Place that 
 he has coloured several in varnish colours. A 
 specimen may be seen at Messrs. Burbage and 
 Stretton's, and may be had of Mr. Robertson, at his 
 lodgings in Wool])ack Lane ; i)rice half a guinea." 
 
 William Robertson, as we have seen, left the pro- 
 fession that his versatile father had chosen for him to 
 join his uncle Thomas on the Lincoln circuit. In his 
 dramatic compan}' he met Miss Marinus, a charming 
 young actress, to whom he was married in 1828. They 
 
THE LINCOLN CIRCUIT 1 1 
 
 had a very large family^ of whom Thomas William 
 Robertson (born at Newark-upon-Trent, Nottingham- 
 shire, on January 9, 1829) was the eldest, and Madge 
 Robertson (Mrs. Kendal, born at Great Grimsby 
 twenty years later) the youngest. It would appear 
 that at the time that William Robertson joined him, 
 his uncle's health had begun to fail, and that, probably, 
 is why he soon became the manager of the company. 
 But the conditions of the circuit at that period, and 
 the difficulties under which those who worked it 
 laboured, will be best described by some extracts 
 taken from the carefully kept diary of Mrs. Thomas 
 Robertson. In these will be found the first mention 
 of "little Thomas," who was subsequently adopted 
 and educated by this kindly and noble-hearted lady. 
 
 " Boston, April, 1830. — The season is over. 
 What a world of anticipated evils have passed away 
 with seven weeks ! Take everything into consideration, 
 and I have been tolerably happy, my lodgings good, 
 my friends pleased to see me — kind in inviting me, 
 and attentive in showing me every possible politeness 
 — ^the public favourable, and but for the private mis- 
 fortunes, deaths, and other contingencies which affected 
 the box audience, we should have had an average 
 season ; but I am thankful it is even as it is. The 
 journey to Wisbech has been for the last few years 
 anything but pleasant. Rain ! rain ! rain ! together 
 
12 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF T. W. ROBERTSON 
 
 with high winds and bad roads, has made it a matter 
 of unpleasant anticipation ; but, like other antici- 
 pated evils, it was more in apprehension than reality. 
 I arrived safe and into a pleasant lodging. A\liat a 
 train of thoughts crowded on my memory ! It is 
 nearly thirt}^ years since I lodged in these same 
 rooms. As I sat alone I thought of the past. What 
 a change ! I asked myself this question : ' Could the 
 same hours return, with the feelings you now have, 
 would they give you happiness ?' Ko. I would 
 not be as I then was, to be restored to the same 
 state of youth. If I had had the advantages of the 
 improvement of mind which time and reflection and 
 study have since given me, what a different creature 
 I should have been ! but I am most grateful being 
 as I am, for in comparing my present state with 
 the past I am happier, having a thousand ways of 
 pleasing myself innocently, and thus increasing my 
 real felicity. Anticipated pleasure is a source of 
 comfort to the heart ; it gives a tranquillity to the 
 mind. How I anticipated seeing pretty little Thomas, 
 with his golden curls, on my arrival ! how I reckoned 
 on his little feet pattering about my large room, 
 and his fine eyes looking up to me for approval, 
 assistance, or joy! Alas! he was ill, very ill, all the 
 time we were laying plans how we were first to see 
 him, and wondering if he would recognise us. No ! 
 
THE LINCOLN CIRCUIT 13 
 
 What a change did reality produce in the mind, to 
 see the sweet child in one short week of absence 
 so reduced, his eyes heavy and clouded, fretful at 
 being out of his mother's arras a moment, and hiding 
 his head from our sight. But he is better — thank 
 God ! he is better, and I pray humbly that he ma}^ be 
 spared, for I truly love him. . . . 
 
 " Sunday, April 25, 1830. — The first day of any- 
 thing like spring. Friday was a dreadful night. I 
 have just heard that two vessels were lost in Boston 
 Deep. I hope it is not true. I could not sleej^ for 
 thinking of our goods. All that we have is on the 
 water in a little barge. Once all was in great danger, 
 for they were driven on shore ; but they fortunately 
 got off free from damage." 
 
 * * * 
 
 In little ways Mr. Robertson seemed often to 
 annoy his wife ; for she goes on to say : " The weather 
 beautiful. I have had three very pleasant rides. I 
 took out the child" (this was, of course, our friend 
 Tom) ; " he is better, but sadly still. I often wonder 
 how I still go on sacrificing my own particular com- 
 forts for the sake of others, seeing how frequently 
 the wish to give pleasure has turned out the reverse. 
 This morning, in proposing and arranging how to 
 please both parties — for Mr. Robertson has taken a 
 great fancy to riding, and he and little Tom cannot 
 
14 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF T. W. ROBERTSON 
 
 go out at the same time — I only fatigued myseif and 
 gave displeasure to otliers. I wish I could be more 
 selfish. I really think I should be happier. 
 
 " May has commenced — -loveliest May ! I am 
 happy in being able to say that nothing has occurred 
 to destroy or disturb the ease and tranquillity of my 
 mind. Little Thomas has recovered, and comes 
 every day. 
 
 ■3(C "^ ft' *t* "l* 1* 
 
 "AVhat a lovely country ! If the weather would 
 suffer me to enjoy it ; but alas ! rain, rain, rain ! 
 One would be apt to say, ' The heavens do lower upon 
 us for some ill.' Took a drive to Furming Wood, the 
 seat of the Ladies Fitzpatrick. The}' give their name, 
 and take £2 in tickets. Well, that's worth asking for, 
 and it is too far to expect their personal attendance 
 as they are ' well stricken in years.' 
 
 •' The theatre has been open four nights, and the 
 business bad. I fear I shall again lose a heavy sum, 
 and if so, I think I shall sing, ' Oundle, farewell !' 
 
 " Have had little Thomas to visit me. God bless 
 the child ! I fear he has all his father's horrid 
 temper ! Like him — only please him constantly, and 
 you may pass a day tolerably ; but only thwart his 
 will, and the devil appears in all his majesty! Still, 
 I think with care it may be corrected ; but it must 
 be by more judgment, poor boy ! than I fear will fall 
 
THE LINCOLN CIRCUIT i 5 
 
 to his lot to receive. I took a long walk yesterday 
 to a garden. Strange how frequently in this place I. 
 have met with people who knew me long since. The 
 gardener said, when I asked him if he would indulge 
 me with a few flowers, that though it was not his 
 custom to gather them, he should feel a pleasure in 
 obliffino- me, for he had oathered manv for me twentv 
 years before. Here was another old new acquaint- 
 ance ! . He was very civil, and gave me some 
 beautiful flowers, and I gave him an order for the 
 play. The gardener also gave me the chrysalis of a, 
 tiger moth, so in August I must watch its awaken- 
 ing. 
 
 * * * * * * ' 
 
 " Huntingdon^ Tuesday, Septemher 6, I80I. — What 
 a train of eventful occurrences have followed each 
 other since I opened this book ! Now, indeed, I 
 have cause for serious reflection, active exertion, and 
 an humble reliance on that God who alone can 
 deliver and protect me, and on whose mercies and 
 long-sufl*ering and eternal goodness I rely for my 
 future hope and comfort. My suffering husband 
 departed this life at seven o'clock exactly on 
 Wednesday, the last day of August, 1(S31, without 
 one struggle or even a sigh. May it please the 
 Disposer of all good that my end may be as tranquil, 
 as easy! It seems as if a particular providence was 
 
i6 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF T. W. ROBERTSON 
 
 over me, directing all the great events of my life, for 
 ray comforts are much more than any free judgment 
 of my own could direct. Mr. and Mrs. Harper's 
 kindness can never be forgotten. Mr. Harper 
 directed all things for the funeral, which but for his 
 judicious arrangements must have cost twice the sum 
 at least had T been anywhere else, and to have 
 appeared in the same style of respectability. All is 
 over ! I have administered to his will, and no one 
 can molest me. I have paid the funeral expenses, 
 and am engaged in arranging the rest. I have 
 written to Mr. Pavy, Dr. Stanton, Mr. Lawrence, 
 Mr. Swanborough, Mr. Freeman, Mr. R. Turner, and 
 Mr. R. Mason of Lincoln, the latter to solicit his 
 advice relative to a circular addressed to the different 
 corporations. 
 
 " Wednesday^ September 7. — Left Huntingdon at 
 eight in the morning, the weather heavenly, and 
 arrived at Norman at half-past ten, and set off again. 
 I observed that the roads were bad, and that a great 
 deal of rain must recently have fallen. Within two 
 miles of Peterborough I was overtaken by a heavy 
 storm of rain (heavy then, I thought), but I still 
 proceeded on to Deeping. Left Deeping about four 
 o'clock, and after going about three miles was over- 
 taken with one of the most violent storms of rain, 
 hail, and thunder 1 ever was out in. It lasted in 
 
THE LINCOLN CIRCUIT 17 
 
 tovrenU for nearly half an hour, and then, as if to 
 cheer me, one of the finest rainbows appeared directly 
 before me, showing the way I was going. This may 
 appear a childish idea, bat I could not help thinking 
 it an emblem of my state. I have had enough of 
 storms and tempests. God grant that the rainbow of 
 peace and hope may show the horizon of my future 
 days ! Arrived safe, though greatly fatigued, at 
 Spalding, the same day, about half-past six. William 
 met me about a mile from the town very kindly, and 
 seems solicitous for my welfare. Dear little Tom 
 came to see me. He looks rather thin and pale. 
 The little girl also came in the morning. She grows 
 less like me, and more like Tom. 
 
 ** Thursday, September 8. — Awoke, refreshed, at 
 six. Very comfortable at my old lodgings. Rain, 
 rain, rain ! What a day for a coronation ! William 
 dines out with the gentlemen. All necessary. Dear 
 little Tom in very neat mourning for his uncle. I 
 think it a pretty attention, which I am much pleased 
 with. I have spoken to William relative to the sale 
 of my pony. All things considered, it will be better 
 not to have even the ajypearance of any unnecessary 
 expense. 
 
 tIt t^p ^P ^P ^ '^ 
 
 " I am better. The great excitement of the week 
 is over, and within a few pounds of last year. Bad 
 
1 8 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF T. W. ROBERTSON 
 
 enough, 'tis true ; but I am grateful even as it is. 
 
 Discharo-ed Mr. Gr and Mr. Hodoson. I think I 
 
 have done what I ought in both instances. I have 
 sent £20 to Boston, £20 to Newark, and £5 to 
 Wisbeach, so that there is £45 of debt met. God 
 give me the means, through His mercy, to pay every 
 one^ and I will ask no more. 
 
 aL*. jtf j|t ^^ ^fc. ^|& 
 
 " Louth, Sunday^ February 12, 1832. — It is four 
 months since 1 wrote my thoughts and acts, and 
 what a four months I have passed ! No matter ; it 
 is past, and all comment useless. Harass of mind, 
 disappointment, loss, and suffering have closed the 
 year 1831. Never, never to be forgotten are those 
 figures ! 1832 opened on me with brighter hopes. 
 Grantham was comparatively good business. I had 
 a delightful lodging, and my old friends were pleased 
 to see me. I have paid upwards of £100 of my 
 husband's debts, and Hope pointed to the future with 
 cheerfulness. Alas ! Louth is again a place of ruin. 
 What I am to do God only knows. I begin to be 
 ' aweary of the sun.' Constant claims, and no proceeds 
 to meet them. I hope and hope till thought sickens 
 on the delusive shadow. Well, let the worst come, I 
 can safely say that everything that human prudence 
 could do to prevent the ruin was done. I am 
 miserable." 
 
THE LINCOLN CIRCUIT 19 
 
 " Boston, Aprils 18o^. — Recovered my bealtli and 
 spirits much. Alas ! good as the season was, the ex- 
 penses exceeded. My own living, too, was more than 
 I expected, and I was obliged to lend money. 
 
 ^''November 11, 1832. — What a gap in my journal ! 
 April to November! But better not record such a 
 summer as I have passed. God deliver me from such 
 another. What suffering, what anguish, and loss ! 
 Whittlesea ! Shall I ever have the idea of enterinu" 
 that place again ? The cholera there raged in all its 
 fury. I was numbered amongst its victims, and, false 
 or true, was certainly dreadfully ill. All Peter- 
 borough was in a languishing state. Mr. Walkpr, 
 the surgeon, behaved most kindly, and never charged 
 me a shilling."* ■ 
 
 There is surely something very touching in the 
 picture of this courageous and high-principled woman, 
 driving in her pony-chaise along the bad roads, of 
 which she had reminiscences extending over thirty 
 years, deploring the perpetual " Rain ! rain ! rain !" 
 that she knew must keep the people out of the theatre 
 at the journey's end, and bewailing the Money ! the 
 Money! that was at all times so slow to come in. 
 Very tenderly expressed, too, are her love for " little 
 
 * "Let me correct this error. The year after he sent me in a 
 bill of £5 14s. 6d. ! !" 
 
20 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF T. W. ROBERTSON 
 
 Thomas " and her apprehensions with regard to his 
 temper. Her little economies, her simple pleasures, 
 her love of flowers and books, her trust in Omnipo- 
 tence, the little episode of the "tiger moth," are all 
 pleasant things to note ; and no one will deny that 
 her determination to struggle on with a fast-dwindling 
 business, in order that she might pay off the liabilities 
 of her dead husband, was absolutely heroic. 
 
 The Louth disaster receives confirmation from 
 Macready, who on November 29, 1834, joined the 
 Robertson Company as a star, and w^ho in his journal 
 writes : 
 
 " When I was ready to go on the stage " (he was 
 to open in ' Virginius '), "Mr. Robertson appeared 
 with a face full of dismay ; he began to apologize, 
 and I guessed the remainder. ' Bad house ?' ' Bad, 
 sir I there's no one !' ' What ! nobody at all ?' ' ISTot 
 a soul, sir, except the Warden's party in the boxes.' 
 ' What the devil ! not one person in the pit or 
 gallery ?' ' Oh yes ; there are one or two.' ' Are 
 there five ?' ' Oh yes ; five.' ' Then go on ; we 
 have no right to give ourselves airs if the people do 
 not choose to come and see us ; go on at once !' 
 Mr. Robertson was astonished at what he thouoht 
 my philosophy, being accustomed, as he said, to be 
 * blown up ' by his stars when the houses were bad." 
 
 In connection with Louth, Mr. John Coleman tells 
 
THE LINCOLN CIRCUIT ii 
 
 a story* of another famous actor, Samuel Phelps, 
 which, as it shows what had to be endured by those 
 engaged to perform on the okl Lincohi circuit, may 
 be appropriately reproduced here. Mr. Coleman, by 
 the way, makes Phelps tell his own story of his 
 memorable walk from Gainsborough to the unap- 
 preciative town, in the following words : 
 
 " As soon as the clock struck five in the morning 
 I leaped out of bed. It was as dark as pitch, but 
 I slipped into my clothes, and made a start. It had 
 been snowing over-night, and, unfortunately, the snow 
 had given place to a black frost. 
 
 " Getting over the j^round as well as I could, 
 I reached the half-way house before eleven, had a 
 mouth full of bread-and-cheese, a glass of mulled ale, 
 and a pipe. Then off I went again. What with 
 the frost and the sharp wind, I thought the weather 
 was almost as bad as it could be. I was mistaken, 
 however, for about two a dense fog sprang up — so 
 dense and so dark that I could not see a hand's turn 
 before me. 
 
 " Although we were to open that night with 
 'Virginius' and 'The Young Widow,' could I have 
 
 * " Players and Playwrights I have known," by John Coleman, 
 This, and subsequent anecdotes, will convey to the reader of to- 
 day some idea of the difficulties under which the actors of the past 
 laboured. 
 
22 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF T. W. ROBERTSON 
 
 been sure of making my way back in safety to the 
 half-way house, I most certainly would have chanced 
 it, whether we opened or shut ; but hours before I 
 had passed the junction of the four roads, so that 
 if actually I succeeded in retracing my steps as far 
 back, I could not be sure of takino- the ris^ht turning". 
 To keep straight on was the wisest and safest thing 
 to do, so I plodded mile after mile through the fog 
 and the darkness, without hearins; a sino;le sound of 
 life, and without encountering a solitary sign of light, 
 or human habitation, or landmark of any description 
 whatever. That I had lost my way was now quite 
 certain, and every step I took might lead me into 
 one of the bogs or quagmires of the terrible fen 
 country, and then, remembering Burbage's significant 
 epitaph in the Abbey, I arrived at the conclusion 
 that no epitaph would ever be written over my 
 nameless grave. 
 
 *' The weather now began to change. The fog, 
 without lifting or losing its density, became damp 
 and drizzling, and the frost beneath my feet began to 
 melt into sludge of the consistency of pudding. It 
 was as much as I could do to drag my feet through it. 
 
 " Presently I was drenched to the skin, and 
 stricken as with an ague. My teeth began to chatter, 
 my limbs to tremble beneath me. At last I could 
 scarce keep my feet. Yet either to stand still or to 
 
THE LINCOLN CIRCUIT 23 
 
 (rive up the struggle meant death — death immment 
 and inevitable. 
 
 " The thought of the poor wife I had left behind 
 nerved my heart, and gave me strength and courage 
 to struo-crle on for another half-hour, which seemed 
 half a century. 
 
 " kX last, having done all that man could do, I 
 gave it up as a bad job. A few steps more and 
 it would all be over, and then, ' Exit Samuel 
 Phelps !' 
 
 " ' God help her, and take care of her, anyhow !' 
 I gasped, as I fell forward, prone and helpless, to the 
 ground. 
 
 " Even as I did so, at that very moment, loud and 
 clear, and high above my head in the immediate 
 vicinity, a silvery peal of bells rang out the chimes. 
 A quarter, half- hour, three-quarters, four — then 
 silence. 
 
 " Would it never strike ? 
 
 " At last ! One, two, three, four, five, six — seven ! 
 
 " It was seven o'clock, and I had fallen at the very 
 gate of Louth churchyard ! 
 
 " The next instant I was on my feet. I knew my 
 way well enough now. A few moments more and 
 I was in the playhouse. The boys stripped my wet 
 things off me, rubbed me from head to foot, and 
 made me swallow two or three glasses of boiling-hot 
 
24 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF T. W. ROBERTSON 
 
 whisky-and-water. Old Abbott himself brought me, ^ 
 
 not one, but two mutton-chops, broiled to a turn, and 
 a dish of tea ; and with the aid of this strange, 
 incongruous, but potent mixture, at eight o'clock I 
 was on the stage ladling out Appius Claudius as 
 became a noble Roman, ^ay, more ; after the play 
 I kicked up my heels and danced about like a parched 
 pea, in the humours of Mandeville in ' The Young 
 Widow,' to the delight of a crow^ded audience, who 
 yelled at my eccentric vagaries. I don't think that 
 I ever played to a better audience in my life." 
 
 Here is another interesting, albeit sad, glimpse of 
 the Lincoln circuit from the pen of Mr. Coleman, 
 who, in alluding to Mrs. Cuthbert (Phoebe Carey), 
 tlie disowned sister of Edmund Kean, says : 
 
 " During a short engagement at Stamforrl, my 
 brother came to me and said : ' There is a show in 
 the fair, and those poor Cuthberts are acting there.' 
 It was a terrible winter, and the snow lay deep upon 
 the ground. It appeared simply awful to contem- 
 plate the idea of these unfortunates being exposed 
 to the inclemency of the weather at their time of life. 
 Without hesitation, I went down to the fair, found 
 and interviewed them. Poor souls I they had drifted 
 down to the lowest ebb." 
 
 Chiefly through the influence of ]Mr. Coleman, 
 Edmund Kean's unlucky sister and her i^oor old 
 
THE LINCOLN CIRCUIT 
 
 husband became inmates of the Dramatic College, 
 where, he says, " they made a good end on't." 
 
 From the same book we may perhaps be permitted 
 to quote Mr. John Ryder, who says : " I was engaged 
 for walking gentlemen and ' utility ' at a guinea a 
 week, commencing at Hull" (Hull, by the way, is 
 perhaps hardly in the Lincoln circuit, but it is cer- 
 tainly not far otf it), "in January, 1838. Having 
 seen all the great people in town, I thought I knew 
 all about it, and I flattered myself that I was going 
 to astonish the wretched country actors ; but, by 
 Jove ! they astonished me. In the first place, there 
 was the magnificent theatre in Humber Street, with 
 its two tiers of boxes, a grand entrance, and a lobby 
 round which you might drive a carriage and pair, 
 two galleries, a pit like Her Majesty's, two green- 
 rooms, lots of dressing-rooms, and a company of 
 forty or fifty first-rate people — in fact, a much better 
 company than you can find in any West-End theatre 
 just now. 
 
 " On the night of my arrival the play w^as ' Macbeth.' 
 Creswick was Macbeth ; James Chute, Macduff ; 
 Compton, the First Witch ; Downe, Duncan ; and 
 Mrs. Morton Brookes, Lady Macbeth. The rest of 
 the company was equally strong. The piece Avas 
 capitally mounted, and the music admirable. When 
 I saw this specimen of country acting, I felt that 
 
26 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF T. W. ROBERTSON 
 
 there was not much chance of my setting the Humber 
 
 on fire. 
 
 " Next night I opened as Frederick in ' The Wonder,' 
 and I immediately got dismissed, which I suppose 
 served me right for having the conceit to think that 
 such a green gosling as myself could pass muster 
 amongst such a crowd. Downe was (except William 
 Farren and Murray) about the best old man on the 
 stage, but the three C's (Creswick, Compton and 
 Chute) were the 'great guns' of the concern. The 
 first, full of life and go and enthusiasm, was our lead- 
 ing man; the second was our low comedian; the 
 third, a most versatile and accomplished actor, and a 
 very handsome man to boot, was our light comedian," 
 
 Little Thomas — or, as we shall from this point call 
 him, Robertson — was no doubt much indebted for his 
 literary and artistic inclinations to the fostering care 
 of his great-aunt, who wrote charming poetry, was 
 an excellent actress, and in every way a lady 
 of culture and refinement. That he was not long 
 allowed to remain idle the following play-bill will 
 show : 
 
THE LINCOLN CIRCUIT 
 
 THEATRE, WISBECH. 
 
 FOR THE BENEFIT OF 
 
 ME. SHIELD AND MRS. DANBY. 
 
 On Friday Evening, June 13, 1834, 
 
 Will be performed the Musical Drama (taken from the 
 celebrated novel of the same name) called 
 
 ROB ROY ; 
 
 OR, AULD LANG SYNE. 
 
 Rob Roy Macgregor Campbell - - Mr. Florington. 
 
 Sir Frederick Vernon - - - - Mr. Howell. 
 
 Rashleigh Osbaldiston ----- Mr. Childe. 
 
 Francis Osbaldiston ----- Mr. Houghton. 
 
 Captain Thornton . - . - . Mr. Battie. 
 
 MacStuart - - - - - - - - Mr. Wilson. 
 
 Major Galbraith . . - - - Mr. W. Robertson. 
 Hamish {lioh Pmfs Son) - - MASTER T. ROBERTSON. 
 Dougal -------- Mr. Shield. 
 
 Andrew - - - - - - - - Mr. Snape. 
 
 Baillie Nicol Jarvie ------ Mr. Compton. 
 
 Helen Macgregor . . - . Mrs. W. Robertson. 
 
 Mattie - - - Miss Webb. 
 
 Martha ..-.---- Miss Spray. 
 Jean M' Alpine - - - - - - Mrs. Danby. 
 
 Diana Vernon Mrs. Howell. 
 
 A Variety of Songs, Duets, etc., incidental to the Piece. 
 
 A COMIC SONG BY MR. COMPTON. 
 A FAVOURITE SONG BY MR. HOUGHTON. 
 
>8 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF T. W. ROBERTSON 
 
 To conclude with the favourite Farce of 
 
 THE BEEHIVE; 
 
 OR, INDUSTRY MUST PROSPER. 
 
 Min^'-le ------- Mr. Compton. 
 
 Captain Merton - Mr. Childe. 
 
 Rattan -------- Mr. Shield. 
 
 Joey -------- Mr. Howell. 
 
 Mrs. Mingle ------- Mrs. Danby. 
 
 Cicely - - Miss Webb. 
 
 Emily {with a Song) ----- Mrs. Howell. 
 
 Doors opened at six, to begin at seven. Boxes, 3s. 6d. ; 
 Pit, 2s. ; Gallery, Is. 
 Tickets to be had of Mr. Shield, at Mr. Copeman's, near the 
 Baths; of Mrs. Danby, at Mr. Ellis's, Market Place; at the 
 Printing Office, and the usual places. 
 
 On MONDAY, the 16th, Performances for the Benefit of Mr. 
 and Mrs. Howell. 
 
 On TUESDAY, the 17th, for the Benefit of Messrs. Compton 
 and Houghton, the Comedy of "The Poor Gentleman," with 
 " The Illustrious Stranger," by desire of the Wisbech Independent 
 Lodge of Odd Fellows. 
 
 Thus at the early age of fivej^ears Robertsonmade 
 his first appearance on the stage, and until he was 
 sent to school he was the young Roscius of the 
 Lincoln circuit. In connection with this first 
 appearance it is interesting to note that thirty-five 
 years later Compton, who was the Baillie Nicol 
 Jarvie of the occasion, played at the Haymarket the 
 eccentric comedy part of Captain MountrafFe, in 
 
 \ 
 
THE LINCOLN CIRCUIT 
 
 " Home," the now well-known comedy, in three acts, 
 by this same " Master T. Robertson." 
 
 Of the days when she and her brother Tom used 
 to play children's parts on the circuit. Miss Fanny 
 Robertson says : " The towns visited were Lincoln, 
 Boston, Grantham, Newnrk, Stamford, Wisbech, 
 Peterborough, Whittlesea, Huntingdon, and others. 
 We stayed for three or four weeks in each town, 
 returning for any special occasion, such as a fair or a 
 race-week. In the summer the journeys were very 
 pleasant, and we youngsters greatly enjoyed them. 
 At many a wayside inn, where we used to stay to 
 refresh on ham and eggs, and bread and cheese 
 (delicious fare when one is really hungry), our 
 coming used to be eagerly anticipated, and I have 
 often heard a landlord say : ' I thought you would 
 be here soon ; I have been expecting you. We were 
 always welcomed with a smile, and we children were 
 allowed to gather flowers and fruit. In the winter 
 it was not so ao;reeable. We had to rise in the 
 dark, and very often had to get out of our convey- 
 ance to walk up the hills in the snow. I remember 
 once going up a hill close by Grantham ; we were 
 ' stuck fast,' and all had to alight, the gentlemen of 
 the company literally ' putting their shoulders to the 
 wheel.' " 
 
 Of Robertson's juvenile efforts as an actor, his 
 
30 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF T. W. ROBERTSON 
 
 sister says : " My brother Tom as a little boy played 
 Cora's child in ' Pizarro,' the Count's child in ' The 
 Stranger,' and other parts of a similar nature, until, 
 when he was about seven years old, he was sent to 
 school by his great-aunt, Mrs. T. Robertson. My 
 first remembrance of him on the stage was when he 
 played the young King Charles in ' Faint Heart never 
 won Fair Lady,' on the occasion of his aunt's benefit 
 at Boston. He was then home for his holidays. 
 Young as he was, he showed his ready wit and 
 aptitude for the stage ; for being unable to open 
 a door where his exit should have been made, he 
 turned to Ruy Gomez, and said with the utmost 
 coolness, ' The door is locked ; follow me to the 
 corridor !' and, amid the applause and laughter of 
 the audience, strolled off on the opposite side. He 
 was then between eleven and twelve years of age. 
 
 " He also played Franc^ois in ' Richelieu ' with 
 . Macready. This was at Stamford, on the occasion of 
 one of the celebrated tragedian's visits to my father's 
 circuit. He was then about fourteen, and in the 
 act where Richelieu says, ' Never say fail again !' 
 he quite upset the great actor's equilibrium. ^lac- 
 ready's business was to recall Franc^ois just as he 
 was quitting the stage ; but not knowing this, Tom 
 remained on the same spot. On seeing this, Macready, 
 who was always irritable at rehearsal, turned angrily 
 
THE LINCOLN CIRCUIT 31 
 
 upon him, and said, 'Well, sir, what are you doing 
 here ?' Tom looked rather foolish, but instantly 
 replied, ' Waiting for you to speak.' ' I told you 
 to go,' shouted ^lacready. ' Turn and leave the 
 stage at once, sir ! If / do not recall you in time it 
 will be my fault !' Macready rehearsed this exit of 
 Tom's several times, each time, in order to catch him 
 off his guard or to see that he understood him, doing 
 it differently. At one moment he would recall him, 
 at others he would let him get quite off the stage ; and 
 the result was that at night Tom, bewildered and 
 annoyed at these tediously repeated rehearsals, left 
 the stage so rapidly on being told to ' go,' that before 
 Macready could recall him he was down the stairs and 
 in his dressing-room, and the iamoiis words, ' Xever 
 say fail again !' had to be spoken to empty space. 
 Macready was very angry with Tom, and after the 
 act sent for him to his dressing-room, but FrauQois 
 refused to be lectured by Richelieu, and declined to 
 
 go. 
 
 . But these were "holiday tasks," and it is to 
 Robertson's school-days that we must now refer. 
 
 He was about seven years of age when he was 
 sent to the Spalding Academy, of which Mr. Henry 
 Young was the head-master,, and during the four or 
 tive years that he remained there he was exceedingly 
 popular, both with the masters and his schoolfellows. 
 
32 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF T. W. ROBERTSON 
 
 Often some quaint and aprojws quotation from a part 
 that he had played in his childhood would " set the 
 schoolroom in a roar." It was, indeed, owinof to his 
 early connection with the stage that the boys of the 
 Spalding Academy accustomed themselves to give 
 amateur performances in the old Spalding theatre. 
 
 " He was," writes one of his old schoolfellows, 
 " one of the wits of the school, and if he were at the 
 blackboard (' slates ' they were then called) of one 
 division, and another boy named Adderley Howard 
 at the other, the school, to the consternation of the 
 ffood old dominie, was sure to be convulsed with 
 laughter. We used to have public ' speakings ' in the 
 old theatre in Broad Street, and at these Robertson 
 was, of course, a star. I recollect that at one of them. 
 he represented a tailor in a farce, while I was cast for 
 the part of the Prince of Wales in a scene from 
 ' Richard III.' A worthy gentleman (I think he was 
 a Wesleyan minister) asked Robertson, after the per- 
 formance was over, if he would not rather have been 
 ' the little boy who sat in the great chair ?' This was, 
 by the way, the Worshipful Master's chair from the 
 Freemasons' Lodge. * No,' promptly responded 
 Robertson ; ' I'd rather be a real tailor than such a 
 tailor of a prince as that.' A little later on we had an 
 usher of poor abilities, who was very unpopular in the 
 school. On November 5 Robertson managed, while 
 
THE LINCOLN CIRCUIT 
 
 33 
 
 Mr, Young- vvas out of the room, to light a cracker 
 under this gentleman's chair, the consequence being 
 that the unfortunate and timid teacher was nearly 
 driven out of his wits. Terrible things were threat- 
 ened, but Ro bertson's popul arity was so great that, 
 although every boy in the school knew who had done 
 the deed, no one would betray him," 
 
 " I saw him," says the writer of this letter, "a very 
 short time prior to his death, when he was passing 
 through Spalding, and called upon me. We had a 
 long chat together ; but he seemed depressed in spirits, 
 and in his appearance was so altered that at first I did 
 not recognise him." 
 
 From the Spalding Academ}^ Robertson was sent 
 to a s chool at Whittles ea, jind there he remained until 
 business in the Lincoln circuit became so bad that 
 economy compelled, rather than suggested, his return 
 to the stage. 
 
 He was then about fifteen years of age ; and as 
 other little Robertsons had in the meantime grown up 
 to play mere children's parts (it used to be said in 
 those days that the much-tried William Robertson 
 and the good Margherita Elisabetta, nee Marin us, his 
 wife, always had a juvenile stock company available 
 for any emergency ready to hand), Robertson and his 
 elder sister, whose reminiscences have already been of 
 service to us, figured in the play-bills under the 
 
 3 
 
34 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF T. W. ROBERTSON 
 
 imposing names of " Mr. Williams " and " ]Miss 
 Frances." 
 
 Of this period Miss Fanny Robertson writes : " At 
 Malton, Burlington Quay, Darlington, Stockton,* and 
 the other towns that I have mentioned, my brother 
 played every description of part. At Malton lived the 
 father of Charles Dickens, with his son Alfred, and they 
 came constantly to the theatre. From Alfred Dickens 
 my brother received much praise for his performance 
 of John Peerybingle in a stage version of ' The Cricket 
 on the Hearth,' and he came several times to see the 
 piece, which was chiefly played by the members of 
 our family. My brother was especially clever in 
 eccentric comedy, and in what are technically known 
 on the English stage as ' French ' parts. The well- 
 known ^lonsieur Jacques was a very favourite part 
 of his. He was also very popular as Dr. Pangloss, 
 Jeremy Diddler, Young Marlow, Charles Surface, and 
 a host of other parts too numerous to mention. Be- 
 tween the pieces he and I, as Charity Boy and Girl, 
 used to sing a comic duet, called ' One Day while 
 Working at the Plough,' hnishing with a dance. I 
 remember on one occasion, at Burlington Quay, during 
 the race- week, my brother wrote a song in which it 
 was advertised he would tell the winner of the next 
 
 * Efforts had evidently been made to extend the moribund 
 Lincoln circuit. 
 
THE LINCOLN CIRCUIT 35 
 
 day's race. I need scarcely say that this was ' The 
 Horse that came in First' " 
 
 At this time Robertson wrote a great number of 
 the then po pular l ow comedian's entr'acte songs, and 
 even in this poor form of dramatic art (we have 
 in this connection already quoted his grandfather) 
 he attempted reforms. 
 
 " Tom," says Miss Fanny Robertson, " was always 
 clever with his pen, and as soon as he could write, he 
 was at work at plays for us to act as children. Later 
 on he wrote for the company. As soon as the book 
 was published (he was then seventeen years of age) 
 he dramatized Charles Dickens's story, ' The Battle 
 of Life,' and two years later he produced a stage 
 version of ' The Haunted Man.' I remember our 
 waiting very anxiously to get the earliest possible 
 copies of these Christmas books, and how we at once 
 went with them to the theatre, I acting as amanuensis, 
 and he walking about with the story in his hand and 
 dictating to me. When the manuscript was finished 
 it was taken home to be altered or approved by our 
 father. Both plays were produced at Boston." 
 
 For a considerable time Robertson continued to 
 write, act, manage, prompt, paint, and perform every 
 conceivable duty, in the theatres on the Lincoln / 
 circuit, and it can be gathered that, as far as he was 
 concerned, his famous remark of being nursed on 
 
36 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF T. W. ROBERTSON 
 
 " rose-pink and cradled in properties " had abu ndant 
 foundation. But from a business point of view 
 things were going from bad to worse ; and restless 
 and ambitious, and wishing to see something of the 
 world, he determined to make a new departure on his 
 own account. During all these hard-working days 
 he had not for one moment relaxe d his studies. 
 From his father he received abundant assistance, and 
 he had especially perfected himself in the French 
 language, which from that time forth he spoke as if 
 to the manner born. His desire to read and write 
 and add to his education was insatiable, and it was 
 this that induced him, in 1848, to apply for the 
 position of English-speaking usher in a school at 
 Utrecht, in Holland. His application was successful, 
 but his experiences were bitterly disappointing. 
 Arriving, after great difficulties, at Utrecht, he found 
 himself in a small academy of limited means and a 
 still more limited number of pupils, who immediately 
 took as strong a liking for him as they had hatred for 
 a red-haired native-born usher, who was a harsh, 
 cruel, and in every respect objectionable man. The 
 consequence of this was that relations between the 
 two masters became hopelessly uncomfortable, and, 
 added to this, the salary was paltry and the food bad, 
 being served up in a way which Robertson subse- 
 quentl}^ described as " sowing the first seeds of 
 
THE LINCOLN CIRCUIT 37 
 
 biliousness " in his delicate constitution. Meat, 
 vegetables, and pudding were piled on one plate, 
 with a hunch of horrible-looking black bread on the 
 top, " gazing down with a scowl and an ' eat-me-if- 
 you-dare ' look on its sable surface." Thoroughly 
 sickened of this wretched existence, he pined for 
 home ; but his slender means had been absorbed in 
 his outfit and outward journey, and without money 
 or friends he could not reach it. In his perplexity 
 he called on the British Consul, and through his kindly 
 aid was enabled, after a very brief absence, to rejoin 
 his family at his own birthplace — Newark. 
 
 In later years Robertson would keep his children 
 amused for hours with stories of his treatment of the 
 boys when he w^as a schoolmaster, and of how he 
 used to encourage them to plague the "native " usher, 
 who subsequently had the unenviable honour of 
 figuring as the cleverly drawn but unamiable character 
 of Krux in the comedy called "School." 
 
 This attempt at a new life having failed, Robertson 
 resignedly settled down to his old work, and played 
 everything, from Hamlet down to the low comedy 
 parts in such farces as " Did you ever send your wife 
 to Camberwell ?" but most particularly distinguishing 
 himself in broken English and French parts. 
 
 Hard and conscientious work, however, could do 
 nothing for the numbered days of the Lincoln circuit. 
 
38 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF T. W. ROBERTSON 
 
 Every season became worse. Lincoln, Boston, Grant- 
 ham, Peterborough, Newark, Spalding, Wisbech, and 
 the other at-one-time faithful towns, no longer 
 supported the time-honoured and industrious little 
 company. Railways had sprung up and destroyed 
 the comparative isolation of the small from the larger 
 towns, and local interests became absorbed in the 
 now accessible wonders to be seen in the great world 
 outside the little circle to which they had been 
 accustomed. The end soon came, and the pecuniary 
 oblio-ations which had been contracted in the fond 
 hope of a turn in the tide of affairs led to such 
 embarrassments that AVilliam Robertson was com- 
 pelled to disband his company, and the familiar and 
 historical J^incoln circuit became a thing of the past. 
 
 It was a sad breaking-up. The anxieties and 
 troubles were not so hard to bear as the severance of 
 family ties — for the Robertsons had been a noble 
 example of self-sacrifice to each other's interests ; 
 but it had to be, and, amongst the rest, " Tom" was 
 for the hrst time in his life face to fiice with the 
 world. 
 
 It is pleasant to note that William Robertson, 
 who, in s])ite of his anxious and troubled early life, 
 achieved a ripe old age, lived to see his eldest son 
 the most cultured and prosperous dramatist of his 
 day, and his youngest daughter one of the most 
 
THE LINCOLN CIRCUIT 39 
 
 / brilliant actresses that have graced the English stage. 
 
 ' The second James Robertson died in 1828, and was 
 
 buried in the same grave as his partner M , with 
 
 whom he once fought ! The record of this is to be 
 found at St. Mary's Church, '• opposite Barrow's 
 Yard," Nottingham. Mrs. Thomas Robertson, from 
 whose diary quotations have been freely taken, died 
 December 19, 1855, aged eighty-seven. WiUiam 
 Robertson died in 1872 ; in four years his devoted 
 wife followed him ; and they lie together in Highgate 
 Cemetery. 
 
 Left to his own resources, " Tom " Robertson — 
 then about twenty years of age — naturally sought 
 the great world of London, and, to use his own 
 
 j words, " ceased to live and began to exist." 
 
CHAPTER II. 
 
 EARLY DAYS STRUGGLES. 
 
 It is painful to write of Robertson's early days in 
 London. A1)le and anxious to work with his pen, 
 he was wholly unable to meet with encouragement 
 or remunerative employment, and, in order " to keep 
 body and soul together," the poor fellow w^as com- 
 pelled to hover about the theatres in order to secure 
 such paltry acting engagements as chance placed in 
 his way. These sometimes took him into the coun- 
 try, sometimes kept him in London ; but they were 
 always of the briefest duration, and were generally 
 luider the manaoement of a gentleman w^ho " had 
 been occasionally known to pay half- salaries, but full 
 ones never." That Robertson was anything but a 
 bad actor will soon be shown ; but he was at this 
 time little more than a boy, and the wonder is that 
 lie obtained a sufficient number of these precarious 
 engagements to enable him to live. 
 
 liut never for one moment losing dignity or self- 
 
EARL Y DA YS— STRUGGLES 41 
 
 possession, he contrived to rub on ; and that, even 
 in those sad struggling days, his heart was in his 
 pen is proved by the fact that in his leisure hours he 
 contrived to write an original two-act comic drama, 
 entitled " A_Night's Adventure; or, Highways and i^5"l 
 Byeways." This was in due course submitted to 
 Mr. William Farren, the then manager of the Olympic 
 Theatre, and, to the unbounded delight of Robertson, 
 accepted. It is easy to picture the joy of the eager 
 and persevering young dramatist. An original play 
 from his pen was about to be produced (by a first- 
 class company) at a West-End theatre ! Fame and 
 Fortune henceforth lay at his feet. One can fancy 
 the enthusiastic messages that were despatched to his 
 hard-working and anxious father, and his old friends 
 of the Lincoln circuit, and how they would congratu- 
 late " Tom " on the successful result of his hard 
 work, and (for you always have to add the saving 
 clause) his " slice of luck," Poor Tom ! It was a 
 slice so unsatisfactory that it served neither to whet 
 nor stay the appetite. 
 
 "A Night's Adventure" was produced at the 
 Olympic on August 25, 1851 ; and in the cast 
 were Mr. H. Farren, Mr. Diddear, Mr. Gr. Cooke, 
 Mr. Kinloch, Mr. Norton, Mr. Clifton, Mr. Shelders, 
 Mrs. Adams, and Miss Louisa Howard. It was pre- 
 ceded by " Hearts are Trumps," with Mr. William 
 
42 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF T. IF. ROBERTSON 
 
 Farren, Mr. Compton, and Mrs. Stirling in the lead- 
 ing characters ; and the evening's performance termi- 
 nated with the representation of Robert Soutar's farce 
 entitled " The Fast Coach." 
 [ As "A Night's Adventure" was the first play of 
 importance produced under the name of T. AY. 
 Robertson, a brief account of its plot and purpose 
 mav be excused. 
 
 The story turned on one of those supposititious 
 intrigues carried on (on the stage) for the restoration 
 of the Pretender, Charles Edward Stuart, in the 
 reio-n of Geora^e II. Claude Du Val, " the ladies' 
 highwayman," in the exercise of his vocation stops 
 on a lonely road the carriage of Lord Chief Justice 
 Pleadon, and in the politest manner possible robs his 
 lordship and his daughter Clorinda — taking from 
 them not only rings, watches, money, and other 
 " portable properties, " but a box of important 
 Government documents. By some means the adven- 
 turous Claude obtains possession of a letter of 
 introduction (with which the Comte de Chambord, a 
 secret agent of the Pretender, had been entrusted) to 
 a certain Justice Jolterhead, who plays a double game 
 of politics by being openly a magistrate in the 
 commission of the peace under the Hanoverian King, 
 and secretly a partisan of the Stuart dynasty. By 
 means of this letter the highwayman introduces 
 
EARLY DAYS—STRUGGLES 43 
 
 himself and two of his gang- as the Comte de 
 Chambord and his servants into the house of the 
 muddle-pated double-faced justice, where he meets 
 with two genuine agents of the Pretender — the one a 
 Scotch major, and the other an Irish captain — who 
 entrust to the pseudo-Count a large sum of money 
 for the support of the cause, and a valuable miniature 
 of Charles Edward set in emeralds. The justice 
 himself places £1,000 in the " Count's " hands as the 
 bribe for an earldom which he hopes to get when the 
 Jacobite King comes into "his own''; and Dolly, 
 the cherry-cheeked and comely daughter of the 
 justice, falling desperately in love with the supposed 
 gallant foreigner, unhesitatingly agrees to run away 
 with him, and give him her hand, heart, and fortune. 
 In the midst of the highwayman's successes the Lord 
 Chief Justice and his daughter arrive at Justice 
 Jolterhead's. It is the morning after the robber}^ 
 but, notwithstanding the manifest suspicions of his 
 victims, Claude determines to brazen things out, and 
 does so with such convincing assurance that Clorinda 
 entrusts him with the care of a valuable diamond 
 necklace intended for a friend in Paris. Meanwhile 
 a large party of the Stuart adherents arrive, and one 
 among them, who is personal 1}^ acquainted with the 
 real Comte de Chambord, denounces Claude as an 
 impostor. The Chief Justice is also recognised, and 
 
44 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF T. W. ROBERTSON 
 
 the Jacobites are about to secure their own safety by 
 running- both through the body, when Claude blows 
 his whistle, his armed followers rush in, and the scale 
 is turned in favour of the Hanoverians. Between the 
 two parties a compromise is now effected. As a 
 reward for the service just rendered him, the Chief 
 Justice willingly pardons Claude. On laying down 
 their arms the conspirators are permitted to escape ; 
 Dolly has her jewels and settlements restored to her ; 
 and Claude, keeping for himself the £1,000, the 
 miniature of the Pretender, and the papers of the 
 Comte de Chambord, returns to the Chief Justice 
 and his daughter the things of which he robbed 
 them. 
 
 When " A Night's Adventure " w^as produced at 
 the Olympic, the counter-attractions at the other 
 leading London theatres were : Italian opera at Her 
 Majesty's and Covent Garden ; an American and 
 French equestrian troupe at the historic Drury Lane ; 
 " Good for Nothing," " Queen of a Day," and other 
 light pieces at the Haymarket, then under the 
 management of Benjamin Webster ; " The Gamester " 
 and the inevitable supplementary farce at the 
 Princess's. At the Lyceum ^ladame Vestris offered 
 her patrons a bill of fare that included " Court 
 Beauties," " King Charming," and " Box and Cox." 
 At the St. James's the clever Bateman children were 
 
EARL Y DA YS— STRUGGLES 45 
 
 to be seen in " Richard III." and " The Young 
 Couple "; Phelps in '' Hamlet " was the attraction at 
 Sadler's Wells; ''Punch's Playhouse" (now the 
 Strand) offered, under the direction of Mr. W. R. 
 Copeland, a varied programme which wound up with 
 a burlesque on the well-worn theme of " Lady 
 Godiva"; and at the Adelphi the ol9tli night of 
 " The Green Bushes " was proudly announced, from 
 which it will be seen that " lono- runs " were not 
 unknown in 1851. 
 
 " A Night's Adventure " was advertised as " a 
 great success " by the management ; but it was 
 condemned by the critics, and had a brief and 
 ing'lorious run. 
 
 Poor Robertson's disappointment cut him to the 
 heart, and when Farren, chagrined by the loss and 
 vexation consequent upon failure, angrily declared 
 
 that it was " a d d bad play," he unwisely sealed 
 
 his fate at the Olympic by hotly retorting 
 (Robertson was ever ready with a retort) that it was 
 "not so bad as the actins;." 
 
 So far from being a bad i)lay, " A Night's 
 Adventure " was, according to the taste of the times 
 in which it was produced, an exceedingly good one — 
 full of action and picturesque situation, but, like 
 many other well-conceived and well-written plays, it 
 lacked what Robertson's gifted sister, Mrs. Kendal, 
 
 i 
 
46 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF T W. ROBERTSON 
 
 lias not very long ago summed up as " the indefinable 
 sometJiing " — and failed to attract audiences. 
 
 What this meant to Robertson, and how he 
 suffered under the disaster, no tongue can tell. He 
 was but twenty-two years of age, and after two years 
 of friendless struo-o-le in London he had managed by 
 dint of incessant hard work and indomitable per- 
 severance to float in the longed-for harbour of the 
 unacted dramatist. A play of his had been accepted 
 at a recognised West-End theatre. Fancy, if it had 
 succeeded, what this would have meant for him ! For 
 his quickly conceived and rapidly written plays there 
 would have been a ready market, and in a modest 
 w^av reputation and a regular income would have 
 been his ; but " A Night's Adventure " was damned, 
 and with the terrible hall-mark of " failure " stamped 
 boldly upon him, its luckless author had to fall back 
 into the unknown crowd and, smarting under defeat, 
 to earn his living as best he might among those who 
 do duty in the rank and file of stageland. 
 
 That " A Night's Adventure," its failure notwith- 
 standing, M'as a play of considerable merit is proved 
 by the fact that it was (albeit the work of an un- 
 known dramatist) accepted and ]3roduced by the 
 astute William Farren ; but it was condemned by 
 the press and public, and, as a matter of consequence, 
 did its struggling author fiir more harm than good. 
 
EARL Y DA YSSTRUGGLES 47 
 
 He had once more to resort to his acting, and 
 having been lucky enough to obtain an engagement 
 under the management of Mr. Phelps at Sadler's 
 Wells, he appeared as Gleomenes in " Winter's Tale," 
 Ross in " Macbeth," Osric in " Hamlet," De Bering- 
 hen in '' Richelieu," Gaspard in " The Lady of 
 Lyons," Lord Glossmore in '* Money," and other 
 characters of a kindred type. 
 
 At a summer season at this theatre, under the 
 temporary management of Mr. Davenport, he made a 
 notable hit as Captain Crosstree in Douglas Jerrold's 
 well-known play, the Black-eyed Susan of the cast 
 being Miss Fanny Vining. 
 
 It was just at this time that Henry Irving, then a 
 mere boy, had at Sadler's Wells his first taste of 
 the theatre. Phelps played Hamlet, and Irving — 
 destined to be the finest Hamlet of the day — has 
 often told the friends of his later life of the })rofound 
 impression that the phi}' and the acting made upon 
 his mind. There is hardly any doubt that the Osric 
 of that memorable evening was Robertson. 
 
 A little later on he became a member of the com- 
 pany at the Theatre Royal, Richmond, tlien under the 
 management of Messr^■. S. and M. Dias, and here he 
 played all sorts of parts in the popular dramas and 
 farces of those days, repeating, among other things, 
 his successful impersonation of Captain Crosstree. It 
 
48 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF T. W. ROBERTSON 
 
 is curious to note that this time the Susan was an 
 actress bearing the unusual name of Feist — the 
 maiden name of Robertson's second wife. 
 
 It was during this epoch that Robertson first 
 became acquainted with H. J. Byron, and the close 
 friendship commenced which lasted in a brotherly 
 fashion all their lives. They acted together in 
 provincial stock companies, and many were tlie 
 schemes that they formed for giving their talents 
 free play, and escaping the irksome drudgery of their 
 existences. 
 
 Once, during a long period wdien no engagements 
 of any sort were to be obtained, they w^ere in London 
 together, and decided that the time to assert them- 
 selves had arrived. In the country they had carefulty 
 w^ritten an " entertainment," Avhich had in due course 
 been produced, and although their acting in it had so 
 far done little towards making their fortunes, they 
 had sufficient fliith in its drawing powers and in 
 themselves to resolve to try its effect on London 
 audiences. Accordingly, a room in the Gallery of 
 Illustration was engaged, and no effort was spared to 
 make the venture a success. The entertainment was 
 so ingeniously constructed that, while Byron was 
 facing the auditorium in its first part, Robertson acted 
 as money-taker ; and when Robertson made his 
 appearance on the miniature stage, and prior to their 
 
EARLY DA YS— STRUGGLES 
 
 49 
 
 appearance in a duologue, which was the last item on 
 the programme, Byron took his turn in the pay-box, 
 a proceeding which he subsequently declared to have 
 been " wholly unnecessary." 
 
 It was not without the assistance of a kind friend, 
 who paid the first week's rent in advance, and helped 
 with the printing, advertisements, and other inevitable 
 preliminary expenses, that the enterprise was floated, 
 and when the fateful opening night arrived the poor 
 " entertainers " had not a farthing between them. 
 Robertson was sanguine, and hoped that the experi- 
 ment might result in a permanent success, but Byron 
 was less hopeful, and listened to his friend's predic- 
 tions with a sickly smile and a sinking heart. 
 
 The performance was advertised to commence at 
 eight, but the clock stood at a good ten minutes past 
 that hour before anvone troubled the anxious Robert- 
 son in his little box-office. At last a gentleman 
 tendered a sovereign, and asked if " there were any 
 front seats left." " Oh yes," replied Robertson 
 pleasantly, "both right and left. I will bring you 
 your change " (poor fellow ! he had none of his own) 
 "in a minute, sir." The gentleman entered the 
 empty room. Robertson rushed out to get change, 
 returned eighteen shillings to his patron, and ex- 
 pended fourpence out of the remaining two shillings 
 on stout for the dejected Byron, who, in an agony of 
 
 4 
 
50 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF T W. ROBERTSON 
 
 nervousness, was peeping through the curtain. In his 
 own hands Robertson bore to his partner the pewter 
 containing the invigorating draught. 
 
 *' Have the critics arrived ?" asked Byron in an 
 anxious voice. 
 
 " No," replied Robertson ; " but, then, they are 
 always late." 
 
 " Are they ?" asked Byron dubiously. 
 
 '"' Of course they are," was the answer. " Come, 
 you had better commence and get it over." 
 
 " Tom," said Byron, with the spirit of prophecy 
 upon him, " I think this is going to be a failure." 
 
 To this Robertson deigned no reply, and returned 
 to his pay-box. 
 
 The pianist (of course there was a pianist) rattled 
 through an overture; the curtain rose; and Byron, 
 attired in the evening-dress that Robertson was to 
 wear later on, commenced '' the entertainment." The 
 tirst part of the programme was entitled " The 
 Origin of Man " ; and looking fixedly at the solitary 
 occupant of " the house," the unfortunate entertainer 
 commenced as follows ; 
 
 " In the beginning there was only one man " 
 
 "Yes," interrupted "the house"; "and I'm the 
 
 d d fool ;" and hurrying out to Robertson, this 
 
 inconsiderate gentleman demanded his money back, 
 and said he had come to see "The Chinese." 
 
EARL Y DA YS— STRUGGLES 51 
 
 Depressed, but not disconcerted, Robertson assured 
 the malcontent that Byron was a Chinaman; but the 
 money had to be returned. Here a little difficulty 
 occurred. " The house" had received its change for 
 its sovereign ; fourpence out of its two shillings had 
 been expended on Byron's stout; and this the " pay- 
 box " was in no position to refund. Robertson, 
 however, dejected though he must have been, was 
 equal to the emergency ; and returning one shilling 
 and eightpence, said calmly that " on such occasions 
 they only charged fourpence." 
 
 It appears that, in another room in the Gallery of 
 Illustration, some ingenious Chinese jugglers were 
 giving a performance, and that a stray lamb had 
 wandered into the wrong fold. It is easy to smile at 
 all this now, but the experience at the time must 
 have been truly painful to the two clever but im- 
 pecunious men, who throughout their lives remained 
 stanch friends. 
 
 Byron was the first to make a substantial success, 
 and, as will presently be seen, he was more than 
 ready to give his old comrade and partner a sorely 
 needed helping hand. And so it came about that 
 the friends, who together had gone through bitter 
 disappointment and privation, lived to see each other 
 popular and prosperous. 
 
 Up to the year 1854 there is no further record of 
 
52 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF T. W. ROBERTSON 
 
 the production of an original play from Robertson's 
 pen, although he was continually writing and trans- 
 lating ; and the following receipt tells its own sad 
 
 little tale : 
 
 " City Theatre. 
 
 " I hereby assign all rights of my drama, entitled 
 
 * Castles in the Air,' to Messrs. Johnson and Nelson 
 
 Lee, making it their sole property for town or 
 
 country, on consideration of receiving the sum of £3. 
 
 " Signed, Thomas W. Robektson." 
 
 "March 29, 1854." 
 
 The City Theatre, it should be noted, was then a 
 prosperous little house in Bishopsgate ; the managers 
 were well-respected and clever men ; and no doubt 
 poor Robertson was very grateful to them when he 
 received his three pounds for his three-act play. 
 " Castles in the Air " was produced on April 29, 
 1854, and was quickly forgotten. That its author 
 set some store by it is proved by the fact that, in 
 more prosperous times, he repurchased the play, the 
 receipt being found with the manuscript after his 
 death. 
 
 Among the adaptations made by Robertson during 
 his years of toil and struggle were " Noemie," a 
 drama in two acts, from the French of MM. Dennery 
 and Clement : " The Star of the North," which was 
 
EARL Y DA YS— STRUGGLES 53 
 
 of course a version of " L'Etoile du ITord " ; " Birds 
 of Prey; or, A Duel in the Dark"; " Peace at any 
 Price " ; " The Half-Caste " ; " Jocrisse the Juggler "; 
 " The Ladies' Battle," from the French of MM. Scribe 
 and Legouve — an admirably written adaptation, 
 which still holds the stage ; the popular one-act 
 farce, "The Clockmaker's Hat"; ''The Duke's 
 Daughter ; or, The Hunchback of Paris," which was 
 one of the many versions of the famous " Le Bossu" 
 — best known on the English stage as " The Duke's 
 Motto"; ''Faust and Marguerite," told in three well- 
 arranged and vigorously written acts ; " My Wife's 
 Diary," a farce from the French of MM. Dennery 
 and Clairville ; " Ruy Bias," written in scholarly 
 blank verse ; " The Sea of Ice ; or, The Prayer of 
 the Wrecked," and " The Gold -seeker of Mexico " 
 (fancy the monosyllabic author of " Society," "Ours," 
 and " Caste " being compelled to give this chajDter of 
 titles to a play !), from the French of MM. Dennery 
 and Dugue; "The Chevalier de St. George"; "A 
 Glass of Water," from Scribe's admirable " Verre 
 d'Eau "; and many others. 
 
 Most of these plays were disposed of to Thomas 
 Hailes Lacy, the well-known theatrical bookseller and 
 publisher, and are now on the list of his successor, 
 Mr. Samuel French. 
 
 It was during the year 1854 that Robertson became 
 
54 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF T. W. ROBERTSON 
 
 '^ycAf^iK prompter at the Olympic — then under the manage- 
 ment of Charles Mathews and Madame Vestris — at a 
 salary of £3 a week ; and it is easy to conjure up the 
 picture of the eager, ambitious, and constantly 
 disappointed young dramatist as, prompt-book in 
 hand, his eyes fell upon the stage that had witnessed 
 the production of his ill-fated "A Night's Adventure "; 
 but though the engagement was not a lucrative one, it 
 no doubt did good service. 
 
 In speaking of his connection with the Olympic, 
 Charles Mathews in his autobiography wrote : " The 
 lighter phase of comedy, representing the more natural 
 and less laboured school of modern life, and holding 
 the mirror up to nature without regard to the 
 conventionalities of the theatre, Avas the aim I haHT in 
 view. The Olympic Avas then the only house where 
 this could be achieved, and to the Olympic I at once 
 attached myself. There was introduced for the first 
 time in England that reform in all theatrical matters 
 which has since been adopted in every theatre in the 
 kingdom. Drawing-rooms were fitted up like draw- 
 ing-rooms, and furnished with care and taste. Two 
 chairs no longer indicated that two persons were to 
 be seated, the two chairs being removed indicating 
 that the two persons were not to be seated. A claret- 
 coloured coat, salmon-coloured trousers with a broad 
 black stripe, a sky-blue neckcloth with a large paste 
 
EARL Y DA YS— STRUGGLES 5 5 
 
 brooch, and a cut-steel eyeglass with a pink ribbon, 
 no longer marked the light comedy gentleman, and 
 the public at once recognised and appreciated the 
 change." That t hese refo rms_wei:e_not lost upon 
 the observant " prompter " is a matter of certainty ; 
 and we all know that when, after years of hard 
 w^ork and weary waiting, his own turn came, he 
 produced plays with an attention to artistic detail 
 undreamt of even by Charles Mathews in halcyon 
 Olympic days. 
 
 ^' With characteristic foresight Mathews always 
 believed in the future of Robertson, and was one of 
 the few then in powder who extended to him (in the 
 charming Bohemian manner of equality for which he 
 was famous with the younger members of his pro- 
 fession in whom he recognised talent) the hand of 
 good-fellowship ; and no one was more delighted 
 than he when, after his hard and well-fought fight, 
 the quondam 23rompter won his victory and was hailed 
 as the most brilliant dramatist of his day. Before he 
 went to India Mathews wrote as follows : 
 
 "Grreenock, December 3, 1869. 
 
 " My dear Robertson, 
 
 " On Tuesday morning, January 3, I expect 
 the pleasure of a few friends on the stage of Covent 
 Garden to say good-bye if so inclined, or if not, to 
 
56 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF T W. ROBERTSON 
 
 wish it, and shake hands. May I hope to see you 
 among my ' distinguished visitors ' ? 
 
 " Yours faithfully, 
 
 " Chaeles Mathews." 
 
 After the termination of his engagement at the 
 Olympic, Robertson encountered nothing but dis- 
 appointment and vicissitude. One-act farces, then in 
 vogue, were the safest and apparently the easiest of 
 stepping-stones to the stage, and these, one after 
 the other, he wrote and wrote, but to no purpose. 
 One of them, entitled " Photographs and Ices," is in 
 its way exceedingly good, the character of a Cockney 
 shoe-black boy being especially well drawn. This 
 young gentleman has a proclivity for reciting 
 doggerel parodies of Shakespeare shaped to advertise 
 his vocation — for example : 
 
 " All the world's a shoe, 
 And all the men and women merely leather ; 
 And each man in his time wears many sorts, 
 Their shapes being seven sizes. 
 
 First the Infant's, mooing and kicking in a worsted sock ; 
 And then the waddling School-boy with his blucher 
 Shining, tightly laced, studded with nails 
 (Not studying in school) ; 
 
 And then the Lover in tight French things varnished, 
 With woful bunion, made by his too tight high-lows. 
 And the Policeman, broad at the toes, 
 Contract made — strong and hard — 
 Heavy on pavement — crushing in sand or gravel 
 
EARL Y DA YS— STRUGGLES 57 
 
 Seeking the cooks in situations, ever with open mouth. 
 
 And then the Justice, in good round Wellington with hair- 
 socks lined — soles flat and square. 
 
 Of an old-fashioned cut — full of soft corns 
 
 That make him wince a bit : his toe his tend'rest part. 
 
 And next he sinks into the very slippered spoon 
 
 With fleecy worsted hose. Boots thrown aside — 
 
 His youthful shoes, thrice soled, sizes too small 
 
 For his swollen feet, and his big manly tread 
 
 Turning again to childish toddle trips and tumbles on the 
 ground. 
 
 Last sort of all is second childish — wear 
 
 Nothing but stockings on. 
 
 Sans calf, sans kid, sans bufi", 
 
 Sans any description of boot or shoe, 
 
 Town or Northampton made." 
 
 Later on there is a line that is decidedly Robert- 
 sonian. The precocious boot-black has maintained 
 that he is ''an artist," and on this being pooh-poohed, 
 he falls to work on a pair of boots, saying : "Ain't I, 
 though ? You see me put a polish on ! Make'm 
 look like a lookino;-o-lass srone into mourninc; for the 
 loss of the quicksilver." 
 
 All the characters in the little piece are well drawn, 
 
 and it affords excellent acting opportunities; but no 
 
 manager would entertain its production, and a similar 
 
 fate befell a charming one-act comedy entitled "Over 
 
 the Way," and farces called " My Wife's Diary" and 
 
 "A Row in the House,"* which, together with many 
 
 * It is interesting to record that some thirty years later " A 
 Row in the House " was very successfully produced by his son at 
 
58 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF T. W. ROBERTSON 
 
 others, he sold to Lacy when his worldly affairs were 
 in extremis. 
 
 Weary at heart, and sickened with constant dis- 
 appointment, both he and H. J. Byron, who were 
 then "keeping body and soul together" by writing 
 for two or three small newspapers, and obtaining 
 such poor theatrical engagements as fell in their way, 
 determined to enlist, and for that purpose presented 
 themselves at the Horse Guards. For a reason un- 
 explained at the time — but which was no doubt the 
 organic disease of the heart that subsequently hastened 
 his end — Robertson failed to pass the medical 
 examiner ; and, stoutly declining to accept the 
 shilling without his friend for a comrade, Byron 
 abandoned his intention, and the two went back to 
 fight their weary war against editors and theatrical 
 
 managers. 
 
 The rebuffs he was in the daily habit of receiving at 
 this period, and the manner in which he chafed under 
 them, were, in more prosperous times, describednDy 
 Robertson in a satirical speech put into the mouth of 
 Rudolph Harfthal, a character in his comedy entitled 
 " Dreams." Harfthal, who is a gifted young com- 
 poser, thus speaks of the trials and troubles ex- 
 
 Toole's Theatre — then under his temporary management. In the 
 cast were Mr. Albert Chevalier, Mr. J. H. Darnley, and Robert- 
 son's daughter — Miss Maud Eobertson. 
 
EARLY DAYS— STRUGGLES 
 
 59 
 
 perienced by the novice anxious to obtain a hearing 
 in London: " In England," he says bitterly, " yester- 
 day is always considered so much better than to-day; 
 last week is superior to this ; and this week so superior 
 to the week after next ; thirty j^ears ago is much 
 more brilliant an era than the present ; the moon 
 that shone over the earth in the last century so much 
 brighter and more grand than the paltry planet that 
 lit up the night last past! I shall explain myself 
 better if I give my own personal reasons for making 
 a crusade against age. In this country I find age so 
 respected, so run after, so courted, so worshipped, 
 that it becomes intolerable. I compose music; I 
 wish to sell it. I go to a purchaser, and tell him so; 
 he looks at me, and says, ' You look so young,' in 
 the same tone that he would say, ' You look like an 
 impostor or a pickpocket.' I apologize as humbly as 
 I can for not having been born fifty years earlier; 
 and the publisher, struck by my contrition, thinks to 
 himself, ' Poor young man ! after all, he cannot help 
 being so young;' and, addressing me as if I were a 
 baby, says, ' My dear sir, very likely your composi- 
 tions may have merit — I do not dispute it — but, you 
 see, Mr. So-and-so, aged sixty, and Mr. Such-an-one, 
 aged seventy, and Mr. T'other, aged eighty, and Mr. 
 Somebody-else, aged ninety, write for us ; and the 
 public are accustomed to their productions; and we 
 
6o THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF T. W. ROBERTSON 
 
 make it a rule never to give the world anything 
 written by a man under fifty-five years old. Go 
 away now; keep to your work for the next thirty 
 years: during that time exert yourself to grow older 
 — you will succeed if you try hard — turn gray, be 
 bald; it's not a bad substitute — lose your teeth, your 
 health, your vigour, your fire, your freshness, your 
 genius — in one short word, your terrible, abominable 
 youth; and some day or other, if you don't die in the 
 interim, you may get the chance of being a great 
 
 man !" 
 
 The attempt to become a soldier having failed, he 
 was compelled to return to the old life of drudgery, 
 selling his plays and adaptations to Lacy (always 
 regarded by him as a good friend), and acting in 
 minor theatres. Of this period of his uphill career 
 he preserved no record; and though in the days of 
 his brilliant successes he would sometimes laugh as 
 he recalled some comical incident connected with it, 
 he would more often sigh when he briefly spoke of 
 what he called his ''starring, not to say starving, 
 eno^asfements." 
 
 In later years an old friend of his — Mr. Edward 
 Draper — came across a partly printed document 
 which ran somewhat as follows : " Whereby the 
 signatory, T. W. Robertson, agrees to pay an agency 
 fee to George Fisher of one half- week's salary, within 
 
EARLY DAYS— STRUGGLES 6i 
 
 four weeks, on an engagement with Mr. A. W. Young 
 to play at the Theatre Royal, Woolwich, at a salary of 
 one guinea per week." Before handing this docu- 
 ment over to the mercies of the autograph -collector, 
 Mr. Draper submitted it to Robertson, who said : 
 " Pray do as you like witli it. I had so many 
 ensfao-ements at a guinea a week — or less — and was 
 SO glad to get them, that I cannot mind anyone 
 having records of them now." 
 
 With the year 18o5 there seemed to come the 
 promise of better things. At this time Robertson's 
 father, in partnership with Mr. W. J. Wallack, was 
 managing the Marylebone Theatre (a house which 
 more than once threatened to become a north-western 
 rival to Sadler's Wells in the north-east), and our 
 struggling actor-author was engaged to play the parts 
 technically embodied under the term of "juvenile 
 lead." The latter-day histor}^ of the luckless 
 Marylebone Theatre has been such a sorry one that it 
 mioiit be stated here that its aims under the Wallack- 
 Robertson regime were of the highest, and in proof 
 of this contention we may quote the Sunday Times 
 when it said : " On a former occasion we stated that 
 the residents of the neighbourhood of the Marylebone 
 Road ought to consider themselves fortunate iii the 
 proximity of a dramatic establishment conducted 
 with so much taste and propriety. We repeat the 
 
62 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF T. W. ROBERTSON 
 
 statement, because, although the merits of Mr. Wallack 
 as an actor, as a manager, and as a hberal encourager 
 of the high-class drama have been expatiated upon 
 with unqualified praise by the whole of the London 
 press, we fear that the house is not sufficiently 
 appreciated in the region where a proper estimate of 
 its merits would be productive of the most solid 
 benefit. . . . That we may do our utmost to remove 
 a foolish and unjust prejudice that exists nowhere but 
 in Marylebone itself, we assert without reserve that 
 there is not a more respectably managed theatre in 
 London than the Marylebone Theatre under the 
 present management, that at few theatres in London 
 can pieces comprising a greater number of characters 
 be more adequately represented, and that the in- 
 habitants of St. John's Wood, w^ho travel elsewhere 
 for an evening's amusement, may possibly ' go further, 
 and fare worse.' " 
 
 By the way, it was on these boards, and under 
 this management, that Madge Robertson (our Mrs. 
 Kendal of to-day) acted her first part, and the 
 incident has been thus recorded by that indefatigable 
 stage historian, Mr. William Archer : 
 
 " Little Madge was only four years old when she 
 made her first appearance on the stage. One evening 
 ' The Stranger ' was put in the bills, and the manager's 
 little daughter was dressed in her Sunday frock to 
 
EARL Y DA YS— STRUGGLES 63 
 
 run on the stao^e and soften the heart of Kotzebue's 
 g;looiny nobleman. Like many an older debutante^ 
 she was far more concerned about the adornments of 
 her person than about the artistic merits of her 
 performance ; and catching sight of her nurse in the 
 front row of the pit (in those days stalls were 
 unknown, at least in Marylebone), she astonished the 
 actors and enraptured the audience by calling out : 
 ' Oh, nursey, look at my new shoes !' Mrs. Kendal 
 may thus be said to have begun life characteristically 
 by introducing an irresistible touch of nature among 
 the overstrung and conventional emotions of the 
 quasi-legitimate drama. Of this event she naturally 
 has no recollection ; but the play-bill of the per- 
 formance was given to her some years ago by the late 
 Mr. E. F. Edgar, who was at the time a member of 
 the company. It was not until February 26, 1855, 
 that, at the same theatre, she played the Blind Child 
 in ' The Seven Poor Travellers,' which is usually 
 stated to have been her first part."* 
 
 It was at this time that poor Craven Robertson, 
 who subsequently became an excellent actor, doing 
 admirable service in his brother's successful comedies, 
 
 * During liis Marylebone engagement Robertson appeared in a 
 stage version (probably from his own pen) of Charles Dickens's 
 " Hard Times." Concerning this the crinc of the Sunday Times 
 said: " The Tom Gradgrind of Mr. Robertson junior was a very 
 capital piece of acting." 
 
64 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF T. W. ROBERTSON 
 
 and whose premature death was a source of sorrow to 
 all who knew him, made his first appearance on the 
 stasre. At the conclusion of the Marylebone season 
 Robertson joined a company which, witli the object 
 of giving a series of English plays in Paris, was 
 recruited by a M. Ruin de Fee. It included Mr. 
 and Mrs. J. W. Wallack, Miss Cleveland (Mrs. 
 Arthur Stirling), Mr. and Mrs. William Robertson, 
 Mr. Charles Sennett, Mr. and Mrs. Henry Marston, 
 Mr. George Honey, Mr. George Bennett, Hoskins 
 (of Sadler's Wells, who officiated as stage-manager), 
 the brothers Marshall, Miss Polly Marshall, Mr. 
 George Cooke, Miss Rosina Wright, and Mr. 
 Edward Righton. There was also an efficient English 
 corps de ballet with the well-known sisters Miss 
 Lizzie and Miss Nellie Purvis, specially engaged for 
 the then popular '* Pas de Fascination." Robertson's 
 position was that of general acting manager and 
 interpreter. The venture was in every form, shape 
 and way an ill-judged and a disastrous one, the 
 deluded company playing for only three weeks, and 
 receiving for their services one week's salary. Speak- 
 ing of it in later years, Miss Lizzie Purvis (Mrs. 
 Edward Fletcher) said : '^ I had sent home twenty 
 francs out of our first week's moneys, but as there was 
 no * treasury ' after the first week, we found ourselves 
 stranded in a strange land without means. A meet- 
 
EARL Y DA YS— STRUGGLES 65 
 
 ing of the company was held in the green-room, and 
 at all hazards it was resolved to send the corps de 
 ballet home to London. It was Mr. Robertson who 
 collected the money, and under the care of Mr. George 
 Cooke we arrived there safely." 
 
 By this time Robertson, being the only member of 
 the company who could really speak Frencli, liad not 
 only been elected stage-manager, but had to grapple with 
 all the difficulties and troubles of a foolish under- 
 taking for which he was not in any way responsible. 
 The demands made upon him by his anxious com- 
 rades may be easily imagined, and he always declared 
 that these melanchol}^ Parisian experiences nearly 
 " worried him to death." 
 
 Mr. Edward Righton, who was then a careless lad 
 of twelve, was probably the least apprehensive mem- 
 ber of the company, and he only remembers the en- 
 sfao-ement inasmuch as it enabled him to make his first 
 pun. When M. Ruin de Fee declared his inability to 
 pay Miss Purvis and the other ladies of the ballet, 
 Righton suggested that he might appropriately be 
 called M. Ruin de Coryphee! 
 
 It was in the year 1855 that Robertson, playing 
 for a benefit in the " Dusthole," as the old Queen's 
 Theatre in Tottenham Street was then contemptuously, 
 but not undeservedly, named, met the lady who soon 
 afterwards became his loving and devoted wife. It is 
 
66 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF T. W. ROBERTSON 
 
 very curious to note that this happy meeting took 
 place within the walls of the theatre which was 
 destined to become (thanks in no small measure to 
 his genius) the most popular and fashionable jDlace of 
 entertainment of London, and the scene of his briUiant 
 triumphs. 
 
 Few London theatres have experienced greater 
 chano-es of fortune. Before it became known as the 
 Queen's (and the Dusthole) it had been called the 
 Regency, the Dilettanti, the Tottenham Street and 
 the Fitzroy ; it was destined as the Prince of Wales's 
 to win transient but ever-memorable glory under the 
 manaijement of the Bancrofts ; it made a fortune for 
 their successor, and it is now one of the strongholds 
 of the Salvation Army. It may claim, however, 
 to be the parent of the modernized and greatly im- 
 proved Haymarket and the handsome new Prince of 
 Wales's. 
 
 In the days of 1855 it was under the management 
 of Mr. C. J. James. In the company, playing the 
 '' walking ladies' " parts was Miss Elizabeth Burton, a 
 beautiful young girl of nineteen. Robertson fell in 
 love with her — she returned his affection ; and while 
 the foundation-stone for years of happy wedded life was 
 well and truly laid, the joys and the anxieties of a 
 troubled and so far disappointed existence were 
 doubled. 
 
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EARLY DA YS— STRUGGLES 67 
 
 Miss Burton's father was the son of a stalwart 
 Yorkshire farmer, who, meeting with early reverses, 
 made his way to London, joined the Life Guards, 
 served through the Spanish campaign with Sir John 
 Moore, and subsequently became a member of the 
 body-guard of Louis Philippe when he reascended 
 the throne of France. His history was in many 
 respects a peculiar and romantic one, and Robertson, 
 always on the alert for material, embodied it in a 
 Christmas contribution to one of the many magazines 
 for which he wrote, under the title of " The Soldier's 
 Story." His name was John Mountain Taylor, 
 that of Burton having been assumed by the young 
 lady of the Queen's Theatre for stage purposes. 
 
 Her entrance to the ranks of the theatrical pro- 
 fession was brought about under somewhat peculiar 
 circumstances. When quite a young girl she at- 
 tended a school in South Molton Street in which 
 a well-known lady of title took a friendly interest. 
 Visiting the school one day, this lady heard Miss 
 Burton (or, more properly speaking, Miss Taylor) 
 recite some passages from Shakespeare, and was so 
 delighted with her grace and intelligence that she 
 invited her to her house in Grosvenor Square to read 
 before a critical audience. Having successfully passed 
 through this ordeal, her ambition was naturally fired, 
 and she determined to try her fortune on the stage. 
 
68 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF T. W. ROBERTSON 
 
 Her first public apj^earance was in a small part in 
 a benefit performance given at the Queen's, and so 
 pleased was Mr. James with the manner in which the 
 young actress acquitted herself, that he at once offered 
 her an engagement in his company. It is true that 
 the opening salary (twelve shillings a week for three 
 years) was a small one, but Miss Burton recognised 
 the value of work and experience, and very wisely 
 accepted it. Her reward soon came, for in the course 
 of three weeks she had done so well that the manage- 
 ment voluntarily increased the amount to twenty- 
 one shillings a week. Soon after this, while playing 
 a short engagement at the City of London Theatre, 
 she was so highly spoken of by the critics that Mr. 
 and Mrs. Charles Kean were attracted, and asked her 
 to call upon them, with a view to an engagement at 
 the Princess's. 
 
 Accompanied by her mother, Miss Burton pre- 
 sented herself before the eminent actor-manager and 
 his accomplished wife, and was at once asked to go 
 through the part of Lady Macbeth. This she did so 
 satisfactorily that an engagement was immediately 
 offered and accepted. The necessary papers had even 
 been drawn out, when, just as she was about to sign, 
 the ambitious and independent young actress noticed 
 that the parts that she would be required to play 
 were not specified. In reply to her question on this 
 
EARL Y DA YS— STRUGGLES 69 
 
 point, Kean gravely said that she would probably 
 have to commence by merely walking on the stage 
 with other beginners, and that her progress must be 
 left entirely to the discretion of himself and Mrs. 
 Kean. Whereupon she resolutely declared that she 
 would allow neither the one nor the other to select 
 parts for her ; and, declining to put her signature 
 to the document that she felt would tie her hands, 
 and interfere with the bright career that she had 
 mapped out for herself, she serenely bade them good- 
 day. 
 
 Miss Burton had been some three years at the 
 Queen's Theatre when Robertson met and fell in 
 love with her, and on August 27, 1856 — when he 
 was twenty-seven and she but twenty years of age, 
 and their combined salaries made up a pitiful income 
 — they were at Marylebone Church, and with the full 
 consent of their parents, right happily married. 
 
 One of the first engagements that the young 
 couple obtained was at the Theatre Royal, Dublin, 
 where she appeared as " leading lady," and he took 
 character-parts, and performed the duties of assistant 
 «tage - manager. This was succeeded by appear- 
 ances at Dundalk and Belfast, and they did not 
 return to England until twelve months had come 
 and gone. 
 
 Of Robertson as an actor, and of this period of 
 
70 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF T. W. ROBERTSON 
 
 his career, Mr. J. F. Warden (whose name has been 
 so long and so honourably associated with the for- 
 tunes of the Theatre Royal, Belfast) has some interest- 
 ing things to say. 
 
 It was while fulfilling an engagement at North 
 Shields that Mr. Warden first met Robertson. In 
 those days the theatre of that town was under the 
 management of Sam Roxby (the brother of William 
 Beverley, the celebrated scenic artist, and of Robert 
 Roxby, long and favourably known as the stage- 
 manager of the Haymarket and Drury Lane 
 Theatres); and in the company was Frederick Younge, 
 the original D'Alroy of " Caste." For Younge's 
 benefit H. J. Byron, then a very young actor, 
 promised to appear, and Robertson accompanied his 
 friend. Byron undertook to play the well-known 
 part of Jim Baggs in the then popular farce, " The 
 Wandering Minstrel," and in this Mr. Warden, who 
 was the "juvenile singing walking gentleman" of the 
 company, sang an old ballad so much to the satis- 
 faction of his audience that he was rewarded by a 
 hearty encore. Upon this Robertson, who had been 
 applauding fi'antically at the wings, said : " Why, 
 you're quite a Reeves !" To which the (even in those 
 early and troubled days) incorrigible Byron added : 
 " So it Sims r 
 
 Some time after this Mr. Warden met Robertson 
 
EARL Y DA YS—STRUGGLES 7 1 
 
 on the old Norwich circuit, and they became stock 
 actors in the same company. In view of the facts 
 that Robertson was wont to speak lightly, and even 
 slightingly, of his own histrionic powers and achieve- 
 ments, and so soon as he was able abandoned the 
 boards and devoted himself to his desk, it is interest- 
 ing to note that his fellow-player — a keen critic, and 
 an undoubted judge of good acting — regarded him 
 as one of the best character actors of his day. Among 
 other things, Mr. Warden recalls that Robertsor 
 played the part of Sir Arthur Lascelles in " All thai 
 Glitters is not Gold" in a cool and natural manner 
 that, judged by the light of later events, was exactly 
 what might have been expected from one who was 
 destined to do so much for the natural school of act- 
 ing, but which in those days was so unorthodox as 
 to be almost startling. So good and so impressive 
 was the performance, that at his final exit in the last 
 act his manager (Charles Gill), who was playing the 
 low-comedy part of Toby Twinkle, quite forgot that 
 he had a line which, if spoken, would have checked 
 the applause that flew out to Robertson, and, in 
 theatrical parlance, " dried up." Again, in the part 
 of Gratiano in " The Merchant of Venice " Robert- 
 son was delightful. In fact, wherever a natural and 
 unstilted manner was required, he was admirable. 
 With the artificial school of acting then in vogue he 
 
72 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF T. W. ROBERTSON 
 
 had no patience, and in it he resolutel}M[and probably 
 to his immediate pecuniary disadvantage) declined to 
 take honours. 
 
 Durino: the Dublin eno:aiJ:ement to which we have 
 referred, the sometime famous Sir William Don, 
 Bart., " starred " at the Theatre Royal, and Robertson 
 and his sweet young wife played with him in comedy, 
 farce, and drama ; Robertson especially distinguish- 
 ing himself as Charles Fenton in " Toodles," Sir 
 Arthur in " All that Glitters is not Gold," Major 
 Murray in " The Jacobite," Frank Brown in " Mrs. 
 White," and other kindred parts. Later on in the 
 season he made a great impression by the excellence 
 of his acting in the character of Rashleigli Osbaldi- 
 stone in a revival of " Rob Roy," and (supporting 
 Mr. and Mrs. Barney Williams) in one of those 
 Anglo-French parts in which he always revelled and 
 had no rivals, in a drama entitled " Ireland as it Was; 
 or, The Agent." But, as we have seen, Robertson 
 not only acted during this engagement, but was 
 assistant stage-manager — an important post in the 
 then bright days of a busy Dublin season, when all 
 sorts and conditions of operatic companies dovetailed 
 their productions between those of the regular stock 
 companies and the occasional stars. At this time 
 nearly all the leading operatic artistes — Mario, Grisi, 
 Piccolomini, and their brilliant contemporaries — 
 
EARLY DAYS— STRUGGLES 73 
 
 appeared at the Dublin Theatre Royal, and many 
 and various were the differences of opinion concern- 
 ing the mounting of historic productions that oc- 
 curred between Mr. Stage-Manager Granby (an 
 excellent actor of the old school) and his revolu- 
 tionary young ally, who wanted to make all sorts 
 of alterations and innovations in " stage business " 
 that had (and surely, from the Granby point of view, 
 this was enough) stood the test of time. Indeed, 
 there seems little reason to doubt that Robertson's 
 " new-fangled notions," yoked to his characteristic 
 persistency, ultimately cost him his engagement. 
 Robertson then wrote an '' entertainment " (subse- 
 quently most humorously described by him in a 
 Christmas number of London Society), with which 
 the young couple endeavoured to make money in the 
 smaller Irish towns. The venture was not a success- 
 ful one : they were looked upon as something between 
 banshees and bushrangers, and made the best of their 
 way back to England. 
 
 A short engagement at the Surrey was followed by 
 a reappearance at the Marylebone, where Mrs. Robert- 
 son made a marked success as Black-eyed Susan, 
 and her husband worked, acted, wrote, and stage- 
 manao'ed in his usual untirino; fashion. At this time 
 the industrious pair were living in Lisson Grove ; 
 and here, on December 2, 1857, "a son and heir" — or, 
 
74 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF T. W. ROBERTSON 
 
 as Robertson playfully put it, "a very little son and 
 still less hair " — was born to them. 
 
 In the following Christmas season they were 
 engaged by J. R. Newcombe, of pleasant memory 
 and sporting proclivities, as members of his stock 
 company at the Theatre Royal, Plymouth. There 
 they appeared in pantomime, farce, comedy, and 
 drama, and after some ten months' absence returned 
 to London. On the birth of a little daughter 
 Robertson accepted another short engagement at the 
 Theatre Royal, Woolwich ; and later on husband 
 and wife were to be seen at the Theatres Royal, 
 Rochester and Windsor. At this time the last- 
 named playhouse was under the management of Mr. 
 C. A. Clarke, a kindly man of literary inclinations. 
 He and Robertson soon became great friends; but, 
 unhappily, a pleasant engagement, during which 
 H.R.H. the Prince Consort and other members of 
 the Royal Family patronized the theatre and signified 
 their appreciation of the entertainment there pro- 
 vided, was, to the intense grief of Robertson, who 
 was passionately fond of his children, saddened by 
 the death of the baby girl. 
 
 It was at about the time that this little creature 
 was laid to rest in Slough Churchyard that Robert- 
 son made up his mind to give up acting, and devote 
 himself to literature. No doubt it was not without 
 
EARL Y DA YS— STRUGGLES 7 5 
 
 many misgivings that he "burnt his boats," for he 
 was becoming very popular on the stage, and the loss 
 of a steady, if suiall, income must have been a matter 
 of serious moment to him; but he loved his pen, had 
 faith in himself as a writer, and was compelled to 
 recognise the fact that his restless, roving life gave 
 him little or no chance of securing literary renown. 
 His temperament was essentially nervous, and, to say 
 nothing of the time that had to be devoted to re- 
 hearsals and acting, he could not settle down to his 
 desk while subjected to perpetual change. An amus- 
 ing story, which he used to tell of himself in later 
 days, will show how little he was suited to the life 
 of a travelling actor. Seeing "Apartments to let" 
 written up in the windows of a house situated in a 
 town in which he was to play for a week or so, he 
 knocked at the door, and was taken in hand by an 
 eager landlady. Against the more than comfortable 
 rooms he could say nothing ; but the price asked for 
 them was far more than he could afford to pay. In 
 his sensitive nervousness the poor fellow wondered 
 how he could best make a graceful retreat. He 
 walked round the rooms, admired the furniture, 
 praised the outlook from the windows; and the good 
 landlady no doubt thought that he was about to 
 conclude a bargain, w^hen he said, " Yes, I like it all 
 immensely; this is just the place I want; but — you 
 
76 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF T. W. ROBERTSON 
 
 must excuse the question — how about the coach- 
 house?" "The coach-house? — we haven't got a 
 coach-house!" was the reply. "Dear me! then I 
 am extremely sorry," said Robertson. " As far as the 
 rooms are concerned, they would have suited me 
 admirably ; but I always find a coach-house indis- 
 pensable." The landlady expressed her regret; her 
 promising tenant offered his thanks and apologies, 
 bowed himself out of the house, and once more 
 breathed freely. 
 
 With hhn the actor's life, as it had then to be lived 
 by those who were not the prime favourites of the 
 hour, was "all against the grain." Speaking in later 
 years of the days of stock companies, so often de- 
 scribed by actors with weak and forgiving memories 
 as " palmy days," he said : " Those were the days 
 when I had one meal a day, and three parts a night 
 to play; now I have three meals a day, and no part 
 to play; and for this relief Providence has my heart- 
 felt thanks." 
 
 But the step that, after due consultation with his 
 affectionate wife, he resolved to take was an important 
 tand hazardous one, and probably it would not have 
 been ventured had not Mrs. Robertson declared that 
 she would contribute her share to their modest house- 
 keeping expenses by continuing to act as often as 
 suitable opportunities presented themselves. 
 
EARL Y DA YS— STRUGGLES 77 
 
 Once more Robertson wrote and adapted plays for 
 Mr. Thomas Hailes Lacey, and in addition to this he 
 soon became associated with a number of journals and 
 magazines, to which he sent contributions on all sorts 
 of subjects. He was a wonderfully rapid writer, and 
 kept a large stock of sketches and short istories by 
 him ; so that he became noted for his ability to 
 " execute orders " at the " smallest possible notice." 
 
 But original work for the stage was the aim and 
 end of his ambition, and by dint of perseverance he 
 managed to obtain a hearing for his one-act farce 
 entitled " The Cantab," which was accepted and pro- 
 duced at the Strand Theatre (then under the well- 
 remembered management of Mrs. Swanborough) on 
 February 14, 1861. In the cast were Mr. W. H. 
 Swanborough, Mr. James Bland, Mr. James Danvers, 
 Miss Kate Carson, and Miss Lavine, and in its small 
 way the piece was very successful. 
 
 Miss Marie Wilton, whose name was subsequently 
 associated with Robertson's greatest triumphs, was 
 then a member of the Strand company, playing 
 " burlesque boys' " parts in a fashion that excited the 
 warm admiration of that keenest of dramatic critics, 
 Charles Dickens. 
 
 That Robertson was anxious to write a burlesque 
 character for this talented actress is evidenced by the 
 fact that there is in existence a travesty from his pen 
 
78 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF T W. ROBERTSON 
 
 on the old-fashioned drama " Raymond and Agnes," 
 with the proposed cast pencilled in in his own hand- 
 writing as follows : 
 
 RAYMOND AND AGNES; 
 
 OR, 
 
 IN LOVE AND INN-GRATITUDE. 
 
 Don Felix 
 Don Raymond - 
 Theodora (Jiis Servant) 
 Baptista (a Baiulit Host) 
 
 Robert ■. 
 
 K (his So7is) 
 Jaques ) 
 
 Agnes - 
 
 Cunegonda 
 
 Mr. Poynter. 
 
 - Miss Maria Simpson. 
 
 - Mr. James Rogers. 
 
 - Mr. James Bland. 
 
 Miss Charlotte Saunders. 
 
 Miss Marie Wilton. 
 
 - Miss M. Oliver. 
 
 Mr. J. Clarke. 
 
 " Raymond and Agnes" as burlesqued by Robertson 
 was never produced ; and little did the disappointed 
 author dream, as he went home with his rejected 
 manuscript in his pocket, that he would in a few 
 years be the means of establishing Miss Marie Wilton 
 and Mr. John Clarke as ranking amongst the best 
 comedians, in the highest sense of the actor's calling, 
 of their day. 
 
 That the piece was written up to burlesque standard 
 may be shown by the following amusing parody (put 
 into the mouth of Don Raymond) on Claude Melnotte's 
 famous speech in " The Lady of Lyons": 
 
EARL Y DA YS— STRUGGLES -jc) 
 
 " Raymond, speaUng to Agnes. 
 
 I'll order dinner. Could I paint the feast, 
 
 Could love fulfil its prayers, I'd give thee — list — 
 
 A damask cloth whose whiteness snow surpasses. 
 
 Laid with decanters, knives, forks, finger-glasses. 
 
 With a bride-cake, and bon-bons fiinged with gold. 
 
 And cast in Gunter's costliest, tastiest mould 
 
 A pudding filled with fruits of burning summer, 
 
 Rasp, gooseb, and strawberry and swan's egg plum a, 
 
 With barley-sugar wall and pillars rising 
 
 From silver dishes with such nice hot pies in, 
 
 Musical with birds of heaviest expense, 
 
 Who when the }>ies ope warble songs of sixpence. 
 
 At noon, our arms enlaced in lock sublime. 
 
 We'd sit both wishing for the dinner time. 
 
 And wonder how Earth was unhappy, sweet. 
 
 While Heaven still left us youth and lots to eat : 
 
 We'd have no friends that were not hungry — na}^ 
 
 No ambition but t' eat more than the}'. 
 
 We'd read no books that were not gastronomicai, 
 
 Mrs. Glasse, Rundle, tSoyer's Economical, 
 
 That we might smile at those digestive powers 
 
 That hate the pastry of such tarts as ours ; 
 
 And when night came in twilight's deep'ning gray, 
 
 AVe'd sit and think on what we'd have next day. 
 
 Dost like the picture *? {ecstatically). 
 
 Agnes. 'Tis a vision bright 
 
 Of happy hours and happy happj-tite. 
 
 Raymond. A happy-iie-to us will marriage be." 
 
 And so on, ad lib. 
 
 This travesty could only have been written in the 
 vain hope that its production would bring in welcome 
 
So THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF T. W. ROBERTSON 
 
 grist to a scantily supplied mill. Pure and original 
 comedy was Robertson's goal, and that he was ever, 
 and with untiring perseverance, aiming at it is proved 
 by the manuscripts of his unprodaced plays. One of 
 these, bearing (in his own handwriting) the date of 
 1857, and entitled " Down in Our Village," is in many 
 respects as dainty in conception and as graceful in 
 execution as any of the subsequent comedies from his 
 prolific pen. But his day had not yet come. 
 
 His brief connection with the Strand Theatre 
 brought him into close companionship with his old 
 friend H. J. Byron and a certain lady manageress 
 noted for occasionally perpetrating what is known as 
 a " raalapropism." To the two inveterate jokers the 
 opportunity that here presented itself was irresistible, 
 and the subsequent wonderful stories set afloat of this 
 good lady's extraordinary sayings were really the 
 fruit of their fertile imaginations. Attributing them 
 all to their unconscious victim, they vied with each 
 other in the invention of the most outrageous and 
 humorous word-blunders ; and to such a pitch did 
 this arrive that, if they happened to meet in the 
 streets, each primed with " Have you heard the 
 latest ?" they would burst into peals of laughter, and 
 rapidly go opposite ways, the onlookers taking them 
 for madmen. 
 
 Among other work in these days he wrote — some- 
 
EARL Y DA YS— STRUGGLES 8i 
 
 times under his own name, and at others under the 
 pseudonym of " Hugo Vamp " — many descriptive 
 songs and comic sketches. Some of these became 
 very popular, })articuLarly a burlesque one on " The 
 Corsican Brothers." He also supplied entertainments 
 for Mr. W. S. Woodin, of " Carpet Bag " fame ; for 
 Mr. and Mrs. Howard Paul (in their hands an ex- 
 planatory skit on the French Exliibition, entitled 
 " Our Lively Neighbours," became a notable attrac- 
 tion) ; and for two ladies who were very favourably 
 known to provincial audiences as " Sophia and 
 Annie." 
 
 " Sophia and Annie " were related to Robertson, 
 arid they have handed down an anecdote of the days 
 that preceded his marriage which is worth recordino-. 
 It clearly proves that with him the often-quoted 
 maxinij " Duty first and pleasure afterwards," was 
 not only preached, but practised. 
 
 The two ladies were giving their entertainment in 
 a country town where Robertson happened to be ful- 
 filling a theatrical engagement. As a matter of course 
 he called upon them, and, being young and susceptible, 
 he soon asked one of them to accompany him on 
 walks to the neighbouring places of interest, and in 
 many ways showed her marked attention. Gossips' 
 tongues were wagging freely, and " the other of 
 them " was anxiously awaiting an explanation of the 
 
 6 
 
82 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF T W. ROBERTSON 
 
 young gentleman's " intentions," when suddenly his 
 visits ceased and he was seen no more. Years after- 
 wards they met again, and he then explained why he 
 had behaved so strangely. It appears that during the 
 period of this " calf-love " he had received a letter 
 from his mother telling him of distress at home, and 
 begging of him to send her anything he could spare 
 to " keep things going." His meagre salary barely 
 sufficed for his own small wants, but he could not 
 befir to think of liis family lacking (as, in good truth, 
 they sometimes nearly did) the necessaries of life ; and 
 without another thouo-ht he sold all his little valuables, 
 together with his presentable clothes, sent the proceeds 
 to his troubled parents, and left himself with one 
 poor worn suit, wholly (in his estimation) unfit for 
 association with his Sophia (or Annie). Long, long 
 afterwards Annie (or Sophia) heard this little story 
 from his own confessing lips. 
 \ Returning to our own story, we find that Robert^son, 
 having always valiantly done his duty by his flxther, 
 mother, and all those near and dear to him, had at 
 this time to put his willing shoulder to the wheel in 
 order to " keep things going" for his young wife and 
 baby boy ; and as London managers were not yet 
 eager to secure his plays, he gladly turned his pen 
 into the groove of more immediately though less re- 
 nin nerati ve j ourna lis m . 
 
EA RL Y DA YS^STRUGGLES 83 
 
 The little success gained by " The Cantab " at the 
 Strand Theatre fortunately brought him into contact 
 with many of the leading journalists and humorists 
 of the day, and he not only soon became an indefati- 
 gable contributor to many important newspapers and 
 masfazines, but created life-lono" and invaluable friend- 
 ships. 
 
 He also tried his hand at novel-writing. The 
 manuscript of a drama " prepared for the stage " by 
 J. B. Johnstone, from T. W. Robertson's novel of 
 " Stephen Caldrick," pomts to the existence of a work 
 not to be found amongst his own manuscripts, which 
 include two hundred pages of an unnamed novel ; 
 chapters six and seven (ending the iirst volume) of 
 another entitled "Yauxhall"; together with "A 
 History of Old Yauxhall," which is complete ; many 
 small items evidently written in scraps for subsequent 
 use ; and another novel, " Dazzled, not Blinded." 
 The manuscript of this is perfect with the exception 
 of the first forty-nine pages, which are missing. The 
 moral of the story may be deduced from the last 
 paragraph. " So, dear readers, as you pass through 
 life tried by failure, or tried still more by success, 
 may your bright prospects, like a blossom-ripening 
 summer, ever dazzle, not blind vou !" 
 
 As time went on he became a contributor to quite 
 a host of newspapers and periodicals now more or les s 
 
84 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF T. W. ROBERTSON 
 
 defunct. To Fun, under the genial editorship of the 
 younger Tom Hood, he ^Yas, with Mr. W. S. Gilbert, 
 an original contributor. It will be remembered that 
 it was in the pages of this popular paper that ^Ir. 
 Gilbert's immortal " Bab Ballads " first appeared. 
 He and Robertson were then " literary humorists " 
 and dramatic critics, and were in the habit of 
 attending " first nights " together. 
 
 Amongst other publications to which Robertson 
 became an indefatigable contributor were The Welcome 
 Guest, edited by G. A. Sala and R. B. Brough ; Tlie 
 Liverpool Porcupine; The Comic News, edited by 
 H. J. Byron ; The Glowworm, a short-lived evening 
 paper published in London, and edited by his 
 intimate friend, Thomas Archer ; Beetons Dictionary 
 and Beetons Englishvjoman s Domestic Magazine ; The 
 Boys Own Magazine, to which he contributed the 
 charades ; Colmans Magazine ; a weekly paper called 
 Saturday Night ; The Wag, another comic paper 
 edited by H. J. Byron ; " Christmas numbers " of all 
 sorts and sizes, including London Society ; and the then 
 very popular weekly journal The Illustrated Times. 
 On the staff of this paper were from time to time 
 George Augustus Sala, Geoffrey Prowse, Edmund 
 Yates, W. B. Rands (known in literature as Matthew 
 Brown, Harry Holbeach, and half a dozen other 
 alinses), Sutherland Edwards, Deffet Francis, 
 
EARLY DAYS— STRUGGLES 85 
 
 Augustus Mayhew, Godfrey Turner, the Brothers 
 Brough, James Hannay, Thomas Archer, Clement 
 Scott and Edward Draper. The artists were Julian 
 Portch (who sent sketches to the papers from before 
 Sebastopol during the Crimean War), Thomas 
 Nicholson (the modeller of the D'Orsay statuette), 
 the comic artists being William McConnell and 
 Charles. In short, Robertson was a welcome 
 sojourner in the very capital of the pleasant land 
 of the Bohemia of happy memory — a capital of 
 which poor Prowse wrote : 
 
 "The longitude's rather uncertain, 
 The latitude's equally vague ; 
 But that person I pity who knows not the city, 
 The beautiful city of Prague." 
 
 In those days he was to be seen at the Savage, 
 Reunion, and Arundel Clubs, and was, says his 
 old friend and brother- Savage, Charles Millward, 
 " delightful company," ever ready with a smart and 
 pungent rejoinder to a merry remark or witty sally 
 directed at him by one of his fellow-members. 
 Indeed, if the impromptu witticisms, brilliant sayings, 
 and smart repartees of Robertson could be collected 
 and published, they would fill volumes. 
 
 But the Arundel was Robertson's favourite club. 
 There he met Leicester Buckingham, ]>elford, 
 Hepworth Dixon, Blanchard, Sothern, Arthur 
 
86 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF T. \V. ROBERTSON 
 
 Sketchley, Joseph Knight, W. S. Gilbert, Clement 
 Scott, and all the best of the young literary lions. 
 
 In speaking of these days, and the outcome of 
 them, Mr. Clement Scott in his delightful and 
 (happily) published lecture, " Thirty Years at the 
 Play," says : " For my own part, 1 am inclined to 
 think that full credit for his share in the dramatic 
 revival was never given to my old friend and faithful 
 comrade, Tom Hood, a poet, and the son of a poet 
 dear to every Englishman. He was a desperately 
 hard-worked man at the time, quill-driving at the 
 War Office all day, and burning the midnight-oil at 
 night — not a dramatic critic by profession, and yet 
 passionately fond of the play — but Tom Hood had an 
 influence among the younger writers and artists of 
 his day that cannot be overrated. He was the most 
 unselfish and least jealous of men. He loved to get 
 his friends around him to talk shop, and to encourage 
 one another in their various callings. Every Friday 
 night of his life, though not particularly blessed with 
 this world's riches, he gave a cheery Bohemian supper- 
 party, to which the best fellows in the world were 
 invited. Who that was privileged to attend them 
 can have forgotten Tom Hood's ■ Friday nights ' in 
 South Street, l>rompton> where after a pipe and 
 music, conversation and poetry readings, we sat down 
 to a homely meal of cold joint and roast potatoes, and 
 
EARL Y DA YS— STRUGGLES 87 
 
 discussed all the wonderful things that we youngsters 
 intended to do in the future ? Was it a wonder that 
 we were true and loyal to our old comrade, Tom 
 Robertson, who was the brightest of the conversa- 
 tionalists present, and the best of company ?" 
 
 In succession to Edmund Yates, Robertson became 
 the dramatic critic (" The Theatrical Lounger," as he 
 was styled) of The Illustrated Times, and to its 
 columns he contributed a series of articles entitled 
 " Theatrical Types," which are in their way inimitable. 
 Since those days many changes have taken place in 
 stageland, and we think that the following extracts 
 from his exhaustive series of now forgotten articles 
 will prove interesting. They will show the state of 
 things theatrical in those byegone times, and how 
 they appeared to one whose knowledge of them was 
 almost painfully complete. 
 
 Of " Leading Ladies " he says : 
 
 " The love of acting spreads over so wide a surface 
 of society that Leading Ladies are recruited from all 
 classes. Daughters of wealthy men who have bent 
 their knees imploring to soi - disant Siddonses ; 
 daughters of ruined gentlemen forced to seek their 
 bread, and insufficiently accomplished for the dread- 
 ful trade of ' governessing ' ; daughters of actors born 
 and reared to it; and daughters of publicans who 
 keep theatrical taverns where the portraits of popular 
 
 ^' 
 
88 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF T W. ROBERTSON 
 
 actors and actresses are framed, glazed, and enriched 
 with autographs — all these are raw material which 
 time, tact, patience, and the horse labour of a rising 
 barrister, manufacture into dramatic heroines. While 
 speaking of portraits, it is impossible not to remark 
 on the blessing of photography to small celebrities 
 seeking popularity. 
 
 " The Leading Actress in the country will rise at 
 nine, and, after laving her hot forehead and pale face 
 with water, and snatching a cup of turbid, provincially 
 prepared coffee, rush to the theatre for the ' call ' for 
 rehearsal at ten. The drama of ' Susan Hopley,' in 
 which she sustains the character of that pattern 
 of domestic young ladies in service, occupies her till 
 past twelve. She then waits till two — for the 
 eminent tragedian Mr. Lara Thunderstone, who is to 
 'star' as Macbeth that night, does not rise early, 
 and always keeps rehearsals waiting. The ' eminent ' 
 having at last arrived, bilious of stomach and 
 fastidious of taste, protracts the rehearsal, and at 
 half-past four, faint, sick, and tired, the sinking 
 actress reaches her lodgings. Her dinner has been 
 waiting two hours ; it is half cold and wholly 
 clammy. She is past appetite, and orders tea, which 
 is prepared as detestably as was the morning's coffee. 
 Dresses have then to be looked out, unpacked, altered, 
 trimmings changed, and gold lace ripped off and 
 
EARL Y DA YS— STRUGGLES 8y 
 
 ' run on.' The basket, that wondrous mystery, is 
 packed, and the actress follows it to the dressing- 
 room, where she is installed by six. For five hours and 
 a half she acts, and acts, and acts, speaks, and speaks, 
 and speaks, changes her dress, changes her dress, 
 and changes her dress, and all the time she never 
 sits down for a moment. Home by midnight, she 
 eats and enjoys her supper, the only meal hard 
 fate permits her. ' She sleeps well after that,' might 
 say an unbelieving reader. Sleep ! she sits up till day- 
 light studying Evadne in Shell's play, for the eminent 
 tragedian Mr. Lara Thunderstone, of the Theatre 
 Royal everywhere, has chosen to pla}^ ' Colonna ' on the 
 following evening. Ladies at the head of establish- 
 ments, schoolmistresses, governesses, shop-girls, 
 milliners, cooks, housemaids, laundresses, and char- 
 women, what is your work to this ? 
 
 " The DOwer that sustains the actress throuo:h her 
 enormous daily and nightly task is the artiste's 
 nervous irritability, love of applause, and hope of 
 future fame — that hope so delusive that in green- 
 room diction it is called ' The Phantom.' 
 
 " Those who know but little of theatres and their 
 belongings often regret that actresses in private life so 
 little resemble the heroines they portray. If they 
 could look on them not by the false medium of bat- 
 wing burners, but by domestic daylight or economical 
 
90 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF T. W. ROBERTSON 
 
 composites, they would regret that heroines did not 
 
 oftener idealize the real virtues of actresses — virtues 
 
 intensified and polished by the cultivation of the most 
 
 emotional of arts. Though all leading dramatic 
 
 heroines do not become the wives of baronets, the 
 
 practice of their calling so refines and educates their 
 
 sentiments that they are always ladies. 
 
 ****** 
 
 " There are as many varieties of Tragedian as there 
 are of fancy pigeon, paletot, or armchair. They are 
 generally grave men with deep voices and manners of 
 solemn, not to say sepulchral, politeness. Some of 
 them carry this peculiarity so far as to resemble 
 animated statues rather than living men, and many a 
 good-natured but ghastly actor has sat upon the 
 spirits of the guests at a jolly supper-party by con- 
 ducting himself like the equestrian spectre of Don 
 Guzman by trying to adapt himself to circumstances, 
 or the shade of the blood-boltered Banquo endeavour- 
 ing to spend a pleasant evening chez Macbeth. The 
 habit of addressing distant galleries gives a fearful 
 distinctness to their utterance. They are terribly 
 impartial to each letter of every word they utter, 
 and ask with such syllabic emphasis for ' mashed 
 potatoes ' as to make ' mashed ' sound like sarcasm, 
 and ' potatoes ' like denunciation. 
 
 '■It is a common error to suppose that all this 
 
EARL Y DA YS— STRUGGLES 91 
 
 arises from affectation — from a desire to appear 
 singular, and to ' pose ' melodramatically. The con- 
 stant use of the voice renders its tones deep, rich, and 
 mellow ; the close- shaven cheeks make the face look 
 pale and hollow ; and the practice of assuming 
 different costumes, and of ' suiting the action to the 
 word, and the word to the action/ brings the 
 hands out of the familiar region of the trousers- 
 pockets to aid in illustrating their owner's speech. 
 So artifical an act as acting naturally begets artificial 
 manners ; but though artificial, they are entirely 
 apart from affectation. The gravity of a judge, the 
 upright carriage of a soldier, or the swing of a sailor, 
 are habits, not affectations. So is the actor's hand in 
 his vest, so are his knuckles on his hip, so are his 
 folded arms — thou2:h we should all be oiad to see ' 
 those favourite stock attitudes banished from the 
 stage, with the footman in top-boots, and the 
 chambermaids in white muslins and pink ribbons. 
 
 " Tragedians spring from all grades of society — 
 from the Oxford man who has taken honours, to the 
 journeyman carpenter endowed with dark eyes and 
 a loud voice. In private life Tragedians are simple 
 and single-minded ; they know little of the real world 
 around them ; they draw their views of historical 
 personages entirely from plays, and in politics side 
 with that party which is the most picturesque of 
 
92 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF T. W. ROBERTSON 
 
 costume and flowery of speech. They are invariably 
 married, and as invariably fathers of large families, 
 on whom they dote, and with whom they play. 
 Les extremes se touchent. Ignorant of realities, un- 
 conscious of everything save through a gaudy-tinted 
 medium, the father-actor and his child meet upon a 
 level ground of fairy fiction and poetic fancy. 
 
 * *i^ j^. *u. ^ :ij_ 
 
 ■' The Light Comedian is the actor who represents 
 the characters of young patricians, volatile lovers, 
 voluble swindlers, well-dressed captains, swells in 
 and out of luck, and the upper classes generally on 
 this side of forty years of age. He is purely and 
 / entirely the creation of the dramatist ; for neither in 
 nature nor in society was the like of this bustling, 
 talkative creature ever seen, for which let nature 
 and society be thankful : for, not excepting neuralgia, 
 / snakes, or earnest men with missions, the presence of 
 j a high-spirited, high-voiced, highly-dressed hero of 
 I comedy is the most intolerable nuisance. 
 
 " Conceive a boisterous, blatant fellow in a green 
 coat and brass buttons, buckskin breeches and boots, 
 or in a blue frock, white waistcoat, and straw- 
 coloured continuations, always talking at the top 
 , of his voice, slapping you heavily on the back, laugh- 
 ing for five minutes consecutively, jumping over the 
 chairs and tables, haranguing a mob from your 
 
EARL Y DA YS— STRUGGLES 93 
 
 drawing-room window, going down upon his knees 
 to your daughter or your wife, or both, kissing your 
 servant-maid, borrowing your loose cash, and intro- 
 ducing a sheriff's officer to your family as an old 
 college friend, and 3'ou form some idea of the type 
 of animal the dramatic writers of the last century 
 forced upon the public as the beau-ideal of a gentle- 
 man, a blood, and ' A fine fellow, sir, by Gad !' I 
 
 " The Liffht Comedian — when not born of theatrical 
 parents, and fixed in the light-comedy groove, and 
 told to rattle on as rapidly as ardent hopes and a thin 
 tongue will permit — may have been a clerk, or an 
 army captain, or the son of a poor gentleman, or of 
 a widow lady ; but, whatever his rank, station, or 
 degree, he belongs to the numerous category of young 
 men of good appearance. 
 
 " He has usually tine hair and teeth. He is 
 ' dressy,' and particular about his ' back parting,' 
 his hat, and his boots ; has a self-conscious sort of 
 walk — half swagger, half skip — and is keenly sensi- 
 tive as to the tie of his cravat and the fall of his 
 trousers over the instep. He is a well-brushed young 
 man, and at the age of eighteen addicted to perfumes. 
 It is his jiride and glory to have a white handkerchief 
 peeping from either his coat-tail or his breast-pocket, 
 and he takes it out with a flourish. When he carries 
 a cane it is a light one, and has a pretty gold head, 
 
94 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF T. W. ROBERTSON 
 
 and lie either swings it jauntily or taps his trousers 
 with it militarily. It must be admitted, frankly, it 
 is vanity that brino's him on the staofe : the desire 
 to dazzle and delight, to wear becoming costumes, 
 carry a sword, bully bailiffs, carry off heiresses, hoax 
 papas, and pink rivals. ' Woman, lovely woman,' is 
 the toast he is always proposing to himself and always 
 doing honour to, though it must be confessed that he 
 is less in love with the sex than with the honour of 
 being loved by them. It is not the battle that he 
 cares for, but the medals. 
 
 " Having once achieved a London reputation, the 
 Light Comedian's life is one sheen of silk stocking 
 and sparkle of champagne. If he has the good sense 
 to eschew low com])any, society opens its jwrtals to 
 him, and he may leave the drawing-room for the 
 dressino'-room, and the dressino'-room for the ball. 
 
 " Come, then, the costumier, the wig-maker, and 
 the tailor to take his measure for costumes, wigs, and 
 clothes ; and after them — at the respectful distance 
 becomino; his inferior callin2: — the author to take his 
 measure for a part. Is he an Irishman, the scene 
 shall be laid in the count}^ of Galway ; if he dance 
 well, the principal incident shall happen in a ball- 
 room ; does he speak French, he shall assume the 
 accent of the Gaul ; has he a small hand, it shall be 
 frequently alluded to ; has he v\-hite teeth, he shall 
 
EARLY DAYS— STRUGGLES 95 
 
 laiiii'h continually. Give your orders, o'entlemen ; 
 the author is in the room. . . . Debt, difficulties, 
 sickness, and trouble are the lot of Light Comedians, 
 as of all; and when the liraber-tongued, rattling 
 actor cheerily asks his kind friends in front to forgive 
 the follies he has committed in his ' Uncle's Villa,' or 
 during his " Day in Dunstable,' or in his ' First Fit 
 of Love,' or whatever the title of the farce mav be, 
 how can his applauding auditors know what is wait- 
 ino' for him at the curtain's fall ? 
 
 D 
 
 ****** 
 
 " The actor on whom devolves the delineation of 
 stage Old ^len must be aii artist of considerable 
 versatilit3^ The leading parts in tragedy all bear 
 some resemblance to each other — or, at least, 
 tra gedia ns play them in exactly the same manner, 
 which is much the same thing. Light comedy char- 
 acters have all the same dash, banter, laugh, swagger, 
 swindle, and assurance. A low comedian must 
 always be industriously funny; but there are Serious 
 Old ^len and Comic Old Men, and there are different 
 sorts_Q£-l)oth. 
 
 " One description of a Serious Old M;in is very 
 happily termed by the French a 'noble father'; and 
 the word ' noble ' must be understood to apply to 
 exalted sentiment and incorruptible integrit}', and 
 hiiih-mindedness and virtue, not to social rank. He 
 
^6 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF T. W. ROBERTSON 
 
 is frequently a patrician of the loftiest nobility; and, 
 in that phase, his consciousness of the purity of his 
 blood, of the baseness of any mean fellow below the 
 degree of a duke, and his horror of a mesalliance, 
 would shame a real French marquis of the year 1770. 
 He is equally ready to disinherit as to curse degene- 
 rate offspring, and, in his antipathy to grown-up 
 children having any voice in such small matters as 
 the choice of a profession or a partner for life, is as 
 selfish and obstinate as any real father in real life, 
 which is a somewhat round assertion. 
 
 " The pere noble is frequently plebeian by birth, 
 though patrician by nature ; and when he is, his 
 virtues are so intolerably virtuous that self-examining 
 spectators almost wish to see him fall into the depths 
 of sin, he is so annoyingty good, so exasperatingly 
 beneficent. There is nothing more provoking to 
 mere frail flesh and blood than a virtuous old peasant 
 in a long fleecy, silvery- white wig. When the dis- 
 guised prince, wrapjjed in a huge cloak and belated 
 iu the storm, knocks at the cottage of the Y. 0. V. 
 (Virtuous Old Peasant) and asks for shelter, the 
 y. 0. P. improves the occasion in the irritating- 
 manner peculiar to him by saying : 
 
 " ' Enter, Sir Stranger ; my roof is humble, but it 
 is honest, and never did my door refuse to ope its 
 rusty hinges to the weary or the wayworn. Enter, 
 
EARLY DAYS— STRUGGLES 97 
 
 % 
 
 sir, and welcome, though my poor house boasts 
 nought to offer to your Excellency but brown bread 
 and integrity.' 
 
 " All the time this well-spoken and aggravating 
 rustic has kept the wayworn traveller in the rain, 
 hail, wind, snow, thunder and lightning. The auditor 
 with mere average good qualities endures much at the 
 hands, or rather mouth, of the Y. 0. P., and feels a 
 certain sense of gratified spite when the \. 0. P.'s 
 only daughter listens too eagerly to the too flattering 
 tale of the prince or count, and elo])es from a paternal 
 roof whose virtue was only exceeded „by its dulness. 
 j^o wonder the poor girl runs away ! 
 
 " The child once fled from the paternal roof to the 
 arms of a villain, the V. 0. P. feels that he has not 
 lived in vain. He takes down his hat and staff', and 
 turns his full flood of metaphor u];on his unfortunate 
 wife, or ' dame.' who replies only by wiping the 
 wettest of eyes on the whitest possible of aprons. 
 Pocket-handkerchiefs are the attributes of ji corrupt 
 and vicious aristocracy ; the feminine apron or the 
 manly sleeve is the proper resource of the afllicted 
 lowly. The contempt of the V. 0. P. for money, 
 considered as a styptic to a bleeding heart, is only 
 equalled by the length of the silver hair to which he 
 so frequently makes allusion, ft is a portion of the 
 aggravation of the plebeian pere nohle that, when he 
 
 7 
 
98 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF T. W. ROBERTSON 
 
 discovers that his child has been married to the man 
 of her heart in the correctest wny j^ossible, family 
 reasons having for a time compelled the contracting 
 parties to keep their union secret, it only affords him 
 another opportunity for tears. Tears are the V, 0. P.'s 
 speciality, and he turns them out with a facility un- 
 surpassed by the immortal Job Trotter in immortal 
 'Pickwick.'- 'Bless you, my children! bless you!' 
 sobs the emotional father, who then retires with his 
 dame to the unrestricted use of apron and sleeve for 
 the remainder of a well-spent and lachrymose exist- 
 ence. 
 
 " In his choice between patrician and ])lebeian 
 parents the actor of Old Men is guided by his nose 
 and his stomach. If his nose be of the Julius Caesar, 
 Wellington, or Napier pattern, or if his figure be 
 thin, he at once decides for the noble fathers; if the 
 most prominent feature of his face be represented by 
 two nostrils and no bridge to speak of. or if his 
 stomach be of globular formation, he goes over to the 
 hearty vulgarians. iSTo audience Avould believe in a 
 ]iatrician with a small nose ; no audience would 
 tolerate a rich old citizen without plenty of protuber- 
 ance. The British public is exacting, and refuses 
 credence alike to thin aldermen or to fat dukes. 
 
 " The actor of Old Men, in adopting his line of 
 business, exhibits an artistic feeling and self-abnega- 
 
EARLY DA } '5— 5 TR UG GLES 99 
 
 tion of which the Tragedian, Light Comedian, and 
 Low Comeiiian are incapable. The Tragedian loves 
 to be posed as a grand homm,e incompris — a Manfred, 
 Conrad, or Timon ; it is his deUght to be a hero, and 
 to hear himself utter the poetry written by others as 
 if it were his own immediate inspiration. The Light 
 Comedian loves to dnzzle ; is fond of the admiration 
 of the opposite sex, whether in box, pit, or gallery, 
 and of taking by storm hearts tliat the author has 
 arranged to capitulate in the last act. The Low 
 Comedian is a pure egotist, and would run after an 
 imaginary butterfly and hit his nose against a buttress, 
 while Constance was bewailing her dead son, for the 
 sake of half a chuckle from a wide-mouthed little 
 boy. Not so the Old Man: he dresses in unbecoming- 
 clothes, sinks his juvenility, assumes dotage, is made 
 the scoff of the audience, is befooled by his own niece, 
 ward, or daughter, bamboozled by impecunious captains 
 on no pay, ridiculed by the low comedy footman and 
 smart soubrette., bullied by his wife, and treated as a 
 
 butt by the whole dramatis persona'. 
 
 % % -y? -5;- -5^ -sc- 
 
 " No matter who or what the auditors — short- 
 haired swell, brilliant belle, smart clerk, blase critic, 
 or ardent mechanic shouting in his shirt-sleeves in the 
 gallery — the Low Comedian is a general favourite. 
 
 " It is a strange vocation to come into the world 
 
loo THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF T W. ROBERTSON 
 
 for the sole purpose of making people laugh ; yet 
 such would seem to be the destiny of the genuine 
 Low Comedian — the Low Comedian de naissanct ; not 
 the heavy-browed, lantern -jawed, rigid-cheeked mis- 
 anthrope who adopts low comedy as a calling, but 
 your light-haired, snub-nosed, wide-mouthed variety 
 of the genus homo, to whom you would assign no 
 place in the world but the theatre, and no post in the 
 theatre but that of funny man. . . . He is usually a 
 queer, cock-eyed sort of baby, who makes his mother 
 laugh, and his father laugh, and his nurse, and his 
 nurse's friends, and even the grave doctor. He is 
 always content, and alwa^^s happy. If pap be too 
 long in preparation, he will allay the pangs of hunger 
 with the knob of the kitchen -poker ; if sweetmeats be 
 unattainable, a lump of coal or a well-done cinder will 
 satisfy him for hours. He is one of those miraculous 
 children who have the measles favourably, and makes 
 an attack of the mumps a credit to his parents. When 
 he falls down four pairs of stairs he does not hurt 
 himself; he feels refreshed by the exercise, and is re- 
 warded for his exertion by the scrap of orange-peel, 
 three weeks old, which he finds beneath the mat. 
 
 " As a boy he is the funny fellow of the school, 
 who makes faces behind his slate and o;ets other bovs 
 caned for laughing at him. He is a pet with the 
 master, and the ushers, and the maids, and everybody. 
 

 EAJ?L V DA YS— STRUGGLES loi 
 
 He has the ^ift of popularity ; his very mistakes are 
 jests, his faults pleasantries, and his ugliness — for he 
 is ugly — a sort of exaggerated and comic comeliness. 
 
 " He see s the humorous side of everything, and is 
 a wonderful mimic. He imitates his father's voice 
 and cough so perfectly as to deceive the practised ears 
 and instinctive affection of his mother. He calls out 
 to the servant in his mother's tones, and lauji^hs at her 
 surprise. Though not a dullard, he is slow at learn- 
 ing, and his anxious parents bind him 'prentice to a 
 chemist and druggist, in the hope that the odour of 
 drugs and the constant contemplation of gilt labels on 
 shop-drawers may make him scholarly and serious. 
 
 " But nor poppy, nor mandragora, nor all the 
 drowsy syrups of the pharmacopceia can kill his lo\'e of 
 fun. He nearly ruins his master's business by 
 imitating his customers to their faces. So quick and 
 varied are his power.s.of facial contortion that he is 
 not as one boy behind the counter, but twenty. 
 Then dawns on him the cheap comic song-book, and 
 the half-price to the theatre. What, then, to him is 
 balsam of tolu to the ' Tooral-lal-looral-ialooral-li- 
 day ' of the popular vocalist, or to his ecstasies as he 
 sees his favourite actor — the one with the short 
 trousers too large for him at the back — tumble into 
 the cucumber-frame. Hence a^safoetida and all thy 
 vain delights! The playhouse and the public- 
 

 ro2 77/^ Z//^^ J^/? W JOTTINGS OF T. W. ROBERTSON 
 
 house are from that time his love, his future, and 
 his glory. 
 
 . " Finally, he is completely un-chemisted and de- 
 drui^gistized by the Private Amateur Theatre, where 
 his first appearance is hailed with uproarious delight; 
 and even the leader of the orchestra — who is a real 
 professional and can read music at sight, and has a 
 minim of baldness on the back of his head, and green 
 spectacles, and otlier orchestral peculiarities — says he is 
 the funniest man he has seen — ' Since Linton, since 
 Liston!' In vain does his irate master inform his 
 father; in vain his father storm, his mother sob. 
 Fate cries out. He cancels his indentures by running 
 away from them, and by means of a theatrical agent, 
 or luck, or perseverance, obtains employment in a 
 small provincial theatre. . . . and in seven years he is 
 an accepted London favourite. 
 
 " The Low Comedian is always an especial and 
 privileged person. For him is a latitude of speech 
 and action permitted to none other. Practical jokes, 
 sufficient for an action at law or for a personal en- 
 counter, are in him considered only things of custom, 
 strokes of humour, sallies of sly wit. 'Tis his 
 vocation. 
 
 " The Managers of London theatre-* are a peculiar 
 race. There are but about twenty theatres in London ; 
 
EARL Y DA YS— STRUGGLES 103 
 
 it follows then, as a matter of course, that there can 
 be but twenty London Managers, and as the popula- 
 tion of these isles amounts to some millions, it also 
 follows that twenty men among those millions follow- 
 ing one particular calling must have a natural 
 sympathy with each other as Managers, for in no 
 other respect does the least sympathy exist between 
 them. 
 
 " As we intend these sketches to be types of 
 character and not photographic portraits, we shall go 
 as far back as the beginning of the present century 
 for the subject of our photographs. In the course of 
 the last fifteen years the whole aspect of theatrical 
 affairs has so changed that the man of forty summers 
 may consider himself a sort of connecting link 
 between what was the stage and what it is — between 
 the buckskin breeches, top-boots and white hats of the 
 comedies of Colman junior and the gibus, patent 
 leathers, floppy trousers and frizzy beard of modern 
 melodrama as it talks, and stalks, bows, banters, 
 fii2:hts duels and feiofns indifference. . . . The Actor 
 Manager of thirty years ago was a man of totally 
 different type to his successor of the present day. He 
 was an intensely clever, bustling, wrong-headed, 
 highly appreciative fellow, fond of his authors, his 
 company, his orchestra, his scene- shifters, his super- 
 numeraries and all that belono:ed to the little world he 
 
104 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF T. W. ROBERTSON 
 
 ruled. During- the rehearsal of a new piece he 
 would swear horribly and sstamp on the stage till the 
 soles of his feet tingled again. On the night of its 
 ])roduction, attired in his character dress, he would be 
 here, there and everywhere — assisting the actors in 
 the adjustment of their wigs, finding fault with 
 the coitFure of a soubrette, discharging the prompter, 
 imprecating every portion of the anatomy of his 
 stage-manager, helping a carpenter in the ' setting ' of 
 a rock-piece, challenging his leading tragedian to 
 mortal combat on the morrow, making speeches to 
 the audience to appease them for the long delays 
 between the acts, and conducting himself generally 
 like a lunatic in fancy costume; but, the piece over, 
 he would raise the prompter's salary, ask his stage- 
 manager to join him in a bottle of champagne, treat 
 the carpenters to beer, invite his leading tragedian to 
 dine with him on Sunday, and thank his generous 
 and liberal public for once more cr-r-r-owning his 
 humble efforts with their kind approval. The first to 
 recognise merit in an aspirant, he was the last to 
 listen to the irrumblino^ of a fastidious author or a 
 tyrannical stage-manager. Beloved by all tragedians, 
 comedians, carpenters, call-boys, scene-shifters, and 
 supernumeraries, his funeral presented a long pro- 
 cession of grateful and weeping mourners, who dated 
 all the events of their lives from his death, and who 
 
EARL Y DA YS— STRUGGLES 105 
 
 said constantly, 'When poor Yorick was living he 
 would never,' etc. 'Alas! poor Yorick!' Hie over 
 the last iive-and-twenty years to the present caterers 
 for the public ! The change is great, and, like many 
 other changes, the reverse of an improvement. There 
 are so many varieties of the species that our limits 
 will only permit us to touch upon a few. . . . The 
 Commercial Manager is a very common type, and is 
 willing to turn to good account opera, ballet, eques- 
 trianism and Shakespeare in this present practical 
 theatrical age. He takes an entirely commercial 
 view of all things — Ramo - Samee - Indiarubber 
 Peruvians, real water, the legitimate drama, speaking 
 pantomine, or pantomimic tragedy — so that it brings 
 in the ready sixpence. He prides himself greatly 
 upon his practical common-sense, distrusts manu- 
 scripts, fears authors, but places great reliance upon 
 his costumier and property man. His conversation is 
 not choice, except as regards oaths, which are of a 
 raciness and full flavour that would do credit to an 
 irate cabman. Although be professes a high respect 
 for dramatic literature, he judges of the merit of a 
 drama like a butterman — by its weight in paper. 
 He is a great man for bargains, and will buy a 
 quantity of damaged velvets for a fabulously small 
 sum, after which he will search for an author to 
 w^rite him a piece for the velvets. ' Lovely velvets — 
 
io6 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF T. W. ROBERTSON 
 
 make any piece popular them velvets would,' says the 
 Commercial Manager. The drama found, if it fail he 
 despairs of the prospects of the theatre. Public are 
 so fickle nowadays. * Who would have thought that 
 with them velvets any piece could fail?' The Com- 
 mercial Manager is a great financial genius, and cuts 
 down salaries and expenses to the very lowest scale. 
 He is also fertile in expedients for stopping a night's 
 salary from his employes, and was the original 
 inventor and introducer of that wonderful piece of 
 economical meanness, a Complimentary Benefit, 
 which means a benefit for the manager, on which 
 occasion the actors, actresses, scene- shifters, super- 
 numeraries and all give their services gratuitously. . . . 
 Lastly, the Commercial Manager is very litigious, and 
 always involved in lawsuits ; in fiict, an attorney is 
 laid on to his establishment like gas, and picks out 
 holes in eno-affements and flaws in arrangements for 
 
 "&'"&" 
 
 his clever client's interest. The Actor-Manage r is a 
 good second or third rate sort of artist, who forces 
 himself into a prominent position by taking a theatre, 
 and, by carefully stewing down the abilities of the 
 authors and actors he employs, and mixing with his 
 own their mental and artistic porridge, makes his 
 weak water-gruel talents thick and savoury. Just now 
 the stage is terribly plagued by various sorts of 
 these self-sufl[icient entrepreneurs. There is your 
 
EARLY DAYS— STRUGGLES 107 
 
 Tragedian Manager, who kindly puts Shakespeare 
 right and explains what that erring author really 
 meant; and there is your High Comedy Manager, 
 who knows three lords to speak to, and once met a 
 countess at a ball, and is in consequence a great 
 authority on fashionable life, and, like Goldsmith's 
 bear-leader, can't abide anything that is low. These 
 two varieties are very fond of teaching young actors 
 how to act, and so successful is their tuition, that very 
 often a promising young comedian from the provinces 
 has in six difficult lessons been tamed and tortured 
 into the ineffective and passionless delivery which 
 forms so valuable a setting to managerial mediocrity. 
 Another of these peculiarities is remarkable. They 
 seldom, if ever, engage an actor or actress taller 
 than themselves. An engagement at their theatre 
 depends more on inches than genius. No mere 
 actor should be taller than his manager. Banquo 
 should always be smaller than Macbeth, and the 
 jeune premier role shorter than the grand premier 
 r«jle. Height, like individual talent, must be kept 
 down to one regulation standard. In regard to their 
 well-disguised servility to the gentlemen who notice 
 the theatres in the daily and weekly papers, Actor- 
 Managers are by no means more open to ani- 
 madversion than either the commercial or the in- 
 visible ones. . . . There are many other varieties of 
 
io8 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF T. W. ROBERTSON 
 
 Managers, too many for us to give a full and particular 
 account of ; many well-meaning, kind-hearted and 
 honourable gentlemen — the sort of men who require 
 no detailed description, for the good of all classes are 
 alike. 
 
 ****** 
 
 " During the last seven years burlesques and extra- 
 vaganzas have taken so strong a hold on public favour 
 that their authorship has become a distinct and sepa- 
 rate form of dramatic writincr. More than this ; it 
 has become a lucrative one, and is therefore much 
 followed. That very large majority of persons who 
 are not burlesque writers, burlesque actors, theatrical 
 managers, and amateurs, would be astonished if 
 they knew what serious importance is attached to 
 the production of these rhymed travesties, what 
 crowds they attract, and what large receipts the}' 
 brino-. 
 
 " About the end of August, when London streams 
 to the seaside, and Londoners do not stream into the 
 theatres; when managers have acted their favourite 
 characters to undiscriminatinii' audiences who have 
 graciously accepted free admissions, they begin to 
 think seriously of Christmas, and invite their panto- 
 mime or burlesque writer to a solemn conference. 
 Then follows a lone: and earnest discussion on 'sub- 
 jects.' Fairy lore, the Countess d'Aulnois, Walter 
 
EARL Y DA YS— STRUGGLES 109 
 
 Scott, everything- has been done. Wanted, something 
 new. Required, where to find it. The burlesque 
 writer says he will look over his memoranda, and 
 write. 
 
 " As it has never been made the subject of a 
 burlesque, and therefore cannot be invidious or 
 personal, we will suppose that Lord Byron's poem 
 of • Lara' is the theme hit upon by the author, and 
 ap[)roved of by the manager. 
 
 •' The exigences of modern taste and the require- 
 ments of playbills immediately suggest as a striking 
 Christmas comic chorus sort of title, ' Right-fal- 
 LARA-whack !' 
 
 " The original poem is, as the reader knows, a 
 sequel to ' The Corsair,' and but a misty and im- 
 perfect one. If anyone would read the story in its 
 entirety, they will rind it in George Sand's Venetian 
 novel, ' L'Uscoque.' 
 
 '• There being little plot and less incident in 
 ' Lara,' the burlesque writer invents a thrilling and 
 dramatic story, which he tells by means of contrastive 
 and impossible characters, and in so doing exhibits 
 a power of construction which is the nobler ])ortion 
 of his art. Lara is a misanthropic hero of the true 
 Byronic model, who holds self-communion in the 
 picture-gallery of his lonely castle, attended by a 
 mysterious and faithful page, known in the travesty 
 
no THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF T W. ROBERTSON 
 
 as Buttoni, which is, of course, burlesque Italian for 
 * Buttons.' The poem runs : 
 
 " ' In trembling pairs (alone they dared not) crawl 
 The astonished slaves, and shun the fated hall ; 
 The waving banner and the clapping door, 
 The rustling tapestry and the echoing floor. 
 The long dim shadows of surrounding trees, 
 The flapping bat, the night song of the breeze ; 
 Aught they behold or hear their thought appals, 
 As evening saddens o'er the dark gray walls.' 
 
 '' This is rendered into a troop of timid servants, 
 with pale cheeks and agitated knees, to whom Gate- 
 sauce, the fat cook, rushes on pale and trembling, 
 with white cheeks and an exaggerated nightcap : 
 
 DiSHUPPA {the*scullion). Cook, what's the matter ? 
 Galloppa {the courier). Tell us, is there danger ? 
 
 SwiNDELLO {the steward). Thy looks are blank ! 
 JOUSCOTTA {the groom). Ay, blanker than Wa/i/j-mangei- ! 
 
 Galloppa. Stand up. [GfAiE^AVCE. falls on the stage. 
 
 SwiNDELLO. He's down. 
 
 JOUSGOTTA {assisting him to rise). How with his weight I'm 
 burdened ! 
 
 DiSHLTppA. He can't be doirn, 'cos he's a upj)er servant ! 
 Gatesauce {recovering). Oh la ! [Faints again. 
 
 DiSHUPPA. Tell more. 
 
 JouscOTTA. Encore. 
 
 Gatesauce {recovering). You bore! Eau d'or / {They bring 
 him liqueur. He drinks and recovers. ) My friends {they gatht r round 
 him), I can't ! I'll sing you what I saw. 
 
 " And a song follows, to the air of the Phantom 
 
EARL Y DA YS— STRUGGLES i i,i 
 
 Chorus in 'La Sonnambula '. or 'Pretty Polly 
 Perkins of Paddington Green.' 
 
 '' Button! is, of course, a lady, who, though she 
 has followed Lara, disguised as an errand-boy and 
 general servant, will not, though she love him, listen 
 to his suit, even though he proffer marri;ige. As she 
 says, she is : 
 
 " ' In form a tiger, and at heart a tigress.' 
 
 ■' Lara, otherwise O'Leary, reminds her of })ast 
 delisfhts : 
 
 •' Remember, love, our cottage by the sea, 
 Where we were happy as could mortals be, 
 With toast and tarts, and shrimps and whelks for tea. 
 
 [ Trying to put his arm round her waist. She repulses him. 
 
 Kaled. You'll take no whelks, or liberty, with me. 
 
 " At the festival in Otho's Hall there is a grand 
 ballet, after which St. Ezzelino, the stranger, makes 
 his first appearance, and defies Lara to mortal combat, 
 which affords an opportunity for some smart allusions 
 to the recent tourney between King and Heenan, 
 much approved of by the gallery, and still more by 
 the carefully-combed male occupants of the stalls. 
 
 " Li the battle at the end of the piece, Kaled, the 
 page, fights and conquers the entire opposing force; 
 but, despite his or her prowess, Lara is wounded 
 mortally. Here we must again quote from the 
 original : 
 
112 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF T. W. ROBERTSON 
 
 " ' Beneath a lime, remoter from the scene, 
 
 Where but for him that strife had never been, 
 A breathing but devoted warrior lay : 
 'Twas Lara, bleeding fast from life away. 
 His follower once, and now his only guide, 
 
 Kneels Kaled, watchful o'er his welling side. 
 
 ****** 
 
 He clasps the hand that pang which would assuage. 
 And sadly smiles his thanks to that dark page, 
 Who nothing fears, nor feels, nor heeds, nor sees, 
 Save that damp brow which rests upon his knees, 
 Save that pale aspect, where the eye, though dim, 
 Held all the light that shone on earth for him.' 
 
 'O' 
 
 " This is clianoed to — 
 
 Lara. Kaled, I'm licked ! 
 
 Kaled. And yet I threw his lunge up. 
 
 Lara {falling). I cannot come to time, so throw the sponge up. 
 
 Kaled. Strive, sir, to rise. I'll bear thee hence. 
 
 Lara {family). No, no ! 
 
 His strong arms dealt me a really Armstrong blow. 
 
 Kaled. Let me assist thee. 
 
 Lara. Dearest ! 'tis too late ; 
 
 Like Heenan, I am now heenan-iTadAe. 
 
 Enter Otho, Ezzelino, and oil the opposing party. Kaled again 
 protects Lara. Kills half a dozen assailants, hut is at length 
 overpowered by numbers, and is ordered for iinmediate execution. 
 
 " The poet sings : 
 
 " ' Oh ! never yet beneath 
 The breast of man such trusty love may breathe ! 
 That trying moment hath at once revealed 
 The secret long, and yet but half concealed ; 
 In baring to revive that lifeless breast, 
 Its grief seemed ended, but the sex confessed. 
 
EARLY DAYS— STRUGGLES 113 
 
 And life returned, and Kaled felt no shame — 
 What now to her was Womanhood or Fame V 
 
 " The burlesque author chants : 
 
 EzzELiNO. The page boy lies at death. The headsman summon. 
 Kaled {her foot on her prostrate antagonists). Pity the weakness 
 of my sex ! 
 
 Omnes {astonished). A woman ! 
 
 " The disguised page is pardoned, Lara recovers, 
 every marriageable person plights his or her troth to 
 another, and ^finale is sung to a popular air : 
 
 EzzELiNO. Our little piece is ended, 
 Otho. Y^our kindness, friends, we lack ; 
 Kaled. Naught but a jest's intended, 
 By Right-fal-Lara-whack ! 
 Chorus {dancing and daijping their hands together on the last 
 sijllable). By Eight-fal-Lara-whack ! 
 Lara. And ere we drop the curtain, 
 Kaled. Oh, say you'll all come back, 
 Lara. And so ensure the fortune 
 Kaled. Of Right-fal-Lara-whack ! 
 Chorus. Of Right-fal-Lara-whack ! 
 
 " It is these broad and over-palpable jocularities 
 that hit modern audiences hardest. Smart writing, 
 keen satire, and hard raps at social abuses, though 
 they look well in print and are admired of critics and 
 habitues^ fail to elicit the loud roars of laughter that 
 follow an ingeniously audacious pun, or a happy 
 paraphrase or parody, 
 
 " With the rehearsal of the burlesque the author's 
 
 8 
 
114 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF T. W. ROBERTSON 
 
 perplexities begin. The scenic artist wishes to intro- 
 duce the limelight in a scene where it is more than 
 usually inappropriate. Possibly he thinks the dia- 
 logue will be the brighter — it will light up the puns, 
 and make the jokes more brilliant. The ballet- 
 master requires to cut the story into two halves in 
 such a place that it will be impossible to reunite the 
 thread of interest ; and last and worst difficulty of 
 all, the performers have to be reconciled to their 
 parts, and to the parodies allotted them. 
 
 "As with tragedy, so with burlesque. 
 
 " ' I am engaged in this theatre,' said a French 
 tragedian, ' for tears. My speciality is tears. Unless 
 I weep I cannot act ; unless I weep the audience will 
 not recognise me. There is not a tear in my part. 
 I pray you, then, dear monsieur, to permit me to 
 curse my daughter, and then subside into heart- 
 rending sobs.' 
 
 " ' Now, my dear Mr. Charade, I must have a 
 serious talk to you,' says the young lady who plays 
 Kaled. 
 
 " The author moves uneasily. 
 
 " ' About the songs,' continues Mdlle. Kaled. ' I 
 hope that I'm to have one to the air of " Ribstone 
 Pippins"?' 
 
 " ' Well, to tell you the truth, I had intended that 
 for Lara.' 
 
EARL Y DA YS— STRUGGLES i r 5 
 
 " ' Oh dear me ! You surprise me. Mr. Oddjaws 
 always has the best of everything. Last year he had 
 " The Little Baker's Boy." It's very inconvenient 
 to me to have to '' colour" for this Caleb.' 
 
 " ' Kaled.' 
 
 "'Kaliz — what d'ye call it? And " Ribstone 
 Pippins " has sucli a good chorus. I think with a 
 dance I could make it ffo down.' 
 
 " ' No doubt you could, my dear Miss Gigwell ; 
 but ' 
 
 " ' Now, I must have no '' buts " about it. Either 
 I sing " Ribstone Pii^pins " or you must get Miss 
 Chillgrim to play the part. Good-morning, Mr. 
 Charade. ' 
 
 "And Miss Gigwell glides away. 
 
 " When the author informs Lara that he thinks a 
 medley will be suited to him, that gentleman imme- 
 diately breaks out with : 
 
 " ' Oh, nonsense, my dear boy — nothing of the 
 
 sort ! " Ribstone Pippins " must be mine, or 
 
 It has such a stunning chorus, you know, my dear 
 
 boy— 
 
 " ' With my 
 Rip-pip-pip, my rip-pip-pip. 
 
 My rip-pip-pipstone pippins, 
 Kip-pip-pip-pi-pip, rip-pip-pip-pi-pip-ip-pip-ip-pip, 
 My ribstone pip-ip-pippins.' 
 
 Oh, it's the very thing for me.' 
 
ii6 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF T. W. ROBERTSON 
 
 " ' I'll make a swop with you,' says the author. 
 ' Let Miss Gigwell have " Ribstone Pippins," and 
 you shall have " Hot Codlings." ' 
 
 " ' What a fellow you are ! No, my dear boy ; 
 I must have it. Sooner than go without my " Rib- 
 stone Pippins," I'd go without my Christmas 
 pudding.' 
 
 " ' Or your Christmas goose,' says the author to 
 himself, not to Mr. Oddjaws. To make which piece 
 of esoteric satire intelligible, we must inform our 
 readers that ' goose ' is theatrical argot for hissing. 
 
 " The ' Ribstone Pippin ' difficulty for a long time 
 agitates the theatre. Negotiations fail, a congress is 
 held, and eventually a compromise effected. 'Rib- 
 stone Pippins ' is sung as a duet. On Boxing Night 
 the audience demand its repetition and its re- 
 repetition. 
 
 " ' I told you how I could make " Pippins " go,' 
 says Miss Gigwell to the author, as she receives his 
 con crratulation s . 
 
 "'I was right about the "Pippins" — wasn't I?' 
 says Mr. Oddjaws. 
 
 " ' I knew " Ribstone Pippins " would be best as a 
 duet,' says the author to his wife, as they drive home 
 too-ether, after the delighted lady has heard her 
 husband called for, and seen him make his bow from 
 
 the stage. 
 
 # * * * * * * 
 
EARL Y DA YS— STRUGGLES 1 1 7 
 
 " It is understood that these pages treat of none 
 but those actors and actresses whose callino; is that 
 of actor and actress only ; that is, our types are 
 theatrical, and nothing else. We speak only of those 
 who embrace a hard-working and ill-paid career for 
 the purpose of earning an honest livelihood, of fol- 
 lowing an artistic calling, or gratifying a pardonable 
 vanity. Of the man who has emoluments or half- 
 pay, or a rich wife or relations ; or the woman to 
 whom the stage is the mere pastime for an idle hour, 
 a peg whereon to hang rich clothes, or a means of 
 advertising purchasable charms, we do not speak. 
 
 " In the days of the performance of the old comedies 
 — works whose absence from the stao;e we should 
 res^ret the more did we not remember their utter con- 
 ventionality and unnaturalness — there used to be 
 found in most dramatic companies a short, somewhat 
 stout, white-toothed, sweet- breathed, snub-nosed, 
 black-eyed, broad-hipped Hebe who played the class 
 of character called in green-room parlance ' the 
 Chambermaid.' She possessed a good voice, could 
 sing by ear, and had a saucy way of tossing her head 
 that was half boyish, half hoydenish, and wholly 
 captivating. A Chambermaid was the motive power 
 of comedy, the female factotum or Figaro in petticoats, 
 who advised her young mistress to oppose her 
 father's will and to elope with the ' Captain ' ; v>dio 
 
ii8 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF T W. ROBERTSON 
 
 abused her old master, counselled his wife to deceive 
 him, took guineas, and sometimes kisses, from the 
 ' Captain ' — that eternal officer — behaved with hideous 
 insincerity to all the dramatis persona"! over the age of 
 forty, secured to herself a competence, and all the 
 while loved and was beloved by the Captain's own 
 man, Mr. Tagg, the valet. The dialogue she spoke 
 was sometimes not only broad", but coarse ; but there 
 was a fresh, vivid humanity in her and about her. 
 She was a high-mettled wench, with great natural wit 
 and small education, who loved and hated with equal 
 ardour ; in brief, she was feminine, exaggerated and 
 natural. Mais nous avons change tout cela. About 
 tlie same time that the art of actino- — as an art — 
 began to be degraded, the Chambermaid gradually 
 assumed French airs and vaudeville graces. It was 
 as Mr. Square, the philosopher, said, 'in the eternal 
 fitness of things ' that, as our stage became a school- 
 boy vulgarization of the Parisian theatres, that pert 
 Betty should be transformed into piquante Lottee, 
 and that the good old English oaken-staircase, 
 candlestick-carrying, cherry-brandy sort of word 
 ' Chambermaid ' should be abandoned for ' soubrette.' 
 " The soubrette is highly genteel. Oh! so genteel 
 that she has velvet ribbons at the pockets of sky-blue 
 satin aprons, and travels over Europe in a Mechlin- 
 lace cap the size of a crown-piece. She would not 
 
EARL Y DA YSSTRUGGLES 1 19 
 
 break a silver sixpence with her sweetheart ; to halve 
 a £0 note she would consider low. She sings, too, 
 scientifically ; and in costume, character, coquettish- 
 ness, and contralto voice is a queer combination of 
 reality and impossibility — of theatre and opera ; 
 neither fish, flesh, fowl, nor good red herring. 
 
 " The public is indebted for the introduction of 
 this hybrid to those women whose resources are 
 obtained outside and not in the theatre. It is easier 
 to find ear-rings than talent ; money will purchase 
 ribi)ons by the yard, and the power of delivering 
 smart repartee and delineating character is not sold at 
 the haberdasher's ; but, as it has been already stated 
 that this subject is forbidden, it cannot be pursued. 
 
 " With the chano'e of feelino;, taste, and fashion, the 
 theatre — that cheap mirror with a Dutch metalled 
 frame, that inverts all that it reflects — must change 
 too. The Chambermaid is gone — gone with the oil- 
 lamps, the sheet-iron thunder, and the green carpet, 
 stowed away as useless lumber, unfit for the 
 consideration of a speculative dealer in marine stores. 
 The soubrette, too, is very nearly off the stage ; and 
 we shall bear the loss of that genteel gimcrack with 
 considerable fortitude. Those two divinities of the 
 gallery, powers over the pit and pets of the boxes, 
 have been eclipsed by a more vivid, more dazzling, 
 more spangly star — the Burlesque Actress, who now 
 
120 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF T. W. ROBERTSON 
 
 rules the hours between nme and twelve p.m., as sure 
 as legs are legs. 
 
 " The Burlesque Actress is young, elegant, and 
 accomplished in more than the usual sense of the 
 word. She is generally handsome, and when her 
 features are irregular she more than atones for them 
 by expression — expression that combines good 
 humour, malice, intensity of feeling, Bacchante-like 
 enjoyment, and devotion. She can sing the most 
 difficult of Donizetti's languid, loving melodies, as 
 well as the inimitable Mackney's ' Oh, Rosa, how I 
 lub you ! Goodie cum 1' She can warble a drawing- 
 room baUad of the ' Daylight of the Soul ' or 
 ' Eyes melting in Gloom ' school, or whistle ' When 
 I was a- walking in Wiggleton Wale ' with the 
 shrillness and correctness of a Whitechapel bird- 
 catcher. She is as faultless on the piano as on the 
 bones. She can waltz, polk, dance a pas seul or a 
 sailor's hornpipe, La Sylphide, or the Giewu-wine 
 Transatlantic Cape Cod Skedaddle, with equal grace 
 and spirit; and as for acting, she can declaim a la Phelps 
 or Fechter ; is serious, droll ; and must play farce, 
 tragedy, opera, comedy, melodrama, pantomime, 
 ballet, change her costume, fight a combat, make 
 love, poison herself, die, and take one encore for a 
 song and another for a dance, in the short space of 
 ten minutes. 
 
EARL Y DA YS— STR UG GLES 1 2 r 
 
 " The young actress in possession of all these 
 abilities wakes up the morning after her appearance 
 in London to find herself famous. The men at the 
 clubs go mad about her. She is almost pelted with 
 bouquets and billet-doux ; enthusiasts crowd round 
 her cab to see her alight or waylay her in omnibuses ; 
 old gentlemen send her flowers, scent-bottles, ivory- 
 backed hair-brushes, cambric pocket-handkerchiefs, 
 and parasols ; matter-of-fact barristers compose verses 
 in her honour ; and photographers lay their cameras 
 at her feet. Half Aldershot comes nightly up by 
 train. She is a power in London, and theatrical 
 managers drive up to her door and bid against each 
 other for her services. Fortunate folks who see her 
 in the daytime complain 'that she dresses plainly' — 
 ' almost shabbily '; but, then, they are not aware that 
 she has to keep half a dozen fatherless brothers and 
 sisters and an invalid mother out of her salary — ,7. ,^ 
 which intelligence, when known to th e two or three ^^ 
 men who really care for her, sends them sleepless ^■^'' 
 witFadmiration. Here is a household fairy who can 
 polk, paint, make puddings, sing, sew on buttons, 
 turn heads and old bonnets, wear cleaned gloves, 
 
 whistle, weep, laugh, and perhaps love. 
 
 ****** 
 
 " The Stage- Manager is the man who should direct 
 everything behind the scenes. He should be at one 
 
122 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF T. W. ROBERTSON 
 
 and the same time a poet, an antiquarian, and a cos- 
 tumier ; and possess sufficient authority, from ability 
 as well as office, to advise with a tragedian as to a 
 disputed reading, to argue with an armourer as to the 
 shape of a shield, or to direct a wardrobe-keeper as to 
 the cut of a mantle. He should understand military 
 science like a drill-sergeant, and be as capable of 
 handling crowds and moving masses as a major- 
 general. He should possess universal sympathies : 
 should feel with the sublime, and have a quick per- 
 ception of the ludicrous. Though unable to act 
 himself, he should be able to teach others, and be the 
 finger-post, guide, philosopher, and friend of every 
 soul in a theatre, male or female, from the manager 
 and author to the call-boy and the gas-man, from the 
 manageress and principal soprano to the back row of 
 the extra children's ballet and the cleaners, 
 
 " Above all, he should be endowed with a perfect 
 command of his own temper, and the power of con- 
 ciliating the temper of others. The art of stage- 
 management consists chietly in a trick of manner that 
 reconciles the collision of opposing personal vanities. 
 , " That is what he should be ; what he is is a very 
 different affair. 
 
 " Some Stage-Managers are appointed to their office 
 for curious reasons : because they have gray hair, or 
 a fatherly-looking stomach, or because they once 
 
EARL Y DA YS— STRUGGLES 123 
 
 wrote a piece which failed, or because they know 
 nothing of stage business, or because they know 
 nothing but stage business, or because they are defer- 
 ential, or because they have a large family, or because 
 they wear a heavy gold watch and chain, or because 
 they knew the late Charles Kemble, or any other good 
 theatrical reason. 
 
 " One man, who for many years was Stage-Manager 
 of the patent theatres — a position for which he was 
 totally unqualified — was appointed solely because he 
 was well acquainted with the hours at which the 
 coaches started from one town to another. . . . 
 
 " Then there is the Cruel Stao;e-Manao-er, who hates 
 everybody in the theatre and out of it, and who abuses 
 his power in the largest spirit of the smallest tyranny, 
 and, while he fawns on public favourites, is the bane 
 of the actors of inferior parts, and the terror of the 
 ballet. If a poor girl be one minute late by the Cruel 
 Stage-Manager's infallible chronometer (which, with 
 the green-room clock, he always keeps five minutes 
 before the Horse Guards), he directs the Prompter to 
 fine her — ' Fine her, fine her, Brooks !' — and the girl, 
 who walks twenty miles a day, and, being a clever 
 dancer, earns eighteen shillings a week, is mulcted of 
 one shilling. . . . 
 
 " The Affectionate Stage-Manager is a flint-musket 
 of a difi'erent bore. He lives but to employ adjectives 
 
124 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF T. W ROBERTSON 
 
 agreeable to his hearers, and is of an incompetency 
 compared to which ordinary inabihty soars to genius. 
 With him every male is his ' dear boy,' every woman 
 his ' darling child,' every manager ' a splendid fellow,' 
 every actor ' a first- rate man,' every actress ' a charm- 
 ing creature,' every supernumerary ' a good chap,' and 
 the world in general a Bower of Bliss and Home of 
 Happiness. Whatever is is best, and his bonhomie 
 is supposed by actors — an easily-persuaded and credu- 
 lous race — to spring from a kind heart, whereas it is 
 only pure, simple, unadulterated blarney. He could 
 not live by his ability, so he ekes out his thin, weak, 
 conventional knowledge with a mouthful of tender 
 words. 
 
 " The Traditional Stage-Manager is the man who 
 knew Charles Kemble, and whose knowledge — dra- 
 matic, artistic, literary, and general — ends there. To 
 the stupidity of this creature no tongue could do 
 justice; to the density of his intellectual powers 
 lignum-vit^ is as a transparent soap-bubble. 
 
 " The Muddle-headed Stage-Manager is a donkey 
 of another colour. He will listen to every suggestion 
 and understand none. In the inmost recesses of that 
 cerebral pulp which in his skull does duty for brain, 
 he has a confused notion that the Act of Parliament 
 forbidding marriage with a deceased wife's sifter 
 somehow or other affects the probability of the plot 
 
EARL Y DA YS— STRUGGLES 1 2 5 
 
 of ' Hamlet.' Under his auspices — and be it always re- 
 membered that the deeper his incapacity the prouder he 
 
 is of his ' experience ' — rehearsals progress but slowly. 
 * iSr -n- r* -;:- "- 
 
 " The Scene-painter is usually one of the pleasantest 
 men in the theatre. King in his snug painting-room, 
 high above the stage, he recks not of the whirl of 
 passions and vanities below. It is a great power the 
 theatrical Scene-painter holds between his pliant 
 thumb and lingers. He copies Nature on a large 
 scale. It must be high delight to look upon a broad, 
 flat, white surface, and choose whether it shall be 
 converted into an Emir's palace, all pillars, curtains, 
 gold tassels, fringes, and polished-mirror marble floor, 
 the hot sun shining on a fountain in the distance ; or 
 into an Alpine gorge, with blocks of snow-covered 
 stone and funereal fir- trees, with plains of ice con- 
 ducting to a frosty horizon ; or into a magician's 
 cavern, where the dark rocks, cut in fantastic forms, 
 loom into sight in the shape of squatting demons, 
 petrified giants, and ghostly vertebrae of huge and 
 hideous reptiles ; or into a sparkling, ri})pling sea, 
 with but one white speck of sail between it and the 
 clear dome of blue sky above it. These are great 
 privileges. But the great charm of the Scene-painter's 
 life is to take oft* his well-cut, Avell-brushed garments, 
 and don his painting suit ; then he revels in dirt and 
 
126 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF T. W. ROBERTSON 
 
 daubs and spots, that are of his clothes, and not of 
 him. How ? That very faultlessly got-up gentle- 
 man, who just now asked for letters in the hall ; 
 that exquisite in the black frock-coat, pearl -coloured 
 trousers, fashionable hat, and perfect boots — can he 
 be this canvassy creature in a wideawake which a 
 thriving farmer would be ashamed to see upon his 
 scarecrow ? That dirty jacket, those grimy trousers ! 
 Is it a beggar who has made himself a suit out of old 
 sail-cloth ? No ! It is an artistic gentleman, who 
 owns a villa in the neighbourhood of Hampstead, who 
 has choice wines in his cellar, and is a captain of 
 Volunteers. These are his working clothes. 
 
 '■ In these present days of scenic display, when 
 even no poor ghost can walk undisturbed by scientific 
 satellites, lime-lights, mirrors, and the like, the Scene- 
 painter is a far more important person in a theatre 
 than the Tragedian — not that the bearing of those 
 gentlemen would impress a stranger with the fact — 
 for by so much as the Tragedian is pompous, blatant, 
 and assuming, the Scene-painter is easy, natural, and 
 polite. Perhaps the Tragedian takes his tone from 
 the brigand-chiefs and aspiring patriots whose 
 characters he assumes ; and the Scene-painter, with 
 his keen eye for the glories of colour and knowledge 
 of the combinations of natural beauty, knows how to 
 blend himself harmoniously. 
 
EARL Y DA YS— STRUGGLES 127 
 
 " The Stage Carpenter is a singular creature. He 
 is the victim of a dehision, by which he is bound 
 hand, and foot, and brain. It is a behef, as deeply 
 rooted in his mind as is his two-foot rule inserted in 
 his trousers-pocket, that while he is in the theatre he 
 is ' at work.' If he is what, in theatrical parlance, is 
 termed a ' day man,' he reaches the theatre at a 
 quarter to ten if the rehearsal be at ten, at a quarter 
 to eleven if the rehearsal be at eleven, at a quarter to 
 twelve if the rehearsal be at twelve, and so on. Once 
 in the theatre, his first proceeding is to hide himself in 
 the scene-dock, where nobody can find him. He then 
 takes off his coat, puts on his ' working ' canvas- 
 jacket, sticks a hammer in his girdle or apron pistol- 
 wise — after the fashion of bold buccaneers in penny 
 plates — uses his coat-sleeve as a pocket-handkerchief, 
 sits down in a corner and goes to sleep. And here 
 commences his delusion. It is his firm belief that 
 while he has on his canvas-jacket and his hammer 
 stuck into his girdle that he is hard at work — nay, 
 perspiring copiously. He will even carry this 
 delusion out so far as to wake up after an hour and 
 a half's nap and feel fatigued, so much so as to be 
 compelled to adjourn to the nearest public-house 
 and recruit exhausted nature with half a pint — for 
 he is also the victim of half a pint, or, rather, the 
 victim of a pint and a half, not to say two gallons — 
 
128 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF T. W. ROBERTSON 
 
 and in three days, when not an interval of labour, not 
 the screwing out of an old nail from a rusty hinge, 
 has occurred to vary the tedious monotony of slumber, 
 he will declaim in the taproom on the wrongs of the 
 working man and the tyranny of employers. It has 
 been said by a popular novelist of the day that no 
 set of men can idle as nautical men can. From this 
 observation it is evident that the servants of a theatre 
 liave never passed under that popular novelist's eye. 
 
 " The Stage Carpenter works but once a year — for 
 the production of the pantomime — and then he works 
 con amove ; for during the run of the pantomime the 
 genius of stage carpentry is properly estimated, and 
 authors, actors, composers, musicians, and such mere 
 idlers sink into their proper insignificance. 
 
 " The Property Man — i.e., the man who looks after 
 the chairs and tables and things movable by hand, 
 and who manufactures the sheep, fish, carrots, and 
 huo-e chamber-candlesticks used in the pantomime — 
 is a mysterious mechanic, whose habits are unclean, 
 predatory, and mendacious. His complexion is a 
 singular compound of the perspiration of the Mid- 
 summer before last with the dust of the preceding- 
 Christmas. Dust rests upon his eyelashes as moss 
 rests on the boughs of an old tree. If ever he wash 
 himself — which is doubtful, save on his wed<ling-day 
 — his ablutions are made in the glue-pot. He is so 
 
EARLY DAYS— STRUGGLES 129 
 
 sticky that, were he to lean against a wall, portions 
 of his garments would adhere to it when he sum- 
 moned up sufficient energy to walk away. Whj^ does 
 this gifted getter-up of gnomes, salaman(]ers, dragons' 
 heads, and fairies' wings al)jure cold water and ignore 
 all crystal streams, save the pantomime fountains 
 framed of wire, blue gauze, white Dutch metal, and 
 spangles ? Would his lingers lose their cunning if 
 occasionally polluted by the use of soap ? his tongue 
 its power of ready excuse, or his brain its in- 
 ventive faculty, if fluid touched his external man ? 
 The cause of this dramatico-mechanico-hydrophobia 
 is inexplicable, and ever must remain a mystery, to 
 be solved only by a treacherous member of the craft, 
 who, converted to cleanliness by a Turkish bath, shall 
 renounce the property-room and divulge its secrets. 
 The Property Man has the same peculiarity as the 
 oldest inhabitant — he never remembers anything ; 
 nor will he, no matter how familiar the object, confess 
 that he has ever seen a specimen, or that it is pro- 
 curable, save by the expense of large quantities of 
 
 money, time, difficulty, and danger. 
 
 ****** 
 
 ''But the limit of our space is near, and there are 
 many other specimens that must be left undescribed. 
 There is the Costumier, who is a sort of cross-leirsfed I 
 inixture of milliner and magician, and who thinks 
 
 9 
 
I30 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF T. W. ROBERTSON 
 
 that the north star would shine the brighter if thickly 
 spangled. There is the Call-boy, a clever imp of 
 mischief, who recognises no aristocracy but that of 
 talent, and no talent but that of the actor. There 
 are the Wig-makers — hold ! The mere English word 
 requires an apology. If tailors are Costumiers, wig- 
 makers must be Perruquiers, w^ho weave dead men's 
 hair into false scalps, and brush out cataracts of 
 blonde ringlets without a thought of the beauty of 
 the soil on which they grew. The rank grass that 
 grows in churchyards has been called ' the uncut 
 hair of graves,' Does no sexton association occur to 
 the wig-maker as he plaits, and weaves, and oils, and 
 curls the terribly human-looking silk ? It is to be 
 supposed not. Custom hath made it in him a property 
 of greasiness. 
 
 " Then there is the Gasman, who, though his trade 
 be odorous, manages to keep a clean face and hands. 
 He runs about the theatre, nimbly correcdng cross- 
 grained taps and bursting batwings with his pliant 
 pincers. Then there is the Hall Porter, who is in- 
 variably old ; is an Irishman, and has served in the 
 Peninsula in an Irish regiment, and fought at Water- 
 loo, and whose jaws have a grim rigidity, suggestive 
 of barrack - life ; whose speech is a stiff civility, 
 redolent of discipline, and whose gray, rat-like 
 whiskers are perfumed with whisky. There is the 
 
EARL Y DA YS— STRUGGLES i -. r 
 
 Gentlemen's Dresser, who has also been a soldier; 
 who informs the actors that when he was in the 
 marines ' he were off the Gold Coast in the Devas- 
 tator, and they had no shoes on them, sir; and Captain 
 Dawbarn, as was the captain, was an awful severe 
 man, and drink — oh, how he did drink ! He says 
 to us one day on parade, " You marines," he says, 
 " I'll work you down to ile "; and he nearly did, and 
 he would have been broke only he died off Sumatra, 
 thank goodness ! for if ever there was a beast he 
 was.' Time works wonders, and the warrior mariner 
 has tamed down into a dramatic valet, and hooks and 
 eyes doublets, and pulls off yellow boots, as deftly 
 as he used to polish bayonets and pipeclay belts. 
 
 " The Ladies' Dresser has usually seen better days, 
 and is of the same ascetic, rust}^, musty type as the 
 pew-opener at a church, with perhaps a sprinkling 
 more dust. She is invariably a widow, and her late 
 husband was either the greatest wretch on record or 
 the most perfect of his gay, perfidious sex. Last of 
 all there is the Supernumerary — a dreadful trade, 
 strange to say, pursued only by men and boys with 
 thin legs. A muscular Supernumerary is a phe- 
 nomenon that has never been known to occur even 
 in the experience of the oldest, most experienced, 
 and stupidest of Stage- Managers. 
 
 " There are many other types of theatrical char- 
 
132 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF T. W. ROBERTSON 
 
 acter. ... To the outer world theatrical life is a deep, 
 dark well, whose troubled w^aters are much feared 
 and little understood; but Truth lived in a well, and 
 a laro-e amount of Truth and Goodness dwells in the 
 Theatre, and few looking at the green froth of vanity 
 that stagnates on its surface would guess the richness 
 of the pearls that lie beneath. 
 
 " That some very bad man should want something 
 to which he has no right — a kingdom, duchy, throne, 
 estate, title, house, lady, watch, soup-ladle, or leg of 
 mutton — is the starting-point of every tragedy or 
 drama ; and wdthout a villain — and the worse he is 
 the better — no tragedy or drama could get on. He 
 is as fuel to the steamboat; and not only fuel, but 
 machinery, paddle-wheels, wind and water. 
 
 " These despotic Dukes, malevolent Marquises, and 
 bad Barons in the illogical w^orld behind the scenes 
 (which, if remarkable for nothing else, would be so 
 for false classification) are called ' heavy ' part s, and 
 are played by 'heavy men.' It must be understood 
 that the word 'heavy' has no avoirdupois significa- 
 tion ; on the contrary, the Heavy Man is generally 
 slight and slender. Villains should be thin ; no 
 audience would believe in a fat murderer. The stage 
 arbitrarily presumes a physical organization of its 
 own, totally independent of the laws of nature. In 
 theatrical pathology, remorse absorbs all the adipose 
 
EARLY DAYS— STRUGGLES 133 
 
 matter in the bodies of bad men. The worse tlie 
 heart, the more active the secretions. The word 
 ' heavy ' is doubtless intended to express the weight 
 on the spirits of the auditors of the villain's presence, 
 appearance, conversation, and soliloquies. 
 
 " For he is a dreadful fellow to soliloquize, is the 
 Heavy Man ! No sooner has the meek old noble 
 whom he means to murder, or the high-spirited heir 
 whom he intends to dispossess of his broad lands, 
 or the amiable heroine he destines for a fate worse 
 than death, gone off to their respective towers, 
 bowers, or rendezvous, than he advances to the front, 
 plants his right toe between the two centre footlights, 
 and, contracting his eyebrows and clenching his iist 
 — that fist ah'eady red with the blood of a twin- 
 brother — looks at the audience as if he said: ' You^ 
 at least, cannot escape me ; you have paid your 
 shillings at the door ; miserable miscreants, you are 
 in my power, and shall hear me !' He then, after 
 rolling his eyes, carefully informs his hearers, in 
 tones that must disturb the meek old Baron on his 
 couch, the high-spirited heir at his rendezvous a mile 
 off, and the amiable heroine at her latticed casement, 
 that he considers parricide rather a creditable thing 
 than otherwise if a man be urged to it by an un- 
 governable temper, a father's rebuke, an impatient 
 thirst for gold, or the desire of vengeance. Accord- 
 
134 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF T. W. ROBERTSON 
 
 ing to him, vengeance is the chief object of a man's 
 life ; and he enlarges on this delightful subject until 
 the Gallery is rapt with admiration, the Boxes con- 
 siderably bored, and a stout old lady in the Pit — 
 Mr. Arthur Sketchley's friend, Mrs. Brown, perhaps 
 — exclaims in a Camberwell gurgle : ' Oh, the 
 wretch !' 
 
 " With an audience, villains are an acquired taste, 
 and t\\Q article depends on locality. There are 
 apricots and nectarines for Covent Garden Market, 
 and pickled whelks for the south side of the river 
 Thames ; so there are elegant brigands, murderous 
 marquises, and fascinating forgers, for the postal dis- 
 trict marked W., and absconding stewards and pirate 
 captains for that marked S. 
 
 " Among many other things dramatic which we 
 owe to the French — or, rather, to the Parisians, for 
 there are two nations, the Parisians and the French — 
 we are indebted for the cool, fashionable villain, the 
 villain a la vanille, the refrigerated rascal, whose 
 costume is confined to the coats and trousers of 
 modern days, and whose unamiable weaknesses are 
 francs and females. This is the ' mildest-mannered 
 man ' that ever cut throat in kid gloves. He 
 is all diamond studs and devildom, and finishes 
 an act by saying in a silvery tone, ' Having 
 poisoned my mother and stabbed my sister to the 
 
EARLY DAYS— STRUGGLES 135 
 
 heart I will bathe, and then to breakfast with the 
 Marchesa.' 
 
 ** One of the favourite fopperies of the High Life 
 Heavy part is a coat elaborately trimmed with fur. 
 It would seem as if, this garment being in his 
 contidence, and knowing all his villainies, the knotted 
 and combined locks of the fur parted, and each 
 particular hair did stand on end like quills upon the 
 fretful porcupine, aghast at the terrible complications 
 of his o;uilt. The rose-scented ruffian is always an 
 accomplished duellist, a dead shot, and a crack 
 swordsman, and usually brings upon himself his in- 
 evitable end by overdoing his rascality. There should 
 be limits to all things, even to stage villainy. 
 
 " With the pickled -whelk class of audiences the 
 Heavy Man's lapses from the right path are invariably 
 more innocent than in the arena visited by opera- 
 cloak and fan ; but they are more openly avowed and 
 more coarsely delineated. The absconding steward 
 or the rascally lawyer — two favourite varieties of 
 scoundrel east of Temple Bar and south of Waterloo 
 Bridge — have in their marble hearts no spot of love. 
 They care not for the old farmer's daughter or the 
 honest cotter's wife. They aspire, respire, and 
 perspire, but for GOLD ! Forged wills, fabricated 
 codicils, hidden mortgage deeds, and unexpected 
 parchments are the tools with which they work. 
 
136 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF T. W. ROBERTSON 
 
 They are invariably cowards, and tremble like aspen- 
 leaves when an honest tar only threatens to ' keel- 
 haul ' them. Keeldiauling, by the way, although a 
 mode of punishment long since abolished in the 
 British navy, is constantly alladed to by the theatrical 
 British tar. When the false steward or corru])t 
 lawyer consorts with thieves, highwaymen, smugglers, 
 coiners, and the like, he is invariably treated by them 
 with the greatest contempt. He, on the contrary, 
 is always civil and apologetic, even to the most 
 abandoned outlaw, whom he addresses as ' Mister.' 
 
 " ' Don't " mister " me !' thunders out the Pirate 
 Captain. ' Death's head and cross-bones ! but you 
 make me feel as if a cr-r-rawling snake were 
 twining his slimy folds around me! My name is 
 Ruthven Rudderblood, captain of the Ocean Helldog. 
 Yonder lies my bark, and never has this hand failed 
 a friend in guilt, or spared a foe when on his knees 
 for mercy !' 
 
 " Character parts are those that do not positively 
 belong to any of the usually recognised lines of 
 business. Kaffians with dialects, such as broken- 
 hearted farm-labourers, who object to work, and set 
 fire to ricks because they are not kept sumptuously 
 at the parish expense, or idiots, who say cleverer 
 things than the people presumed to have possession 
 
EARL Y DA YS— STRUGGLES 1 37 
 
 of their intellectual faculties. The marked and 
 singular personages found in dramas adapted from 
 popular novels, and comic villains, belong to this 
 category. They are too exceptional to require any 
 detailed description. 
 
 * -S'r V' -Sr 4C- -S'r 
 
 " A crowd of well-dressed gazers ; a sound of music, 
 low, languid, and sensual; a swell of harmony, 
 celestial in the pagan sense of the word, melting, 
 luxurious, passionate, emasculating, flooding the 
 senses with emotions, no single note appealing to the 
 intellect — music of the syrens, not of the spheres. 
 The curtain rises cumbrously : a cool, sparkling, 
 stalactite, coral grot is disclosed to view — a sub- 
 aqueous retreat, half cavern on the coast, half barley- 
 sugar temple — the Abode of the Fairy Corallina, and 
 Haunt of the Nymphs of the Lurley. 
 
 " The music undulates, swells, grows louder, louder 
 yet, fills the arena, and then changes its character 
 with a crash that seems to shake the Mitterino- 
 crystals sparkling in the magic rocks. 
 
 " Down four different coral banks four different 
 troops of fairies enter, dancing joyously. Their eyes, 
 arms, feet, and figures glisten with shining corals, 
 and their hair is bound with seaweeds. They are 
 mermaids with human continuations to their fi^-ures 
 — living mermaids, whose glances reflect the many 
 
138 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF T. W. ROBERTSON 
 
 liorlits thrown on them, whose white arms bear coral- 
 branches, whose bosoms heave and whose nostrils 
 tremble with the execution of the dance. They form 
 bowers with their coral garlands ; triumphal arches, 
 of which their arms are pillars, and the bent garlands 
 the dome ; then they separate to meet again, and meet 
 again to separate. Tiny fairies appear in the far-off 
 alcoves and snowy caves. . . . The music changes 
 again, and becomes noisy and billowy. The n3^mphs 
 leave off dancing and throw up their arms, then run 
 from side to side, and by feature and gesticulations 
 express — something, but what no mortal conundrum- 
 "•uesser could ever divine. 
 
 " But the answer to it is that there is a storm 
 above, and they hear the wrecking of a vessel. 
 
 " Crash, smash music, lifted arms, fingers pointed, 
 hurry, scurry, and alarm ; and down at the back falls 
 a spar, a rope, and a shipwrecked mariner pendant 
 therefrom. The shipwrecked mariner falls uj^on the 
 stao'e in the whitest of shirts and the most gTaceful of 
 attitudes. 
 
 " There is dreadful consternation among the fairy 
 Lurleybergians, who have been brought up in the 
 strictest submarine seclusion and the coral-grottiest 
 horror of a man ; they avert their faces and extend 
 the ])alms of their hands, as in horror and disgust. 
 They would fly and leave him to his fate ; but the 
 
EARL Y DA YS— STRUGGLES 1 39 
 
 Queen signifies, by stamping her foot and tapping 
 her bosom, that the rights of hospitality are sacred. 
 She desires that the drowned mariner be succoured, 
 and herself approaches him, looks on him, and falls in 
 love with him that moment ! 
 
 " Corallina's penchant for the objectionable stranger 
 being obvious, the nymphs give him to drink from 
 crystal streams, using shells instead of saucers ; and 
 thus the mariner is, as it were, weaned from his 
 mortalitv. 
 
 " No sooner does the shipwrecked mariner recover 
 and express his convalescence by two pirouettes and 
 an entrechat, than everything goes wrong in Coral- 
 grottin. Sirena, a nymph of impressionable nature, 
 dares to rival Corallina; the young mariner is impul- 
 sive and inconstant, and the feature of the evenino; is 
 a ' Grand Pas de Trois de Jalousie.' It is never 
 known how matters are ultimatel}' made up, but that 
 is of no consequence. The shipwrecked mariner be- 
 comes a river-god by the simple process of changing 
 his dress, and dances — ugh ! how he dances ! He is 
 an ugly old man, with naked, skinny arms, and a wig 
 and a common French face of the common French 
 ugliness, and he grins as if he felt himself the young 
 Apollo. Out on all male operatic dancers ! for they 
 are an abomination and an eyesore. 
 
 " A ballet is a wonderful conglomeration of grace 
 
I40 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF T. W. ROBERTSON 
 
 and nonsense, and, it is to be presumed, is concocted 
 for the purpose of puzzling as well as of delighting 
 the outer world. Much has been said and written 
 of the dancers who form what is called in the play- 
 bills the Corps de FJallet. The stories told of 
 them are more or less true, and very much less than 
 more. 
 
 " Some say the members of the Corps de Ballet are 
 in the habit of dining with dukes daily ; of living at 
 the rate of about £1,000 per diem ; of having sets of 
 diamonds for every week in the year ; two broughams, 
 four footmen, three lady's-maids, and a boudoir of 
 white velvet and lilac satin, with mother-of-pearl fur- 
 niture, and a solid silver fireplace with a gold fender 
 and fireirons en suite. Others protest that she is 
 the possessor of rather more good qualities than all 
 the famed heroines of ancient or modern times : 
 rather prefers linse}'-wolsey to satin ; thinks porter a 
 nicer drink than champagne; is never irritable with 
 her father, mother, or the nine brothers and sisters 
 whom she supports by her earnings ; has not in her 
 composition one particle of envy, hatred, malice, or 
 uncharitableness ; and is exactly like those most im- 
 pos?^ible and disagreeable persons — the heroines of 
 small novels and the * ideals ' of lads of sixteen. 
 
 " This last opinion is the sentimental one circulated 
 by those idiotic men who go about calling themselves 
 
EARL Y DA YS— STRUGGLES 141 
 
 ' friends of dramatic art,' and who, by asseverating 
 that everything and everybody connected with a theatre 
 is best, more best, and most best, do the caUing- they 
 say that they admire more real injury than the attacks 
 of silly, conscientious, and ignorant fanatics. They 
 prove too much with their sham chivalry, these gush- 
 ing gobemouches. 
 
 " There are ladies of the ballet who have broughams 
 though they do not dine with dukes daily. There 
 are ladies of the ballet who have fine clothes, equipage, 
 and luxury, for reasons connected with anything but 
 merit. 
 
 " But these gorgeous creatures are, happily, but 
 few. The majority of them liv^e by the industry of 
 their feet and fino;ers. Dancino- and the needle is 
 their sole support, and their virtues are as many and 
 their faults as many, their goodness and their foibles 
 as oddly mixed together, as in others of their sex 
 of the same age and station, and are worthy as 
 much honour, pity, consideration, and reproof . . . 
 Theirs is not a luxurious life ; it is not sensual. It 
 is laborious, unpleasant, comfortless, wet, sloppy, and 
 sore-footed. Its monotony is seldom broken except 
 by the happy intervals when a piece has a ' long run,' 
 and there are no rehearsals. But this is but a poor 
 compensation for the terrible amount of fatigue and 
 dangler incurred at Christmas for the gratification of 
 
142 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF T. W. ROBERTSON 
 
 ardent-minded scene-painters, money-lovino- managers, 
 and a sensation and splendour loving public. 
 
 " The transformation-scene — an ingenious piece of 
 cruelty introduced some ten or fifteen years ago — is 
 a pleasure to the audience, but death to the ballet. 
 The poor, pale girl is swung up to terrific heights, 
 imprisoned in and upon iron wires, dazzled by rows 
 of hot fiaming gas close to her eyes, and choked by 
 the smoke of coloured fires. Sometimes the silver- 
 robed victim faints or goes into hysterics, and so 
 incurs the odium of aff*ectation. The scene-painter is 
 relentless, the stage-manager is relentless, and the 
 manager must make a fortune speedily. ' Hoist 'em 
 up, carpenters!' — fill their minds with fear, their 
 lungs with foul vapour. They are young and 
 strong ; and it. won't kill 'em, unless, indeed, a rope 
 break or a wire give way ; and if so, the spirited and 
 enterprising lessee Avill behave with that accustomed 
 liberality which has ever characterized, etc., etc. 
 He will bury the girl at his own expense, and for 
 
 the parents' tears, they may be d d — with a £5 
 
 note. Against all this the ballet feel an enormous 
 pleasure in the exercise of their calling. While 
 dancing they are happy." 
 
 Comment on the foreofoino- sketches is needless. 
 Every line is instinct with truth ; and it is very 
 pleasant to note how jealous Robertson was for the 
 
EARL Y DA YS— STRUGGLES 143 
 
 honour of the profession that had for so many years 
 used him badly. He could put his finger on all its 
 weak spots, he loved to ridicule its foibles ; but for 
 its artistic value, and the reputations of those who 
 in all its branches, low or high, worthily worked in 
 it, he entertained the most intense regard and respect. 
 If a set of similar types, dealing with the high-class 
 theatrical productions of to-day, were written, we 
 should see how much he did to eradicate the tawdri- 
 ness and the conventions of thirty years ago. 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 
 " DAVID GARRICK," " SOCIETY," AND " OURS." 
 
 The time for a change in Robertson's fortunes at 
 length arrived. The enormous popularity that had 
 deservedly attended Sothern's remarkable impersona- 
 tion of " Lord Dundreary" at the Haymarket had 
 beo-un to wane, and the comedian was anxiously 
 looking out for a new piece. Always imbued with 
 the idea that tragedy rather than comedy was his 
 forte, he wished to appear in one of a serious 
 type ; but his friends advised him that, for the pre- 
 sent, he could only be accepted as a " character " 
 actor ; and it was not until Robertson appeared with 
 his delightful version of "Sullivan," entitled " David 
 Garrick," that a happ}^ compromise was effected. 
 Sothern expected to make an enormous success out 
 of the opportunities for earnest acting that the first 
 and third acts afforded, and his well-wishers felt 
 certain that he would do wonders with the sub- 
 
"DAVID GARRICK,'' ''SOCIETY;' AND ''OURS" 145 
 
 sequently world-famous scene of simulated intoxica- 
 tion. 
 
 A note on the origin of a ])lay that is as popular 
 to-day as when it was first produced, and which 
 seems likely to hold the stage for many years to 
 come, will not be out of place here ; and in this con- 
 nection we cannot do better than quote Mr. Moy 
 Thomas. 
 
 "The play," says that authority, "is an acknow- 
 ledged version of De Melesville's ' Sullivan,' one of 
 a long series of dramas turning upon the same idea, 
 which was described by Theophile Gautier as ' the 
 everlasting story of Garrick, Talma, or Kean curing- 
 some foolish girl of a passion for them as actors by 
 exhibiting themselves in private life under the most 
 repulsive conditions.' This description occurs in a 
 criticism by Gautier in 1842 on a vaudeville called 
 ' Le Docteur Robin,' which happens to be the original 
 of the little piece called ' Doctor Davy,' in which Mr. 
 Hermann Vezin has won renown. Gautier further 
 tells us that this piece was based on a story by his 
 friend and comrade of the famous * Gilet-rouo'e * 
 fraternity, Joseph Bouchardy, and that seven or 
 eight playwrights had at that time already laid their 
 hands upon it. We have been at some pains to trace 
 the story here referred to, and have found it in a 
 novelette entitled ' Garrick Medecin,' published in 
 
 10 
 
146 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF T. W. ROBERTSON 
 
 Paris in an obscure weekly paper called Le Monde 
 Dramatique, in April, 1836. Somewhere about the 
 same time M. Fournier produced a one-act piece 
 called * Tiridate,' which is founded on the same 
 notion, the only difference being that in this case it 
 is not an actor, but an actress, who, at the sacrifice of 
 dignity and personal inclinations, undertakes the 
 weaning process. It was in this piece that Mr. 
 Charles Reade found the substance of his novelette 
 and play entitled ' Art,' wherein Mrs. Stirling has so 
 often played the part of the heroine, Mrs. Bracegirdle. 
 Several other versions of ' Tiridate ' hold the staae, 
 thanks to the energies of Mrs. John Wood, Miss 
 Genevieve Ward, and other impersonators of the 
 heroine ; and traces, more or less distinct, of the 
 dramatic idea worked out in ' Garrick Medecin ' are 
 to be found in numerous modern pieces. It has, 
 we are aware, been said that ' Sullivan,' the direct 
 original of ' David Garrick,' was itself merely a 
 translation of a German play ; but in this there is, 
 we believe, some confusion of foct. The German 
 play referred to is probably Deinhardstein's ' Garrick 
 in Bristol.' Of this piece we are not able, unfor- 
 tunately, to give any account ; but it is certain that 
 there is an acknowledged translation of Melesville's 
 ' Sullivan ' by the dramatist Edward Jermann, which 
 is Avell known on the German stao-e — a fact which 
 
''DAVID GARRICK;' ''SOCIETY," AND "OURS" 147 
 
 would be hardly possible if ' Sullivan ' had been only 
 a Frenchman's version of a German play." 
 
 It was throuah his old schoolfellow and Robert- 
 son's stanch friend, Charles Millward, that Sothern 
 heard of the existence of " David Garrick " — and he 
 at once desired to read it. But, alas for our luckless 
 author ! the piece was held in bond by Mr. Lacy for the 
 magnificent sum of ten pounds ! On hearing of this 
 dilemma, the ever open-handed, open-hearted Sothern 
 at once produced the money, and at his chambers in 
 Regent Street the play was read to him by its 
 nervous, anxious writer. Nothing could be more 
 satisfactory. Sothern was delighted with the idea of 
 playing Garrick ; Bucks tone, who was present, 
 thought he could make a success of Squire Chevy ; 
 and when Robertson wended his happy steps home- 
 wards he had a cheque for £50 in his pocket, 
 and the promise of handsome royalties whenever 
 the piece should be played at the Haymarket or else- 
 where. 
 
 Prior to its production in London, " David Gar- 
 rick " was tentatively produced at the Prince of 
 Wales's Theatre, Birmingham, with Miss Edith Stuart 
 as Ada Ligot, Mr. G. K. Maskell as Squire Chevy, and 
 Mr. Bellair as Simon Ingot. After the performance 
 Sothern, who was most keenly anxious about his new 
 part, and never satisfied with his own acting, em- 
 
148 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF T. W. ROBERTSON 
 
 phatically declared that the whole thing was a failure, 
 and, as far as he was concerned, would never be heard 
 of again. Luckily, his own judgment was overruled 
 by that of his friends and advisers, and, as every play- 
 o-oer knows, Garrick became one of the most success- 
 ful of his impersonations. No doubt the wonderful 
 drunken scene, clever in its conception and perfect 
 in its detail, was the great feature of the piece ; but 
 though some critics took exception to his acting in 
 the love-scenes with Ada Ingot, he gained in them a 
 multitude of admirers. Generally willing to accept 
 the verdict of the press, Sothern was always rather 
 sore with regard to this alleged defect in his perform- 
 ance, and on one occasion, when, on his benefit-night 
 in a provincial town, he made one of those little 
 before-the-curtain speeches for which he was famous, 
 he said : " The local critics have unanimously de- 
 clared that, unfortunately for my career as an actor, 
 my voice is wholly unsuited to ' love-making.' With 
 some compunction, and with ray hand appropriately 
 placed on my heart, I should like to inform those 
 gentlemen that, following in private life that most 
 agreeable of pursuits, I lind that / get on as well 
 as most peopled* 
 
 When " David Garrick " was first produced at 
 
 * Vide " A Memoir of E. A. Sothern," by T. Edgar Pember. 
 ton. 
 
''DAVID GARRICK," ''SOCIETY,' AND "OURS" 149 
 
 the Haymarket, Sothern (still thinking that he had 
 made a failure) generously declared that the piece 
 was saved by the exquisite acting of Miss Nellie 
 Moore in the character of Ada Ingot ; but long after 
 that charming young actress was dead, he continued 
 to play Garrick to crowded and enthusiastic audiences 
 in London, in all the large provincial towns of Eng- 
 land, Scotland, and Ireland, and in America. 
 
 To-day the part is honourably identified with the 
 name of Mr. Charles Wyndham, who has gone still 
 further, and, with the most gratifying and extra- 
 ordinary success, has played it in the German 
 language at Berlin, St. Petersburg, and Moscow. 
 
 Robertson had unlimited faith in the pretty love- 
 story that forms the chief theme of " David Garrick"; 
 and he wrote it in narrative as well as in dramatic 
 form, but (for reasons that are only too apparent) 
 the novel did not find a publisher until the success 
 of the play had made the name of its author famous. 
 It appeared in March, 1865, and contained the follow- 
 ing graceful dedication: 
 
 " My dear Sothern, 
 
 " I dedicate this little book to you for reasons 
 which will be obvious to those readers who do me 
 the honour to peruse the preface. Though the offer- 
 ing be small, it is made with as much kindly feeling 
 
I50 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF T. W. ROBERTSON 
 
 as if the matter contained in this single volume were 
 as weighty and well arranged as the contents of a 
 large dictionary. 
 
 " Accept it then, ray dear Sothern, with all its 
 faults, though they are neither few nor far between ; 
 a circumstance which should not surprise you when 
 you remember that it is the work of 
 
 " Your very sincere friend, 
 
 " The Author." 
 
 " In the preface, Robertson tells, as follows, the 
 story of the origin of the play, as far as it concerned 
 him : 
 
 " Having seen the drama of ' Sullivan ' acted by a 
 company of French comedians at the St. James's 
 Theatre, I was struck by the compactness of its story, 
 its contrast of character, and dramatic effect. Its 
 moral Avas good and wholesome, and the piece was 
 entirely free from that objectionable element which, 
 though acceptable to a French audience, is, happily, 
 exactly the reverse with an English one. I adapted 
 * Sullivan,' and christened it ' David Garrick ' for 
 these reasons : 
 
 " Garrick was a great actor ; he had been dead a 
 century, had no living descendants, and his name 
 was public property. He was much admired ; his 
 impressionability, versatility, and, above all, his 
 
" DAVID GARRICK;' " SOCIETY," AND " OURS'' 131 
 
 wonderful impersonation of drunkenness, marked him 
 out as the proper hero of the tale. 
 
 " The next step was to submit the drama to several 
 manacrers of theatres and to several actors. Each 
 and all of these gentlemen declared that the piece — 
 when produced — would be a failure. For about 
 seven years the manuscript slumbered in a drawer ; 
 until, in the course of a casual conversation, I hap- 
 pened to mention the plot of the play to Mr. Sothern. 
 He was struck with it as I had been, in particular 
 with the fact of (larrick, who was so estimable a man 
 in the private relations of life, refusing to take advan- 
 tage of the affections of an heiress, and advising her 
 return to her father. The admirable acting of Mr. 
 Sothern, and of the members of the Haymarket com- 
 pany, made the piece a success ; and its reception in 
 town and country has falsified the predictions of the 
 managers and actors to whom it had been pre- 
 viously submitted. 
 
 " Let me here say that, though the incidents of 
 this little book are not in accordance with bio- 
 graphical and historical fact, they are not for that 
 reason untrue. They might have happened. The real, 
 actual Mr. David Garrick was not married until the 
 year 1749. Whatever adventures may have occurred 
 to him before that time are a legitimate theme for 
 speculation ; and the novelist may claim his privilege." 
 
152 THE LIFE AND WRIIINGS OF T. W. ROBERTSON 
 
 The novel follows veiy closel}^ the lines of the 
 play; but m several instances the names are different. 
 Squire Chevy figures as Mr. Robert Raubreyne ; 
 Alderman Ingot is Alderman Trawley ; and a Lady 
 Shendryn (the name, it will be remembered, was 
 acifain used bv Robertson in " Ours ") is introduced 
 as Ada's great-aunt and chaperone in society. Of 
 course the story (it is nowadays unknown, and we 
 may therefore be pardoned for quoting from it) gives 
 scope for an abundance of descriptive matter. The 
 fatal niofht on which Ada first saw Garrick on the 
 stage is thus graphically described : 
 
 " The playhouse was full, and the conversation of 
 the patrons of the pit was coarse ; but it was a 
 coarse age, and the pit critics would have done well 
 to imitate the decorous silence of the occupants of the 
 footman's gallery. Ada glanced round the house ; 
 saw its tawdry decorations — a badly lighted platform, 
 a large curtain of dirty green, a candle- snuffer going 
 his greasy rounds, the people of fashion in the neigh- 
 bouring boxes — and heard a roar of exultation from 
 the gallery at the sight of some men who, with 
 musical instruments in their hands, seemed to emerge 
 from the earth beneath the platform. Her eyelids 
 fell ; if this were a playhouse, it was not a playhouse 
 that the expression of her face had seemed to seek." 
 
 " Hamlet " was, as w^e all know, the play of the 
 
''DAVID GARRICK," ''SOCIETY," AND "OURS" 153 
 
 evening- ; and the following was the cast of the 
 characters : 
 
 Hamlet ----- Mr. Garrick. 
 
 Ghost Mr. Delane. 
 
 Claudius - - - - - - Mr. Eyan. 
 
 Laertes Mr. Hallam. 
 
 Horatio Mr. Havard. 
 
 Polonius Mr. Taswell. 
 
 Osric Mr. Neale. 
 
 Guildenstern - . - - Mr. Green. 
 
 Rosencrantz Mr. Yates. 
 
 Gravedigger - - - Mr. Macklin. 
 
 Queen . - . - Mistress Pritchard. 
 Ophelia - - - . Mistress Olive. 
 
 
 Nosey!' shouted a man in the gallery. 
 
 Play up !' screamed another. 
 
 Catgut !' yelled a third. 
 " And fifty pair of lips began to whistle ; and the 
 men who had emerged from the earth with the 
 musical instruments began to play. 
 
 " Suddenly it grew dark upon the platform, and 
 Ada was startled by the dead silence that followed 
 the cessation of the music. The green curtain was 
 drawn up, and discovered a number of old and young 
 beaux seated at the side of the stao'e, holdinij: their 
 canes and snuff-boxes in the most approved fashion ; 
 for it was the custom of those days, not only for 
 gentlemen to frequent the side- scenes regularly, but 
 for them to be accommodated with chairs upon the 
 
154 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF T. W. ROBERTSON 
 
 sta^e, to the inconvenience of the actors and the dis- 
 illusion of the auditors. Romeo and Juliet plighted 
 their vows amid a swarm of wide-skirted, spindle- 
 shanked macaroni ; lago soliloquized aloud with a 
 spectator on either side of him, and then picked his 
 way off that he might not tread upon diamond 
 buckles and patrician toes. Nor w^as this the only 
 nuisance, for these fine gentry would sometimes show 
 themselves at the wings, speak out in tones as audible 
 as the actors, and walk about to exchange snuflP, com- 
 pare the cut of a ring or the pattern of a steinkirk, 
 while some necessary question of the play was being 
 acted out by the performers, and thought out by the 
 audience. ... 
 
 " No sooner did Mr. Delane — an actor of fine 
 figure and dignified presence — stalk solemnly upon 
 the stage as the Grhost, than the attention of Ada was 
 riveted. A new feeling seemed to rush into her 
 heart and mind ; her eyes dilated as though to drink 
 in the darkness of the space before her. When the 
 scene ended, she gave a sigh of relief; the tension on 
 her nerves had been too strong, and she was pleased 
 to see the stage grow lighter, and to hear the sound 
 of drum and trumpet. 
 
 " It was her first play. 
 
 " There was high expectation in the front of the 
 house, and even a movement and a flutter among the 
 
DAVID GARRICK;' '' society;' and ''OURS" 155 
 
 fine gentlemen seated on the stage, as the second 
 scene was disclosed to view, and Taswell as Polonius, 
 and Ryan and Mrs. Pritchard as the King and 
 Queen, marched statelily on, and the playhouse shook 
 with applause as the new Hamlet — Mr. Garrick — 
 made his dejected, melancholy entrance. 
 
 " Mr. David Garrick was a small, handsomely -formed 
 man, of a singularly graceful deportment. He was 
 apparently made up of sympathy; his voice was so 
 flexible and well modulated that it charmed the ears 
 of listeners with a sound as of a slowly rushing 
 brook. The expression of his features varied with 
 every line he spoke, and this without mechanical 
 trick or intentional art, but as if his apt, elastic 
 features followed the workings of his mind. His 
 face rippled with thought ; and his quickly-moving 
 brow, and black, far-darting eyes, commanded his 
 hearers as completely as they dominated his plastic 
 mouth and restless nostrils. 
 
 " At the end of the second act Mr. Garrick walked 
 impatiently to his dressing-room, and threw himself 
 into a chair. He was ill-tempered, vexed, irritated, 
 mortified, but not so much as to forget to look into 
 his mirror, to note the expression of his face under 
 these feelings, and register it in his memory." 
 
 Then follows an account of how a certain Mr. 
 Smirker (" one of those men who make capital of 
 
156 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF T. W. ROBERTSON 
 
 knowing- theatrical celebrities; who lived to admire 
 and to praise, and was a sort of dramatic ivy or 
 artistic creeping-plant") visited the dissatisfied actor's 
 dressing-room, accompanied by the objectionable Mr. 
 Robert Raubrevne : and the reader is taken on to 
 the account of the third act, in which : 
 
 '• Again Mr. Garrick tried his utmost to arouse the 
 lethargic sympathies of his audience. He recited the 
 speech on suicide, and obtained some little applause, 
 but still he thought his hearers cold and unwilling ; 
 this roused him to fresh exertions, and he resolved to 
 force them to acknowledge the power of his genius. 
 The scene with Ophelia, his instructions to the 
 players, and observations on the play delivered, 
 the audience were silent aw if a spell hung over 
 them. 
 
 " When the conscience-stricken Claudius rose from 
 his throne, and called for ' lights,' Garrick sprang 
 from the stage, and cried exultantly : 
 
 " ' Why, let the stricken deer go weep, 
 The hart ungalled play; 
 
 For some must watch, while some must sleep; 
 So runs the world away,' 
 
 and rounds of acclamation followed. At this moment 
 the actor caught sight of the face of a young lady ; 
 she was leaning over her box, her folded hands 
 
" DA VID GARRICK," " SOCIETY;' AND " OURS'' 157 
 
 clasped tightly to iier breast, her brow contracted, 
 and her lips apart. Their eyes met, and for some 
 seconds they looked into each other's minds. A 
 current of electric sympathy shot from one to the 
 other ; they were not in Drury Lane playhouse, but 
 far above in cloudhmd ; they were not surrounded 
 by beaux and reigning toasts, but alone in an ideal 
 world. Though there was space between them, they 
 met, pulse to pulse and heart to heart." 
 
 The story goes on in much the same way as the 
 play, except that Alderman Trawley (the Alderman 
 Ingot of the stage) does not ask Mr. Garrick to call 
 upon him, but presents himself at the actor's rooms 
 in Southampton Street, Strand. Here Garrick, in 
 his dressing-gown and nightcap (by the way, one of 
 the characters in the book has said of him that '' he 
 would be a great player if he would but learn to stand 
 still," which strikes one as a thoroughly Robertsonian 
 piece of criticism), is musing in his arm-chair. "The 
 expression of his face, always the bright and varying 
 index of his thoughts, was one of high good humour. 
 Complimentary letters were in his hand, compli- 
 mentary journals at his feet. A ring had been sent 
 to him by a fair unknown ; the applause he had 
 received the night before still rang in his ears ; every 
 pulse that beat within him seemed congratulating 
 him on his individuality, and he felt convinced that 
 
158 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF T W. ROBERTSON 
 
 the art of acting was the highest of all arts, and that 
 of that art Mr. David Garrick was king and kaiser." 
 
 The scene that ensues between Alderman Trawley 
 and the famous player is thus ushered in : 
 
 " ' Rupees and Russian tallow !' thought Com- 
 merce ; ' here is a fellow now who passes his life in 
 mimicking emotions he don't feel, painting his pale 
 face, and talking nonsensical words wTitten by fools 
 bigger than himself for poor wages.' 
 
 '"Mask, bowl, and dagger!' thought Art; 'here 
 is a man who spends his existence in a musty 
 counting-house casting up figures, who cares neither 
 for life nor the belles-lettres, recks not a jot for the 
 passions or feelings of any but himself, and considers 
 the accumulation of guineas to be the mmmum honum 
 of earthly happiness.' " 
 
 And so the pretty and familiar tale runs on. 
 Garrick accepts the Alderman's invitation to dinner 
 (the invitation that he himself has suggested), finds 
 that his daughter Ada is the girl who has fascinated 
 him at Drury Lane, realizes the flict that they are 
 not only passionately but truly in love with each 
 other, and yet, faithful to his word, disgusts her with 
 his scene of pretended intoxication. But there are 
 passages in the narrative that, for obvious reasons, 
 cannot be reproduced on the stage, and from which 
 it is interesting to quote. 
 
''DAVID GARRICK;' ''SOCIETY," AND ''OURS'' 159 
 
 The famous dinner is followed, in the hearty, old- 
 fashioned style, by a sumptuous supjier. Mr. Garrick 
 has, of course, gone, and poor Ada, pleading " head- 
 ache " (so often the feminine pseudonym for " heart- 
 ache "), has retired to her own room. Availing 
 herself of the opportunity, the vulgar Mrs. Smith, 
 after upbraiding Alderman Trawley for allowing his 
 daughter " to sit down to meal with a player," gives 
 way to reminiscences of her own courting days ; and 
 of this Robertson says : 
 
 " It was strange that so prosaic and connnonplace 
 a person as Mrs. Smith should that night have in- 
 dulged in these retrospections ; for though invariably 
 garrulous, her shop, kitchen, and children were the 
 usual themes of her discourse. Strange, too, that, 
 after years of courtship, that night of all others 
 should have been chosen by cruel Miss Araminta 
 Brown for an acknowledgment of mutual feeling for 
 the devoted Jones ; or, perhaps, if we understood 
 psychological chemistry, mental electricity, and those 
 subtle affinities that link soul to soul, and charge 
 the atmosphere with sentiment as with gas, not 
 strange at all. Ada and Garrick were the cause. 
 Love was in the air, and infected those who breathed 
 it : old Alderman Trawley thought of his departed 
 wife : Mistress Smith recalled her days of courtship ; 
 Araminta returned Jones's protestations of the palm 
 
i6o THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF T. W. ROBERTSON 
 
 with interest; perhaps downstairs the cook and the 
 footman sat silent side by side, and revolved projects 
 of eating-houses and settlements in life. Love, like 
 hre, or steam, or compressed air, is a terrible, 
 capricious power — a whirlwind that involves all 
 objects, great and small, within its wilful, passionate 
 vortex. 
 
 " The supper was a great success. The awful eyes 
 of Mr. Garrick were no longer upon the vest and 
 l)reast of Mr. Smith. Mr. Brown had slumbered 
 during the process of digestion. The host knew 
 that his daughter's passion was effectually crushed. 
 In the absence of Ada, Araminta was the belle of the 
 table, and Jones felt himself beloved. 
 
 "And the poor girl upstairs, hugging her pillow 
 in ecstasy of agony, each sob shaking her fragile 
 frame, hard dry sobs, unrefreshed by tears — all this 
 supper-table happiness was distilled from her grief. 
 In this material world there is no waste. There is 
 natural economy even in sentiment, which is turned 
 to account and made useful to others." 
 
 And so the story goes on. Disgusted with 
 Garrick, poor Ada consents to marr}^ her cousin ; the 
 elated Raubreyne shows Alderman Trawley the dif- 
 ference between real and simulated intoxication ; and 
 Garrick finds out the dire consequences of his suc- 
 cessful masquerading. In due course the actor tells 
 
" DA VID GARRICK:' " SOCIETY;' AND " OURS" i6i 
 
 his btory to a friend, and through this channel it 
 reaches the ears of Ada. At lirst the dutiful girl 
 has no notion of runnin"" counter to her father's 
 wishes, or of breaking off her engagement with the 
 dissolute Raubreyne, but on the eve of her w^edding 
 her courage fails her. 
 
 " Standino; in the centre of her own room, the 
 candle in her hand, she looked round the apartment 
 as if it were the first time she had seen it. She 
 examined the comfortable furniture, the snow-white 
 hangings, and the tasteful evidence of feminine occu- 
 pation, with a strange interest and reflective curiosity. 
 She had been very happy in that room. As a child, 
 she had eaten secret sweetmeats in it with the intense 
 relish peculiar to the enjoyment of stolen fruit. Since 
 she left the far-off fliiryland where the sun was hot, 
 and there were troops of coloured servants, she had 
 known no other abiding-place, save for a few w^eks 
 at Lady Shendryn's. Her bed was her stronghold — 
 the vantage-ground to which she could retire from 
 the material world of 'Change, bulls, bears, stocks, 
 the Smiths and the Browns, to a kingdom of fancy, 
 in which she had too often revelled. . . . The room 
 was her own, the bed was her own. The carpet was 
 sacred to her feet, the mirror to her form — and to 
 hers only. She was the Robinson Crusoe of this 
 lonely island of romance, sentiment, and maiden 
 
 11 
 
1 62 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF T. W. ROBERTSON 
 
 meditation — monarch of all. She possessed a humble 
 friend and familiar Friday in the cat, who sometimes 
 shared her couch. But the days of security and 
 peace had passed ; upon the shore was stamped the 
 footprint of a savage. 
 
 '• And her chamber was to be given up, and her 
 maiden meditations and the solace of her fancies, and 
 she was to consign them — her duty, love, obedience, 
 sentiment, feelings, heart, person, and future life — to 
 the man who was making himself so happy in his 
 friend's chambers in King's Bench Walk in the 
 Temple. An odour of punch and of tobacco stole 
 across her senses as she thought that, at that hour 
 the following night, she should no longer be her 
 own ; that he would have a right to demand a strict 
 account of her every thought ; that he would be her 
 lord and master — she the slave of his will, caprice, 
 and temper ; that she was to swear in church that she 
 would cleave to him for ever ! 
 
 " She had unfastened her dress as the bitter pang 
 smote her. She looked into her mirror, and her 
 face hushed red : and she relaced her bodice swiftly, 
 cruell}^, and sternly." 
 
 The denouement of the novel runs very much on 
 all-fours with that of the play. Ada seeks refuge 
 with Garrick, and the necessary explanations are 
 made; but the pretty love-scene that has ahvays 
 
''DAVID GARRICK," ''SOCIETY," AND "OURS" 163 
 
 proved so effective on the stage is in the book shirked 
 in the following fashion : 
 
 " The confession was made — the tale was told. 
 From that moment neither doubted the other. 
 
 " Then followed a dialogue to which no pen could 
 do justice. The limner of old covered the face whose 
 grief he could not paint ; let the struggler with poor, 
 colourless words leave a blank space for the happiness 
 he cannot depict. It is only for the great to describe 
 First Love, Maternal Tenderness, and Rainbows." 
 
 And soon after this, hat in hand, the repentant 
 Alderman Trawley says : " Mister Garrick, will you 
 do me the honour of accepting my daughter's hand ?" 
 and, somewhat abruptly, the story ends. 
 
 To account for this, we must again refer to Robert- 
 son's preface : 
 
 •' Poetical justice," he wrote, '" could not be 
 awarded to the loves of Mr. David Garrick and Miss 
 Ada Trawley, as detailed in the following pages. 
 They could not, with any regard to known and 
 undisputed facts, have been united. It has, therefore, 
 been thought better to let each reader finish the story 
 as he or she pleases. The cynical and sceptical may 
 think that Ada and David, when allowed to see each 
 other daily, grew weary ; that the gentleman found his 
 inamorata a spoiled, forward girl, and the hidy dis- 
 covered her hero to be a mere vain player, who had 
 
1 64 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF T. W. ROBERTSON 
 
 no thought but for himself, and of the shrugs and 
 starts that procured him appLause at the theatre; th;it 
 mutual disgust set in, and the lovers became unloving. 
 The romantic may suppose the marriage broken off 
 by the interposition of Lady Shendryn, and the lovers 
 doomed to separation and unmitigated woe ; and the 
 sentimental may imagine that Ada, warmed by the 
 sun of Garrick's love, rallied, but that the dart had 
 stricken too deeply, and the actor had the unutterable 
 anguish of smoothing the death-pillow of his pro- 
 mised bride. It is permitted to us all to flishion the 
 clouds into the shapes most pleasing to our mental 
 
 • • ■>■> 
 vision. 
 
 With one more quotation from its concluding 
 chapter, we shall leave "David Garrick" in its in- 
 teresting narrative form. As indicative of Robert- 
 son's frame of mind at the time that the book was 
 penned, the following is surely worth preserving : 
 
 " ' There is nothing,' says the proverb, ' so success- 
 ful as success.' But, then, success is only successful — 
 it is no more, A town taken, a victory of any sort 
 won, a triumph of any kind achieved — the hero, 
 victor, or gainer does not live happy ever after. He 
 is still susceptible to catarrh, coughs, corns, east 
 winds, rheumatism, the oppressor's wrong, the proud 
 man's contumely, the pangs of despised love, and 
 other of the million ills to which flesh is heir and 
 
" DA VID GARRICK:' " SOCIETY," AND " OURS" 165 
 
 executor. But of all the compensatory strokes of 
 afBiction that sting the successful, none are so terrible 
 as those that strike to the heart, centre, or bull's-eye, 
 as it were, of their success. The man who has toiled 
 all his life to amass a gallery of pictures, built his 
 gallery, secured his masterpieces, and is stricken 
 blind ; the keen sportsman, who has dragged through 
 the drudgery of City life, that he might enjoy the 
 country and the meet, and who, the means to the 
 end attained, is made prisoner to his chamber for the 
 remainder of his life ; the duck who rears her shelled 
 brood, and conducts them, cackling, to the pond, 
 only to see them drown, feel a keener pang than 
 those who fardels bear, and are habituated to their 
 inconvenience and burden." 
 
 Struck with the combined power and humour of 
 Sothern's acting in " David Garrick," Robertson 
 immediately conceived for him the character of a 
 gentleman of the day, with a strong dash of 
 Bohemianism in his nature, well suited to the easi- 
 ness of manner for which the actor w^as famous, and 
 Sfivino' him a scene in which he, overwrought by 
 nerves and a little champagne, becomes heroically 
 and sentimentally intoxicated. When finished, 
 " Society " (as the play was named) was read to 
 Sothern, who was delighted not only with the play, 
 but with the part (of course it was that of Sidney 
 
166 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF T. W. ROBERTSON 
 
 Daryl) intended for him. The other characters were 
 all written with a view to performance by the Hay- 
 market company — Chodd senior for Buckstone, Lord 
 Ptarmigant for Chippendale, Tom Stylus for Howe, 
 and so forth. 
 
 AVhen Buckstone heard the piece, he character- 
 istically declared that it was "rubbish." Sothern, 
 with a truer eye to the requirements of the times, 
 but not yet an " actor-manager," disagreed with him, 
 but induced Robertson to accept £30 as a retaining 
 fee, telling him he would play it on the first oppor- 
 tunity, although it \vould have to be in the country, 
 a-< Buckstone would not hear of it at the Haymarket, 
 declaring it " couldn't run three nights." Shortly 
 after this Sothern wrote to Robertson, saying that if 
 he could find a home for " Society " he might do so, 
 as the prospects of his producing it were very remote; 
 so it went first to Miss Herbert, then to Benjamin 
 Webster, after that to Alfred Wio-an, and finallv was 
 refused everywhere. 
 
 How sore all this made poor Robertson may easily 
 be imagined. One day a friend met him in the 
 Strand, a brown-paper parcel in his hand, his head 
 aloft, teeth grinding, nostrils dilated, and eyes aflame. 
 " What's the matter, Robertson?" he asked. " Is 
 the house on fire ?" 
 
 " No, no ; but / am !" was the reply. " I've just 
 
" DA VI D GARRICK^' " SOCIETY," AND " OURS" 167 
 
 been reading this play— a splendid play, a magni- 
 ficent play, to Sefton Parry ! What do you think he 
 said ?" 
 
 " Don't know." 
 
 " Why, he said it was ' rot ' ! What do you think 
 /said?" 
 
 " Can't guess." 
 
 '^ I told him that until that moment I was in 
 doubt as to whether the play was a good one or not; 
 but now that he had pronounced it to be a bad one, 
 my assured conviction that he was an idiot had con- 
 vinced me that the play was a good one!" 
 
 That play was " Society." 
 
 H. J. Byron believed in the piece thoroughly, and 
 recommended it to Alexander Henderson, then manager 
 of the Prince of Wales's Theatre, Liverpool. The 
 fates seemed to have combined against " Society," and 
 with regard to the appointment mad« to read it one 
 Sunday evening, a curious little incident nearly 
 robbed Robertson of his chance. Henderson was in 
 town on the Sunday, and, being compelled to leave 
 for Liverpool early on the Monday morning, had no 
 other opportunity of hearing it. Robertson had lent 
 his friends Mr. and Mrs. John Billington the only 
 manuscript of the play to read, and immediately set 
 out to obtain it. They had been in possession of the 
 piece for some weeks, and, being thus suddenly asked 
 
1 68 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF T. W. ROBERTSON 
 
 for it, knew not where to find it. Ashamed to con- 
 fess the real state of affairs to the impatient author, 
 Mrs. BiUino'ton commenced a vio'orous search while 
 her husband kept him engaged in conversation. After 
 about an hour and a half of fruitless labour, and just 
 when hope was being given up, the precious manu- 
 script was unearthed; and ^little knowing of the peril 
 that he had been in, and setting down poor Billington 
 as the greatest bore of his acquaintance, Robertson 
 took his departure. 
 
 Having listened attentively to the reading of the 
 piece, Henderson said that he believed that it would 
 succeed, and there and then offered to produce it in 
 Liverpool, an offer that was immediately and joyfully 
 accepted. Without saying a word, and with the 
 manuscript in his pocket, Robertson went to his good 
 friend Byron to tell him the news and the dilemma 
 tliat he was in, Nothing would induce him to let 
 the piece be played unless he could repay Sothern 
 the £30 that he had advanced upon it. Could he 
 help him ? 
 
 Byron pulled his silky moustache : "I can't help 
 it, Tom, but I can't help you ; I haven't got it. 
 What's to be done?" 
 
 " I don't know," said the perplexed dramatist. "I 
 know nobody I would care to ask, and very few who 
 would be likely to have such a sum !" 
 
''DAVID GARRICKT ''SOCIETY," AND "OURS'' 169 
 
 After a long but fruitless talk on the subject, the 
 two parted ; and on the Monday, depressed and in 
 anything but his usual spirits, Robertson strolled 
 into the Arundel Club. Sitting in the memorable 
 bow-window was o^enial William Belford, and as a 
 matter of course the author told his story. When he 
 had finished, Belford said : '' Tom, my boy, cheer 
 up; I'll get it for you. I've heard about the piece; 
 and how in the ' Owls' Roost' you have hit us all 
 off to the life." The next dav Robertson had the 
 money, sent it to Sothern, and " Society" was free 
 to spread its wings. Kind-hearted Belford is no 
 more ; but those who remember the warm-hearted 
 comedian, to whom the Arundel Club was as home 
 itself, will understand how like him this good-natured 
 act was. Belford was repaid with the first cheque 
 that, on his own account, Robertson ever drew. 
 
 And so, after all these vicissitudes, " Society" was, 
 on May 8, 1865, produced at the Prince of Wales's 
 Theatre, Liverpool; and to Alexander Henderson I 
 belongs the credit of giving the greatest dramatist 
 of his day, and the founder of a new school, his fii'^t__ 
 real chance. 
 
 In this original production, Mr. William Blakeley 
 appeared as Lord Ptarmigant ; Mr. Edward Price as 
 Sidney Daryl ; Mr. Lionel Brough as John Chodd 
 junior; Mr, Edward Saker as Tom Stylus ; Miss 
 
lyo THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF T. W. ROBERTSON 
 
 Sophie Larkin as Lady Ptarmigant ; and Miss Teresa 
 Furtado as Maud Hetherington. 
 
 It will thus be seen that Mr. Henderson's stock 
 company numbered many who have since risen to 
 fame. 
 
 In Liverpool, both by press and public, the 
 intrinsic merit and value of the literary portion of the 
 comedy, dominating as it did the natural dialogue 
 and unconventional method necessary for the proper 
 delineation of the characters, which might easily have 
 been mistaken for wantof j^ower and lack of technique, 
 was frankly and freely acknowledged. The Bohemian- 
 ism of the piece proved infectious and irresistible, 
 and roars of laughter and applause accompanied the 
 development of the scene in the "Owls' Roost." 
 Then, again, the delicacy of the love-scene in the first 
 act, taking place in a London square at twilight, 
 wherein the lovers tenderly plight their secret troth, 
 was so unlike the traditional fevered impetuosity of 
 the stage love-making to which playgoers had grown 
 accustomed, that it made an effect as immediate as it 
 waS' — by London managers — unexpected ; and out 
 of it grew that which came to be known as " a 
 Robertson love-scene." / 
 
 It is here interesting to note that before the 
 production and during the rehearsals of " Society" 
 in Liverpool, Robertson and John Hare were first. 
 
" DA VI D GARRICK," " SOCIETY;' AND " OURS'' 171 
 
 introduced to each other ; and it is hardly necessary 
 to say that from that day they were the best of 
 friends, their successes being mutaally bound up in a 
 common cause. Writing of Robertson, Hare has 
 said : " From the day I met him till the day of his 
 death, I found in him always a gentle, kindly, and 
 sympathetic friend, whose memory I shall ever 
 cherish with affection and gratitude." 
 
 Being present at the first performance of " Society," 
 Hare, then a very young actor, took a strong fancy 
 to the part of Lord Ptarmigant, the elderly aristocrat, 
 and had a great ambition to play it, " little thinking," 
 as he subsequently said, " that it would be my good 
 fortune to create the part before a London audience, 
 and by so doing laying the foundation for my reputa- 
 tion as an actor." 
 
 In theatrical circles the success of" Society" in Liver- 
 pool was of course immediately known, and it was with 
 very little difficulty that Byron induced Miss Marie 
 Wilton (Mrs. Bancroft) to hear the piece read with a 
 view to its production at the Prince of Wales's Theatre, 
 in Tottenham Street, of which (with Byron for a 
 partner) she had but recently become the manageress. 
 A great drawback to the success of the piece in 
 London was foolishly supposed to exist in the 
 delightful " Owls' Roost " scene, it being thought 
 that the journalistic world would condemn the 
 
172 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF T. W. ROBERTSON 
 
 sketches of the well-known men who were Robert- 
 son's comrades in the land of Bohemia. Mrs. 
 Bancroft, however, boldly declared that danger was 
 better than dulness, and when she heard the comedy 
 read, at once determined that it was a piece to be 
 produced. '' This," she has recorded, "was my first 
 acquaintance with Mr. Robertson ; and I cannot 
 describe the charm with which he read his comedy. 
 I remember how he impressed me as being of a highly 
 nervous temperament : he had a great habit of biting 
 his moustache and caressing his beard ; indeed, his 
 hands were rarely still. He was at that time thirl j/- 
 six ; somewhat above medium height ; rather stoutly 
 built ; he had a pale skin and reddish beard, with 
 piercing brown eyes, which were ever restless. The 
 rehearsals advanced, and I liked the play more and 
 more. My views of acting so entirely agreed with 
 Mr. Robertson's that we encountered no difficulties 
 whatever, and everything went smoothly and mer- 
 rily, although to the last Byron dreaded the effect 
 of the ' Owls' Roost ' scene. My faith remained un- 
 shaken, and acquaint!) nee with the author soon 
 ripened into friendship." 
 
 And so, on November 11, 1865, "Society" was 
 produced in London; and on November 12 Robertson 
 awoke to find himself famous. 
 
 The success of the piece was, indeed, instantaneous, 
 
"DAVID GARRICK," ''SOCIETY," AND "OURS" 173 
 
 and soon became the talk of the town. ISTot to have 
 seen Marie Wilton as Maud Hetherington, Bancroft 
 as Sidney Darjl, John Hare as Lord Ptarmigant, 
 John Clarke as John Chodd junior, Fred Dewar as 
 Tom Stylus, and Miss Sophie Larkin as Lady Ptarmi- 
 gant (this, it will be noted, was her original character), 
 was to aro-ue yourself unknown; and so at one and 
 the same moment the fortunes of a comparatively 
 new, and so far not very prosperous, theatre, and a 
 hitherto misunderstood dramatist, were made. How 
 much of this success was due to Robertson may be 
 told in Mr. Bancroft's own words: "As the part I 
 first played in Society,' " he says, " Avas a very 
 important one to entrust to so young an actor as I 
 then was, bearing as it does n:iuch of the burden of 
 the play, I would like to note how much the success 
 I was fortunate enough to achieve was due to the 
 encouragement and support I received from the author, 
 who spared no pains with me, as with others, to have 
 his somewhat novel type of characters understood 
 and acted as he wished." 
 
 In connection with this interesting first night Mr. 
 Clement Scott says : 
 
 " There was a great gathering of the light literary 
 division at the little theatre in Tottenham Court Road 
 on the first night of Tom Robertson's new play. It 
 was dear old Tom Hood, who vvas our leader then, 
 
J 74 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF T. W. ROBERTSON 
 
 who sounded the bugle, and the boys of the light 
 brigade cheerfully answered the call of their chief, I 
 remember that on that memorable night I stood — for 
 there was no sitting for us on such an occasion 
 — by the side of Tom Hood at the back of the dress- 
 circle. The days of stalls had not then arrived for 
 me. Suddenly, as the play advanced, there appeared 
 on the stage what was then an apparition./ Bancroft 
 had delighted us with his cheery enthusiasm and 
 boyish manner, for he was the lover in this simple 
 little play — well dressed, and, for a wonder, natural. 
 Think what it was to see a bright, cheery, pleasant 
 young fellow playing the lover to a pretty girl at the 
 time when stage-lovers were nearly all sixty, and 
 dressed like waiters at a penny ice shop ! Conceive 
 a Bancroft as Sidney Daryl in the days when W. H. 
 Eburne played young sparks at the Adelphi, and old 
 Braid was the dashing militar}^ officer at the Huy- 
 market ! But what astonished us even more than the 
 success of young Bancroft was the apparition that I 
 spoke of just now. A little, delightful old gentleman 
 came upon the stage, dressed in a long, beautiful 1}'- 
 cut frock-coat, brio-ht-eved, intellio'ent, with white 
 hair that seemed to grow naturally on the head — 
 no common, clumsy wig with a Ijlack forehead- 
 line — and with a voice so refined, so aristocratic, that 
 it was music to our ears. The part played by Mr. 
 
''DAVID GARRICK," ''SOCIETY," AND "OURS" 175 
 
 Hare was, as we all know, insignificant. All he had 
 to do was to say nothing, and to go perpetually to 
 sleep. But how well he did nothing ! how naturally 
 hej^ent jto sleep ! We could not analyze our youth- 
 ful impression at the time, but we knew instinctively 
 that John Hare was an artist. Had ' Society ' been 
 accepted at the Haymarket — which, luckily for Tom 
 Robertson, it was not — the part of Lord Ptarmigant 
 would have been played by old Rogers, or Braid, or 
 Cullenford. Chippendale and Howe would certainly 
 have refused it as a very bad old man. No ; Tom ; 
 Robertson's lucky star was in the ascendant when j 
 ' Society ' was refused by the Haymarket manage-' 
 ment with scorn. Had it failed there, I believe my 
 old friend would have ' thrown up the sponge ' and 
 never worked for the stage any more. The refusal of 
 ' Society ' by Buckstone, and the keen and penetrating 
 intellio-ence of Marie Wilton, who was determined 
 that Tom Robertson should succeed and that his 
 plays should be acted, were the turning-points in the 
 doubtful career of a broken-hearted and disappointed 
 man. 
 
 " I don't think I ever remember a success to have 
 been made with slighter material than that given to 
 Mr. Hare. And it was a genuine success. We of the 
 light brigade could not work miracles. We might 
 have written our heads off, and still have done no 
 
176 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF T. W. ROBERTSON 
 
 good for the new school. Luckily, there was at that 
 time as critic to the Times a man of keen and pene- 
 trating judgment. John Oxenford knew what was 
 good as well as any man, and he knew how to say it 
 into the baro-ain. He was not a slave to old tradi- 
 tion, and when he had a good text what a wonderful 
 dramatic sermon he could preach ! Luckily, also, the 
 new school had the constant support and encourage- 
 ment of the Daily Telegraph, whose leading proprietor 
 and director, Mr. J. M. Levy, never missed a first 
 night in the company of his artistic and accomplished 
 family. All that was liberal and just and far-seein g 
 was in favour of the new Robertsonian departure — of 
 a dramatist who was not old-fashioned and dull, and 
 of actors so new, so fresh, so talented as Bancroft, 
 Hare, and their companions. The heavy brigade of 
 inliuential writers, led by John Oxenford, patted the 
 new movement on the back ; the light division, led 
 by Tom Hood and others, lent their enthusiasm to 
 the good cause, (jrilbert, Prowse, Leigh, Mill ward. 
 Archer — all of us, in fact, who knew Robertson and 
 appreciated his talent were the tirst to step forward 
 and back up our friend's success in every way that 
 was possible." 
 
 In view of the contemptuous manner in which 
 " Society " had hitherto been treated by London 
 managers, and Robertson's firm and even touching 
 
DAVID GARRICK:' ''SOCIETY," AND ''OURS" 177 
 
 faith in the value of his own original work (a faith 
 so amply justified by his subsequent productions), 
 we may, perhaps, be excused for here quoting some 
 of the opinions of the leading critics of their day on 
 what may be definitely called "a new departure." 
 
 Writing of " Society " in the JVmes-, John Oxenford 
 said of the much-dreaded "Owls' Roost" : '"The scenes 
 in which the ' Owls ' figure are indeed the best in the 
 piece, not only because they are extremely droll, but 
 because they constitute a picture of the rank and file 
 of literature and art, with all their attributes of fun, 
 generosity and esiJi'it de corps painted in a kindly 
 spirit. A report has reached us which, if true, is 
 only the more absurd on that account, that some thin- 
 skinned gentlemen have objected to these scenes as 
 derogatory to the literar\^ profession. Never was 
 'snobbery' more misplaced. The 'Owls' are em- 
 phatically described as ' good fellows' who are unable 
 to rise in the world, and have nothing whatever to do 
 with the men who are recognised as magnates of the 
 republic of letters. If on Saturday last the world 
 learnt for the first time that there are still persons 
 who prefer grog to Clos Yougeot and ' long clays ' 
 to choice Havannahs, the world is in a state of 
 appalling darkness, and a larger field is open to mis- 
 sionary enterprise than was ever anticipated even at 
 Exeter HaiU. . . . The piece was vehemently ap- 
 
 12 
 
178 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF T. W. ROBERTSON 
 
 plauded from beginning to end. Success could not 
 be more unequivocal."' 
 
 In its second notice, the outspoken Daily Telegraph 
 said : " The new comedy of ' Society,' which has just 
 been produced with so much eclat, is evidently the 
 work of a shrewd, observant writer, who has looked 
 at life from his own point of view, and who prefers 
 saying smart things about the weaknesses of humanity 
 to the utterance of solemn homilies bewailing their 
 existence. Those who demand a subtle analysis of 
 human motives, and require an elaborate dissection of 
 the various component parts of the social body, must 
 seek opportunities for acquiring knowledge elsewhere ; 
 but people who care about seeing a clever, sketchy 
 picture of modern men and manners, dashed off in a 
 spirited style, and giving, perhaps, a new view of 
 some of the gradations in the social scale, may include 
 themselves among the throng who nightly gather 
 round the portals of the cheerful little theatre in 
 Tottenham Street, and make sure of not coming 
 away disappointed. The lower as well as the upper 
 sections of society will find some familiar features 
 quickly to be recognised, and whilst the plebeian 
 occu[)ant of the gallery will readily appreciate tlie 
 very intelligible Immour of the comedy, the most 
 aristocratic patron of the stalls will decidedly approve 
 the moral lesson it enforces." 
 
''DAVID GARRICK^' ''SOCIETY," AND ''OURS" 179 
 
 It does not appear that the comedy owed any of its ; 
 success to the elaborate and perfect way of " mount- 
 ing" plays for which, when Robertson's influence 
 was an acknowledged factor, the theatre subsequently 
 became justly famous. From the notice given in the 
 PaIl_Mall Gazette on ^N'ovember 17, 1865, it would 
 appear that—" with the exception of the ' Square ' 
 scene" — " Society " would have been " more effective 
 if it had been 'mounted' with a more liberal hand 
 and with a better sense of the exigences of the scenes. 
 In a comedy which aims at realism, and the essential 
 character of which demands rrdisemhlaiice, the furni- 
 ture and accessories are of great importance. For 
 these the author is not altogether accountable. Few 
 dramatists are allowed to be stage-managers, and one 
 does not expect to find in Tottenham Court Road the 
 elegance which Madame A'estris exhibited at the 
 Lyceum ; but we may reasonably expect to see a 
 fashionable drawing-room in the 'noble mansion' of 
 Lord Ptarmigant furnished with more than one chair 
 and with a carpet of visible proportions, especially as 
 there are some allusions to the wealtli of the l^ritish 
 nobleman." 
 
 The Daily News also commented on the want of 
 improvement in the scenic department. liut these 
 things are only mentioned here to show that it was 
 by the sheer force of its own merit — backed up, of 
 
i8o THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF T. W. ROBERTSON 
 
 course, by admirable interpretation — that *' Society " 
 won its brilliant first-night reputation. 
 
 And so, after countless disappointments and per- 
 petual misunderstanding, Robertson's strong faith in 
 himself was justified. For his own original work he 
 had at last obtained a hearing, and press and public 
 valiantly declared that he was right. 
 
 Henceforth all London theatres were open to him, 
 and the new dramatic school — the natural as con- 
 trasted with the artificial school — that he had striven 
 so hard to found, had become in a sino-le niii'ht an 
 established fact. 
 
 How he saw throuHi and detested the old but 
 universally accepted stjde of acting cannot be better 
 shown than by quoting from the foot-notes ap- 
 pended by him to the manuscript of his comedy 
 of " War." 
 
 Of the French Colonel de Rochevannes, he said : 
 
 " The Author requests this part may be played 
 Avith a slight French accent. He is not to pronounce 
 his Avords absurdly, or duck his head towards his 
 stomach, like the conventional stage Frenchman. 
 Colonel de Rochevannes is to be played Avitli the old 
 pre - Revolutionary politeness — knightly courtesy, 
 Avith a mixture of ceremonv and bonhomie" 
 
 Of the German Herr Karl Hartmann, he noted : 
 
 " This part to be played Avith a slight German 
 
''DAVID GARRICK;' ''SOCIETY," AND "OURS'' i8i 
 
 accent, and not to be made wilfully comic. Hen- 
 Karl Hartmann is to be a perfect gentleman, with a 
 touch of the scholar and pedant in his manner — but 
 always a gentleman." 
 
 And of Captain Sound, R.N. : 
 
 " Captain Sound is not to be dressed in uniform, 
 but in the mornino' dress of a o-entleman. His 
 manner is to be hearty, but not rough ; in every 
 respect that of a captain of a man-of-war, and not of 
 the master of a halfpenny steamboat." 
 
 To the West-End manao^er of to-dav such author's 
 directions would, no doubt, be deemed superfluous, 
 but Ro!)ertson lived in different times, and knew from 
 bitter experience what the dramatist might from his 
 interpreters expect. How that experience was gained 
 we have endeavoured in these pages to show. The 
 perception that enabled him to detect glaring faults 
 and inconsistencies where others were content to 
 accept recognised stage types can only be explained 
 in the words Poeta nascitur, nan Jit. 
 
 The unqualified success that attended "Society" 
 brouo'ht about o;reat chano;es in the theatrical world, 
 and we may here appropriately take a glance at the 
 programmes of the other London theatres at the time 
 of its production at the little house in Tottenham 
 Street. It will, we think, show that a Robertson 
 was sorely needed. At Drury Lane, Shakespeare 
 
 c^ 
 
i83 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF T. W. ROBERTSON 
 
 appropriately held the boards, and Mr. Phelp?, Mr. 
 Swinbourne, Mr. James Anderson, Master Perc}^ 
 Koselle, Miss Atkinson, and Miss Rose Leclercq were 
 appearing in an excellent, but it is to be feared 
 iinremunerative, representation of '' King John." At 
 the Hay market, in an amazing programme that 
 included an adapted comedy, " Three Weeks after 
 ^larriage," the familiar "Used Up," Planche's "The 
 Golden Fleece," and a Spanish ballet entitled "Fans 
 and Fandangos," there were to be seen Mr. and Mrs. 
 Charles Mathews, Mr. W. Farren, Mr. Chippendale, 
 Mr. Compton, Mr. Charles Leclercq, Mr. Howe, 
 Miss Nelly Moore, Miss Snowdon (Mrs. Chippendale), 
 Mrs. E. Fitzwilliam, Miss Louise Keeley, Miss Fanny 
 Wright, and a corps de haUet. At the Princess's, 
 Charles Reade's "It's ISTever Too Late to Mend," 
 with Messrs. Vining, C Melville, T. ^leade, Dominick 
 Murray, S. Calhaem, J. C Shore, G. Murray, R. 
 Cathcart, Miss L. Moore, and Miss Katherine Rodgers 
 in the cast, was in full swino-. The Strand was 
 announced to reopen with the burlesque by Mr. F. 
 C. Burnand, happily enough entitled " L'Africaine ; 
 or, The Queen of the Cannibal Lslands," with parts 
 specially designed for Mr. J. D. Stoyle, ^Ir. David 
 James, Mr. Thomas Thorne, ^liss Swanborough, 
 Miss Ra3'nham, and Miss E. Johnston. At the 
 Adelphi (here truly was an attraction : although 
 
''DAVID GARRICR\" '^ SOCIETY;' AND ''OURS" 183 
 
 regarded as literature, the play, in its play form, was 
 perhaps of little account) Jefferson, supported by 
 Mr. and Mrs. Billington, Mrs. Alfred Mellon, and 
 Mr. Paul Bedford, was giving his inimitable imper- 
 sonation of Kip Van Winkle. At the Lyceum, 
 Fechter, with a company that included Mr. H. 
 Widdicomb, Mr. S. Emery, Mr. C. Horsman, and 
 Miss Elsworthv, was to be seen in a now fora'otten 
 drama called "The Watch-Cry." At the Olympic 
 there was another miscellaneous programme that 
 included "A Sheep in Wolf's Clothing," "A Cleft 
 Stick," and " Prince Camaralzaman," and the names 
 of H. J. ^lontague, J. Maclean, R. Soutar, Henry 
 Neville, Horace Wigan, F. Younge, Miss Kate Terry, 
 and Miss E. Farren figured in the bills. At the St. 
 James's, Mr. and Mrs. Frank Mathews, Mr. Walter 
 Lacy, nnd Miss Herbert were acting in pieces of an 
 ephemeral type, and at the Royalty another of Mr. 
 Burnand's burlesques, " Widow Dido," was the 
 attraction. That there was abundant variety in all 
 this cannot be denied, and many of the names that 
 have been quoted will ever hold honoured places in 
 theatrical annals — but where, among it all, was an 
 original comedy by an Enghsli^ dramatist ? Wh o, 
 indeed, in those days, when alm ost ev erything 
 " worth listening to " was "taken from the French," 
 believed that an Ens^lish dramatist lived who could 
 
i84 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF T. TF. ROBERTSON 
 
 write an original comedy ? Robertson, conscious, 
 no doubt, of the power within him, and still more 
 conscious of the difficulties that would stand in the 
 way of the production of his play, had ventured to 
 devote the time, that to him meant money, to the 
 writing of " Society," and, when once he obtained a 
 hearing, secured attention. 
 
 ]>ut the public triumph upon which he had set his 
 
 heart, and for which he had so long laboured, came at 
 
 a time when poor Robertson could not only lind no 
 
 pleasure in it, but was even inclined to resent it as the 
 
 cruel h'ony of a bitter fate. I'he manuscript of 
 
 " Society " is dated August 12, 1864, and was 
 
 written at IG, Duke Street, Manchester Square, where 
 
 Robertson and his little family communed with the stars 
 
 on the fourth floor; but just at this time, encouraged 
 
 by the success of " David Garrick," and full of hope 
 
 concerning his new play, he ventured to take a tiny 
 
 house at Gospel Oak Village, Kentish Town. In 
 
 those days this was b}^ no means an unj^leasant spot. 
 
 The sanguine author's windows looked out upon the 
 
 common that then existed, and in the diminutive 
 
 summer-house and strip of lawn that constituted the 
 
 chief attractions of his '' garden," many a pleasant 
 
 Sunday afternoon was spent with such congenial 
 
 companions as the Broughs, H. S. Leigh, Andrew 
 
 Halliday, E. C. Barnes, H. J. Byron, Dr. Strauss, and 
 
''DAVID GARRICK," ''SOCIETY;' AND "OURS" 185 
 
 otliergood friends from his favourite land of Bohemia. 
 But housekeeping, even when it is conducted on a 
 very modest scale, costs money — " Society," as we 
 have seen, was not snapped up by the first London 
 manager to whom it was offered — and in order 
 to bring grist to the mill, Mrs. Robertson, who was 
 by no means in good health, continued, in spite 
 of doctors' warnings, to fulfil her duties at the 
 various theatres at Avhich she found lucrative em- 
 ployment. 
 
 To this no one was more strongly opposed than her 
 devotedly attached husband, and it is on record that 
 when she was fulfilling her last engagement (at 
 Astley's Amphitheatre) he even threatened that if she 
 would persist in acting he would persuade his friends 
 to go to the theatre and hiss her performance. As 
 far as sending his friends to the theatre was concerned, 
 his little plot was carried out, but they came back and 
 told him that she looked so sweet, and played so well, 
 that, in spite of themselves, they could do nothing 
 but applaud. 
 
 Poor Robertson ! He soon found a more trust- 
 worthy confederate than his friends. It was not long 
 ere the brave and lovinof woman had to own iier 
 defeat, and come home to the little house, of which 
 she had been so proud, and which she so longed to re- 
 tain, to die. On August 14, 1865, at the age of 
 
i86 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF T W. ROBERTSON 
 
 twenty-nine, the poor creature breathed her last, 
 leaving her husband to be both father and mother to 
 their two young children. This, it will be noted, 
 took place just three months before the success of 
 " Society " in London told Eobertson that he had won 
 his goal, and it is said among his intimate friends of 
 those days that his anguish was a terrible thing to 
 witness. He had won the fame for which he longed, 
 the fortune that might have saved the life of his 
 devoted wife was Avithin his grasp, and she, the 
 loving helpmate of his stormy, struggling days, could 
 take no share of the one or of the other. It is tbouii'ht 
 that he was never in actual heakh from that grim hour, 
 and it was surely with this great trouble in his mind 
 that he was wont in later days to say, Avith the bitter 
 satire of which he Avas a master, that he Avould like 
 " to ha\^e the Avorld as a ball at his feet that he might 
 kick it." 
 
 Fortunately for the sorely stricken author, and for 
 the Avel&re of the English stage, he had his little 
 children, Tom and Maud, to think of and care for, 
 and his sorrow found in Avork its surest alleviation. 
 The enduring success of '' Society " brought him 
 both money and friends, his hitherto despised plays 
 were on all hands eagerly inquired for, and a new life 
 in which "he bei-an to liA^e and ceased to exist" Avas 
 before him. It was, however, with a heavy heart that 
 
" DA VI D GARRICK," " SOCIETY^ AND " OURS'' 187 
 
 he commenced writing his new comedy for the now 
 popular and fashionable little playhouse in Tottenham 
 Street. 
 
 In conjunction with his old friend H. J. Byron's 
 burlesque on "Don Giovanni," "Society" ran for one 
 hundred and fifty nights, and on the occasion of the 
 one hundredth performance the author (who. if truth 
 must be told, never forgot an intentional or un- 
 intentional slight) placed a private box at the disposal 
 of Buckstone, at the same time reminding him of his 
 opinion and prophecy. 
 
 It was about this time that Frederick Clay's opera 
 of " Constance," with a libretto written by Robertson, 
 was produced at Covent Garden. The work did much 
 to enhance the reputation of its gifted composer, but 
 was not an endurino- success. 
 
 It has been said that Millais's beautiful and well- 
 known picture " The Black Brunswicker " first sug-- 
 gested the theme of " Society's" successor, "Ours." 
 Be that as it may, it is certain that in this play 
 Robertson's love of soldiers first clearly shows itself ; 
 and it may be noted that nearly all his subsequent 
 pieces contained, in the form of incident or character, 
 something of the military element. To him a story 
 of love and honour was ever seen at its best when 
 associated with a soldier's uniform. 
 
 It was arranged that " Ours " should have its trial 
 
iS8 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF T. W. ROBERTSON 
 
 trip (in much the same way as " Society ") at the 
 Prince of Wales's Theatre, Liverpool, but with the 
 difference that Miss Wilton and her London supporters 
 should replace Mr. Henderson's company. In common 
 with most successful plays, the production gave its 
 anxious author abundant trouble. The first reading of 
 the play caused some disappointment to those who were 
 to appear in it, and Mr. John Hare stoutly objected 
 to the part of Prince Perovsky (subsequently one of 
 his most notable successes), only undertaking it on 
 Robertson's assurance that it could do him no harm, 
 and that he would regard it in the light of a personal 
 favour. Then, again, the character of Mary Netley 
 did not come up to Miss Wilton's expectations, and 
 she has recorded how the author suffiiested that she 
 should " build it up," begging her to do all she could 
 in the scene which concerned her in the last act, " for 
 somehow he felt unable to make Mary as prominent 
 as he wished." " So at the rehearsals," continues this 
 pleasant writer, " I set to work and^ invented business 
 and dialogue which, happily, met with his approval ; 
 he declared I greatly helped the act, which was not 
 only imi)robable, but in parts very weak. The audi- 
 ence laughed at the fun, and forgave the rest. I must 
 confess that I often felt a little ashamed of the expe- 
 dients I was obliged to adopt, and was fully conscious 
 that it was not art, and only fun and frolic, where 
 
''DAVID GARRICK;' ''society;' and "OURS" 189 
 
 we pretended to be soldiers going througli tlieir 
 
 exercises." 
 
 This frank admission on the part of the first Marv 
 Netley expkiins away a great deal of the incongruity 
 which undoubtedly exists in the final act of an other- 
 wise charming play. Xow, there is no doubt that at 
 the first reading some dismay was felt by the admir- 
 able little company at the length and importance of 
 the character of Hugh Chalcot (by the way, in the 
 original manuscript Chalcot is named Dra3^cote, 
 Shendryn is Lysart, and Prince Perovsky is without 
 a title) — an importance which seemed likely to over- 
 shadow the play, and make small the chances of those 
 who were to appear in its apparently subordinate 
 characters. But it was not so, and therein became 
 manifest the great ability of the author: for, mao-nifi- 
 cent as the part of Chalcot is from the actor's point of 
 yiew — length — it does not constitute " Ours " a one- 
 part play, but is merely the necessary piyot on which 
 the remaining characters turn one after the other in 
 deUghtful contrast. Anyone reading the piece for the 
 first time might easily regard Chalcot as its " be-all 
 and end-all " ; but in acting the truth comes out, and 
 it is found that though Chalcot does most of the hard 
 work, "honours," on the fall of the curtain, are yery 
 fairly " diyided." 
 
 Of course Robertson went to Liverpool, to super- 
 
I90 777^ LIFE AND WRITINGS OF T. W. ROBERTSON 
 
 intend the rehearsals of his play; and in letters that 
 he wrote to his life-long friends, Mr. and Mrs. 
 Colman Burroughes, he frequentl}^ alluded to his 
 perplexities concerning it. Mr. and Mrs. Bur- 
 roughes were at that time taking care of his 
 children, and tliat in the midst of his work and 
 worry they were ever uppermost in his thoughts is 
 abundantly manifest. The tender words of affec- 
 tionate solicitude that in these letters he used in 
 speaking of his motherless boy and girl are both 
 beautiful and touching. The letters also show that 
 when he was not at work at " Ours" he was busily 
 writing for Lacy, Beeton, and other publishers. 
 
 " I read the piece to-day to the company," he 
 Avrote, " and many of them are dissatisfied with their 
 ]);irts;" and a little later, when the rehearsals had 
 commenced : " I am very tired of Liverpool, as I 
 have so many annoyances at the theatre." Of the 
 first-night performance he said nothing except, '• I 
 am going to alter the last act of my comedy." But 
 that the evening of August 23, 1866, when " Ours" 
 was first acted at the Prince of AVales's Theatre, Liver- 
 pool, brought him another triumjjh, and gave the 
 English stage an enduring success, is now a matter of 
 theatrical history. In the course of a lengthy notice 
 that appeared in the Liverpool Daihi Post the next 
 day, a keen critic said : " Always a pleasant event to 
 
''DAVID GARRICK;' ''society;' and "OURS" 191 
 
 the public, the production of a new piece becomes 
 doubly so to the critic when he is compelled to hail 
 it as a welcome addition to cur stock of comedies, 
 and a strong confirmation of the abilities of the 
 author. Great were the anticipations indulged in by 
 tlie theatrical jmblic regarding 'Ours'; and we are 
 confident everyone's expectations must have been 
 realized. The performance of ^Ir. Robertson's piece 
 last night was in all respects a triumph — literary, 
 histrionic, and scenic.'' 
 
 Of the sensitive author's anxiety in connection 
 with that fateful first-night, his friend Charles Mill- 
 ward has given the following account : " Robertson 
 was fearfully nervous at the rehearsals, and not 
 sau'^-uine of success. After the final rehearsal, on 
 the day of production, I persuaded him to join me in 
 a sail on the river, and Clarke and Dewar readily 
 agreed to accompany us. We accordingly took the 
 steamer for Xew Brighton, and on arriving there 
 proceeded to the best hotel, and ordered the best 
 dinner that could be provided. And how we all 
 enjoyed that delightful impromptu bancpiet, the 
 pleasant balcony (facing the sea) upon which we sat, 
 and the exhilarating after-dinner talk ! Robertson 
 was in his very best form, and no longer shaking 
 with nervousness ; but just as we were thinking 
 about returning to the theatre he fell fast asleep. I 
 
192 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF T. W. ROBERTSON* 
 
 would not have him disturbed, poor fellow ! so he slept 
 soundly until within one liour of the time fixed for 
 the commencement of the memorable performance. It 
 then became necessar}' to arouse him ; and the painful 
 duty devolved upon myself. We reached the theatre 
 just in the nick of time, and then it was unpleasantly 
 evident that Robertson's nerves were ao'ain unstrunii'. 
 
 "• The theatre was crowded in ev^ery part ; but 
 Robertson positively refused to occupy the box the 
 manager had reserved for him. He would first take 
 a smart walk, he said, ' to blow the steam off.' He 
 must have accumulated a large quantity of super- 
 fluous steam, for he was non est during the perform- 
 ance of the first and second acts, and although he 
 had been vociferously called for by the audience, he 
 was nowhere to be found. When the third act com- 
 menced, every soul in the theatre, save the author, 
 knew that *Ours' was a thumping success. But 
 where was Tom Robertson ? Surelv not still blow- 
 ing the steam off ? As we knew there would be a 
 tremendous call for him when the curtain fell, we 
 v.'ere bound to find the missino- author dead or 
 alive. 
 
 " Messengers were despatched in all directions in 
 search of him ; and as I had frequently seen him 
 during his nervous attacks, I joined in the pursuit. 
 I dreaded the prospect of the play terminating before 
 
''DAVID GARRICK," ''SOCIETY,'' AND "OURS'' 193 
 
 the author turned up ; so I sought for hhn in the 
 streets around the theatre. Ultimately I encountered 
 him in Bold Street, walking at a furious pace, mop- 
 ping the perspiration from his brow, in evening-dress, 
 and hare-headed. He had been pacing the streets, 
 * blowing off,' more than two hours. With great 
 difficulty I induced him to return with me to the 
 theatre, where we found the last scene on. When 
 the curtain fell, a tremendous shout arose for the 
 author ; and Marie Wilton drag^ged him across the 
 stage, pale as a ghost, as limp and flabby a specimen 
 of a successful dramatist as one could wish to see." 
 
 Well — although that troublesome last act had to 
 be altered — the discussions and anxieties were over 
 at last. Mr. and Mrs. Bancroft were delighted with 
 their new parts; and neither they nor the other mem- 
 bers of the company had reason to grudge Mr. John 
 Clarke the undoubted success he made as Hugh 
 Chalcot. The dubious Mr. John Hare had to own 
 that he had done admirably as Prince Perovsky; and 
 even Robertson must have felt at ease with himself 
 and the world. 
 
 On the following September 16, at the Prince of 
 Wales's Theatre, "Ours" was submitted to a London 
 audience. Mr. Frederick Younge replaced Mr. 
 Dewar as Sergeant Jones; but otherwise the cast 
 was the same as in Liverpool, and the reception of 
 
 n 
 
194 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF T. W. ROBERTSON 
 
 the piece was never for one moment in doubt. Con- 
 cerning this eventful evening, Mrs. Bancroft has 
 written : " The success of the play was immediate 
 and reniarkable, and did much to decide the ultimate 
 fortunes of the theatre and the fame of its author. 
 The effect of the second act, where the troops leave 
 for the Crimea, on the first night's audience was 
 extraordinary, the same enthusiasm being kept up 
 nightly for a long time ; and in the Crimean hut 
 great surprise was caused by the realistic effect of 
 the driving snow each time the door was opened." 
 
 Robertson's fame as a dramatist was now secure. 
 His work was no longer treated as a surprise, but as 
 a serious theme for encourao-ement, and the longf and 
 exhaustive notices that appeared in all the London 
 papers, bidding welcome to the reputation he had 
 made, and expressing approval of the admirable 
 acting to be seen at the Prince of Wales's theatre, 
 conclusively showed the keen interest taken in the 
 future of all concerned in the production. 
 
 How " Ours " has been reproduced on London 
 boards over and over ao^ain need not be recorded 
 here ; neither need much be said of its immense 
 popularity in English provincial towns, the colonies, 
 and America (where, by the way, Mr. Lester Wallack 
 was an excellent Hugh Chalcot) ; but it is interesting 
 to note that on the occasion of its first revival at the 
 
''DAVID GARRICK^- '' SOCIETY^' AND ''OURS'' 195 
 
 Prince of Wales's, Robertson was so delighted with 
 the performance that he wrote to the Bancrofts : 
 " For the first time in my life I felt grateful to the 
 folks on the stage-side of the footlights, and I am 
 not given to that sort of gratitude." Mr. Bancroft, 
 on the evening to which this refers, made a great hit 
 as Hugh Chalcot, and Mrs. ?)ancroft excelled herself 
 as Mary Netley. 
 
 When the time came for these deservedly successful 
 managers to say good-bye to the Tottenham Street 
 house which they had so worthily controlled, " Ours" 
 was once more revived in its first London home. 
 "It was only right," says Mr. Bancroft, "that the 
 last bill at the little house should bear the name of 
 Robertson, to whom we owed so much of our success 
 there. In these words we announced the farewell 
 revival at this theatre of ' Ours ' : ' Mr. and Mrs. 
 Bancroft's last appearance prior to the opening of the 
 Theatre Royal, Haymarket, under their management 
 at the beginning of the new- year' {;Le., 18<^())- 
 This oft- tried friend again stood by us, and served 
 to fill the little theatre until we left it." 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 
 LATER DAYS. TRIUMPHS. 
 
 The undoubted success and great popularity of 
 " Ours " brought Robertson as many commissions 
 as he could wish for, and the managers who had 
 previously refused his plays were now only too eager 
 to secure them. The immediate result of this was 
 that he undertook rather too much, promising to 
 provide, in addition to a new comedy for the Prince 
 of Wales's, new jDlays for the Princess's and the St. 
 James's. 
 
 At the former house, under the management of 
 Mr. George Vining, " Shadow Tree Shaft," a drama 
 in three acts, was produced on February 6, 1867, 
 the cast including Mr. Vining, Mr. J. G. Shore, Mr. 
 H. Forrester, Mr. R. Cathcart, and Miss Katherine 
 Rodgers. It was a pleasant and picturesque drama, 
 and it contained one situation which, for intensity, 
 has rarely been surpassed ; but it was marred by an 
 unsatisfactory third act, and a too willing sacrifice at 
 
LATER DAYS.— TRIUMPHS 197 
 
 the shrine of the scene-painter. Herein, no doubt, 
 lay the great difficulty. At the Princess's the author l 
 was hampered by tradition, and had to abandon 
 much of the fascinating simplicity that had made his 
 plays so popular at the Prince of \¥ales*s, Melo- | 
 drama was expected by the audience — melodrama 
 was in the minds, in the attitudes, and on the 
 tongues of the actors — melodrama, no doubt, was the 
 aim of the dramatist who was now writing for a 
 melodramatic house — and it is to be feared that the 
 fanciful touches and dainty episodes that he put into 
 his work interfered with its chances of prolonged 
 success. Of all classes of playgoers, the lovers of 
 melodrama are the most conservative, and it must 
 have startled many a stanch patron of the Princess's 
 of those days to find an idyllic love-scene like the 
 following in the semi - sensational '* Shadow Tree 
 Shaft " : 
 
 Katie. Stay, Michael, let me tie this bit of ribbon round your 
 wedding-finger (takes, a red ribbon from her hair and ties it round the 
 finger of Michael's left hand). That makes you mine, and shows 
 that we are plighted. See {sweeping snow into her hand from the 
 corner of the booth), as my mother did before me, and as do many 
 in this wild country, I roll this ball of snow. We clasp it in our 
 right hands, and as sure as it melts, so sure will our hearts cling 
 together, and as we love each other truly, so through our wedded 
 life shall we have but one thought, one mind, one heart. 
 
 [Darkyn * has entered during this, and comes down between them. 
 
 * "Darkyn" was the inevitable melodramatic villain. 
 
198 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF T. W. ROBERTSON 
 
 Katie lets go Michael's hand. The hall of snow falls to the 
 ground.] 
 Katie. Oh, Michael ! See, the snow has fallen unmelted ! We 
 shall never be wed ! 
 
 This episode is certainly pretty both in idea and 
 execution, but it and similar graceful scenes were 
 sadly out of place in the melodrama of those days, 
 and were thrown aAvay upon audiences far more eager 
 concerning the beautiful and elaborate scenery pro- 
 vided by Mr. Lloyds, than the grace and finish of 
 Robertson's dialogue. So it was with more than one 
 of the characters, and notably with that of one 
 " Sampson," who was much given to Latin quotations, 
 coupled, in the author's manuscript, with scholarly 
 English translations for the benefit of the comedians 
 destined to play the part. Had he been equally 
 thoughtful for the requirements of his audiences, 
 his play would probably have had a better chance 
 of popularity. As it was, " Shadow Tree Shaft," 
 although by no means a failure, was coldly received, 
 and {with one or two exceptions) unfavourably 
 criticised, and after a com])aratively brief run it was 
 withdrawn. 
 
 Still less gratifying was the fate of " A Rapid 
 Thaw," a two-act comedy adapted from " Le Degel " 
 of Victorien Sardou, and produced, under the 
 management of Miss Herbert, at the St. James's 
 Theatre on March 2, 18(57. In the cast were in- 
 
LA TER D. 1 } 'S.— TRIUMPHS 
 
 J 99 
 
 eluded the manageress, Miss Ada Cavendish, Miss 
 Carlotta Addison, Miss Eleanor Bufton, Mrs. Frank 
 Mathews, Mr. Frank Mathews, Mr. E. Dyas, and 
 
 Mi\ Henry Irving, who, as an Irishman named 
 
 O'Hoolagan, contributed a valuable character-study. 
 The character played by Miss Herbert had been 
 " created " in Paris by the famous Madame Dejazet ; 
 but there is no doubt that in its English dress the 
 play was a failure, and that Robertson attached little 
 importance to it, either one way or the other, is 
 proved by the fact that he (usually so methodical 
 in such matters) did not retain the manuscript or 
 any reference to the production. In the same month 
 Mr. and Mrs. German Reed were supplied by liim 
 with a two-act piece of the class associated with 
 those popular entertainers, entitled " A Dream in 
 Venice," in which the famous John Parry made a 
 notable success. 
 
 Keen was the excitement amono* theatrical critics 
 and playgoers when it was announced that a new 
 and original three-act comedy by the author of 
 " Society " and " Ours " was to be produced at the 
 Prince of Wales's. The productions at the Princess's 
 and the St. James's had somewhat shaken the 
 faith of the ever-wavering public in the powers 
 of the new dramatist. The doubtful shook their 
 heads.; the envious talked of a "flash in the 
 
200 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF T. W. ROBERTSON 
 
 pan " ; even the hopeful were uncertain. " Would 
 Robertson succeed again ?" was the question asked 
 by everyone interested in the stage. " Caste " was 
 the re ply, and it ^vas not to be challenged. From 
 the moment of the production of this delightful 
 comedy on the evening of April 6, 1(S67, its author's 
 name was permanently established in the category 
 of acknowledged English dramatists. Of course, 
 the conditions were favourable. To begin with, the 
 author knew his company, and they had implicit 
 faith in him. " I vividly recall," says Mrs. Bancroft, 
 "the effect he produced by his exquisite reading of 
 his work to the little band of players who had the 
 delightful task of first acting it ; for I don't know 
 of such cleverly -drawn and powerfully- contrasted 
 parts in any other modern play. The rehearsals 
 were a labom' of love." In the second place, he was 
 his own stao-e-manas'er. 
 
 In speaking of Robertson in this capactity, Mr. W. 
 S. Gilbert says: " I frequently attended his rehearsals 
 and learnt a g-reat deal from his method of stas'e- 
 management, which in those days was quite a novelty, 
 although most pieces are now stage-managed on the 
 principles he introduced. I look upon stage-manage- 
 ment, as now understood, as having been absolutely 
 ' invented ' by him." To which Mr. John Hare, a 
 master of this delicate and all-important part of 
 
LATER DAYS.— TRIUMPHS 201 
 
 modern theatrical art, adds : " My opinion of Robert- 
 son as a stage- manager is of the very highest. He 
 had a gift pecuhar to himself, and which I have 
 never seen in any other author, of conveying by 
 some rapid and almost electrical suggestion to the 
 actor an insight into the character assigned him. As 
 nature was the basis of his own work, so he sought to 
 make actors understand it should be theirs. He thus 
 founded a school of natural acting which completely 
 revolutionized the then existing methods, and by so 
 doing did incalculable good to the stage." 
 
 It was under these happy conditions that "Caste, ' 
 generally held to be its author's masterpiece, was 
 launched. 
 
 The germ of the play is to be found in a short 
 story entitled "The Poor Rate unfolds a Tale," 
 contributed by Robertson in 1866 to "Rates and 
 Taxes," a Christmas volume, edited by Tom Hood 
 the younger ; and in calling attention to this fact, 
 Mr. Clement Scott maintains that, " Here we find 
 that echo of the spirit of Thackeray which has so 
 often been detected in Robertson's works, especially 
 'Caste.' Who," continues this keen critic, "can 
 doubt it, who reads the following ? 
 
 " ' Fairfax Daubray (George D'Alroy) was a brave, 
 stupid, good-natured young man, and adored by the 
 men under his command. A finer-hearted gentleman, 
 
202 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF T. W. ROBERTSON 
 
 or a more incapable officer, never buckled on a sword- 
 belt. He fought gallantly at Alma, and wrote after 
 the battle. His wife, who was as^ain in the little 
 house at Stangate, read part of his letter to her 
 sisters, who cheered, and we})t, and hurrahed as she 
 read. She took them all with her to church on the 
 following Sunday. ... It w^as in a hot skirmish that 
 Ensign Daubray found himself in command of his 
 company. His captain had been shot, and the lieu- 
 tenant borne wounded to the rear. He saw the 
 enemy above him. He knew that it was a soldier's 
 duty to fight, and he led on his men up the hillside. 
 " Dib ! Dib! come back!" shouted two or three old 
 officers from the main body of the troops behind him. 
 Daubray turned round to them. " Come bach be 
 damned P^ answered he, waving his sword above his 
 head. ^^ You fellows come o?i !" . . . The wounded 
 man smiled again, pressed his friend's hand, sank 
 back and died, as the General of Division galloped up 
 and said to a bleeding major, " Beautiful — beautiful ! 
 Like men, by God!" . . . Major Swynton (Haw- 
 tree) returned to England with one of his coat-sleeves 
 empty.' 
 
 " How thoroughly all this is in the very spirit of 
 Thackeray ! and who can wonder that Robertson's 
 favourite ' bit ' in ' A^anity Fair,' which he was never 
 tired of reading to his friends, was the picture of the 
 
LATER DAYS.— TRIUMPHS 203 
 
 Battle of Wcaterloo, and ' Amelia praying for George, 
 who was lying dead with a bullet through his heart ' ? 
 We seem in ' Caste ' to be reading of Becky, and Jos, 
 and Amelia, and George, and Dobbin, not of Polly, 
 and D'Alroy, and Hawtree, and Esther. That incident 
 of Hawtree j;eturning from the Crimea with his ' coat- 
 sleeve empty ' is very characteristic of the writer, \vho 
 was so passionately attracted by soldiers and their 
 English pluck. Mr. Bancroft, as he tells~us in Tiis 
 Memoirs, wanted to introduce a maimed Hawtree 
 with an empty coat- sleeve in the last act of ' Caste.' 
 Why has it never been done?" 
 
 That on the iirst night Robertson was once more 
 the victim of overwhelming nervousness may be shown 
 by the following anecdote : 
 
 " We were standing together," says one of his 
 friends, " at the back of the circle of the old Prince 
 gf Wales's Theatre, leaning on the barrier, when, at 
 the end of the second act, I unnerved him by a pre- 
 mature congratulation, he being still naturally anxious 
 for the result. In my thoughtless friendship I fool- 
 ishly slapped him on the shoulder ; and when all was 
 over, and success assured, he told me, in his original 
 way, the story of the man who carried a chest of 
 oranges on his head from Botolph Lane to Covent 
 Garden for a wager. The poor wretch was killed by 
 a * pal,' who, just as the wager was being won, gave 
 
204 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF T. W. ROBERTSON 
 
 him a slap on the overweighted spine — and broke it ! 
 Robertson insisted that my felicitations, coming so 
 near his triumph, came almost as a death-blow to it 
 and him." 
 
 Only those responsibly connected with the produc- 
 tion of a new play understand the misery of these 
 first nights ; and perhaps the poor author is in the 
 worst plight of all. Unlike the actors, he has nothing 
 to do, and with his reputation trembling in the balance, 
 and with an ear terribly keen for any little slip in his 
 dialogue on the part of the nervous performers on the 
 st'.ige, or any apparent want of appreciation on the 
 side of the critical audience, he can do nothing but 
 Avatch and wait and listen until the curtain finallv 
 falls and his fate is sealed. 
 
 On the first night of " Caste " Robertson was 
 evidently on the outlook for anything that could be 
 construed into a shortcoming. In his manuscript,* 
 in the final scene of the last act, where the lovers are 
 made happy, and Esther and Polly — just, in short, 
 before the end of the play — the following lines occur: 
 
 Esther (aside). And she will live in a back room behind a shop. 
 AVell— I hope she will be happy. 
 
 Polly (aside). And she will live in a fine house, and have a 
 carriage, and be a lady. Well — I hope she will be happy. 
 
 * On the opposite page we give a specimen of this manuscript 
 in facsimile. 
 

 l/Tt^^j^^^ 
 
 
 
 Jft^cXCtj^ J.CY i^tyCY_ ^ ' ^^ ' '^ / ' 
 
LATER DAYS.— TRIUMPHS. 205 
 
 When the comedy was printed, the following foot- 
 note was inserted : 
 
 "These last two speeches of Esther and Polly were omitted in 
 representation. For what reason on earth — or behind the footlights 
 — the author cannot imagine." 
 
 But sensitive as he was, Robertson must after tliis 
 notable first-night have been abundantly satisfied, 
 and one can fancy the gratification with which he 
 read the verdict of one of the most eminent critics 
 of the day. Surely those hard-working fingers of his 
 never had a pleasanter task than when they inserted 
 the following into his carefully-kept record of " Press 
 Notices " : • 
 
 "'Society' and 'Ours' prepared the way for a 
 complete reformation of the modern drama, and until 
 the curtain fell on Saturday night it remained a 
 question whether Mr, Robertson would be able to 
 hold the great reputation which those pieces conferred 
 upon him. The production of * Caste ' has thrown 
 aside all doubt. The reformation is complete, and 
 Mr. Robertson stands pre-eminent as the dramatist 
 of this generation. The scene-painter, the carpenter, 
 and the costumier no longer usurp the place of the 
 author and actor. With tlie aid of only two simple 
 scenes — a boudoir in Mayfair and a humble lodging 
 in Lambeth — Mr. Robertson has succeeded in con- 
 centrating- an accumulation of incident and satire 
 ~ „ I ■■ I - — 
 
2o6 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF T. W. ROBERTSON 
 
 more interesting' and more poignant than might be 
 found in all the sensational dramas of the last half- 
 century. The whole secret of his success is— truth j!'^ 
 
 But althouii'li the scenery was subordinate to the 
 play, in it some important innovations were made, as 
 witness Mr. Bancroft, who says : " It was in ' Caste ' 
 that we made a distinct stride towards realistic 
 
 1 scenery. The rooms, for the first time, had ceilings, 
 while such details as locks to doors, and similar 
 matters, had never before been seen upon the stage." 
 
 ^ Mrs. Bancroft has recorded that the success of 
 "Caste" "passed her wildest dreams," and further 
 says : " This comedy is specially endeared to me by 
 the dedication, 'To Miss Marie Wilton (^Irs. Ban- 
 croft) this comedy is dedicated by her grateful 
 friend and fellow-labourer, the author.'" 
 
 It is not the purpose of this book to criticise the 
 acting of those who took part in the first or sub- 
 sequent representations of Robertson's plays, but in 
 the case of " Caste " he had so perfectly fitted his 
 company, and the impersonations of one and all con- 
 cerned in the production were so excellent, that it is 
 impossible not to say something concerning them. 
 As Captain Hawtree, Mr. Bancroft was admirable ; 
 and although this accom23lished actor has virtually 
 retired from the stage, it is to be hoped that the 
 performance will be seen again. It was — and is — 
 
LATER DAYS.— TRIUMPHS 207 
 
 the perfection of acting, and in the highest sense a 
 most artistic assumption. Mr. John Hare, as Sam 
 Gerridge, was inimitable. '" Mr. Hare," said a lead- 
 ing critic of those days, " is so refined and perfect an 
 actor, so true an observer of life, that we were not ,: 
 surprised to find him made up as a sharp, wiry, 
 veritable working-man who might have stepped out 
 of an}' carpenter's shop in England. The scene in 
 which he reads to his ' intended ' the trade circular : 
 he has just composed is the most exquisite and i 
 unforced bit of comedy w^e have seen for years." ' 
 Another critic ventured to predict tliat one day Mr. 
 Hare would be "the greatest ornament of the London 
 stage." To-day w^e know that this was no false 
 prophecy. Some censors would have it that George 
 Honey's marvellous performance of Eccles was some- 
 what out of the picture ; but tliough he may have 
 been almost too realistic in his desire to present a 
 perfect portrait of the old pot-house orator who 
 " didn't work as much as he used to do, but liked to 
 see the young uns at it," the faults were (if any), 
 and as Robertson told him, "all on the right side." 
 The make-up, the voice, the manner, the savagery in 
 one part ; the hypocritical maudlin grief in another ; 
 the toadying to w^ealth in another ; the disgust and 
 abuse when wealth refuses to deposit even a sovereign ; 
 the exits and entrances of this wonderfully delineated 
 
2o8 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF T. W. ROBERTSON 
 
 character, are things to be gratefully remembered. 
 Of com'se since the days of 1867 the character has 
 been played by many of our best comedians (notably 
 by ]\Ir. David James), and it is now regarded 
 in the light of a stage classic, and is as well known 
 to the public of 1892 as were Shakespeare's charac- 
 ters to the playgoers of the so-called "legitimate" 
 days. In proof of this we may quote Mr. William 
 Archer, who not long since said: " I have mentioned 
 Mr. Oswald Crawfurd's suggestive article in the 
 Fortnightly^ and may possibly return to it another 
 time. Here let me note an ingenious misprint which 
 has been allowed to creep in : ' There have been 
 times,' Mr. Crawfurd is made to say, ' when plays 
 were written to please it' (the gallery) 'in the 
 " Eccles vein." ' One cannot but suspect that the 
 intelligent compositor must himself have been some- 
 what in the ' Eccles vein ' when he achieved this 
 muddle." Here, probably, Mr. Archer is in error. 
 No doubt " the intelligent compositor " was more 
 familiar with his Robertson than his Shakespeare, and 
 thouo-ht that he did Mr. Crawfurd o-ood service when 
 he transformed his " Ercles " into his own " Eccles."' 
 
 The Esther Eccles of Lydia Foote, with her 
 expressive face, and the exquisite pathos of a voice 
 which brought tears to the eyes of all when she read 
 the manlv letter sent by Hawtree, enclosinof her a 
 
LA TER DA YS— TRIUMPHS 209 
 
 cheque for thirty pounds, will always be remem- 
 bered. The Marquise de St. Maur, played by that 
 highly-accomplished and appreciative actress, Miss 
 Sophie Larkin, was replete with finish and refine- 
 ment ; and the elocutionary decision evinced in the 
 second act, when the estimable, though worldly, old 
 lady narrates the chronicles of Froissart to her 
 eldest son, did much to secure the marked success 
 of a difficult scene. And what is to be said — that 
 has not already been said — of the Polly Eccles of 
 "Marie Wilton"? Writing as Mrs. Bancroft, this 
 charming actress is somewhat inclined to underrate 
 her achievement in what is undoubtedly a most 
 difficult character. 
 
 "I am under the impression," she says, "that 
 among many lovers of the old plays, Polly Eccles 
 may be thought to have been my favourite character. 
 Xo — it was not. I love Polly for the innate fine 
 qualities of her nature ; her devotion to her dissolute, 
 W'Orthless father; her filial desire to screen the worst 
 side of his nature (if there could have been a worse), 
 by trying to make him appear a little better in the 
 estimation of others. Her love for her sister ; her 
 real goodness under a rough exterior; the under- 
 current of mischief, and real appreciation of humour : 
 all these genuine qualities appealed to me largely; 
 and I hope I understood them, otherwise I do not 
 
 14 
 
2IO THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF T. W. ROBERTSON 
 
 think I could have made the impression in the part 
 which I am told I did. I thoroughly enjoyed the 
 boundless love of fun, the brisk gaiety of Polly's 
 happy nature, and I felt acutely the pathos of her 
 serious scenes. 
 
 " The character is very dramatic in parts, and 
 requires all the nervous acting I could bring to 
 bear upon it. The last act of ' Caste ' is the longest 
 I ever appeared in, and I believe one of the longest 
 in the whole range of the Drama; for it often played 
 nearly an hour and a half, and Polly is but seldom 
 off the stao-e throuo-hout it. Almost everv Avord 
 she has to say is a pearl, so to speak, and affects the 
 audience more or less. Hers is always a welcome 
 presence, for every one loves Polly. I am naturally 
 very proud of my success in the part, and feel happy 
 in all that is now left to me — the remembrance of it. 
 Success must bring pleasure, and ' labour's light as 
 ease when with cheerfulness 'tis done ' ; and although 
 Polly is not my favourite character, still I love her 
 for her strange mixture of boisterous fun, tenderness 
 and affection. The sudden transitions, too, from 
 broad comic humour to deep feeling pleased me, and 
 my heart was therefore in my work. In the situation 
 where George D'Alroy suddenly returns from India 
 Avhen he is thought to be dead, I felt the reality of the 
 scene so_ thoroughly that I cried every night when 
 
LATER DAYS— TRIUMPHS 211 
 
 acting it. Polly Eccles, as a work of art, did me 
 more credit than all the others, and doubtless, as an 
 artistic effort, stands first in the rank, for she is a 
 difficult part to play ; the range of feeling must be 
 very wide to fully reproduce the intentions of the 
 author. ' Caste ' is assuredly Tom Robertson's clief- 
 d'oeuvre, and one of the cleverest plays written in my 
 time. Well then, why, in the face of all this, was 
 not Polly Eccles my favourite part ? 
 
 " I fear I can only give a woman's reason, and say 
 that 'it was not.'" 
 
 Mrs. Bancroft finds but few wdio on this point 
 agree with her. Her Polly was exquisite, and will 
 ever live in the memories of those who were fortu- 
 nate enough to see her play the part. Though Frede- 
 rick Younge was by no means juvenile in years or 
 appearance, he was a perfect George D'Alroy, as those 
 will testify who remember the scene with Polly Eccles 
 in the third Act, when, in order that George may see 
 his little son for the first time, she carries in the 
 baby. At this point his acting was inexpressibly 
 touching ; but, then, Younge was a father, and, like 
 Robertson, adored children. On the first revival of 
 tTie'play, in 1868, the part, somewhat modified by the 
 author, was taken by handsome and all too short- 
 lived H. J. Montague. This popular young actor 
 had previously played in Robertson's drama " For 
 
212 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF T. W. ROBERTSON 
 
 Love," at the Holborn Theatre, and, no doubt, to 
 that circumstance owed his introduction to a theatre 
 and a company in which he did so much good 
 service. 
 
 Frederick Younge's absence from the Prince of 
 Wales's is accounted for by the fact that by this 
 time, ^^ith the author for his ally, he was managing 
 these successful Prince of Wales's comedies in the 
 provinces. The phenomenal popularity of " Caste " 
 was, indeed, the cause of the system of travelling 
 companies as against the " stock " country companies 
 then in existence. When Frederick Younge and 
 Robertson made up their minds to send a properly 
 organized company into the provincial towns to 
 represent ' Caste," they met with considerable oppo- 
 sition from country managers. Many refused to 
 receive the compan}- at all, except on a prohibitive 
 percentage, but in these cases public halls were taken, 
 and when it was found that the admirably rendered 
 representations of the comedies given in them emptied 
 the recognised theatres, the obdurate managers gave 
 way. There was a good deal to be said on both sides. 
 In Eno'land custom dies hard. Provincial audiences 
 loved to see their local favourites on the boards, 
 country managers liked to reign supreme in their own 
 theatres, and the stock companies were the recognised 
 preparatory schools of the dramatic profession. From 
 
LATER DAYS— TRIUMPHS 
 
 this point of view a distinct loss has to be acknow- 
 ledged, but, on the whole, it must be granted tiiat 
 country playgoers have benefited by the change; 
 thouo-h few of them know that it is to Robertson that 
 their thanks are really due. 
 
 The " Caste " company did not cease its labours in 
 the artistic representation of the famous series of 
 comedies for fourteen consecutive years, under the 
 successive managements of Frederick Younge, Richard 
 Younge (his brother), Frederick Craven Robertson, 
 T. W. Robertson (the dramatist's son), and later on 
 of T. W. Robertson and H. A. Bruce. 
 
 The younger Robertson's appreciation of, and 
 delio-ht in, his father's Avorks have done much to 
 make the public, both in England and America, 
 familiar with them, and have been pleasant to witness. 
 Under his management the pieces were invariably 
 admirably stage-managed and perfectly performed — 
 he has acted in them w^ith marked distinction — and 
 under his banner many raw recruits have qualified 
 themselves for the leading positions that they now 
 hold on the London stage. Never had worthy father 
 more loyal son. 
 
 That like most other permanently successful ven- 
 tures the new touring departure had to be " built 
 up" may be shown by an extract from the following 
 letter written by Robertson, in the early days of the 
 
214 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF T. W. ROBERTSON 
 
 provincial " Caste " company, to his friend and 
 partner : 
 
 " Dear Feed, 
 
 " I'm glad that you lost no more at Bradford 
 than £10, and hope that the end of this week may 
 make up for the beginning. Please let me know how 
 * Ours ' goes." 
 
 The continuation of this note bears painful witness 
 to the fact that, even at this period, its writer was a 
 martyr to patiently-borne ill-health. 
 
 " I was better last week," he says ; " but on 
 Monday night I had one of my old attacks, and I 
 have been, and am, queer since. Sometimes I feel 
 very much depressed, at others hopeful. The new 
 comedy gets on but slowly ; however, I shall finish 
 it by Christmas. When I suffer the ])ain is so acute 
 that it leaves an echo in the bones after it has jjassed 
 away. Having done little or no work, of course I 
 am full of plans, notions, schemes, etc." 
 
 In another letter to Younge, he alludes to his old 
 comrade, H. J. Byron's, appearance at the Globe 
 Theatre as Sir Simon Simple, in his comedy " Not 
 Such a Fool as he Looks," a part that had been 
 essayed, but (somewhat too liastily) thrown over by 
 Sothern. 
 
LA TER DA J '5— TRI UMPHS 2 1 5 
 
 "The business at the Globe," he writes, " has, 1 
 hear (and believe), improved, and may still continue 
 to go up. I hope it will : but it can never be a 
 success. The piece is too weak, and Byron has too 
 little ' go ' in him as an actor. His acting was a 
 false step, and I knew it would be." 
 
 Inasmuch as subsequent events justified this pro- 
 j)hecy on the part of one of Byron's best friends, it is 
 worth quoting. 
 
 It would be as unnecessary as it is impossible to 
 allude in these pages to the number of times that 
 " Caste " has been reproduced on the London stage, 
 but some reference may be pardoned to the famous 
 revival at the Prince of Wales's of 1879, of which a 
 leading critic wrote : ' \ 
 
 '• Robertson, the dramatist, long before he obtained 
 fameTmight well have said with Milton, ' By labour 
 and intent study (which I take to be my portion in 
 this life), joined with the strong propensity of nature, 
 I might, perhaps, leave something so written to after 
 times as they should not willingly let it die.' To 
 very few amongst modern authors who struggled 
 painfully to succeed, and who, after years of mis- 
 directed energy and unappreciated genius, woke up 
 one morning to find himself famous, was ' labour 
 more truly 'a portion of this life'; in the recorded 
 wor£s of very few do we see the fruits of so much 
 
2i6 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF T. W. ROBERTSON 
 
 ' intent study ' of contemporary life ; in the picture 
 poems of favourite authors we seldom find painted in 
 such vivid colours the * strong propensity of nature,' 
 coming out, as it does, in the women Robertson so 
 well understood and loved, in the men he so 
 thoroughly appreciated and admired, in the braver}' 
 for which he had so much reverence, in the modesty 
 he so much respected, in the humour which was so 
 sympathetic to his kindly nature, or in those scenes 
 of English life, English feeling, and English senti- 
 ment, which he reproduced for us with a master hand. 
 And in ' Caste ' Robertson has bequeathed to us and 
 to our stage one of those pure fresh evergreens which 
 the public and his friends will not ' willingly let die.' 
 Seven years have passed away since this favourite 
 play was revived in its old home, and a new genera- 
 tion of playgoers have sprung up since Robertson 
 wrote for us. In other circumstances such a new 
 generation, fresh entering upon pleasures which most 
 of us have appreciated, tasting for the first time the 
 sweets that come unaccustomed to the palate, would 
 be the sulgects of considerable envy. But it is not 
 so with ' Caste.' Familiarity breeds no contempt 
 here. Old stacker and voumj; stao-er are on the same 
 platform. The mind, familiar with every scene, every 
 movement, and every situation, is animated with the 
 freshness of a new delight. . . . And so it turns out, 
 
LA TER DA YS— TRIUMPHS 2 1 7 
 
 when we consider the delicacy of the author's con- 
 ception and the -finished care of its treatment, that 
 neither aire nor custom can chano-e or wither the 
 variety of a familiar plant. Such plays as these — so 
 pure in sentiment, so English in tone, so wholesome 
 in effect — are like the dreams and books described 
 by Wordsworth. Concerning them, we may truly 
 say, * Round these, with tendrils strong as flesh 
 and blood, our pastime and our happiness will 
 orow. 
 
 In speaking of the popularity of the play another 
 writer said : " Mrs. Bancroft has not appeared at the 
 Prince of Wales's in her admirable impersonation of 
 Polly Eccles since 1871, but it may safely be said 
 that since its first production in 1867 a year has never 
 elapsed without 'Caste ' being somewhere upon the 
 stage. The present law of copyright has enabled the 
 sale of most of Mr. Robertson's comedies, which, as 
 literary works, are well worth dissemination, to be 
 stopped in England ; but they have a considerable 
 vogue in America. We have in this country a pro- 
 vincial band of players formed, under the title of the 
 ' C^ ste ' com pany, expressly to represent the eleven 
 pieces by which Mr. Robertson is known to the public. 
 ' Caste ' has also made its way to Germany, for its 
 influence must assuredly be recognised in the 
 successful play by Julius Stinde and George Engels, 
 
21 8 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF T. W. ROBERTSON 
 
 produced last September at the Wallner Theatre in 
 Berlin, under the title ' Ihre Familie.' " 
 
 It is in connection with the production of 1879 that 
 Mr. Bancroft says : "It may here be mentioned, as 
 an instance of the o-reat chano^e that had come over 
 thin<rs theatrical, and for which we were chiefly 
 responsible, that Mr. Honey, when he first played 
 Eccles in 18(J7, received £18 a week, while for this 
 revival — we cfuaranteed also a six montlis' eno;ao^e- 
 ment — his salary was sixty. . . . The favourite old 
 play was marvellously welcomed, and the receipts 
 equalled even the early days of a new produc- 
 
 tion." 
 
 That the author's fees had not been advanced in 
 proportion to the actor's salar\^ was not the fault of 
 Mr. and Mrs. Bancroft may be shown by the foUovvino; 
 episode, creditable alike to manager and to dramatist. 
 It was after the revival of " Ours" in 1870 that the 
 Bancrofts, seeing that the play had settled down for a 
 long and profitable run, decided to offer Eobertson an 
 increase on the fees originally agreed upon and paid ; 
 and to a letter requesting him to accede to this he sent 
 the following characteristic reply : 
 
 " Don't be offended that I return your cheque. I 
 recoofnise your kindness and intention to the full ; 
 but, having thought the matter over, I cannot recon- 
 cile it to my sense of justice and probity to take more 
 
LATER DAYS^TRIUMPHS 219 
 
 than I bargained for. An arrangement is an arrange- 
 ment, and cannot be played fast and loose with. If 
 a man, say an author, goes in for a certain sum, he 
 must be content with it, 'and seek no new'; if he 
 goes in for a share, he must take good and bad luck 
 too. So please let 'Ours' be paid for at the sum 
 originally agreed on." 
 
 With a reference to the memorable night at the 
 Haymarket when "Caste" was played for the last 
 time under the management of Mr. and Mrs. Bancroft, 
 we shall take leave of this admirable play. 
 
 On that occasion ^Ir. Hare came from his own 
 theatre (the St. James's) to play his old part of Sam 
 Gerridge to the Captain Hawtree and Polly Eccles of 
 his former managers, and the greatest enthusiasm pre- 
 vailed both before and behind the curtain. 
 
 " The evening of Friday, April 13, 1883," says 
 Mr. Bancroft; " will long be remembered by us, and 
 is not likely to fade easily from the memory of any- 
 one present. It was apparent directly the curtain 
 rose that the audience was exceptional, and that some 
 strano^e mao;netic influence affected both auditor and 
 actor. The reception of all the familiar characters was 
 very prolonged ; while of Mr. Hare, the moment he 
 appeared as Sam Gerridge, and of ourselves, no other 
 word will so express the demonstration as ' affec- 
 tionate.' It would look like exao-o-eration to describe 
 
 00 
 
220 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF T. W. ROBERTSON 
 
 the enthusiasm wliich followed the comedy, or the 
 scene that occurred at the close of it." 
 
 But the evening was nevertheless overshadowed b}^ 
 a tinge of regret. If only the author — who, conscious 
 of the power within him, had so bravely surmounted 
 the cruel anxieties of his early days — -could have been 
 present to witness the sustained triumph of his ever- 
 green i^lay ! 
 
 ***** -/r 
 
 Yery soon after the lirst production of " Caste," 
 Robertson, accompanied by his friend E. C. Barnes 
 (the well-known artist), went on the Continent for a 
 much-needed holiday. With characteristic solicitude 
 for his children, be left before starting;, and "in case 
 of accident," the following statement of his affairs 
 with his friends Mr. and Mrs. Burrouofhes : 
 
 " May 2, 1867. — Shares : Abney Park Cemetery 
 Company, £200. Alliert Levy, for investment, £300. 
 Insurances: Norwich Union, £300 ; European, £500. 
 ' C^ste,' £3 a night. Cop^'rights : ' Shadow Tree 
 Shaft; 'Ours,' 'A Rapid Thaw,' 'David Garrick,' 
 and ' The Cantab ' — half with Lacy. Other copyrights 
 of little value. MS. of dramas finished, and various 
 MSS. Hardly any debts — certainly under £20. 
 Various sums lent, about £100. All papeis, securities, 
 will, etc., are at the London and South- Western Bank, 
 
LA TER DA YS TRIUMPHS 
 
 Park Street Camden Town. The kev of the box 
 containing the securities is in my desk, labelled." 
 
 When we consider how short his time for savino" 
 money had been — that he received but £1 a nio;ht for 
 " Society," £2 a night for " Ours," and that "Caste," 
 at its £3 a night, had only been running about a 
 month — we realize how wonderfully careful for those 
 depending on him he was. In those days his author's 
 fees were no doubt considered ample ; and that he 
 was well satisfied with them is certain. To-day our 
 dramatists take — as no doubt, up to a certain point, 
 they are entitled to take— other views. 
 
 The fellow - travellers visited France, Germany, 
 Switzerland, Italy and Savoy, and after an absence 
 of five weeks Robertson returned to London in good 
 spirits, in invigorated health, and with a new life 
 before him. 
 
 At this time E. C. Barnes was one of Robertson's 
 most intimate friends ; he helped him to design the 
 scenes for many of his plays, and painted the only 
 portrait on canvas of him that exists. From this the 
 etching by R. W. Macbeth, A.R.A.,was taken, and in 
 connection with it a touching little story is on record. 
 As it confers honour on all connected with it, there can 
 be no harm in relating it in these pages. As evidence 
 of the afi'ection inspired by Robertson in the hearts 
 of those who knew and loved him, it has great value. 
 
222 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF T. W. ROBERTSON 
 
 Of " sitting for his portrait" he entertained a per- 
 fect horror, but on the occasion of an idle happy 
 Sunday morning spent in company with congenial 
 spirits in Barnes's studio, he laughingly consented to 
 be " taken in oils." The little picture, hastily painted 
 though it was, developed into an admirable likeness, 
 and for many years it occupied an honoured position 
 on the studio walls. When Robertson died,, nothing 
 would induce his artist friend to part with this 
 treasured record of their close companionship, and in 
 the troubled days that were in store for him he clung 
 to it as to his most valued possession. All too soon 
 poor Barnes died, too, and, his deft fingers being still, 
 those dear to him felt the pressure of a needy hour. 
 Friends there were ready and willing to help ; but 
 how was this to be done in a fashion that would not 
 appear obtrusive 1 Robertson's son — remembering the 
 portrait, and anxious above all things to possess it — 
 thought that by offering to purchase it he might not 
 only secure a long-coveted prize, but be of service to 
 his father's old friends. But no ! Anxious concern- 
 ing the future though they were, the dead artist's 
 relatives would not sell his most cherished treasure ; 
 but they would gladly give it to him to whom it 
 seemed by right to belong. 
 
 Going away with his prize, young Robertson won- 
 dered what he could do to show his appreciation of 
 
LATER DAYS— TRIUMPHS 
 
 the gift, and at the same time render the help that 
 he had in view when he w^ent in quest of it ; and it 
 suddenly struck him that if an etching of the por- 
 trait from the hand of some well-known artist could 
 be produced, there were many of his father's old 
 friends who would be glad to purchase copies. Obtain- 
 ing an introduction to Mr. Macbeth, he told the story 
 and the artist, without hesitating for one moment, and 
 in the kindest possible manner, undertook the task. 
 One stipulation, however, he made. He was to re- 
 ceive no payment ; it must be a labour of love. By 
 this means an appreciable sum of money was amassed ; 
 and thus it came about that by tenaciously clinging 
 to the portrait of his friend poor Barnes unconsciously 
 made some provision for those so near and dear to 
 him . 
 
 We have said that Robertson came home from his 
 holiday with a new life before him — and it was, 
 indeed, for a new life that he earnestly longed. His 
 position as a dramatist was now permanently assured ; 
 he felt that he was prosperous, and he knew that 
 if he had continued health and strength (and these 
 blessings were not yet denied him) he was in a fair 
 way to become rich. AVhat more natural than that 
 he should wish to blot for ever from his memory the 
 painful struggles, the heart-breaking disappointments 
 and the necessarily sordid expedients of his dark 
 
224 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF T. W. ROBERTSON 
 
 early clays '? Robertson always cordially hated the 
 memory of those old times. Even with his earliest 
 and most intimate friends he disliked to speak of 
 them ; and between a cruel past, a peaceful present, 
 and a prosperous future he wished to draw a firm 
 and ineffaceable line. Since his wife's death, too, he 
 had experienced a terrible sense of loneliness. Of 
 this he often spoke to his closest companions, and 
 no one was surprised, and all were glad, when he 
 announced the news of his engagement to the niece 
 of one of his sincerest well-wishers, Mr. Joseph M. 
 Levy (of the Daily Telegraph), to whom he dedicated 
 his comedy " Ours." It was at an evening party 
 given at the house of Mr. Edward Levy (Lawson) 
 on Christmas Eve, 1866, that Robertson first met Miss 
 Rosetta Feist, a young German lady from Franklbrt- 
 on-Maine. They were at once attracted towards each 
 other, and with the permission of the young lady's 
 parents they became " engaged " in the following- 
 August, thanks, in a great measure, to the friendly 
 mediations of the Levys, who helped to overcome 
 some slight objections as to religion and nationality 
 raised by " mein Herr Papa !" In a letter addressed 
 to his future wife, Robertson speaks in the most affec- 
 tionate terms of the Levys generally, who from the 
 day they met him were his attached and sincere 
 friends. 
 
LATER DAYS— TRIUMPHS 
 
 The letters from Robertson to his fiancee are in 
 existence, and from them we may here and there 
 quote. To publish these love-letters in their entirety 
 would be little less than sacrilege, and yet the tempta- 
 tion to do so is strong. The language in which they 
 are couched is most beautiful. His intense and almost 
 fatherly affection for the young girl who has consented 
 to leave her own friends and country, and entrust her 
 life and happiness to his care, is as tender as it is 
 manly, and his thought for her in a hundred little 
 ways infinitely touching. "Well, we all know how 
 Robertson could write love-scenes for the puppets in 
 his plays. Picture, then, his love-letters to the 
 mistress of his heart I But, beautiful though they 
 are, they were meant for one eye, one ear, and in 
 sanctity must lie. We wish that more of Robertson's 
 letters had been preserved. He was a fascinating 
 correspondent, and we believe in what Dr. Newman 
 said when, in 1863, he wrote to his sister, Mrs. John 
 Mozley : "It has ever been a hobby of mine — though 
 perhaps it is a truism, not a hobby — that the true life 
 of a man is in his letters. Biographers varnish, they 
 assign motives, they conjecture feelings, they in- 
 terpret Lord Burleigh's nods ; but contemporary 
 letters are facts." Southey, too, has said : " Letters 
 often tell more of the character of the man they are 
 to be read by than of him who writes them ;" and 
 
 15 
 
226 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF T. W. ROBERTSON 
 
 from this point of view extracts from Robertson's 
 correspondence would have been interesting. We 
 must, however, do the best we can with the material 
 at our command. 
 
 In the early days of his courtship Robertson appears 
 to have been somewhat embarrassed with regard to 
 German ways in such delicate matters, and in June 
 he (with characteristic consideration) wrote to Miss 
 Feist : " The manners and customs, habits of thought 
 and fashions, of the Continent are so widely different 
 from those of England that I may be excused for not 
 understanding Continental modes, and I may be 
 pardoned if, through ignorance, I unwittingly appear 
 unconscious of a received co7ivenance. Having given 
 your mother your promise that I am not to hear 
 from you further at present, you must, of course, 
 keep your promise. If, however, any circumstance 
 should arise which should, induce your mother to 
 permit you to send me a few words, I hope you will 
 indulge me with a line or two. ... I am glad to 
 be able to tell you that I shall be able to leave 
 England early in August, and so I may reasonably 
 hope to be in Nanheim by the tenth of that month — 
 about seven weeks from the present time. For this 
 alteration of dates I am indebted to a lucky accident ; 
 so if I do not hear from you, I shall have the 
 happiness of seeing you a month before I expected.; 
 
LA TER DA YS— TRIUMPHS 227 
 
 As you are kind enough to finish your letter by 
 saying that you would like to hear from me now 
 and then (by which I understand that I may be per- 
 mitted to write to you), I shall certainly avail myself 
 of the permission, and send a letter or two (or 
 more !) during the weeks that have to elapse before 
 I see you. I am as busy as I can be, but I can 
 never be so busy that I cannot find time to write 
 to you." 
 
 With matters so far arranged he settled down to 
 steady work, and the second week of July, 1867, saw 
 him at Garlinge, a little village outside Margate, with 
 his two children, and in a small farmhouse, called by 
 courtesy Guildford Villa, he finished the drama 
 entitled " For Love." There he would write most of 
 the day at his desk in a bay-window facing the sea, 
 and in the evening it was his custom to walk the mile 
 separating Garlinge from Margate and spend an hour 
 or so with his friend, E. P. Kingston, who managed 
 the newly-erected Hall by the Sea. 
 
 From Garlino;e he wrote the following; characteristic 
 and manly letter to Miss Feist : " Having received a 
 note from your father saying that he wished to see 
 me, I went up to London yesterday. I cannot in the 
 brief space of a letter tell you all that he and I said, 
 but I can give you its purport. Your father said 
 that, much as he felt gratified by the attention I had 
 
228 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF T. W. ROBERTSON 
 
 paid you, there were impediments to our union. I 
 asked what they were. He said three : First, that 
 you had no money ; secondly, that you had been 
 reared in a diiferent faith to me (although he admitted 
 that he himself thought but little of that) ; and, 
 thirdly, that I had a family. I replied that I never 
 thought you had money; that I did not care for 
 money, as I was sufficiently prosperous to maintain 
 a home comfortably and elegantly. That for the 
 question of creed, I considered it no obstacle to 
 sensible and intelligent minds ; but for his last 
 objection I said I had no answer. It was a good and 
 valid objection. I could, therefore, only reply that I 
 had but two young children ; that, although I had 
 that responsibility, I had made my way in the world, 
 that I had not to 'make my position, and that it was 
 a question of feeling for the contracting parties ; that 
 if you did not make that an obstacle, I thought it 
 but a very small one. I then entered into a descrip- 
 tion of my circumstances. The final reply was that 
 he must ' consider the matter, and would write to 
 me ' ; and so, dear, the matter stands. I need not 
 tell you that I await your father's letter with anxiety, 
 and that I am by no means sanguine as to his 
 decision." 
 
 As we have already seen, his misgivings were 
 groundless, and having finished his play, and entered 
 
LA TER DA YS— TRIUMPHS 229 
 
 into negotiations for its production, he set out for 
 Nanheim with a light heart. 
 
 Before starting he had to make arrangements for 
 his children, and from Garlinge wrote as follows to 
 Mrs. Burroughes : 
 
 " What do you think of my leaving Tommy and 
 Maud here with the Ralphs for the month of August 
 while I am in Germany ? The air is doing them 
 immense benefit. I do not know whether Mrs. Ralph 
 would have them — particularly Tommy, who has 
 painted the pigs with gas-tar." 
 
 The story of this terrible misdemeanour runs as 
 follows : The outhouses of the farm were being given 
 a new coat of tar, and while the workmen were away 
 at their dinner, Master Tommy took upon himself to 
 paint not only the insides of the piggeries, but the 
 pigs themselves. Thus uncomfortably decorated, the 
 poor creatures rubbed themselves against the walls of 
 their houses, and so, to the dismay of their owner, 
 gave themselves a very fair second coating, in, as 
 the painters' contracts have it, " a workmanlike 
 
 manner." 
 
 A letter that Robertson wrote to Mrs. Burroughes 
 immediately after his arrival at Nanheim again shows 
 his wakeful solicitude for his children. It winds up 
 in characteristic fashion. '' I am happy to tell you 
 that I am quite well," he says, " and ' gathering copy 
 
230 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF T. W. ROBERTSON 
 
 every day from every opening tourist.' Give my 
 kindest regards to inquiring friends, particularly to 
 those who don't like me !" 
 
 At Nanheim all arransjements for the marriage 
 were made, and after a naturally pleasant holiday, 
 Robertson travelled to England by way of Baden, 
 where, for copy-gathering purposes, a short halt was 
 made. Here it was that he learnt, to his infinite 
 delight, that it was generally believed that not only 
 was he already married, but that the principal attrac- 
 tion of his bride was her power of being able to 
 "translate from the German." The manner in which 
 he at once conveyed this startling piece of intelligence 
 to Miss Feist showed how thoroughly he enjoyed the 
 joke, though no doubt he attributed the report to 
 those (if any such existed) who " didn't like him." 
 
 On September 4 he arrived in London, and his 
 first letter to Nanheim enclosed a beautifully- worded 
 one from his father to his future daughter-in-law, 
 which, if such things did not seem sacred, it would be 
 pleasant to quote at length. Its purport was, of 
 course, to express his satisfaction with regard to the 
 forthcoming wedding, but it contains one passage that 
 is of general interest : 
 
 " My son," wrote William Kobertson, " has had 
 some annoyance since his return to town, arising out 
 of an injustice that is practised upon his literary work 
 
LA TER DA YS— TRIUMPHS 23 r 
 
 in America, and which will, I think, terminate in an 
 international law for the future protection of all 
 authors in that country. The affair is creating much 
 excitement in the States. To my son it will prove a 
 temporary loss, but it will not compromise the cheering 
 prospects that are opening to him at home." 
 
 This alluded to the now well-known incident of the 
 scandalous piracy of " Caste " in America. The dis- 
 agreeable story has been told before, and need not be 
 here repeated. It caused Robertson intense annoy- 
 ance and heavy loss, but he bore both with dignity, 
 and the publicity given to the proceeding no doubt 
 had something to do with the better and more honour- 
 able state of things that to-day exists. 
 
 And so in England Robertson not only found 
 renewed toil, but unexpected worry, and it is easy to 
 enter into his feelings when he wrote : " I am full of 
 business. My hand is with my work, but my heart is 
 with my beautiful little wife." But he had his new 
 play " For Love " to rehearse and produce before he 
 could return to what he whimsically termed his 
 '" Vater (in-law) Land." 
 
 And yet, busy as he was, his mind was always, and 
 in some ways amusingly, running on his marriage. 
 In one letter he says : " A propos of our wedding, of 
 course we shall be married at the Consul's. Please 
 tell me in your next letter whether in a case of that 
 
232 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF T. \V. ROBERTSON 
 
 sort a bridegroom is expected in Germany to be 
 dressed as we dress in England for a marriage in 
 church. Don't forget to answer me on this point, as 
 I shall have to order mij trousseau ! I yearn for the 
 day that makes you mine, and changes Rosetta Feist 
 to Rosy Robertson." 
 
 " For Love ; or, The Two Heroes," the drama in 
 three acts written for the New Holborn Theatre, then 
 under the management of Mr. Sefton Parry, was pro- 
 duced on October 5, and in a letter written to Miss 
 Feist the followins^ mornino; Robertson said : " The 
 piece was a success, and in my opinion it will run six 
 months. I may be wrong ; but I judge as 1 think, 
 without being over-sanguine or over-despondent. 
 The lirst act went gloriously, the second splendidly. 
 The third act did not go well (but not so badly as the 
 third act of " Shadow Tree Shaft " — still, it dropped 
 a little). We shall alter that, and then I have no fear 
 of a long run." 
 
 The cast included Henry Widdicomb, H. J. Mon- 
 tague, Charlotte Saunders, and Fanny Josephs, and 
 William Telbin provided some exquisite scenery, but 
 the piece did not realize the fond anticipations of its 
 author. It was the old story. Charming in comedy, 
 Robertson's delicate touch and pointed style were 
 unsuited to, or, at all events were misunderstood in, 
 the melodrama of five-and-twenty years ago ; and the 
 
LA TER DA YS— TRIUMPHS 233 
 
 situation was cleverly summed upas follows by one of 
 the leading critics : 
 
 " It behoved the manager to open his second cam- 
 paign with flying colours, and he naturally had 
 recourse to the brilliant author of ' Society,' ' Ours,' 
 and ' Caste.' No wonder that the assembly of Satur- 
 day was most select and generous — select in com- 
 prising what is most notable in the literary world, 
 and generous in hearty appreciation of all that was 
 sparkling in dialogue and moving in incident. The 
 title 'For Love,' though it might remind old play- 
 goers of Sheridan Knowles's comedy of ' Love,' and 
 play-readers of Dryden's ' All for Love,' was sufficient 
 to arrest attention. The curiosity awakened by the 
 title was stimulated by the opening act. . . . 
 
 " The delight that Mr. Eobertson takes in repartee 
 threatens to be the chief obstacle of his success in 
 drama. The scenes are invested with an artificiality 
 which ill prepares the listener for a tragic denouement. 
 We may well doubt if the appalling catastrophe of 
 the sinking of the Birkenhead is not too recent an 
 event to be, under any circumstances, parodied by 
 half a dozen supers on a pasteboard ship. Although 
 Mr. Robertson's new drama is not, in our opinion, so 
 artistic a piece of workmanship as the sparkling 
 comedies with which his name is chiefly associated, it 
 contains abundant evidence of his highly original 
 
234 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF T. W. ROBERTSON 
 
 talent and striking dramatic skill. For instance, the 
 contrast between the pathetic complaints of poor 
 Brids^et that she could not Sfo out with her drunken 
 husband, and the insignificant doings of titled folks, 
 which go on in antiphonal sequence, is admirably 
 managed and highly efi'ective. It was not an easy 
 task to make both his heroes propose to the same girl 
 — both in fear and trembling — and yet each in 
 separate fashion. But Mr. Robertson has here had 
 his customary success. By far the best scene in the 
 play, however, is that in which Lieutenant Tarne and 
 Mabel, leaning over the bulwarks, and playing 
 nervously with the ropes, look down into the deep 
 blue waves, and surprise, each in the other's tremb- 
 ling voice, the mutual secret of their hearts. Mr. 
 Robertson is accused of being cynical, but if he be 
 so his cynicism is of the right sort. He is cynically 
 contemptuous of all snobbishness and show, and he 
 heartily admires what is real and true. Like all 
 genuine humorists, he finds the source of humour to 
 be very near the fount of tears, and as we listen to 
 his dialogue, our laughter is checked of a sudden by 
 a serious thought, and our sympathy is speedily 
 brightened by a smile." 
 
 In calling attention to the fact that the plot of 
 " For Love " was founded on the well-known and 
 pathetic story of the "Wreck of the Birkenhead^'^ 
 
LATER DAYS— TRIUMPHS 235 
 
 Mr. Clement Scott says : "I shall never forget 
 Robertson's description of the ' Wreck of the Birken- 
 head' which he always wanted to make into a grand 
 play. It made me thrill to listen to him. He had 
 the genius of the dramatist; he was alive with 
 pathos and situation ; but he could not do impossi- 
 bilities, and make houses without material. The 
 Holborn Theatre and the company there were not 
 suited to tackle the ' Wreck of the Birkenhead' . . . 
 Robertson had, no doubt, a power of description in 
 which he distanced most of his contemporaries. 
 Gxenford, George Rose, Charles Coleman, J. C. M. 
 Bellew, and countless others, were all able conversa- 
 tionalists, but they were distanced by Robertson in 
 the club-room and at the dinner- table. He could 
 read a play as well as he could write one. I have 
 seen a room full of clever men interested with his 
 conversation. I have been present at literary 
 gatherings when he electrified us with a reading of one 
 of his short stories, and I have seen a company in 
 tears when he read to the assembled actors and 
 actresses one of his plays. It must have been this 
 gift that inspired the artists of the little Prince of 
 Wales's Theatre. But the description of the play he 
 wanted to write on the subject of the ' Wreck of the 
 Birkenhead' I shall never forget." 
 
 Well, it is pleasant to know that Robertson was 
 
236 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF T. W. ROBERTSON 
 
 satisfied with the first-night success of his new play, 
 and that it was with a light heart that he hurried off 
 to Germany " to press the dear hand on which I have 
 to place — in token of love, esteem, sovereignty, and 
 subjection — a wedding-ring." 
 
 The marriage took place at the English Consulate 
 at Frankfort on October 17. The honeymoon was 
 passed in Paris ; and a little later on, at his new 
 home — No. 6, Eton Koad, Haverstock Hill — the new 
 life for which Kobertson had longed commenced in 
 earnest. Once more happy in his domestic life, he 
 devoted himself to the labour that he loved, and 
 although in 1868 only two pieces from his pen were 
 produced, the amount of work that he did was extra- 
 ordinary, as the record of 1869 will show. 
 
 The next comedy produced at the Prince of Wales's 
 Theatre (the date was February 15, 1868) was in 
 four acts, and entitled "Plaj." Its popularity was 
 in a great measure due to a charming love scene, 
 admirably played by Mrs. Bancroft and Mr. H. J. 
 Montague, which had been thought out by Kobertson 
 during his recent stay in Baden, and after a visit to 
 the " Alte Schloss," a ruin standmg on an eminence 
 in which iEolian harps had been placed. Other 
 characters were admirably sustained by Miss Lydia 
 Foote, Mrs. Leigh Murray, Mr. Bancroft, Mr. William 
 Blakeley and Mr. John Hare. "The parts," Mr. 
 
LA TER DA YS— TRIUMPHS 237 
 
 Bancroft says, " seemed wonderfully adapted to the 
 company — a quality in which Robertson was perhaps 
 pre-eminent." 
 
 • "The success of the production," he continues, 
 " passed our best hopes — demanding, in fact, an 
 addition to the number of stalls. Hawes Craven 
 painted some really beautiful scenery — the old ruined 
 castle, with an effect of the sun dancins; on the flow- 
 ing river far below, being an ambitious attempt upon 
 so small a stage. Robertson was fresh from Baden- 
 Baden, and supplied a great deal of local colour with 
 regard to picturesque detail outside the springs and in 
 the gaming-room ; so all went merrily on both sides 
 the curtain. ' Play ' went gaily on its career until 
 some time in May, when its good-fortune received a 
 sudden check, like all things theatrical in that year, 
 which was that of the great drought and most excep- 
 tional heat." 
 
 To Robertson the reception of the piece was most 
 gratifying, and he especially valued the opinion of a 
 critic who said : 
 
 " There is an impression of reality about the per- 
 sonages he has introduced, which helps us to a belief 
 in the probability of their actions ; and in their 
 speech we catch an echo of the tone of modern life, \ 
 not always so distinctly heard within the walls of a 
 theatre." 
 
238 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF T. W, ROBERTSON 
 
 It was for this reform that Eobertson had so loDg 
 and so earDestly striven. 
 
 To the pretty love scene on the Alte Schloss he 
 was evidently, and with good reason, much attached. 
 Later on in the year — and while his wife was staying 
 with her parents at Nanheim — he was again at Baden, 
 and wrote to her : " I should have liked to have 
 shown vou the Alte Schloss, where I thought out the 
 scene between Rosie " (the source of his heroine's 
 name is not far to seek) *'and Frank." He visited 
 the spot over and over again, and on one occasion 
 was accompanied by his friend John Hare. 
 
 The only other play written and produced in 1868 
 was " Passion-Flo wers," a drama in three acts, 
 adapted from the French. This was tentatively 
 brought out on October 28 at the Theatre Eoyal, 
 Hull, with his sister, Madge Eobertson, in the prin- 
 cipal part. Since then it has for some unexplained 
 reason remained on the shelf. It is a pretty play, 
 and deserves to be revived. 
 
 Eobertson's dramatic works were now in request 
 wherever the English language is spoken, and it was 
 just at this time that he wrote as follows to Frank 
 Younge, concerning their production in Australia : 
 
 " I know that you are sure to do the best you can 
 for me in Australia, and I agree with you that ' cer- 
 tain ' terms are best. ' Caste ' is always more liked 
 
LATER DAYS— TRIUMPHS 239 
 
 the more it is seen, and I think £5 per night might 
 be got in your best theatres for a successful phxy of 
 mine. ' Play ' has been sent oflf to you. I shall 
 shortly send you other pieces. I have four coming 
 out immediately, among others a sensation drama of 
 the most sensational type. I shall send assignments 
 out of all the plays 1 send you, that you may be 
 armed with full legal authority in case of piracy. I 
 need not tell you to look after your MSS. Of course 
 I shall send you all my pieces, for what is a miss 
 here may be a hit in the colonies. Produce ' Ours ' 
 after 'Caste,' if you can; then 'Society' — but this, 
 of course, you will judge of best yourself on the spot. 
 In arranging with managers, remember that you are 
 selling the rarest article in the world, i.e., successful 
 plays — the article that is more valuable from its 
 scarcity than diamonds, for the diamond is not repro- 
 ducible, whereas a play can ' run on for ever.' This, 
 of course, does not apply to good plays, but only to 
 successful ones ; so carry matters with a high hand 
 with managers, for they must have the article — they 
 cannot do without it." 
 
 This shows that Eobertson had learnt to put a 
 proper value oiTIiis work, and that he had views of 
 his own with regard to "good " as compared to " suc- 
 cessful " plays. It was in 1868, too, that Eobertson 
 was the means of bringing Mr. W. S. Gilbert's first 
 
240 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF T. W. ROBERTSON 
 
 dramatic work under the notice of playgoers. " It 
 was entirely through him," writes Mr. Gilbert, " that 
 I obtained an introduction to the stage. He believed 
 that I had a capacity for dramatic writing, and at 
 first strongly urged Sothern to commission me to 
 write a piece for the Haymarket. This, however, 
 did not come to pass, but in 1868 Miss Herbert, the 
 then lessee of the St. James's, asked him to write her 
 a Christmas piece of a fanciful description. He was 
 too full of work to undertake the commission, but 
 susforested to Miss Herbert that she would do well to 
 entrust the work to me. She acted on his suggestion, 
 and commissioned me to write my first piece, 'Dulca- 
 mara,' a burlesque on the ' Elisir d'Amore.' " 
 
 So what Byron did for Robertson, Robertson did 
 for Gilbert, and better examples of good judgment 
 could hardly be cited. 
 
 A remarkable series of plays from Robertson's 
 rapidly and now happily working pen flooded the 
 stage in 1869. 
 
 On January 14, at the Haymarket Theatre, 
 " Home," a comedy in three acts, written expressly 
 for E. A. Sothern, was a conspicuous success, both 
 for dramatist and for actor. Sothern, who was never 
 sanguine about a piece unless he was cast for one of 
 those purely romantic parts in which, oddly enough, 
 he never quite succeeded, was exceedingly nervous 
 
LA TER DA YS— TRIUMPHS 24 1 
 
 about this production ; but after the first night he 
 wrote : " ' Home ' is a great hit, everyone giving me 
 far more praise than I deserve. I phxyed so nervously 
 that I fully expected a cutting-up in the papers. 
 However, the public is satisfied, and I always ac- 
 knowledge the verdict it gives, pro or cony " Home," 
 which was an adaptation of Emile Augier's '' L'Aven- 
 turiere," became exceedingly jDopular. Sothern ex- 
 celled himself as Colonel White ; Miss Ada Cavendish 
 made a notable impression as Mrs. Pinchbeck ; Mr. 
 Chippendale was excellent as Mr. Dorrison ; and no 
 one who saw it will forget the Mountrafi'e of Henry 
 Compton. Under the famous management of Mr. 
 Hare and Mr. Kendal, " Home " was very success- 
 fully revived at the St. James's. The managers 
 played Mountrafi'e and Colonel White, Mrs. Kendal 
 was the Mrs. Pinchbeck, and great interest was 
 attached to the occasion, inasmuch as the boyish 
 character of Bertie Thompson was admirably imper- 
 sonated by the author's son, the younger T. W. 
 Eobertson. 
 
 . By the way, it ought not to be forgotten that one 
 of the most artistic productions and greatest successes 
 of the Hare and Kendal rcijime was the revival of 
 " The Ladies' Battle," which Eobertson wrote— or 
 rather adapted — in his struggling days for Lacy. 
 It is sad to think that he did not live to see tlie 
 
 16 
 
242 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF T W. ROBERTSON 
 
 exquisite acting of Mrs. Kendal as the Countess 
 D'Autreval ; the incisive, vigorous Montrichard of 
 Mr. Hare ; the humorously-conceived De Grignon of 
 Mr. Kendal, and the perfect taste in which the piece 
 was staged. 
 
 It was only two nights after the production of 
 *' Home " at the Haymarket that " School," a comedy 
 in four acts, was produced with phenomenal success 
 at the Prince of Wales's — a success which has been 
 continually repeated on its reproductions. Although 
 Eobertson acknowledged its indebtedness to a German 
 source — Benedix's '* Aschenbrodel" (the prototype 
 of the more familiar "Cinderella"), there is very 
 little in "School" that is not original. Play and 
 players were alike the success of the season, and 
 Mrs. Bancroft's Naomi Tighe, Miss Carlotta Addison's 
 Bella, Mr. Bancroft's Jack Poyntz, and Mr. Hare's 
 Beau Farintosh, are historical performances. From 
 an audience-drawing point of view " School " was 
 the most successful of the brilliant series of comedies 
 that Robertson wrote for the little Tottenham Street 
 Theatre, and its first run was an absolute triumph. 
 To quote Mr. Bancroft : " ' School ' ran on through 
 frost and snow, through fair weather and foul, to the 
 same record of crowded houses, owing, doubtless, 
 some share of its popularity to the success which 
 had attended previous productions by the same 
 
LATER DAYS— TRIUMPHS 243 
 
 author ; for although it grew to be the greatest 
 favourite of all Eobertson's works, it cannot be com- 
 pared in a dramatic sense with ' Caste,' nor does it 
 contain a scene to equal the second act of • Ours.' 
 The public, however, being masters of the situation, 
 chose to raise it to this position, and it was not for 
 us to quarrel with so pleasant a verdict." 
 
 From a strictly critical point of view^ this is, no 
 doubt, right ; and yet the play is a charming one, 
 and Mrs. Bancroft has admitted that in Naomi Tighe 
 she found the part that she loved the best. 
 
 " I affectionately hug the memory of ' Nummy,' " 
 she says, " and wear her in my ' heart of hearts ' as 
 freshly as though I were still representing her. The 
 artless simplicity and sunny nature of ' Nummy ' ; the 
 utter ignorance of the existence of any sadness in 
 the whole world except what school discipline en- 
 forces ; her fearless and open avowal of her romantic 
 adoration for Jack Poyntz, make her a lovable thing. 
 She is one big slice of sunshine, and " (this is, of 
 course, in contradistinction to Polly Eccles) '' she had 
 no drunken father ! It was a delight to act Naomi 
 Tighe ; she is as fresh as country butter, and every 
 word she utters breathes the unladen atmosphere of 
 a bright green spot ' far from the madding crowd.' " 
 
 " School " remained in the bill until the end of 
 the season, and on the last night of its first run — 
 
244 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF T. W. ROBERTSON 
 
 August 28, 1869 — it was resumed on September 11 
 — Charles Dickens paid liis last visit to the Prince of 
 Wales's Theatre, and expressed his delight in the new- 
 comedy. In his "Life of Dickens" Forster speaks 
 of the high estimation in which he held Bobert son\ s 
 stage work, and records that on the introduction of 
 the new dramatist to the veteran novelist thejatlfir 
 said " that to himself the charm of the comedies was 
 their unassuming form, which had so happily shown 
 that real wit could afford to put off any airs of^pre-^ 
 tension to it." 
 
 ~~l\Tuch of " School " was written in the summer of 
 1868. Robertson's son was then at a boarding-school 
 a short distance from home, and he would often call 
 in the afternoon and take the boy out for a walk, 
 asking him as thev strolled along; what answers he 
 would give to certain questions if he wished to be 
 mischievous. Many of the answers to Dr. Sutcliffe's 
 interrogations in the examination scene were obtained 
 in this way, and the astronomical answers given by 
 Bella were both supplied by " Master Tommy," who 
 received in payment various sums varying from six- 
 pence to two shillings. During these strolls from 
 Belsize Park towards Hampstead, Robertson would 
 talk to his son as if he were an old friend, recounting 
 stories of his early life from boyhood to manhood, 
 and particularly impressing upon him that if he in 
 
LATER DAYS— TRIUMPHS 245 
 
 his turn drifted into the theatrical world his father 
 would have nothing to do with him, and would let 
 him struoforle fur himself. On the other hand, should 
 he fall in with his father's views as to his future, he 
 should never want his aid or help. Unfortunately 
 for poor Tommy, his father died while he was a mere 
 child ; but in any case, it is pretty certain that under 
 any circumstances, being a Robertson, he would have 
 ''drifted." Fortunately he did this to good purpose, 
 and in spite of his sound advice (fathers are very 
 fond of warning their boys against their own pro- 
 fessions) Robertson would have been proud of his 
 son's marked abilities as an actor ; and certainly 
 nothing; would have been sweeter to him than the 
 affectionate pride ever taken by him in his father's 
 plays. On this point more will be said by-and-by. 
 
 The letters that so soon as they were able to read, 
 and when occasion demanded them, Robertson was in 
 the habit of writing to his children, are brimful of 
 affectionate solicitude, and his pride in his boy and girl 
 and the rational way in which he treated them will 
 be seen from the following characteristic anecdote : 
 • On an occasion when " Tommy," conscious of 
 sundry school-boy peccadilloes, was inclined to be 
 unduly on the alert for admonition, he and his sister 
 were sent for to see a friend of their father's, and as 
 they entered the room the guilty young ears thought 
 
246 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF T. Tf. ROBERTSON 
 
 they heard the warning parental words, " lis sont 
 mauvais enfants." Nothing coming of this, the 
 young gentleman plucked up courage, and, in the 
 retirement of his school, and probably under the 
 stimulating influence of renewed "good marks," he 
 penned a letter of serious protest against a charge at 
 once sweeping and unjust. To this the father re- 
 plied : " You are wrong. If your ears were as sensi' 
 tive as your feelings you would have heard that I 
 said as my children entered the room, ' lis sont beaux 
 
 — mes enfants 1' to which Mr. assented. Be 
 
 quite sure of what you hear another time." 
 
 " School " has already held the stage for twenty-one 
 years, and its recent acceptable revival at the Garrick 
 Theatre, under the management of Mr. John Hare, 
 and the stage-management of the author's son, will 
 be fresh within the memory of playgoers. 
 
 Concerning this production, it is pleasant to quote 
 the words of an eminent dramatic critic — Clement 
 Scott — a critic who believed in Robertson from the 
 first, who saw him grow famous, mourned his 
 death, and who has lived to see that his expressions 
 of early encouragement were well and wisely given. 
 
 " The faith of Mr. John Hare," said this writer, 
 " in past and present alike was put to a pretty severe 
 test, and in his absence, on Saturday night." 
 
 * September 19, 1891. 
 
LA TER DA YS— TRIUMPHS 247 
 
 " ' Faith builds a bridge across the gulf of death, 
 To break the sliock kind nature cannot shun,' 
 
 !ind the popular manager-actor virtually asked the 
 public to decide for him two important questions : 
 ' Was the Robertsonian comedy a thing of the past ; 
 a dust-covered relic to be shut up for ever in the 
 lumber-room or the china-closet with the old tea-cups 
 and stiucers T That was the first question. The 
 second was : ' What truth is there in the hereditary 
 theory as regards our youngest aspirants for honour 
 on the stage ?" 
 
 "Mr. John Hare came into court fully prepared 
 with evidence and witnesses. He brought ' School,' 
 a play written by his old friend Robertson ; a play 
 that has never failed, no matter when or where pro- 
 duced ; a play that brought more money to the 
 Bancrofts on production and revival than any of the 
 famous Kobertsonian series ; a play that gave us 
 those delightful memories, never to be effaced by 
 time or circumstance, of Harry Montague as Lord 
 Beaufoy, John Hare as Beau Farintosh, Mr. Ban- 
 croft as Jack Poyntz, and Mrs. Bancroft in the 
 character she has elected to love the best of all in her 
 delightful repertoire — the warm-hearted, impulsive, 
 witty and womanly little ' Nummy ' Tighe. The 
 play-bill — one of the most interesting documents ever 
 presented to the playgoer in our 'time — contains the 
 
248 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF T. W. ROBERTSON 
 
 names of Mr. Hare's witnesses to the fact that 
 histrionic talent is distinctly hereditary. Play-bills 
 of centuries past have proved this beyond all dispute, 
 but here is one dated Saturday, September 19, 
 1891, containing the names of a young Irving, a 
 young Hare, two of the youngest Denes, two 
 Grattans, the youngest of the Robertsons, and more 
 than one representative of the united families of the 
 Robertsons and Kendals. The Garrick play-bill of 
 Saturday is a document well worth preserving, and on 
 it may be written, as briefly as possible, the record of 
 the unanimous public verdict : ' Robertson, in spite 
 of the pessimists, is not a lost memory ; the younger 
 generation of players has inherited the distinct talent, 
 if not the genius, of the old.' 
 
 " The curtain had not been up five minutes before 
 it was proved that the nature and art of Robertson 
 are as true to-day as they were yesterday. It was not 
 the enchanting picture of the wooded glade ; it was 
 not the fantastic grouping of the schoolgirls ; it was 
 not the fiiscination and nature of the scene — it was 
 Robertson who won, as he has w^on wherever ' School' 
 has been played. ' What is love V — that was the 
 theme. We all know the dialogue by heart. But 
 when it came to Naomi Tighe's summing-up of tht^ 
 question : ' You don't suppose love is to be taught 
 like geography or the use of the globes, do you ? No ; 
 
LATER DA ) "5— TRIUMPHS 2 4 9 
 
 love is an extra f at once and without effort down 
 came the roars of laughter in one sound and compact 
 volley. It was the triumph of the dramatist. Once 
 more came another test-point out of scores of them. 
 The repulsive Krux is making love to Bella in this 
 same sunlit woodland glade. The evil-minded, mean- 
 souled creature is insulting the word ' love ' with the 
 declaration of a mercenary passion. ' Got married ! 
 Who got married V asks the wonder-struck girl. 
 ' You to me— me to you ; Mr. and Mrs. Krux, of 
 Cedar Grove House. I love you, Bella !' hisses the 
 worm -like Krux. ' Oh, don't !' screams the girl, as if 
 some horrible thing had stung her ; and then comes 
 the exquisite reflection, a masterpiece of observation, 
 * Oh, don't ! — on such a nice day as this /' The audi- 
 ence was not slow in appreciating a poem wrapped up 
 in seven words of simple prose. Emphatically was it 
 proved that even in an unsentimental age the humanity 
 of Eobertson has not died out." 
 
 It is interesting to note that in this revival the 
 author's sister and early playmate, whose name has 
 already been seen in this book' — Miss Fanny Robert- 
 son — distinguished herself as Mrs. Sutcliffe ; and that 
 Miss Kate Rorke, the gentle, persuasive, and gracious 
 Bella, was originally one of the school-girls on the 
 occasion of the revival of the play at the Haymarkct 
 in 1880. 
 
2^0 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF T W. ROBERTSON 
 
 Almost immediately after the production of ' School' 
 at the Prince of Wales's, Robertson went to Liverpool 
 to rehearse and produce his four-act drama entitled 
 " My Lady Clare," with Herr Bandmann in the dual 
 role of father and son, and his wife, Miss Milly Palmer, 
 as the heroine. From Liverpool he wrote to his wife : 
 " The Charles Mathewses are here. They want me to 
 write a piece for them. Old Ben Webi^tei' has 'written 
 to me for a piece!!!'' "My Lady Clare" was pro- 
 duced at the Alexandra Theatre on February 22, and 
 scored an immediate success. On March 27 it was 
 produced under the altered title of " Dreams "' at the 
 Gaiety Theatre, London, and there ran for ninety 
 nights, the principal characters being played by Alfred 
 Wigan, John Clayton, Pobert Soutar (in the part 
 created in Liverpool by that admirable comedian, 
 Edward Saker), Miss Rachel Sanger, and Miss Madge 
 Robertson. 
 
 The Lady Clare of Miss Robertson was an exquisite 
 performance, and John Clayton made his first sub- 
 stantial success as Lord Mountforestcourt. Alfred 
 Wigan was not so happy in the characters of the 
 father and son as to receive unqualified criticism ; 
 and why the author required the two parts to be 
 played by one actor has always been a matter for 
 some astonishment, for as there is no reference in 
 plot or dialogue to points of resemblance between the 
 
LA TER DA YS— TRIUMPHS 2 ; I 
 
 two, it might easily have been otherwise arranged. A 
 capital scene between two old men — one a duke, and 
 the other a servant — in which the pair talk on a 
 perfect ground of equality of the days gone by, was 
 perfectly acted by John Maclean and Joseph Eldred, 
 and gained for each the heartiest recognition. 
 
 After Robertson's death several writers expressed 
 an opinion that away from the Prince of Wales's 
 Theatre he never achieved great financial success ; 
 and it was in connection with " Dreams " that Mr. 
 John HoUingshead, then the manager of the Gaiety, 
 gave the report flat and public denial : 
 
 "In many of the obituary notices of the lamented 
 Mr. Robertson," wrote this well-known and matter-of- 
 fact entrepreneur, " the writers have assumed that he 
 failed as a dramatist in every other theatre except 
 the Prince of Wales's. This is not true as far as the 
 Gaiety is concerned. His drama of ' Dreams ' was 
 played here for ninety-six nights to receipts that 
 most managers would consider excellent. Mr. Robert- 
 son, let me say, was the most liberal and amiable 
 dramatic author I have had to deal with. He con- 
 sented readily to any managerial alteration likely to 
 increase the popularity of his drama, and freely 
 acknowledged any such service rendered him." 
 
 The comic drama entitled " A Breach of Promise," 
 which would nowadays be described as a " farcical 
 
352 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF T. W. ROBERTSON 
 
 comedy," was most successfully produced at the Globe 
 Theatre on April 10, 1869. 
 
 Some genuinely funny acting on the part of Miss 
 Maggie Brennan and John Clarke helped to secure for 
 it a very favourable reception. The eccentric part of 
 Philip was originally meant for Sothern, who never 
 had an opportunity of trying it ; and when Sefton 
 Parry, the manager of the Globe Theatre, went to 
 Robertson for a comic piece, with Sothern's consent 
 he finished it for Clarke. There were two other pieces 
 written for Sothern and never produced — namely, 
 "Post Haste," a farce in three acts; and "Which is 
 It ?" a piece of extravagance in two acts. 
 
 In the last-named he foreshadowed, in a speech to 
 be delivered by Sothern " as himself," the growing 
 tendency of people (how it has " grown " since then!) 
 to " adopt the stage." 
 
 The dialogue is supposed to take place between 
 Sothern and the landlady of a country-town hotel. 
 He has come down to this obscure place to play for 
 the benefit of the daughter of an old professional 
 friend, but on his journey he has lost the wigs and 
 costumes necessary for the performance : 
 
 Sothern. I don't mean to play to-night. 
 Mrs. Throddle {the landlady). No! 
 Sothern. No. 
 Mrs. Throddle. Why not ? 
 
LATER DAYS— TRIUMPHS 253 
 
 SoTHERN. I haven't a rag to my back, except what I stand up in ; 
 all my costumes are in the river, all my wigs 
 
 Mrs. Throddle (interrupting). La ! Do you wear wigs ? 
 
 SoTHERN. Yes. (Aside) So flo you. 
 
 Mrs. Throddle. La ! Mr. Sothern. I do so well remember 
 seeing you on the stage at the Haymarket, that night I went in 
 with the order you gave me. I do so love a play — when I go in 
 with an order. 
 
 Sothern. Yes, many people like that way of getting in — as a 
 rule they prefer it. 
 
 Mrs. Throddle. But T should never have thought you would 
 have come down to act here, the place is so small. 
 
 Sothern. I know. I only came down to act for Miss Chepstow's 
 benefit. You see, I knew her father. He was an old friend of 
 mine, a very good fellow. Well, one day he died, leaving a widow 
 and a large family ; when good fellows die — they generally do die 
 — they always leave widows and large families. It's a rule. 
 And they leave 'em totally unprovided for — that's another rule. 
 Well, this girl Clara, who is the eldest, came upon the stage. 
 When people can do nothing else they come upon the stage— 
 that's another rule. 
 
 A short comedietta, entitled. " Dublin Bay," the 
 rights of which had been disposed of in early days, 
 was produced at the Theatre Royal, Manchester, by 
 John Knowles, the then lessee of that house, with 
 some success, on May 18. 
 
 The next comedy from Robertson's pen produced 
 during this busy year of 1869 was "Progress," in 
 three acts, adapted from Victorien Sardou's " Les 
 Ganaches." Although played at the Globe on 
 September 18, with Henry Neville, John Billington, 
 
254 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF T. W. ROBERTSON 
 
 Charles Collette, John Clarke, Lydia Foote, and Mrs. 
 Stephens in the cast, it had been written specially to 
 order for Buckstone and the Haymarket company. 
 When Robertson read the play to Buckstone, the 
 veteran comedian looked aghast and said : " My God, 
 they are all old people in it !" " Certainly," said 
 Robertson ; *' I've written a play for your company." 
 At that time the principal actors at the Haymarket 
 were Buckstone, Howe, C*hippendale, and Comptou, 
 and they were by no means juveniles. The capital 
 part of Bunnythorne was meant for Buckstone, and 
 that of Bob Bunnythorne for Buckstone's son, who 
 was then about to make his first appearance on the 
 stage. But the old actor was very angry with Robert- 
 son, and would have nothing to do with his idea of 
 " Progress " at the Haymarket. 
 
 At the Globe the piece was very well received. It 
 has been frequently and successfully revived, and has 
 an honoured place in the stage triumphs achieved by 
 Robertson in 1869. 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 
 LATEE PLAYS AND LAST DAYS. 
 
 It would perhaps have been well for Robertson if he 
 had treated Benjamin Webster's suggestion that he 
 should write a drama for the Adelphi in the jocular 
 spirit in which it struck him when he wrote about it 
 to his wife : ''Old Ben WehUer has ivritten to me far 
 a jyiece f He was, however, an insatiable worker — 
 perhaps — who knows ? — he had already begun to 
 think that his time would be short ; he accepted the 
 commission, and " The Nightingale," a drama in four 
 acts, was quickly written, and produced at the recog- 
 nised home of realistic melodrama on January 15, 
 1870. It was a failure, and (though it must be 
 confessed that the plot is not what one would have 
 expected of the author) for the old reason. His 
 delicate and scholarly style was not suited to the 
 house ; his notions of acting were opposed to the 
 traditions of those who played in it. Take, for 
 
256 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF T. W. ROBERTSON 
 
 example, his directions for the character of Ismael- 
 al-Moolah, the part taken by Benjamin Webster : 
 " Ismael to he a man about forty-five. He wea.rs a 
 frock-coat and red fez ; his heard half g ray, half 
 black ; his manner amiable arcd agreeable, perpetwdly 
 smiling. {No Ingo -glances at the pit, and private 
 information to the audience that he is a villain, and 
 that they shall see what tuey shall see.) A suave, 
 bland Oriented, with the old Oriental dignity.'' Now 
 what was Webster or any other actor to do with an 
 Adelphi pit of 1870 1 " lago-glances '' and '' private 
 information" were expected, and not being supplied 
 were missed — the omission being resented in the usual 
 undignified and reprehensible way. Nor must it be 
 forgotten that Webster {who was supported by Mr. 
 Arthur Stirling, Mr. J. D. Beveridge, Mrs. Alfred 
 Mellon, Miss Eliza Johnstone, and that charming 
 actress Miss Furtado) was hardly at that period of his 
 long and brilliant stage career when he could expect 
 to make a great success as an amiable man of " about 
 forty-five." 
 
 In connection with this ill-fated venture, we may 
 perhaps be permitted to quote one of those droll and 
 satirical summaries of new plays that in those days 
 Mr. W. S. Gilbert contributed to the pages of 
 Fnn. 
 
 It is pleasant to think that when the first sting of 
 
LA TER PLA YS AND LAST DA YS 257 
 
 disappointment was over, Robertson would be the 
 first to smile at the humour of his old friend. 
 
 THE NIGHTINGALE; 
 
 Or, The Terrible Turk and the Great Tidal Wave. 
 
 Act I. — Mary's liouse. Enter Harold. 
 
 Harold. As I am now forty, it is high time I began to think 
 of choosing a profession. I shall go to Cambridge, and then take 
 orders. 
 
 {Enter Chepstow, in high spirits.) 
 
 Chepstow. Harold ! Congratulate me ! I have just been 
 gazetted to an ensigncy in the Twenty-second ! 
 
 Harold. I do. We were at Rugby together. My early edu- 
 cation having been neglected, it occurred to me, at the age of 
 thirty, that it would be well if I went to school. And that is 
 how I came to know you. {Aside) Heavens ! I love Mary. 
 
 {Enter Ismael, a terrible Turk, and William Wage.) 
 
 William. Ismael, you are my tutor. 
 Ismael. I am. 
 
 {Enter Mary.) 
 Mary. William ! 
 
 Ismael {aside). Take her hand. {He does so.) Bless you both. 
 Harold {aside). All is lost ! 
 
 Act 2. — The Italiaji inn. Mary {noiv married to William) dis- 
 covered with a roguey-poguey in a cradle. Also an impertinent 
 hut faithful female servant, Keziah. 
 
 Mary. My dear husband is dying in the next room. I am 
 convinced that Ismael is poisoning him ; but I will not interrupt 
 them. 
 
 17 
 
258 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF T. W. ROBERTSON 
 
 {Enter Ismael.) 
 
 ISMAEL. There is no hope. He can't live through the night. 
 When he is dead will you marry me % 
 
 Mary. Villain ! Know that the pure English wife seldom (if 
 ever) listens to overtures of marriage until her husband is quite, 
 quite dead. (ISMAEL quails.) 
 
 {Enter William, very poorly.) 
 
 William. Villain ! You have poisoned me. You have insured 
 my life heavily, and you have committed forgeries in my name. 
 Ismael. Pardon me, you err. {But he has, the hold, had man .f) 
 Willi A]M. You — ha ! I die {wriggles and dies). 
 
 {Enter Adelphi Johndarmes.) 
 
 JOHNDARME. I arrest William Wage for forgery. 
 Ismael. It is too late. He is dead. 
 
 Act 3.—yl Portsnioidh attic. Fine sea view. Enter Mary, Keziah, 
 
 and Eoguey-Poguey. 
 
 Mary {explains). After the death of my husband, I took to the 
 operatic stage, and came a dreadful cropper. Failing abjectly as 
 a prima donna, and having nothing in my pocket, I put my pride 
 in it, and accepted an engagement in the Portsmouth chorus at 
 two pounds a week. Hence I am known to the world as the 
 Nightingale. 
 
 Keziah {aside to Eoguey-Poguey in a whisper). Hush, then, it 
 mustn't make faces at the audience and spoil its mother's best 
 scenes. It must be a good boy, den, and concentrate its little 
 attention on the business of the stage. 
 
 Mary. The sea view is charming, but as the sea comes right 
 up to the attic window-sill in calm weather, it is not pleasant to 
 think of the consequences of anything like a gale of wind. Thank 
 Iieaven, we are not on the ground-floor ! 
 
 {^E.mint, leaving EoGUEY-POGUEY. 
 
LA TER PLA YS AND LA ST DA YS 259 
 
 {A boat Is rowed up to the windoti', and Ismael enters through 
 that aperture. Flight <if steps conveniently placed for that 
 purpose.) 
 
 Ismael. Xow to steal the child and insure its life. But first 
 to give it an anticipatory dose of poison. {To child) Oh, nicey, 
 nicey, nicey ! [Gives the child a table spoonful of arsenic, and exit inUi 
 the sea.) 
 
 {Re-enter Mary and Keziah.) 
 
 Maky.. Where is the child"? 
 
 Keziah. I don't know. (Mary rolls her eyes.) Ha ! Missus is 
 mad ! I will run away and leave her all alone. {Does so, like a 
 faithful creature a^ she is.) 
 
 (Mary steps out of window into a boat. Enter the Great Tidal 
 Wave. The house is swamped and disappears. Mary 
 alone on the ivild toaste of ivaters in a boat. The sea rises 
 very much indeed. Happily the presence of a limelight 
 suggests that human aid is not far off. The sea runs 
 mountains high, but the boat behaves well. Tableau.) 
 
 Act 4. — A London srpiare — real gas-lamps and actual pillar-post. 
 Shotvy house, with fashionable ball going on. Adelphi guests 
 arrive on foot, and all at once. This is accounted for by the fact 
 that they heed been spending the earlier part of the evening with 
 "Ethel; or, Only a Life," but toere summarily dismissed from 
 that lady's house in consequence of her sudden death on the piano. 
 Enter Mary, very poorly clad, but qtdte sane again. 
 
 Mary. If it had not baen for the limelight-man I had perished ! 
 I have lost my situation in the Portsmouth chorus, and conse- 
 quently I am no longer known as the Nightingale. Ha! I faint. 
 {Does so.) 
 
 {Enter 1s'm.\kl, in gorgeous turban and gilt trousers.) 
 
 Ismael. This is the house at which I am going to conjure. 
 Such is life ! Ismael, whom no one recocrnises as the cruel 
 
26o THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF T. W. ROBERTSON 
 
 Bahadur Khan, the inciter of that famous Indian mutiny, which 
 was sujipressed two years ago by Mr. Eburne and Mr. Eobert 
 Romer in "A Sister's Penance," has come down to earning half- 
 guineas by conjuring at fashionable entertainments. It is Allah's 
 will. \Exit into the house. 
 
 Mary {on ground). Gurgle ! Gurgle ! Gurgle ! 
 
 {At this point all the Adelphi guests — who can stand a good deal, 
 but not a conjurer — leave the house in a body, and vxilk home 
 through the snow.) 
 
 {Enter, from house, Harold and Chepstow.) 
 
 Harold. Yes, Chepstow, I changed my mind about going into 
 the Church, and I bought a commission in your regiment instead. 
 We fought together in India, and here we are ! 
 
 Chepstow {seeing Mary lying on the snoiv). Hullo, here's a 
 lark ! Here's a dying woman ! {Chaffs her like an officer and a 
 gentlem<in.) 
 
 {Enter, from house, Ismael.) 
 
 IsMAEL {sees Mary). It is Mary Wage. 
 
 Harold. And you — you are Bahadur Khan 1 Vengeance ! 
 
 [Exit IsiVL^FL very quickly. Tableau. 
 
 Act 5. — The Village Church. Enter Mary and Ismael. 
 
 Mary. No, Ismael, I can never love you. You murdered my 
 husband, and you kidnapped my child. It would only be 
 Christian to forgive )'ou, and I do so with all my heart, but I do 
 not think I could ever be truly happy with you. Where is my 
 child ? 
 
 Ismael. Alas ! he is dead. Here is his grave. 
 
 Mary. Dead ! {Goes mad again.) 
 
 {Enter Keziah, with Roguey-Poguey.) 
 
 Keziah. Not so. The arsenic turned out to be nothing but 
 Epsom salts. He forged the child's burial certificate, having first 
 insured his life. 
 
LA TER PLA YS AND LA ST DA YS 261 
 
 Mary. My boy ! {Becomes as sane as an Adelphi heroine can he.) 
 TSMAEL. Ha ! Foiled ! But I will be avenged ! {Seizes child 
 and presents pistol at its head.) 
 
 {Enter Harold and Chepstow loith a company of ridiculous soldiers, 
 armed to the teeth tvith penny canes. ) 
 
 Harold. There is your prisoner, the cruel Bahadur Khan. 
 {They seize him. Tableau.) 
 
 Curtain. 
 
 Ourselves. This piece is not worthy of Mr. Robertson. As 
 the leading dramatist of the day he has a valuable reputation to 
 sustain, and he should be careful how he risks it by producing 
 pieces that his own good sense and great experience must tell him 
 could never succeed. The story is at once ordinary and impos- 
 sible. It offers little opportunity to the actors engaged in it. 
 The scenery is contemptible. 
 
 Unluckily Robertson, who was always keenly sensi- 
 tive to adverse criticism, was already in failing health, 
 and it is to be feared that the mistake made in the 
 Adelphi production told heavily upon him. He con- 
 tinued to work as hard and to talk as brilliantly as 
 ever ; but, although he would admit nothing, his 
 family and friends, noticing his worn looks, were 
 getting seriously anxious concerning him. In due 
 course came the inevitable medical examination and 
 the terrible verdict — " Disease of the heart." 
 
 At this time he was busily engaged on "M.P.," 
 the comedy that was to follow " School " at the 
 Prince of Wales's, and it is w^onderful to reflect how, 
 while he was undergoing intense bodily suffering — 
 
262 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF T. W. ROBERTSON 
 
 and no doubt ever anxiously thinking of the dear ones 
 who might at almost any time be deprived of his 
 loved companionship and supporting pen — he con- 
 trived to map out his natural yet absorbing plot, to 
 limn his delicate characters, to depict his pretty love 
 scenes, to be at once satirical, kindly, humorous, 
 fanciful, and homely, and again win success on the 
 simple, yet not easily followed, lines that he had 
 originated. Deaf to all remonstrances, he continued 
 to write, and to write in his best vein. He was, how- 
 ever, far too ill to leave his house, so that he was 
 unable to go to the theatre, and, according to his 
 wont, superintend the rehearsals. The end of the 
 play was actually dictated by him from his sick-bed. 
 Mr. and Mrs. Bancroft used to go up to Haverstock 
 Hill and show him, act by act, what they hoped to do 
 with his work, he being a little better in the finer 
 weather, and able to reach his drawing-room. 
 
 " School " was withdrawn after three hundred and 
 eighty-one performances, and " M.P. " was, with 
 brilliant success, produced on April 23, 1870. 
 
 On the fateful first night the poor author was 
 unable to leave his bedroom, and his anxiety was 
 intense. Between each act the Bancrofts despatched 
 rapid messengers with the good news of favourable 
 reception ; and immediately after the final fall of the 
 curtain he had the assurance of another well-won 
 
LA TER PL A YS AND LA ST DA YS 263 
 
 victory. This success, there is no reason to doubt, 
 prolonged his life at least by months, and rekindled 
 for awhile the flicker of hope that was left in him. 
 Indeed, he became temporarily so much better that, 
 after the new play had been running for a few weeks, 
 he was able to go to the theatre and see it, expressing, 
 to the delight of the loyal company, his great pleasure 
 at the manner in which it was performed. 
 
 We have said that Robertson was sensitive — and 
 who is not ? — to adverse criticism ; but the sting of 
 this was but momentary, and when it had passed 
 away he would be the first to acknowledge the justice 
 of well-merited censure. But of malevolent criticism 
 — of which, in common with all men who come 
 rapidly to the front, he received from writers of the 
 baser sort his full share — he had an almost morbid 
 horror. This fact may be illustrated by the following 
 anecdote : On the day following the production of 
 "M.P.," an old friend came in accordance with a 
 thoughtfully-made promise to read the invalid the 
 newspaper criticisms on his play. With manifest 
 delight he listened to the appreciative notices of his 
 work, written by the best critics, in the leading 
 London papers, when suddenly he asked in a tone of 
 voice that denoted apprehension : 
 
 " What does say V 
 
 Now, his friend had brought the paper in which this 
 
264 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF T. W. ROBERTSON 
 
 so-called " critic " had written his miscalled " notice," 
 but it was so monstrously and cruelly adverse that he 
 had secreted it in his pocket, intending to leave with- 
 out reading it. 
 
 " Do you wish to hear what he says ?" he asked. 
 
 " Yes," replied Robertson, with an anxiou^s look on 
 his worn face. 
 
 His friend then produced the paper and read a most 
 unnecessary and unjustifiable onslaught on the piece 
 and its author. Before finishing he paused, and, 
 glancing at Robertson, saw his head droop, and, as he 
 turned to find a handkerchief, a single drop of blood 
 fall upon the newspaper that lay on his knees. All 
 the pleasure that he had derived from the encomiums 
 of those who were qualified to judge and impartially 
 review his work was wiped away by this one malicious 
 attack. His friend, who describes this sick-room 
 scene as being at once painful and dramatic, was 
 asked in later days to help this " critic " in an hour 
 of need. 
 
 " No," he said, buttoning up his pockets. " Robert- 
 son was dying, and the man knew it. I cannot forget 
 that drop of blood !" 
 
 Memorable performances in the first production of 
 "M.P." were the Dunscombe Dunscombe of Mr. 
 Hare ; the Chudleigh Dunscombe of Mr. Coghlan ; 
 the Talbot Piers of Mr. Bancroft : the Isaac Skoome 
 
LA TER PLA YS AND LA ST DA YS 265 
 
 of Mr. Addison (this was an admirably written part) ; 
 the Ruth Deybrooke of Miss Carlotta Addison ; and 
 the Cecilia Dunscombe of Mrs. Bancroft. 
 
 This admirable actress has expressed her great 
 liking for this cleverly- conceived character. 
 
 '' Cecilia Dunscombe," she says, '' was apart I liked 
 immensely, and I always felt sorry not to have had 
 a chance of playing her again. She was written as a 
 type of a ' girl of the period,' who, if not carefully 
 handled, might on the stage become offensive. There 
 are many temptations in a part of this calibre to 
 enlarge upon the eccentricities of a ' good fellow ' sort 
 of woman. I was careful to preserve all the points 
 the author intended when he wrote the play ; but I 
 worked to make the audience like her, by giving an 
 amusing, but at the same time feminine, rendering of 
 her character. 
 
 ''When poor 'Tom,' who was then fading fast, 
 saw 'M.P.,' he said to me : 'I must write more parts 
 for you, Marie ; it does me good^, for I can see you as 
 I put the words on paper !' He never wrote another. 
 I have an affection for Cecilia Dunscombe, and one 
 reason may be that this was the last part 1 ever 
 created for the author, although he would often, 
 during his sad illness, speak hopefully of the three 
 plnys he had made up his mind to write for us to 
 succeed one another, which were to be called in turn 
 
266 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF T. TI'. ROBERTSON 
 
 ' Faith,' ' Hope,' and ' Charity '— such good parts for 
 you, Marie,' he would say. It made me wretched 
 indeed to hear him talk in that way when I knew 
 how fatal was his malady." 
 
 A very interesting, and in every respect artistic 
 and successful, revival of " M.P." was given at Toole's 
 Theatre in July, 1883, under the management and 
 direction of the author's son, Mr. T. W. Robertson 
 the younger. In arranging with Mr. Toole for the 
 first revival of " M.P.," his avowed object was to pro- 
 duce it in the theatre most in size like that wherein 
 it originally saw light, so that, together with the best 
 available talent to create the characters employed, it 
 might have the author's intentions rightly carried out. 
 That this was well and loyally done was amply shown 
 on the first night of the revival, when the comedy, 
 beautifully put upon the stage, went without a hitch 
 fiom beginning to end, and provoked the constant 
 laughter and applause of those present. On this 
 occasion Mr. A. Beaumont was the Dunscombe Duns- 
 combe ; Mr. E. D. Ward, Chudleigh Dunscombe ; Mr. 
 F. H. Macklin, Talbot Piers ; Mr. J. F. Young, Isaac 
 Skoome ; Mr. A. Chevalier, Mr. Mulhowther ; and 
 Miss Gerard, Ruth Deybrook. Contenting himself 
 with the cares of stage-manao-ement, Mr. T. AV. 
 Robertson did not figure in the cast, but his wife 
 (Miss Cora Stuart) made a charming Cecilia Duns- 
 
LA TER PLA YS AND LA ST DA YS 267 
 
 combe ; and when, later on in the season, " Ours " took 
 the place of "M.P.," he proved by his excellent per- 
 formance of the difficult character of Hugh Chalcot 
 how well he understood his father's intentions, and 
 how admirably he could play his parts. Could 
 Robertson have been among the audience that gave 
 cordial greeting to his son, and constantly applauded 
 his successful and highly-finished performance, he 
 would not have regretted the fact that, in spite of 
 parental warning, " Tommy " had, in the usual 
 Robertsonian way, "drifted." His daughter, Miss 
 Maud Robertson, was also a member of the com- 
 pany. 
 
 In the early autumn of 1870 Sothern wrote to his 
 most intimate friend : " I am about to produce 
 another comedy, 'Birth/ by Tom Robertson. I've 
 much faith in it — a pretty plot, and my part 
 peculiar and original." This he produced at the New 
 Theatre Royal, Bristol, on October 5, 1870, and both 
 there and in Birmingham and the other provincial 
 towns in which he played it, his audiences heartily 
 endorsed his privately-expressed opinion ; but al- 
 though after the first performance he telegraphed to 
 his friend " ' Birth ' a genuine hit !" he in his usual 
 way suffered from want of confidence, and abandoned 
 a piece in which he would have probably achieved a 
 lasting success. 
 
268 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF T. W. ROBERTSON 
 
 It was a thousand pities, and if Robertson could 
 only have been there to superintend the rehearsals 
 and encourage the nervous actor, all might have been 
 well ; but (though he struggled to Bristol for the first 
 performance) in his then condition of health that 
 was out of the question — and a good thing was 
 given up. 
 
 " Birth " is a bright, witty, and sympathetic play, 
 with a mad motive embodied in Sothern's character 
 of Jack Randal. The author had written a serious 
 play, in which he cynically and deliberately placed_a^ 
 character to hold his plot and characters up to 
 ridicule. It was, on the face of it, a hazardous thing 
 to do, but dramatic surprises were looked for in 
 Sothern's productions, and those who saw " Birth " 
 will remember how effective in his hands the whole 
 thing was. Mr. Wyndham has succeeded as David 
 Garrick. Why should he not try his hand at Jack 
 Randal ? 
 
 Sothern's letters to Robertson concerning this far 
 too hastily condemned play are characteristic and 
 worth quoting. It should be noted that he was on 
 tour at the time, and it had been decided between 
 author and actor that the piece should be well tried 
 in the country before the latter's return to town. 
 
 In Sothern's first letter, which was written nt 
 Leicester, he says : 
 
la ter pl a ys and la st da ys 269 
 
 "Dear Tom, 
 
 " I've received the comedy, and like it greatly. 
 Newcombe (of Plymouth) has no scene-painter. 
 What say you to Bristol % A scene-painter, a far 
 better company, and a much shorter trip for you. 
 Produce it on October 5 at Bristol, eh ? It would be 
 
 such a hash at Plymouth ! Send me the books 
 
 as soon as you can, as I cannot begin to study until 
 you have made the alterations you name. If I might 
 suggest, I would say, give me a few more of your 
 telling lines through others' conversation. If you can, 
 don't let me, whilst I'm on the stage, be much of a 
 listener. 
 
 " Yours ever, 
 
 "E. A. SOTHERN." 
 
 The second letter runs as follows : 
 
 "Books arrived all right. I'm sure you'll Ije glad 
 to know that the more I read ' Birth,' the more sure 
 do I feel of its being ' a success, and I like the part 
 greatly. I wish I'd more time in which to study the 
 piece. Bounding about from town to town, constant 
 callers, rehearsals, etc., leave me so little alone. I 
 do wish we could have given it more time ; but my 
 belief is you won't require to alter one line, and by 
 playing it constantly in the provinces before I get to 
 
^^o THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF T. W. ROBERTSON 
 
 London, all will be so clear and sure. I'm such a 
 beastly nervous first-night actor." 
 
 Notwithstanding Sothern's nervousness, the first 
 performances of " Birth " were received with enthu- 
 siasm, and he wrote : 
 
 " I sent you a telegram last night as soon as 
 ' Birth ' was over. It went singularly well. I don't 
 know why, but it's a fact, and I feel it every night, 
 that the end of Act II. requires altering. The 
 audience don't like ' Take my life, but spare my 
 comedy,' when my friend Paul is supposed to be dead 
 on the floor. Query : End the act seriously 1 How 
 are you now ? Better, I trust." 
 
 The next letter clearly shows that, although he felt 
 one or two alterations were necessary, Sothern had 
 still undiminished faith in the London prospects of 
 the piece : 
 
 *' I played ' Birth ' Friday and Saturday," he says, 
 " and the end of Act II. is still the weak point, and 
 both houses showed they thought so. Try and think 
 out another ending. How would it be for the' 
 curtain to fall on Paul being shot ? I don't send you 
 the press criticisms ; they'd only annoy you, as they 
 do me. Will you see Buckstone, cast the piece, and 
 commence rehearsals ? Give each act a week, first 
 having the people perfect in their words. Coe will 
 mark your MS. carefully ; and I shall leave open a 
 
LA TER PLA YS AXD LA ST DA YS 27 1 
 
 clear week for my rehearsals, so as to have all as 
 clear and sharp as possible. The third act should be 
 nearly all set behind your second act : very easy, 
 and saves so much time." 
 
 From Glasgow he wrote : 
 
 " The company is, with one or two exceptions, extra 
 weak, and the enormous theatre awful for sound and 
 sight. Calls after every act, but nothing like Bristol 
 enthusiasm. I attribute it solely to these causes. 
 What have we done to deserve two notices in the 
 Herald f We shall see how it goes in Edinburoh, 
 Liverpool, Birmingham, etc. The Herald notice has 
 ruined to-night's house. The piece only played one 
 hour and thirtv-five minutes last nio;ht. That will 
 show you how cold was the audience. It is the very 
 d — dest theatre for cold, sound, and sight I ever 
 played in."' 
 
 And then, a few days later : 
 
 " I send you the criticisms of the Edinburgh papers. 
 The Scotch press have evidently made up their minds 
 they wont have ' Birth ' at an}^ price, Tkafs clear ! 
 However, there's no use worrying about it. Their 
 infernal notices will play the devil with these last 
 nights, l)ut that is all they can do." 
 
 But this is followed by : 
 
 " Just been to box-office, and in spite of the 
 slaughter booking is considerably better than ever I" 
 
272 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF T. W. ROBERTSON 
 
 Then "Robertson consented to make certain altera- 
 tions, and Sothern wrote : 
 
 " Your resolve is sensible and pluck}^ I feel con- 
 vinced the piece will go a season in London. The 
 volunteers at present are too often on the stage. 
 Once I am on the scene, I should be but little of a 
 listener. Those lines of mine in Act I. go off like 
 rockets, and are dead certainties, and the more I get 
 of that class the more brilliantly my part goes. I'm 
 an awfully bad long-speech actor, but give me good 
 lines or rapid asides, and I give the author the full 
 benefit of every word. I don't insure this on the first 
 night, for on that occasion my value is about thirty 
 shillings a w^eek. I must know I have ' got ' the 
 audience ; and you understand, I am sure, what I 
 mean. I shall play the piece in Liverpool, as it is, 
 and if it runs I shall call for fresh rehearsals when I 
 get your alterations, and wind up with it in its new 
 form." 
 
 In Liverpool there was some adverse criticism, and 
 in reply to a reminder from Robertson that the 
 character of Jack Randal had been designed for the 
 London boards, and should not be too hastily con- 
 demned, because he did not at once find himself at 
 home with provincial playgoers, Sothern wrote : 
 
 " I note all you say about a London audience, and 
 quite agree with you. In my remarks I have been 
 
LA TER PLA YS AND LA ST DA YS 273 
 
 very slightly led by the criticisms ; but when you 
 find (before the notices appear) the audiences as they 
 pass out. in each town, commenting on various scenes 
 in almost the same words as in the last town, it's a 
 pretty safe guide. At all events, I felt it but fair to 
 you to give you the opinions of each audience as they 
 reached me through outside friends purposely placed 
 to catch the said opinions as the people passed out 
 after the performance." 
 
 From Dublin, on Christmas Day, 1870, he wrote : 
 " We produced ' Birth ' last night. The first 
 Christmas Eve performance ever tried in Dublin ! 
 £135 ! The piece was infinitely better played than 
 it has yet been. As Uvsual, a genuine call after Act I., 
 and then gradual lack of interest whenever I was oft' 
 the stage. The fate of the piece here (where they'd 
 never even heard of it before it was announced in the 
 Dublin papers) has worried me more than all the 
 other towns put together. I shall play it two nights 
 in Belfast ; but I'm sorry to say I begin to feel its 
 London success is hoping against hope. The feeling 
 last night was universally against it. I had friends 
 in every part of the house listening to the remarks of 
 the audience as they passed out, and the said friends 
 told me the condemnation was universal. Now, this 
 has set me thinking seriously as to the safety of trying 
 * Birth ' in London. Quite understand me, Tom, that 
 
 18 
 
274 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF T. W. ROBERTSON 
 
 I am quite ready to risk it if you are — the question 
 is, whether it is not a dangerous experiment ? I'm 
 awfully cut up about it, for I like the part so much 
 that I've shut my eyes and ears against all advice — 
 against all criticisms. The press here, I fear, will, as 
 usual, be very severe. If so, there's no use my 
 worrying you with the notices. The case stands 
 thus : Shall I announce my reappearance at the Hay- 
 market in ' Birth ' or not ? A failure would do us 
 both harm — and I now fear that failure is a certainty. 
 Simply let me know your wish, and on that I'll 
 act." 
 
 Of course, Robertson knew that with Sot hern in 
 this despondent state of mind about the piece its 
 chances would be heavily discounted, and so he told 
 him to give it up, and had to console himself with the 
 impulsively expressed wish written, in characteristic 
 fashion, on the back of an envelope : 
 
 " Don't worry until you are better ; and when you 
 are, write me another piece, and after that another. 
 Ever yours, E. A. S." 
 
 It is rather a sad little story. The nervous and 
 highly-wrought actor on his provincial tour — the 
 sick and anxious author in his London home — and 
 the jorobably too hasty critics who more or less 
 (Sothern always had the more rather than the less in 
 his super-sensitive mind) condemned the play that had 
 
LATER PLAYS AND LAST DAYS 275 
 
 come to them unstamped with the hall-mark of Metro- 
 politan success. 
 
 There is no doubt that in his nervous anxiety about 
 this play Sothern made mistakes, and unfortunately 
 Kobertson could not be at hand to strengthen and 
 encourage him. Is it likely that men of such experi- 
 ence could have been entirely wrong in their first 
 estimation of the play and its principal character ? 
 Is it not likely that with Sothern acting in a terrible 
 state of nervousness and doubt, and supported by the 
 provincial stock companies of those days, both were 
 misunderstood by audiences and critics ? As for the 
 latter, it is highly probable that, had they for one 
 moment thought that what they said would per- 
 manently kill the piece, they would have written 
 either less or more. They saw a curiously-conceived 
 play very nervously handled, and as a matter of 
 course they pointed out faults. Sothern should not 
 have accepted their verdict as a final one, and 
 assuredly he was unwise in placing friends in all 
 parts of the theatre to catch the carelessly-expressed 
 opinions of thoughtless outgoing audiences. " What 
 do you think of the new play ?" asks Miss Smith of 
 Mr. Jones as they meet in the foyer. " Well, to tell 
 you the truth, I've been awfully bored," says Mr. 
 Jones, who generally says the same thing each time 
 he leaves the theatre, but who is a pretty constant 
 
276 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF T. W. ROBERTSON 
 
 playgoer for all that ; and of this Sothern's friend 
 makes a careful note. How surprised Mr. Jones would 
 have been — nay, to do him justice, how sorry — had 
 he known that his stock phrase would help to stop 
 the production of " Birth ' at the Haymarket, and, as 
 a matter of consequence, to keep it off the stage for 
 all time ! But the mischief was done, and Kobertson, 
 who at the time sorely needed the tonic of success, 
 bore disappointment with a patient shrug. With the 
 author's son as Jack Randal, " Birth " was in later 
 years successfully performed at Dundee. 
 
 But the trouble told upon him, and day by day his 
 illness increased. It was in November, and while a 
 rehearsal of "Ours" (which was about to be repro- 
 duced at the Prince of Wales's) was in progress, that 
 Mrs. Bancroft says : 
 
 " On one cold Saturday morning — a typical London 
 day, when a cold white fog had penetrated into the 
 theatre — while we were going through the first act, 
 the hall-keeper came to us with a frightened look 
 upon his face, and announced that ' Mr. Robertson 
 was at the stage-door.' 
 
 " We were terror-stricken, knowing him to be in 
 an unfit state to leave the house, even in fine 
 weather. He further sent a message that he dreaded 
 the stairs which led to the stage (there were only 
 four up and, I think, six down, poor fellow !), and 
 
LA TER PLA YS AND LA ST DA YS 277 
 
 that he would like to drive round to the door then 
 used as the royal entrance, and, if it might be opened, 
 to get to us that way. Of course, all this was done at 
 once ; and in a piteous plight Robertson came for the 
 last time amongst us. Many of the company then 
 spoke their last word to him, although it proved not 
 to be his actual final visit to the little theatre he 
 loved so much, and always called * his home.' He 
 stayed for half an hour in dreadful suffering, and 
 tortured by a cough which told what he endured. 
 In an agony of pain caused by a violent paroxysm, 
 he stooped down and knocked with a hollow sound 
 upon the stage, saying, in a voice made terribly 
 painful by its tone of sad reproach, to imaginary 
 phantoms : ' Oh, don't be in such a hurry !' We 
 shuddered at the words, and, when he recovered, 
 with difficulty persuaded him to return home ; for he 
 persisted in the thought that the mere sight of the 
 familiar stage of itself would do him good, and hoped 
 yet to come again. The little band that formed our 
 company then grouped together (there was no more 
 work that day), and the talk was only of the visit, 
 which none then present will have forgotten." 
 
 This revival of "Ours" took place on Saturday, 
 November 26, 1870, with Mrs. Bancroft as Mary 
 Netley, Miss Fanny Josephs as Blanche Haye, Miss 
 Le Thiere as Lady Shendryn, Mr. Hare as Prince 
 
•278 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF T. W. ROBERTSON 
 
 Perovsky, Mr. Addison as Colonel Sir Alexander 
 Shendryn, Mr. W. Herbert as Captain Samprey, Mr. 
 Coghlan as Angus Macalister, Mr. Bancroft as Hugh 
 Chalcot, and Mr. Charles Collette as Sergeant Jones. 
 
 Against all advice, Eobertson insisted on being 
 present, occupying the box that had long been recog- 
 nised as his, and making his final appearance on the 
 scene of his greatest and repeated triumphs. It is 
 pleasant to think that he was abundantly satisfied — 
 a fact that is amply proved by the following letter, 
 which on the next day he wrote to Mrs. Bancroft : 
 
 " 6, Eton Road, N.W., 
 
 '' November 21, 1870. 
 
 " My dear Maeie, 
 
 " ' Ours ' was acted so excellently last night 
 that, as I may not see you for the next few days, I 
 write to express the great gratification it gave me to 
 see that the ' light troupe ' had distinguished them- 
 selves more than ever. 
 
 " You know that I am not given to flattery, and 
 that my standard of taste for comedy is somewhat 
 high. I was really charmed; and I was very ill the 
 whole night in discomfort and annoyance. The 
 remark of everyone I heard was, ' What wonderfully 
 good acting !' And I was pleased to find Boucicault 
 descanting on it to a chosen few. He said that not 
 
LA TER PLA YS AND LA ST DA YS 279 
 
 only was the general acting of the piece equally 
 admirable, but that he had never — including Paris — 
 seen such refinement and effect combined as in the 
 performance of the second act. He said, too, that 
 the actors who had played in the piece before, acted 
 better than ever. I mention this, because the same 
 thing struck me. Bancroft was most excellent ; and 
 I have never seen him succeed in sinking his own 
 identity so much as in the last act. For the first 
 time in my life I felt grateful to the folks on the 
 stage side of the foot-lights, and I am not given to 
 that sort of gratitude. 
 
 " It was terribly late last night. If the revival 
 should draw, and it should be worth while, could 
 not the first and third acts be relieved of some ten 
 minutes' talk ? Cut wherever you like. / shan't 
 wince ; for I don't care about either the first or last 
 acts. If they had been less perfectly acted they 
 would have missed fire, and deservedly. 
 
 " Yours very sincerely, 
 
 "T. W. EOBERTSON." 
 
 In December, his illness became so pronounced 
 that, acting on the advice of his doctor, Dr. George 
 Bird, he consented (the weather in London being 
 wintry and unsettled, and altogether opposed to his 
 prospects of recovery) to winter in Torquay. Ac- 
 
28o THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF T. W. ROBERTSON 
 
 cordingly, on the 29tli instant, lie left town, taking 
 with him a valet, named Hayland, who had been 
 especially recommended as a sick man's attendant ; 
 but when he arrived in Devonshire, he found to his 
 disappointment that the weather was as bad as that 
 which he had left behind him, the cold being in- 
 tense and the snow hardly ceasing to fall. In earlier 
 days Robertson had been very successfully treated 
 by Dr. Bird ; and in a moment of high spirits he 
 dashed ofif and sent to him the following : 
 
 "EPITAPH ON A MAN LIKELY TO LIVE. 
 
 "Physicians four 
 Long time I bore, 
 
 To ease me all was vain ; 
 At last I heard 
 Of Doctor Bird, 
 
 Who freed me from my jDain." 
 
 Alas ! his disease had now assumed a form that 
 baffled the cleverest of physicians. 
 
 Unluckily his wife, whose long anxiety had resulted 
 in illness, and whose devotion to him was a subject 
 on which he fondly lingered, was unable to travel 
 with him ; and how he spent these lonely days, apart 
 from those he loved so well, will be gathered by the 
 following extracts (at once pathetic, humorous, and 
 affectionate) from his letters to her : 
 
LA TER PL A YS AND LA ST DA YS 281 
 
 "Koyal Hotel, Torquay, 
 
 ''December 30, 1870. 
 
 " Here I am ! The Imperial was full, and wouldn't 
 have me, so I came here. It is very comfortable, but 
 we have a wretched day. The hour is now 12.30 ; 
 the snow has been falling since eight, and will con- 
 tinue to fall the whole day, so I cannot stir out. 
 Still, I am better. The air here is lighter. I seem 
 to breathe more freely. I passed the night pretty 
 well. Hayland was very attentive, and he and I get 
 on very well. In your reply to this, let me know 
 how you are ; and Maud, and Tommy, and the Baby. 
 It seems years since I left London. Of course I have 
 no news. Has the Baby expressed any opinion as to 
 my absence '? Did you give the two children the 
 half-crowns I promised them? Hayland is going 
 to have his hair cut. I am very hungry. Torquay 
 is in Devonshire. I think I shall be very dreary 
 to-morrow. God bless you all !" 
 
 "January 1, 1871. 
 
 " My first letter this year is addressed to you. I 
 have not been so well since this morning ; it is now 
 3 p.m. I think I am going through the process of 
 acclimatization. The weather is warmer but a little 
 foggy, but nothing like London fogs. Hayland has 
 had his hair cut. I am of opinion that Torquay will 
 
282 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF T. W. ROBERTSON 
 
 do me a great deal of good — in time. The climate 
 is wonderful, notwithstanding the filthy weather. At 
 the present moment it is thawing. 
 
 " You cannot conceive the desolation of my life 
 here. I see no one — have spoken to no one. It 
 seems to me that I am in a lighthouse — and alone ! 
 
 "4.30. — I have just returned from a drive in an 
 open carriage. The air was delightful, though cold. 
 The drive has done me a little good. A beautiful 
 place this, reminding me of Ventnor. I am very 
 sorry to hear about those infernal waterpipes again. 
 Please send me the Era, when you get it to-morrow. 
 Hayland has had his hair cut! In the morning I 
 shall go to look after lodgings. What with Baby 
 and Maud and Annie and the waterpipes, you cannot 
 miss me as much as I miss you. I don't know what 
 the devil I shall do next week. The solitude is 
 awful. My only recreation is to have my back 
 rubbed, and that palls after the second dozen passes. 
 Kiss my darling baby for me, and my dear Maud, and 
 Tommy when you see him. I don't know that I 
 have anything more to tell you, except that Hayland 
 has had his hair cut. This hotel is a good one. I 
 am well served and waited on ; but I fear that it is 
 dear. In a day or so I hope to get into lodgings, 
 and then we can arrange about your coming. I am 
 sure it would do anybody good, for the climate here 
 
LA TER PLA YS AND LA ST DA YS 283 
 
 is not of the same cruelty as in London. This — the 
 last three days — is the first winter they have had yet. 
 So now, my darling, good-bye. God bless you all ! 
 
 "P.S. — Bid I mention to you that Hayland has 
 had his Oh yes, I did." 
 
 ''January 2, 1871. 
 " The weather has changed. It is mild and 
 raining, so that I cannot get out again to-day! I 
 want you to go to a Morning Performance of a 
 Pantomime, taking with you Tommy and Maud. 
 You must jpay for your seats. If I were you, I 
 would go to the box office, Drury Lane, and take 
 them. The children ought to see a pantomime once 
 at Christmas. I find that our income last year 
 (1870) was £3,760, not counting about £200 due 
 on the year. This is about £500 less than the year 
 before (1869) ; so that last year's profits were : 
 "£313 6s. 8d. monthly. 
 " £72 6s. 2d. iveekly. 
 " £10 6s. 7d. daily. 
 
 " May we do as well this year ! I hope you and 
 all my darlings are well. Eh, but it is dreary here 
 without you ! I don't think I have any more to tell 
 
 you or inquire after. Hayland has had his 
 
 But, no 1 I believe I mentioned that in my last. 
 By the way, Hayland looks after me very well — is 
 
284 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF T. W. ROBERTSON 
 
 attentive, and zealous. Tell me the Baby's first joke, 
 and her last but one. God bless you ! You must 
 come to me soon. — Yours so drearily, T. W. R." 
 
 ^^ January 4, 1871. 
 
 " Hayland says that ' he thinks I am better than 
 when I came down here.' I do not agree with him ; 
 but still I tell you what he says. Kiss my darlings 
 for me. It will indeed be a bright day — fogs, 
 notwithstanding — when I see your face and theirs 
 again." 
 
 ^^ January 5, 1871, 
 "I am much better to-day. The air and day 
 have been heavenly, and I have had a drive out. I 
 was very ' queer ' yesterday, but am a different man 
 now. If to-morrow is fine, I will begin house- 
 hunting in earnest ; up to the present I have been 
 too ill. I had a good sleep last night, which has set 
 me up to-day ; until last night I have had very 
 little rest since I saw you. Excuse these few 
 lines. I am tired and weary, as I shall always be 
 till I see you and my darlings again." 
 
 There are other letters written in the same strain; 
 some hopeful in tone, and some despondent, but all 
 expressing intense weariness ; and after about a fort- 
 
LA TER PL A YS AND LA ST DA YS 285 
 
 night's stay in Torquay, which really did him more 
 harm than good, he determined to return to London. 
 " Never," says his son, " will his home-coming be 
 forgotten by those who were present. How altered 
 he was ! His kind face bore the traces of mental 
 worry and want of rest, though the eyes sparkled as 
 of yore. He could hardly walk up the steps to the 
 front door, so difficult was his breathing, having to 
 stay on each step for awhile, at the same time doing 
 his utmost to pass it all off with jokes at ' Tommy's ' 
 expense. There were some dozen steps to mount, 
 and it was fully fifteen minutes ere he entered the 
 house for the last time. A curious incident 
 happened on this eventful evening — ominous in a 
 superstitious sense, and the last of a succession of 
 coincidences. It is a well-known fact that, on the 
 first nights of ' Society,' ' Ours,' and ' Caste/ a dog, 
 on each occasion, followed Robertson home, and 
 nothing would induce him to turn them away. 
 When the brougham stopped at the house it was 
 pointed out that a dog had followed it from the 
 station. Robertson took it as a happy omen, and 
 directed that it should be taken in and fed ; but 
 nothing would induce it to enter the house, and it 
 stayed in the front garden howling and leaving 
 the food that had been placed for it there un- 
 touched." 
 
286 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF T. W. ROBERTSON 
 
 Almost immediately after his return to London, 
 " War " was produced at the St. James's Theatre. 
 It was the last play he ever wrote ; and he awaited 
 its production with feverish impatience, know- 
 ins; that it had neither the benefit of his care at 
 rehearsals nor the style of stage-management that 
 his pieces demanded. No one who was present at 
 the first performance, on January 16, 1871, will ever 
 forget the disgraceful scene at the theatre. Produced 
 at the time when, in connection with the Franco - 
 Prussian war, party feeling ran high, the subject was 
 undoubtedly a dangerous one ; and the unfortunate 
 attempts of a M. Nertann, a French actor of large 
 proportions, dressed in a tight-fitting uniform, to 
 command the respect of his audience, together with 
 the long waits between the acts and the general want 
 of sympathy with the author, is better imagined 
 than described. Against Robertson's wishes, too, 
 the management had announced it as a comedy, when 
 in reality it was a drama ; and this was the cause of 
 severe and audible comments at the fall of the 
 curtain. Mr. A. W. Young, Mr. Lionel Brough, and 
 Miss Fanny Brough did their best in the face of a 
 hostile audience to carry their author to success ; but 
 their efibrts were unavailing, and the poor play was, 
 in the rough and much-to-be-deplored English fashion, 
 hastily condemned. 
 
LATER PLA YS AND LAST DA YS 287 
 
 Concerning this lamentable performance, Sothern 
 wrote to Robertson : 
 
 " I saw ' War' on the first night. Having stupidly 
 neglected to obtain seats in time, I went into the 
 gallery, and couldn't get out again, or I would, for it 
 was sickeningly hot and beastly. They foolishly gave 
 out the report that every seat was gone ; and after- 
 wards I, and lots of others, found out there was 
 plenty of room in the dress-circle. The first act 
 was charming, and all looked like a great success. 
 The gallery was full of well-dressed people, and the 
 universal feeling was, ' It's a go !' The religious 
 tone of the second act obviously annoyed a great 
 many; and they talked so loudly near me that I 
 could not follow the story except by the action. 
 Between ourselves I thought, with two or three 
 
 exceptions, the piece was d d badly acted ; for 
 
 the third act, naturally played, ought to have been 
 very pretty and effective." 
 
 A little later on, critical Mr. Punch said : " Mr. 
 Robertson's ' War,' at the St. James's, was a failure 
 on the Jirst night We italicise the ' first night,' and 
 wish to draw attention to the fact. A first night's 
 audience is an exceptional audience, which expression 
 might mean an audience fond of taking exception. 
 Its verdict ought never to be accepted as final, nor 
 in the present state of things dramatic ought pro- 
 
288 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF T. W. ROBERTSON 
 
 fessional critics to pronounce upon the merits of a 
 piece until its third or fourth representation. Gene- 
 rally speaking, in spite of all the rehearsals, the 
 author himself only sees his play, as a whole, on its 
 first night. Admitted that this is not as it should 
 be, yet so it is. We, in our own patented form, and 
 holding the first night's representation to be the one 
 on which no fair opinion can be formed, generally 
 wait until the piece has reached its fourth night, and 
 then, being probably at its best, it is a fair matter for 
 criticism. We venture to say that if the public could 
 have seen ' War ' for the first time on its fourth 
 night, it would not have been condemned. 
 
 " The first act would have passed muster as a 
 specimen of one of Mr. Robertson's Prince of Wales's 
 pieces, without the Prince of AVales's company ; 
 the second act should have been called a tableau, 
 and M. Henri Nertann ought not to have been 
 allowed to go mad. In the third act all the young 
 ladies, excepting, of course, the heroine, might have 
 been advantageously omitted, and then the excellent 
 rendering of a capital situation by Messrs. Young 
 and Brough, and the well-contrived denouement, 
 would have brought down the curtain on a real, 
 though not perhaps a great, success. The piece 
 should have been in two acts and one tableau. 
 
 " The public, on the first night, was led to expect 
 
LATER PLAYS AND LAST DAYS 289 
 
 some strong exhibition of partizanship apropos of 
 the present state of affairs on the Continent ; not 
 only from the title of the piece and the announce- 
 ment that Mr. O'Connor, the scenic artist, had been 
 to Sedan for the express purpose of illustrating the 
 second act, but also from the injudicious selection 
 of French and German national airs by way of 
 overture — a 'happy thought' of the conductors, 
 which went far, we are convinced, to help the failure 
 of the piece." 
 
 As far as the poor sick author was concerned, all 
 the mischief was done on that terrible first night. 
 He had arranged to have an account of the reception 
 of the piece sent to him after each act ; but, antici- 
 pating disaster, and fearing that if things did not go 
 well he would not be told the whole truth, he gave 
 particular instructions that his young son should be 
 one of the party occupying the box set aside for his 
 representatives. The next morning — and during the 
 daily visits that at this time the boy paid to his father, 
 Robertson insisting that he should come home every 
 day from the neighbouring boarding-school for the 
 purpose of seeing him — he easily drew from his art- 
 less lips a graphic account of the scene of massacre. 
 
 After hearing it all, he lay back on his pillow and 
 said with a sigh : " Ah, Tommy, my boy, they wouldn't 
 have been so hard if they could see me now. I shan't 
 
 19 
 
 / 
 
 J... 
 
290 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF T. W. ROBERTSON 
 
 trouble them again." And then, with a look of 
 mingled sorrow and affection, he took the boy's hand 
 in his, and was silent for a few moments, whilst tears 
 trickled down the faces of both. 
 
 On Wednesday, February 1, Mr. and Mrs. Bancroft 
 saw him for the last time. They found him propped 
 up in a big arm-chair, breathing with difficulty. He 
 talked to them for some little time, dwelling, among 
 other subjects, on the new play he had conceived for 
 them, and saying that earlier in the day he had jotted 
 down some more notes about it. " All this," says 
 Mrs. Bancroft, " we knew could not be ; and when we 
 went away we both felt we should never touch his 
 hand again." 
 
 By the way, it is in connection with this sad inter- 
 view that Mrs. Bancroft tells the following curious 
 story. 
 
 " During Robertson's absence in Frankfort," she 
 ' says, " when he left England to be married, I had a 
 strange dream about him, which I related to a mutual 
 friend, who some time afterwards imprudently re- 
 peated it to him. My dream was this : I saw them 
 being married, and when he was placing the ring upon 
 Ms bride's finger I could see that it was lined with 
 black. Then I thought, when he left the church, two 
 •children came up to Mrs. Robertson with wreaths of 
 immortelles in their hands. I quite forgot all about 
 
LA TER PLA YS AND LA ST DA YS 291 
 
 this dream as time went on ; but poor Tom, it seemed, 
 did not. On this day, when we were leaving him, and 
 we saw too plainly that the sad end was near, he drew 
 me towards him, and said quietly : ' Do you remember 
 your dream about me, Marie ? The ring is getting 
 black, and the wreaths of immortelles are made.' " 
 
 It was now, indeed, painfully apparent that no hope 
 of his recovery could be entertained. He frequently 
 spoke of coming death to his son ; and when, on 
 the morning of the day that saw his earthly sojourn 
 close, the lad paid him his usual visit, he said — and 
 these parting words have ever been treasured : " Good- 
 bye, my boy, and God bless you ! Come and see me 
 to-morrow. If I don't speak to you, don't be fright- 
 ened, and don't forget to kiss your father." 
 
 At half-past five o'clock on the same evening (it 
 was that of February 3), and whilst sitting in his 
 high-backed chair, he peacefully passed awa}'. 
 
 On the same evening "War" was played for the 
 last time. 
 
CHAPTER VI. 
 
 CONCLUSION. 
 
 Six short years of success had been vouchsafed to 
 Robertson — six short years, in the course of which he 
 had done so much to reform and elevate the English 
 stage — and there he lay in his wreath -covered coffin, 
 surrounded by the friends who loved him so well, and 
 who with bated breath spoke of his brilliant powers 
 as a conversationalist, the rich unction and apprecia- 
 tion with which he told a story, and the so-called 
 cynicism which was, after all, only a pretty affectation. 
 Everyone used to see through that. No one with 
 such a beaming and good-natured face, which was 
 ever running over with smiles, no one with such a 
 generous disposition or such an affectionate heart, 
 could be a cynic in the true sense of the word. He 
 made no enemies. He was as much beloved in private 
 life as he was appreciated by the public. No one 
 envied him the success for which he had struojg-led 
 with untiring energy ; everyone mourned his all too 
 
CONCLUSION 293 
 
 early death. The winter of his life had been a long 
 and cold one, and he died when the happy summer- 
 time had only just begun. Such were the thoughts 
 and w^ords of those who assembled to follow Robertson 
 to his grave, and which were embodied in a charming 
 tribute to his memory, from the pen of one who knew 
 and loved him well, that subsequently appeared in a 
 London newspaper. 
 
 It was noticed that in a corner of the room where 
 the cothn lay there remained two toys. Punch and 
 Judy puppets, with which he had whiled away the 
 hours amusing his baby-daughter Rosy. There they 
 were, limp and lifeless, as if they had died in sympathy 
 with him who had so often enlivened those present 
 with his kindly, gentle nature and overflowing humour. 
 Often had that room rung with the joyous shouts of 
 the baby at the antics of Punch and Judy worked by 
 the deft hands of Robertson, just as grown men and 
 women had applauded the ever-ready, ever-wholesome 
 jests of his characters on the stage. 
 
 He was buried, in the presence of a huge concourse 
 of people, at Abney Park Cemetery on February 9, in 
 the tomb containing the remains of his first wife ; and 
 probably never around an open grave were more of 
 manly tears shed than around that of Robertson, 
 whose death at the early age of forty-two seemed 
 almost cruel. 
 
294 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF T. W. ROBERTSON 
 
 The chief mourners were his young son ; his 
 brother, Edward Robertson ; his father-in-law, J. 
 Feist ; his brother-in-law, W. H. Kendal ; Tom Hood, 
 Tom Archer, Dion Boucicault, S. B. Bancroft, John 
 Hare, Andrew Halliday, Edward Draper, E. C. Barnes, 
 and Dr. Bird. On the evenino- of his funeral the 
 Prince of Wales's Theatre was closed. 
 
 All the obituary notices which appeared in the 
 newspapers and periodicals contained sincere and 
 heartfelt expressions of sorrow at the earl}^ death of 
 Robertson ; and Tom Hood, one of his dearest and 
 best friends, thus wrote of him in the joking weekly 
 of which he was the editor, and to which so many 
 kindred spirits were attached. Truly was the paper 
 christened Fun, when one thinks of the nature of its 
 contributors I 
 
 " It is a very painful task to add another beloved 
 name to the already too large obituary which records 
 the losses this paper and those connected with it have 
 sustained. Mr. Robertson was for a long; time — until, 
 indeed, his w^ell-deserved success as a dramatist left 
 him no time to devote to periodical literature — a 
 regular contributor to these columns. The fame of 
 his comedies has eclipsed to some extent the reputa- 
 tion he won by the clever magazine-work in which he 
 was at first ens;ao;ed. But the founder of our modern 
 school of comedy can afford to let the minor renown 
 
CONCLUSION 295 
 
 pass ; his claims on the love and gratitude of the 
 public require no augmentation. 
 
 " When we consider how poor and trite our lan- 
 guage is, we scarcely dare to try and put words to 
 the grief which we, his friends, feel at the death of 
 one we all loved and were so proud of. We had 
 watched his courageous struggle in the old days, had 
 rejoiced in his triumphs, and were aware of the un- 
 developed powers which, had he been spared a few 
 years longer, would have won him a yet higher posi- 
 tion as a dramatist ; and we have known the long and 
 severe suffering from which he has been released. He 
 goes to his grave regretted by the public at large, but 
 loved and lamented by his private friends with a 
 depth and intensity it would be idle to attempt to 
 utter." 
 
 Eobertson left behind him many suggestions for 
 new plays. By Mr. and Mrs. Bancroft mention has 
 been made that he had an idea for a comedy to follow 
 "M.P." entitled "Faith," the plot of which was to 
 run on the lines of the immortal story of " The Vicar 
 of Wakefield "; but no details of this intention could 
 be discovered amongst his manuscripts. 
 
 Two outlines for plays designed for the Prince of 
 Wales's Theatre — the one entitled " Passions," and 
 the other headed " Political Comedy " — were found in 
 his desk. In the forecast of " Passions, a Brigand 
 
296 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF T. W. ROBERTSON 
 
 Comedy," it was designed that Hare should play the 
 Prince {Pride) ; Coghlan, the Artist (Ambition) ; 
 Bancroft, the Brigand Chief (Gain) ; Clarke, a Satur- 
 day Ee viewer ; and the character Paquita (Love) was 
 evidently designed for Mrs. Bancroft. Throughout 
 the sketch there runs a satirical vein, and the Saturday 
 Reviewer is shown as anxious to produce a newspaper 
 to be called The Sunday Skunk, containing " all this 
 week's envy, hatred, malice, and uncharitableness." 
 
 The notes for the "Political Comedy" are con- 
 tained on five pages of manuscript, the most prominent 
 character being a philosophical member of Parliament, 
 who is made to say : 
 
 " I am an earnest man. I feel deeply on every 
 subject !" 
 
 To the horror of his strong-minded wife he makes 
 a speech against female suffrage ; and, when taken 
 to task by her, the following dialogue ensues : 
 
 He. I have saved my country. I stand upon my feelings as a 
 member of this House. 
 
 She. Wait till I get you home ! 
 
 He. Madam ! near to this is Westminster Hall. In West- 
 minster Hall is the Divorce Court. 
 
 She. Divorce — for what ? 
 
 He. For cruelty and non-desertion. 
 
 In the contemplated dialogue there is also an 
 amusing episode between a father — a severe Eadical — 
 and an inquiring daughter : 
 
CONCLUSION 297 
 
 Daughter. Are all luen equal 1 
 
 Radical. Yes. 
 
 Daughter. One as good as another ? 
 
 Radical. Yes. 
 
 Daughter. John, the coachman, as good as you ? 
 
 Radical. Yes. 
 
 Daughter. Then wluj don't you drive him ? 
 
 That this sketch was intended for the basis of a 
 comedy for the Prince of Wales's Theatre is indicated 
 by the fact that in it Mrs. Bancroft and Miss Carlotta 
 Addison, who at the time that it was written were 
 playing in "M.P.," are familiarly spoken of as "Marie" 
 and " Lottie." 
 
 In the little pocket-book that he carried there are 
 several suggestions for titles of plays, such as " The 
 Period'' (which is curiously like Mr. Pinero's "The 
 Times"), "Choice," and "Perhaps." To the last- 
 named is appended the note, "Query, for Sothern T 
 
 In works that have been published since Pobertson's 
 untimely death, mention of his name and writings 
 has, of course, been often made, and from one or two 
 of these we may, perhaps, before we conclude, be 
 allowed to quote. To begin with, the delightful 
 " Eeminiscences of Mr. and Mrs. Bancroft," to which 
 we are already so greatly indebted : 
 
 " Some peculiarities, referring especially to his 
 stage-life, of so successful and distinguished a writer 
 as Robertson proved to be, may be worth recording. 
 
298 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF T. \V. ROBERTSON 
 
 He always sat in the same box on all first nights 
 of his comedies at the Prince of Wales's Theatre, 
 and during their progress rarely looked at the stage, 
 but watched the audience, glancing continually and 
 rapidly from one part of the theatre to another, to 
 gather the different effects the same point or speech 
 might produce on various people, being, of course, 
 familiar from rehearsal with the actor's treatment ; 
 while between the acts he would often push his way 
 into parts of the theatre where he would not be 
 recognised, and listen to all the opinions he could 
 overhear. He also made a point of having someone, 
 entirely removed from theatrical life, in each part of 
 the theatre, whom he would see on the following day 
 and hold long conversations with, carefully comparing 
 the impression and the remarks he drew from these 
 different witnesses, generally, he said, with valuable 
 results." 
 
 In his most interesting autobiography, Mr. Joseph 
 Jefferson speaks of Robertson as follows : 
 
 '^ Among the many new friends I made in London 
 none was more delightful to meet than Tom Robertson. 
 During my engagement at the Adelphi he was writing 
 his comedies for the Prince of Wales's Theatre, then 
 under the management of that vivacious actress and 
 ^^ ^--^ industrious little manager, Marie Wilton. Robertson's 
 plays were nearly all successful, and deservedly so, 
 
CONCLUSION 299 
 
 too, for they contained original characters, bright and 
 witty dialogue, and were entirely free from the French 
 coarseness that had characterized so many of their 
 predecessors. All honour to the memory of Tom 
 Eobertson, who was at least among the pioneers in 
 working the reformation ; and to his successors, too, 
 who, following in his wake, gave to the public musical 
 extravaganzas more humorous and melodious than the 
 Parisian burlesques, without one tinge of their im- 
 pertinent vulgarity ; proving incontestably that w^it 
 and harmony in comic opera need not depend for their 
 effects upon sensual music and licentious libretto. 
 
 "Tom Robertson was of all the men I have ever 
 talked with the most entertaining. His descriptions 
 of people, performances, and incidents that had passed 
 before him during the early portion of his life were 
 exceedingly brilliant. Events that would have been 
 commonplace, w-hen described in an ordinary way, 
 were so coloured and illumined by his vivid imagina- 
 tion that they became intensely interesting. 
 
 " I lived at No. 5, Hanover Street, Hanover Square, 
 and Tom usually dined with me once a week. He 
 was perfectly familiar with dramatic literature, and 
 discoursed delightfully upon the plays of the past. 
 
 " Goldsmith was his favourite author, whom he 
 considered the very finest and purest writer of English 
 comedy that had lived during the last century. And 
 
300 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF T. W. ROBERTSON 
 
 though I did not quite agree with him in this idea, 
 he said much that strengthened his argument, point- 
 ing out the ingenious construction of his plots, the 
 unstrained wit of his dialogue, and the natural conduct 
 of his characters." 
 
 Eobertson's admiration for the dramatist is probably 
 summed up in the words written by Goldsmith in the 
 preface to his comedy of "The Good-Natured Man," 
 and which exactly embody in thought, feeling and 
 sentiment his own views with reo;ard to the stao;e : 
 " The term genteel comedy was then unknown 
 amongst us, and little more was desired by an 
 audience than nature and humour, in whatever walks 
 of life they were most conspicuous." 
 
 Mr, Jefferson also relates the following pathetic 
 anecdote : 
 
 " Artemus Ward died not many months after his 
 London debut, attended to the last by Tom Robertson. 
 A strong attachment, had sprung up between them, 
 and the devotion of his new-found English friend 
 was touching in the extreme, and characteristic of 
 Eobertson's noble nature. Just before Ward's death, 
 Robertson poured out some medicine in a glass and 
 offered it to his friend. Ward said : ' My dear Tom, 
 I can't take that dreadful stuff!' 
 
 " ' Come, come,' said Robertson, urging him to 
 swallow the nauseous drug ; ' there's a dear fellow ! 
 
CONCLUSION 301 
 
 Do now, for my sake ; you know I would do anything 
 for you.' 
 
 " ' Would you ?' said Ward, feebly stretching out 
 his hand to grasp his friend's, perhaps for the last 
 time. 
 
 " ' I would indeed !' said Robertson. 
 
 " ' Then you take it,' said Ward. The humorist 
 passed away but a few hours afterwards." 
 
 In his " Reminiscences," Serjeant Ballantyne, 
 speaking of the days when he used to haunt the once 
 famous Evans's Supper Rooms, and of his meetings 
 there with Thackeray, Dickens, Albert Smith, Douglas 
 Jerrold, Shirley Brooks, and other literary lions, says : 
 "A very constant guest was Robertson, the creator 
 of a style of drama which, with the assistance of Mrs. 
 Bancroft's talent, had filled with splendid audiences 
 a theatre which for years before had wooed in vain 
 the patronage of the public. Poor Robertson died 
 only too early, almost before he could witness the 
 triumphs of his sister, Mrs. Kendal, one of the most 
 fascinating actresses of the present day." 
 
 Of her brother, Mrs. Kendal has said : 
 
 " I often hear his work spoken of as The Bread- 
 and-Butter School. Bread-and-butter ! but what 
 good bread-and-butter ! How fine the flour ! How 
 carefully kneaded, and always served hot from the 
 bakehouse ! Then the butter ! How fresh and sweet, 
 
302 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF T. W. ROBERTSON 
 
 what an excellent colour ; what delicate, pretty pats, 
 with just enough salt to give it a rich, delicious 
 flavour! And then, again, how well the butter was 
 spread over the bread — just enough, no more ! And 
 this bread, like all good home-made loaves, was all 
 the better for the keeping. Everybody must eat 
 bread-and-butter ; then how necessary it is that these 
 commodities should be wholesome and pure ! We 
 Robertsons never speak of Tom without calling him 
 * Napoleon,' for his Bread-and-Butter School was 
 the coup d'etat to many things. Sometimes I fancy 
 people mean to be rude, and speak slightingly of 
 his work when they call it 'bread-and-butter'; 
 but at every tea-party I take my children to, I 
 say, ' Begin with your uncle's fare first ; you shall 
 have some fairy poetical drama, called ' cake,' after- 
 wards." 
 
 More than once in these pages mention has been 
 made of the attachment that existed between Robert- 
 son and Dion Boucicault ; and that the friendship 
 was a true one will be shown by the following letter 
 addressed to Mrs. Robertson, at Frankfort, some 
 months after her husband's death, and when a little 
 baby boy, destined never to see its father's loving 
 eyes and bright smile, had been born. Boucicault, it 
 should be mentioned, had been asked to act as the 
 child's godfather : 
 
CONCLUSION 30:5 
 
 " 326, Kegent Street, June 14, 1871. 
 
 " My dear Mrs. Robertson, 
 
 " I beg you to tell the friend who represents 
 me at the christening how much obliged I feel, but 1 
 must tell you privately how sorry I am that I am not 
 there in person. 
 
 " We look forward with much pleasure to the time 
 when you will arrive here ; and now that I know it 
 will be some time in August, I can look for a suitable 
 lodging for you to begin with. You must not begin 
 reckoning expenses as you do. Your health is the 
 most important of all considerations — and that should 
 be restored completely without regard to cost. All 
 will go well. Compose your mind, and recover your 
 spirits. Take great care of yourself, and kiss the 
 little one for me. 
 
 " I have made him a little present on the occasion 
 of his christening. You know I am rather practical 
 than romantic. Well, amongst my property I have 
 picked out a small investment which is worth £130, 
 and brings in £15 a year. I have given him this, 
 instead of a silver cup or a gold toy. It will be the 
 nest-egg of his fortune." 
 
 But the best and the most lasting tribute to 
 Robertson's memory, and the one of which he would 
 assuredly have been most proud, is tha.t built, not 
 
304 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF T. W. ROBERTSON 
 
 hastily, but year by year, and with unswerving 
 loyalty, by his eldest son, the " Tommy " who has 
 more than once been mentioned in these pages, and 
 who, as we have seen, drifted stagewards. 
 
 The son's unbounded and almost unique devotion 
 to, and admiration of, his father dated from the days 
 of his boyhood. He was when Robertson died a 
 mere lad, but Mrs. Bancroft says : " Shortly after 
 this {i.e., Robertson's death) his two children (by his 
 first marriage) spent the day with us, and as we were 
 walking round the garden, ' Tommy,' who was a small 
 boy then, seemed to love to dwell upon the sad 
 subject of his father's death, and the little fellow was 
 very pathetic in his boyish remarks. All at once he 
 said, ' A few days before father died I knew he was 
 goins to leave us.' 'How could you know it?' we 
 asked. ' Because he looked so handsome. I have 
 heard that people get such a beautiful look upon their 
 faces when they are going to die.' " 
 
 From that day to this the son's earnest desire to 
 shed lustre on his father's name, to keep his memory 
 green, and to popularize his w^orks, has never for one 
 moment flag-ged or failed. In this connection he 
 seems to have taken to heart the counsel of Tom 
 Hood, who very soon after his father's death wrote to 
 him in words so tender and so graceful that no excuse 
 is offered for quoting them here : 
 
CONCLUSION 305 
 
 " I hope you are a good, steady boy, and attend to 
 your lessons. You are getting nearer and nearer the 
 time when you will have to think of beginning life 
 for yourself, and that is a serious thing, as I can tell 
 you from my experience, for a boy without a father, 
 however kind his guardians may be. I. suppose you 
 have hardly begun to think what you would like to 
 be? ' 
 
 " You will, I know, be sorry to hear — but, my 
 dear boy, you must be prepared to find this is a world 
 where one often has to say ' good-bye ' for a long time 
 to those who are dear to us — that your uncle Shafto 
 has lately died in Australia. I am very grieved you 
 should have this loss coming so soon after your great 
 loss. But be a good boy, and try to grow up to be a 
 gentleman, and, whatever you do, ask yourself if it is 
 anything you should be ashamed of your father's 
 knowing ; and if you do this, in God's good time you 
 will meet all you loved hereafter." 
 
 As we have seen, Robertson's son chose to be an 
 actor, and those who have had an opportunity of 
 watching his career know that his greatest aim has 
 been to give worthy representations of his father's 
 best plays. For a long time he travelled with the 
 comedies in the provinces, visiting and re-visiting the 
 principal towns in England, Scotland and Ireland, and 
 under his direction the " Caste Company " became 
 
 20 
 
3o6 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF T. W. ROBERTSON 
 
 quite a nursery for the London stage. In it graduated 
 such excellent artists as Georo-e Alexander, the late 
 E. D. Ward, Herbert AVaring, J. H. Darnley, Edward 
 Sass and Cora Stuart. In the case of this accom- 
 plished lady, who subsequently became the wife of the 
 young actor-manager, a remarkable instance may be 
 noted of an operatic singer becoming, in a good school, 
 a refined and charming comedienne. Mr. Robertson 
 distinguished himself as Hugh Chalcot, Sam Gerridge, 
 and in other important parts. Under his superintend- 
 ence, and prefaced by a memoir from his pen to which 
 the present work is greatly indebted, the plays were 
 some two years ago published in volume form, and 
 the manuscripts have, in handsome bindings, been 
 most carefully preserved. 
 
 It is not the purpose of this book to enter into any 
 detailed description or criticism of Robertson's works ; 
 they are constantly being acted, they can at any time 
 be read, and we can all judge for ourselves. And yet 
 we cannot conclude without trying the ring of some 
 of his delightful lines. For example : 
 
 LOVE. 
 
 " Lovers are so d — d selfish ; they never think of anybody but 
 themselves." — Caste. 
 
 " Love is like red-currant wine — at the first taste sweet, but 
 afterwards shuddery." — Caste. 
 
 " When people love there's no such thing as money." — Caste. 
 
CONCLUSION 307 
 
 " Love can laugh at the customary usages of society." — David 
 Garrick. 
 
 *' Love is a passion, and a feeling unworthy of the enlighten- 
 ment of the nineteenth century. Love, too, doesn't pay ; but it 
 is an infirmity to which the best of us, even bankers and stock- 
 brokers, are subject. "We must pass through it. It is as alkiring 
 to the grown-up man as milk and pastry to the child ; it is the 
 whooping-cough of the heart, and, while the fit is on, it strains us 
 terribly . " — Dreams. 
 
 " But earthly love is perishable, and is worn away by time as 
 snow melts before the sun." — Dreams. 
 
 " Love is a species of lunacy of which marriage is the strait- 
 waistcoat." — School. 
 
 " Love is an awful swindler, always drawing upon hope, who 
 never honours his drafts ; a sort of whining beggar, continually 
 moved on by the maternal police. But 'tis a weakness to which 
 the wisest of us are subject — a kind of manly measles which this 
 flesh is heir to, particularly when it is heir to nothing else." — 
 Society. 
 
 "No woman can love a man as a wife can love her husband." 
 — Dreams. 
 
 WOMAN. 
 
 " A sister is a sort of sweetheart who doesn't require attention ; 
 a kind of housekeeper you can't fall in love with ; an agreeable 
 spinster you can't marry. In short, a sister is as nice as — well, 
 as somebody else's wife, without being so dangerous." — Birth. 
 
 " No mission is more holy than that of a wife — a mother." — 
 Dreams. 
 
 " Women always forgive men when they are in the wrong." — 
 
 M.P. 
 
 " Oh, woman, woman ! divine, but dangerous !" — The Nightin- 
 gale. 
 
 " Better battle than a discontented woman." — Ours. 
 
 " Woman considered from the point of view of reason is 
 inferior to man." — Progresx. 
 
3oS THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF T W. ROBERTSON 
 
 " Women are fondest of their sweethearts when they quarrel 
 with them." — Progress. 
 
 " Seeing a lot of pretty girls accidentally makes one feel like 
 going to church when you're not used to it." — School. 
 
 MARRIAGR 
 
 " Marriage is one of those blessings that cannot be avoided." — 
 Ours. 
 
 " Best to marry in your own rank of life." — Caste. 
 
 " How unhappy the woman must be who despises her husband !" 
 — David GarricL 
 
 " What pride to have a husband who can ride a horse or drive 
 a coach a little better than his groom !" — David Garrich. 
 
 "After all, marriage commercially considered only illustrates 
 the eternal law of supply and demand."- — Dreams. 
 
 "What a pity it is that courtship should end in matrimony ! 
 It would be better if matrimony ended in courtship." — M.P. 
 
 " People alw^ays quarrel when they're married — or single." — 
 Ours. 
 
 " It is only after they are married that men begin to understand 
 the purity of women, or their tempers." — Ours. 
 
 "If people didn't marry there would be no evening parties." — 
 Ours. 
 
 " What was man intended for but to marry ?" — School. 
 
 " Marriage means a union mutually advantageous. It is a 
 civil contract, like a partnership." — Societij. 
 
 r 
 
 LIFE. 
 
 " People should stick to their own class. Life's a railway 
 journey; mankiad's a passenger — first class, second class, third 
 class. Any person found riding in a supei'ior class to that for 
 which he has taken his ticket will be removed at the first station 
 stopped at, according to the by-laws of the company." — Caste. 
 
 " After all, life is like soda-water. Childhood, eftervescence, 
 
CONCLUSION 309 
 
 corked down and wired ; manhood, some sparkle, more vapidity ; 
 old age, empty bottle, cart it away with the rubbish." — M.P. 
 " This life is a matter of bargain," — Society. 
 
 YOUTH. 
 
 " Oh, divine youth ! Divine power to love, and still diviner 
 power to inspire it !" — The Nightingale. 
 
 " Youth and age are only accidents. If one is good, and true, 
 and tender, what does it matter in what year one was born ?" — 
 Progress. 
 
 " Youth soon fades away, but age lasts for ever." — Progress. 
 
 " It is so ridiculous, the fuss they make in praise of youth. 
 Why, everybody had it once, and nobody can keep it long." — 
 Progress. 
 
 HONOUR. 
 
 " A thousand Sepoys slain in battle cannot redeem the honour 
 of a man who has betrayed the confidence of a trusting girl." — 
 Caste. 
 
 " A man of real honour will spare the woman who has confessed 
 her love for him, as he would give quarter to an enemy he had 
 disarmed."— 6'asi!^. 
 
 ACTING. 
 
 " What money can compensate an actor for the loss of his art, 
 the loss of fame, and all the brilliant excitements of his life f — 
 David Garrick. 
 
 " Regular actors may be all very well in their way ; but the 
 amateur actor is an inflated simpleton, who only desires to 
 exhibit himself for the gratification of his own petty vanity."— 
 M.P. 
 
 " To be an actor requires thought, sympathy, and sentiment." 
 —M.P. 
 
 " Acting is considered one of the learned professions nowa- 
 days."— i¥.P. 
 
\ 
 
 310 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF T. W. ROBERTSON 
 
 PROGRESS. 
 
 '"Tis the train that is master of the hour. As it moves it 
 shrieks out to the dull ear of prejudice, ' Make room for me, 
 and those who dare oppose my progress shall be crushed.' Its 
 tail of smoke is like the plume of a field-marshal, and the rattle 
 and motion of its wheels are as the throb and pulsation of the 
 progress of the whole world." — Progress. 
 
 " As to manners, progress has indeed altered them. Everyone 
 is too much occupied to think, to feel, to love, or to improve. 
 Progress does not permit sleep or sentiment, accomplishment 
 or leisure." — Progress. 
 
 CASTE. 
 
 " Caste is a good thing if it isn't carried too far. It shuts the 
 door upon the vulgar and pretentious, but it should open the 
 door very wide to exceptional merit, Let brains break through 
 its barriers, and what brains can break through, love may leap 
 over." — Caste. 
 
 — NATURE AND ART. 
 
 " Nature ! Art ! You should be twin-sisters, one the 
 exact counterpart of the other ; and you are hardly tenth cousins, 
 and have no mutual resemblance." — TJie Nightingale. 
 
 MONEY. 
 
 " Marriage is a mistake ; but ready money is real enjoyment — 
 at least, people think so who haven't got it." — Ours. 
 
 " Pity the poor ! Pity the rich ! For they are bankrupts in 
 friendshij) and beggars in love." — Ours. 
 
 " The man who don't want money should be put into an album 
 and kept there." — School. 
 
 " The rich man is to be envied. He can load her he loves with 
 proofs of his affection. He can face her father and ask him for 
 her hand. He can roll her in his carriage to a palace, and say : 
 ' This is your home, and I am your servant.' " — Ours. 
 
CONCLUSION 2,11 
 
 C4L0RY. 
 
 " Glory to a nation is as honour to a man ; without glory a 
 nation is valueless, and Avithout honour a man is beneath 
 contempt." — War. 
 
 APHORISMS. 
 
 " Oh, alcohol ! alcohol ! What a foe thou art to the perpen- 
 ilicular!" — Birth. 
 
 " A man cannot help his ancestors." — Birth. 
 
 " One glass of bitter makes the whole world kin." — Birth. 
 
 " Poverty is a dreadful thing to a man Avho has once been 
 well 0^."— Caste. 
 
 "The morals is a disease, like the measles; it attacks the 
 young and innocent." — Caste. 
 
 " We may be fond of many things without having them."— 
 
 Caste. 
 
 " When people talk unpleasantly they always say, ' Listen to 
 
 I'eason.'" — Caste. 
 
 " It is easier to fight a furious man than to forego the conquest 
 of a love-sick girl." — Caste. 
 
 "Nobody's a mistake— he don't exist. Nobody's nobody! 
 Everybody's somebody." — Caste. 
 
 " An honest man is the noblest work under the sun."— i/.P. 
 
 " Swells and their money are soon parted." — M.P. 
 
 "Speech is the index and the mirror of the soul."— r//« 
 
 Nif/htingale. 
 
 "Boys never remain good after they get into knickerbockers." 
 
 — The Nightingale. 
 
 " Oh, contentment! In what strange out-of-the-way holes you 
 do hide yourself !" — -Ours. 
 
 " Parentage is a mere accident." — Progress. 
 
 " Goodness and amiability must command affection and 
 esteem." — School. 
 
 " It's a sreat comfort having no intellect." — School. 
 
312 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF T. W. ROBERTSOX 
 
 " There are men — and individuals !" — School. 
 
 *' Capital commands the world. The capitalist commands 
 capital — therefore the capitalist commands the world." — Society. 
 
 " The human heart is large enough to contain any amount of 
 happiness." — IVar. 
 
 " Oh, these fathers ! What misfortunes they are to men of 
 genius !" — Progress. 
 
 That Robertson was sensitive under adverse criticism, 
 and strongly resented unfair, malicious, and ignorant 
 opinions passed upon his works, we have already seen ; 
 but that he attached great importance to the judg- 
 ments of the stage censors of his day is amply proved 
 by his own carefully-kept book of newspaper notices, 
 in which good and bad — some so bad that his heart 
 must have ached to read them — stand side by side. 
 In spite of these the plays have lived, the best actors 
 in them have made for themselves famous names, and 
 the critics who from the first recognised and pointed 
 out their value have learnt that at an important epoch 
 they promoted the best interests of the stage. 
 One of those who wrote of his death, said : 
 " At a time when his powers w^ere at their maturity, 
 and his prospects were at the brightest, the brilliant 
 writer, the witty conversationalist, the stanch friend, 
 and the affectionate husband, has been snatched away 
 from our midst. There can be no question, brief 
 though has been the career of the dramatist, that he 
 has exercised a strono; influence over our dramatic 
 
CONCLUSION 
 
 J' J 
 
 literature, and has left an enduring mark upon the 
 stage. In his graphic pictures of existing society, in 
 his pleasant cynicism, his poetical love passages, and 
 "in the chivalrous sentiments vindicating the honour 
 of modern knighthood, he has shown that the theatre 
 can do more than reproduce worn-out types, and that 
 something better than oft-echoed platitudes may be 
 heard within its walls. In the fresh track that he 
 took already may be found the footsteps of followers ; 
 but it must not be forg-otten that he was the first to 
 venture out of the beaten path. By the clearance he 
 effected of the old conventionalities which had over- 
 spread the stage, he has let in an amount of light 
 and air which has since enabled the playgoing public 
 to breathe a much purer atmosphere ; and if for no 
 greater service than this, the claims of the departed 
 dramatist to a grateful remembrance will not be 
 lightly estimated." 
 
 It is in the highest degree satisfactory to know that, 
 though more than twenty years (and in the world 
 theatrical twenty years mean a very long time) have 
 elapsed since these words were penned, the fact that 
 they emphasize is universally recognised to-day, and 
 that Robertson's comedies still hold the staoe. 
 
 But when we think of his shortened life, grief takes 
 the place of satisfaction ; and, indeed, these ])ages 
 cannot be brought to more fitting conclusion than by 
 
314 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF T. W. ROBERTSON 
 
 quotation of the words that, with sympathetic pen, 
 he wrote concerning his dead friend, Artemus Ward : 
 " Few tasks are more difficult or delicate than to 
 write on the subject of the works or character of a 
 departed friend. The pen falters as the familiar face 
 looks out of the paper. The mind is diverted from 
 the thought of death as the memory recalls some 
 happy epigram. It seems so strange that the hand 
 that traced the jokes should be cold — that the tongue 
 that trolled out the sfood things should be silent — 
 that the jokes and the good things should remain, 
 and the man who made them should be gone for 
 ever." 
 
INDEX 
 
 Abney Park Ckjietkry, 293 
 
 " A Breach of Promise," 251 
 
 Ada Ingot, 147, 149 
 
 Addison, Carlotta, 199, 242, 265, 297 
 
 Addison, Mr., 265, 278 
 
 "A Dream of Venice," 199 
 
 "A Glass of Water," 53 
 
 "A History of Old Vauxhall," 83 
 
 Alexander, George, 306 
 
 "All that Glitters is not Gold," 71, 72 
 
 Anderson, James, 182 
 
 "A Night's Adventure," 41, 42, 44- 
 
 46, 54 
 " A Rapid Thaw," 198, 199 
 Archer, Thomas, 84, 85, 176, 294 
 Archer, William, 62, 208 
 " A Row in the House," 57 
 " Artemus Ward," 300, 301, 314 
 "A Sheep in Wolf's Clothing," 183 
 Atkinson, Miss, 182 
 Augiei-, Emile, 241 
 
 Ballantyne, Serjeant, 301 
 
 Bancroft, Mrs., 171, 172, 193-195, 200, 
 
 206, 209, 212, 217-219, 235, 242, 
 
 243, 262, 265, 276-278, 290, 295-297, 
 
 301, 304 
 Bancroft, S. B., Q6, 173, 174, 176, 193, 
 
 195, 203, 206, 218, 219, 236, 242, 262, 
 
 264, 278, 290, 294-297 
 Bandmann, Herr, 250 
 Barnes, E. C., 184, 220-222, 294 
 Beau Farintosh, 242 
 Beaumont, A., 266 
 Bedford, Paul, 183 
 Beeton, S. O., 84, 190 
 Belfast, 69, 70 
 Belford, William, 85, 169 
 Bella, 242, 249 
 Bellair, Mr., 147 
 Bellew, J. C. M., 235 
 
 Bennett, George, 64 
 
 Bertie Thompson, 241 
 
 Betty, Henry, 7 
 
 Beverley, William, 70 
 
 Beveridge, J. D., 256 
 
 Billington, John, 167, 168, 183, 253 
 
 Billington, Mrs. John, 167, 168, 183 
 
 Bird, Dr., 279, 280, 294 
 
 "Birds of Prey," 53 
 
 "Birth," 267-276 
 
 "Black-eyed Susan," 47, 73 
 
 Blakeley, William, 169, 236 
 
 Blanchard, E. L., 85 
 
 Bland, James, 77, 78 
 
 Boston, 7, 11, 13, 18, 19, 29, 30, 35, 38 
 
 Boucicault, Dion, 278, 294, 302 
 
 Braid, Mr., 174, 175 
 
 Brennan, Miss Maggie, 252 
 
 Brookes, Mrs. Morton, 25 
 
 Brooks, Shirley, 301 
 
 Brough, Lionel, 169, 286, 288 
 
 Brough, Miss Fanny, 286 
 
 Brough, Robert, 84, 85, 184 
 
 Brough, William, 85, 184 
 
 Bruce, H. A., 213 
 
 Buckingham, Leicester, 85 
 
 Buckstone, J. B., 147, 166, 175, 254, 
 
 270 
 Bufton, Miss Eleanor, 199 
 Burbage, 22 
 Burlington Quay, 34 
 Burnand, F. C, 182, 183 
 Burroughes, Colman,190, 220 
 Burroughes, Mrs. Colman, 190, 220, 
 
 229 
 Burton, Miss Elizabeth, 66-69 
 Byron, H. J., 48-51, 58, 70, 80, 84, 167, 
 
 168, 171, 172, 184, 187, 214, 215, 240 
 
 Calhaem, S., 182 
 Captain Haiotree, 206, 21 9 
 
3i6 
 
 INDEX 
 
 Captain Mountraffe, 28, 241 
 
 Vajjfain Sound, h'.N., Itl 
 
 Carey, Phoebe, 24 
 
 Carson, Miss Kate, 77 
 
 "Caste," 200, 201, 203-207,210,211. 
 
 215-217, 219-221, 2:^1, 238, 30'. 
 " Castles in the Air," 52 
 Cathcart, R., 182, 196 
 Cavendish, Miss Ada, 199, 241 
 ( 'eriUa Dunscovihe, 265, 266 
 " Charity," 266 
 Charles Surface, 34 
 Chesterfield, 3, 8 
 Chevalier Albert, 58, 266 
 Chippendale, Mr., 166, 175, 182, 241, 
 
 254 
 Chippendale, Mrs., 182 
 CJioild Senior, 166 
 Chudleigh Dunscombe, 264, 266 
 Chute, James, 25, 26 
 Clarke, C. A., 74 
 Clarke, John, 78, 173, 191, 193, 252, 
 
 254 
 Clay, Frederick, 187 
 Clayton, John, 250 
 Cleveland, Miss, 64 
 Club, Arundel, 85, 169 
 
 ,, Reunion, 85 
 
 ,, Savage, 85 
 Coghlan, C. F., 264, 278, 296 
 Coleman, John, 20, 21, 24 
 Coleman, Charles, 235 
 Collette, Charles, 254, 278 
 Caiman, s Magazine, 84 
 Colonel de Bocheranne-i, ISO 
 Colonel White, 241 
 Compton, Henry, 25-28, 42, 182, 241, 
 
 254 
 "Constance,'' 187 
 Cooke, George, 64, 65 
 Countess D'Antreval, 242 
 Craven, Mr., 3 
 Craven, Hawes, 237 
 Crawford, Oswald, 208 
 Creswick, William, 25, 26 
 Cuthbert, Mrs., 24 
 
 Uanvers, James, 77 
 
 Darlington, 34 
 
 Darnley, J. H., 58, 306 
 
 "David Garrick," 144-149, 165, 268 
 
 " Dazzled, not Blinded," 83 
 
 Deeping, 16 
 
 De Grignon, 242 
 
 Dejazet, Madame, 199 
 
 Derby, 5, 8 
 
 Dewar, Fred, 173, 191, 193 
 
 Dickens, Alfred, 34 
 
 Dickens, Charles, 34, 35, 63, 77, 244, 
 
 301 
 Dixon Hepworth, 85 
 Don, Sir William, 72 
 " Down in Our Village," SO 
 Downe, 26 
 
 Draper, Edward, 60, 61, 85, 294 
 "Dreams," 58, 250, 251 
 Dr. Pani/loss, 34 
 " Dublin Bay," 253 
 Dundalk, 69 
 Dimdee, 276 
 
 Dunscombe Ditnscomhe, 264, 266 
 Dya.s, E., 199 
 
 Eburne, W. H., 174 
 
 Eccles, 208 
 
 Edgar, E. F., 63 
 
 Edwards, Sutherland, 84 
 
 Edwin, 1 
 
 Eldred, Joseph, 251 
 
 Elsworthy, Miss, 183 
 
 Emery, S., 183 
 
 Esther Eccles, 208 
 
 Eton Road, Haverstock Hill, 236, 285 
 
 "Faint Heart never won Fair Lady," 
 
 30 
 " Faith," 266, 295 
 Farren, Miss E., 183 
 Farren, W., 26 
 
 Farren, William, 41, 42, 45, 46, 182 
 " Faust and Marguerite," 53 
 Fechter, C, 183 
 
 Feist, Miss Ro.setta, 224, 227, 230 
 Fitzwilliam, Mrs. p]., 182 
 Foote, Miss Lydia, 208, 236, 254 
 Forrester, H., 196 
 " For Love," 211, 227, 231-234 
 Forster, John, 244 
 Fowler, IMiss, 2 
 French, Samuel, 53 
 Fun, 84, 256, 294 
 Furtardo, Miss Teresa, 1 70, 256 
 
 Gainsborough, 21 
 
 Garlinge, 227, 229 
 
 George D'Alroij, 211 
 
 Gerard, Miss Florence, 266 
 
 Gilbert, W. S., 84, 86, 176, 200, 239, 
 
 240, 256 
 Goldi-mith, Oliver, 299, 300 
 Gospel Oak Village, 184 
 Grantham, 18, 29, 38 
 (/raf/auo, 71 
 (-rreat Grimsby, 11 
 
INDEX 
 
 3'7 
 
 Grisi, Madame, 72 
 
 Halifax, S 
 
 Halliday, Andrew, 184, 294 
 
 Hannay, James, 85 
 
 " Hard Times," 63 
 
 Hare, John, 170, 171, 17o, 175, 17b', 
 
 188, 193, 200, 207, 219, 236, 238, 241, 
 
 242, 246, 247, 264, 277, 294, 296 
 Henderson, Alexander, 167-170, 188 
 Herbert, Miss, 166, 183, 198, 199, 240 
 Herbert, W., 278 
 Jferr Karl Hartmann, ISO 
 Highgate Cemetery, 39 
 Hingston, E. P., 227 
 Hollingshead, John, 251 
 "Home," 29, 240-242 
 Honey, George, 64, 207, 218 
 Hood", Tom, 84, 86, 173. 174, 176, 201, 
 
 294, 304 
 "Hope," 266 
 Horsman, C., 183 
 Hoskins, Mr., 64 
 Howe, Henry, 166, 175, 182, 254 
 llwih Chalcot, 189, 193-195, 267, 278, 
 
 306 
 Hull, 25, 238 
 Huntingdon, 15, 16, 29 
 
 Irving, Henry, 47, 199 
 Isaac Shoome, 264, 266 
 "It's Never Too Late to Mend," 182 
 
 Jack Poyntz, 242 
 Jack Randal, 268, 272, 276 
 James, C. J., 66, 68 
 James, David, 182, 208 
 Jefferson. Joseph, 183, 298-300 
 Jtreiny Diddler, 34 
 Jerrold, Douglas, 47, 301 
 " Jocrisse the Juggler," 53 
 John Chodd Junior, 169, 173 
 John Feeryhbmh, 34 
 Johnstone, Miss E., 182, 256 
 Josephs, Miss Fanny, 232, 277 
 
 Kean, Charles, 68, 69 
 
 Kean, Mrs. Charles, 68, 69 
 
 Kean, Edmund, 24 
 
 Keeley, Miss Louise, 182 
 
 Kendal, W. H., 241, 242, 294 
 
 Kendal, Mrs., 11, 45, 62, 63, 241, 242, 
 
 301 
 "King John," 182 
 Knight, Joseph, 86 
 Knowles, John, 253 
 Krax, 37 
 
 Lacy, Thomas Hailes, 53, 58, 60, 77, 
 
 147, 190, 241 
 Lacy, Walter, 183 
 Lady Ptarnwiant, 170, 173 
 Larkin, Miss Sophie, 170, 173, 209 
 Lavine, Miss, 77 
 Lejlercq, Charles, 182 
 Lecletccj, Miss Rose, 182 
 Leigh, H. S., 176, 184 
 Le Thiere, Miss, 277 
 Levy, Albert, 220 
 Levy, Edward (Lavvson), 224 
 Levy, J. M . 176, 224 
 Lincoln, 2, 10, 16, 29, 33, 35, 38 
 Lisson Grove, 73 
 London ^Society, 73, 84 
 Lord Dundreary, 144 
 Lord Pfarmitjaid, 166, 169, 171, 173 
 Louth, 18, 20, 23 
 
 "Macbeth," 25 
 
 Macbeth, R. W., A.R.A., 221, 223 
 
 Macklin, F. H., 266 
 
 Maclean, J., 183, 251 
 
 Macready, W. C, 20, 30, 31 
 
 Major Slur ray, 72 
 
 Maiton, 34 ' 
 
 Margate, 227 
 
 Marinus, Miss, 10 
 
 Mario, 72 
 
 Alarquise dc St. Maur, 209 
 
 Marshall, Miss Polly, 64 
 
 Marston, Henry, 64 
 
 Marston, Mrs. Henry, 64 
 
 Mart) Nc.tleii, ISS, 189, 195, 277 
 
 Maskell, G. K., 147 
 
 Mathews, Charles J., 54-56, 182, 250 
 
 Mathews, Frank, 183, 199 
 
 Mathews, Mrs. Charles J., 182, 250 
 
 Mathews, Mrs. Frank, 183. 199 
 
 Maud Helherington, 170, 173 
 
 Mayhew, Augustus, 85 
 
 Meade, T., 182 
 
 Mellon, Mrs. Alfred, 183, 256 
 
 Melville, G., 182 
 
 :Millais, Sir J. E., 187 
 
 Millward, Charles, 85, 147, 176, 191 
 
 Moore, Miss Louisa, 182 
 
 Moore, Miss Nellie, 149, 182 
 
 Montague, H. J., 183, 211, 232, 236 
 
 Montrichard, 242 
 
 Mountraffe, 28, 241 
 
 Monsiei(r Jacques, 34 
 
 "M.P.," 261-267 
 
 J/r.s. Pinchbeck, 241 
 
 "Mrs. White," 72 
 
 Murray, Dominick, 182 
 
3i8 
 
 INDEX 
 
 Murray, Gaston, 182 
 Murray, Mrs. Leigh, 236 
 "My Lady Clare," 250 
 "My Wife's Diary," 53, 57 
 
 Nanheim, 229, 230 
 
 Naomi Tvjhe, 242, 243 
 
 Nertann, Mons. Henri, 286, 288 
 
 Neville, Henry, 183, 253 
 
 Newark-on-Trent, 8, 11, 18, 29, 37, 38 
 
 Newcombe, J. R., 74, 269 
 
 Nicholson, Thomas, 85 
 
 "No^mie," 52 
 
 North Shields, 70 
 
 Norwich, 71 
 
 Nottingham, 5-8, 10, 39 
 
 '• Not such a Fool as he Looks," 214 
 
 O'Connor, 289 
 
 Oliver, Miss M. , 78 
 
 Oundle, 14 
 
 " Our Lively Neighbours," 81 
 
 "Ours," 187-196, 218, 219, 221, 2C7, 
 
 276-278 
 " Over the Way," 57 
 Oxenford, John, 176, 177, 235 
 
 Palmer, Miss Milly, 250 
 
 Paris, 64 
 
 Parry, John, 199 
 
 Parry, Sefton, 167, 232, 252 
 
 " Passion-Flovvers," 238 
 
 "Passions," 295 
 
 Paul, Howard, 81 
 
 Paul, Mrs. Howard, 81 
 
 " Peace at any Pi ice," 53 
 
 Perth, 2 
 
 Peterborough, 8, 16, 19, 29, 38 
 
 Phelps, Samuel, 21, 23, 45, 47, 181 
 
 " Photographs and Ices," 56 
 
 Piccolomiui, 72 
 
 Pinero, A. W. , 297 
 
 " Pizarro," 30 
 
 Planche, J. R., 182 
 
 "Play," 236, 237, 239 
 
 Polly Eccl^ii, 209-211, 217, 219 
 
 Portch, Julian, 85 
 
 " Post Haste," 252 
 
 Price, Edward, 169 
 
 Princa Perovski/, 188, 193, 277 
 
 "Progress," 253, 254 
 
 Prowse, Geoffrey, 84, 85, 176 
 
 Punch, 287 
 
 Purvis, Miss Lizzie, 64 
 
 Purvis, Miss Nellie, 64 
 
 Rands, W. B., 84 
 
 " Rates and Taxes," 201 
 
 " Raymond and Agnes," 78 
 
 Raynham, Miss, 182 
 
 Reade, Charles, 146, 182 
 
 Reed, German, 199 
 
 Reed, Mrs. German, 199 
 
 Redford, 8 
 
 "Richelieu," 30 
 
 Richmond, 47 
 
 Righton, Edward, 64, 65 
 
 " Rip Van Winkle," 183 
 
 Robertson, Caroline, 3 
 
 Robertson, Craven, 63, 213 
 
 Robertson, Eliza, 3 
 
 Robertson, Fanny, 3, 29, 34, 35, 249 
 
 Robertson, George, 2, 8 
 
 Robertson, Georgina, 3 
 
 Robertson, Henry, 3 
 
 Robertson, James, 1-3, 8, 39 
 
 Robertson, Madge, 11, 62, 238, 2.')0 
 
 Robertson, Maria, 3 
 
 Robertson, Maud, 58, 186, 267 
 
 Robertson, Mrs. Thomas, 11, 30, 39 
 
 Robertson, Mrs. William, 27, 64 
 
 Robertson, Thomas, 2, 7, 10, 13 
 
 Robertson, T. W. {the younger), 57, 73, 
 186, 213, 241, 244-246, 266, 267, 
 276, 285, 289, 294, 304-306 
 
 Robertson, William, 3, 5, 10, 11, 17, 
 20, 27, 33, 38, 39, 64, 230 
 
 Robinson, Miss, 2 
 
 "Rob Roy," 27, 72 
 
 Rodgers, Miss Katherine, 182, 196 
 
 Rogers, James, 78 
 
 Rorke, Miss Kate, 249 
 
 Rose, George, 235 
 
 Roselle, Percy, 182 
 
 Roxby, Robert, 70 
 
 Roxby, Sam, 70 
 
 Ji^ifh Deybrooke, 265, 266 
 
 " Ruy Bias," 53 
 
 Ryder, John, 25 
 
 Saker, Edward, 169, 250 
 
 Sala, G. A.. 84 
 
 Sam Qtrridcje, 207, 219, 306 
 
 Sanger, Miss Rachel, 250 
 
 Sardou, Victorien, 198, 253 
 
 Sass, Edward, 306 
 
 Saturday Night, 84 
 
 Saunders, Miss Charlotte, 78, 232 
 
 "School," 37, 242, 244, 246, 247, 262 
 
 Scott, Clement, 85, 86, 173, 201, 235, 
 
 246 
 Scribe, 53 
 
 Sennett, Charles, 64 
 "Shadow Tree Shaft," 196-198 
 
INDEX 
 
 319 
 
 Sheffield, 7 
 
 Shore, J. G., 182, 196 
 
 Shuter, 1 
 
 Sidney Daryl, 165, 169, 173, 174 
 
 Simon Ingot, 147 
 
 Simpson, Miss Maria, 78 
 
 Sir Arthur Lascellex, 71 
 
 Sketchley, Arthur, 86 
 
 Slough, 74 
 
 Smith, Albert, 301 
 
 Snowden, Miss, 182 
 
 "Society," 165-167, 169-173, 175-178, 
 
 ISO, 181, 184, 186, 187, 221 
 " Sophia and Annie," 81, 82 
 Sothern, E. A., 85, 144, 147-149, 165, 
 
 166, 168, 169, 214, 240, 252, 253, 267- 
 
 276, 287, 297 
 Soutar, Robert, 42, 183, 250 
 Spalding, 17, 31-33, 38 
 Squire Vhevij, 147 
 Stamford, 8, 24, 29, 30 
 Stephens, Mrs., 254 
 " Stephen Caldrick," 83 
 Stirling, Arthur, 256 
 Stirling, Mrs. Arthur, 64 
 Stirling, Mrs., 42, 146 
 Stockton, 34 
 Stoyle, J. D., 182 
 Strauss, Dr., 184 
 Stuart, Miss Cora, 266, 306 
 Stuart, Miss Edith, 147 
 "Sullivan," 145-147 
 Swanborough, Miss, 182 
 Swanborough, Mrs., 77 
 Swanborough, W. H. , 77 
 Swinbourne, Thomas, 182 
 
 Talbot. Piers, 264, 266 
 Tavlor, John Mountain, 67 
 Teibin, William, 232 
 Terry, Miss Kate, 183 
 Thackeray, W. M., 201, 202, 301 
 Theatre, Adelphi, 45, 182, 255, 256 
 ,, Astley's, 185 
 ,, Birmingham, Prince of 
 Wales's, 147 
 Bristol T. R., 267 
 City, 52, 68 
 ,, Covent Garden, 55, 187 
 ,, Drury Lane, 181 
 
 Dublin T. R., 69, 72, 73 
 ,, Gaiety, 250 
 
 Garrick, 246, 248 
 Globe, 214, 215, 252-254 
 Haymarket, 66, 144, 147, 149, 
 182, 195, 219. 240 
 ,, Holborn, 232 
 
 
 3 J 
 
 Theatre, Liverpool, Alexandra, 250 
 ,, Liverpool, Prince of Wales's, 
 
 167, 169, 188, 190 
 ,, Lj'ceum, 44, 183 
 
 Manchester T. R., 253 
 Marylebone, 61-64, 73 
 Old Queen's, 65, 66, 68, 69 
 Olympic, 41,44, 45, 54, 55, 183 
 Prince of Wales's, 66, 171, 
 193-196, 203. 217, 236, 242, 
 244, 261, 276, 294, 298 
 Princess's, 182, 196, 197 
 Plymouth T. R., 74 
 Regency, 66 
 Rochester, 74 
 Royalty, 183 
 Sadler's Wells, 45, 47 
 St. James's, 183, 196, 198, 
 
 219, 241, 286, 287 
 Strand, 45, 77, 78, 80, 83, 182 
 Surrey, 73 
 ,, Toole's, 58, 266 
 ,, Windsor, 74 
 ,, Woolwich, 61, 74 
 
 " Theatrical Types," 87-143 
 
 " The Battle of Life," 35 
 
 The Boy's Own Magazine, 84 
 
 "The Cantab," 77, "83 
 
 " The Chevalier de St. George," 53 
 
 " The Clockmaker's Hat," 53 
 
 The Comic Xcics, 84 
 
 "The Corsican Brothers," 81 
 
 "The Cricket on the Hearth," 34 
 
 " The Duke's Daughter," 53 
 
 "The Fast Coach." 42 
 
 The Glowworm, 84 
 
 "The Golden Fleece," 182 
 
 " The Gold-seeker of Mexico," 53 
 
 "The Half-Caste,"53 
 
 "The Haunted Man," 35 
 
 The Illustrated Times, 84, 87, 143 
 
 " The Jacobite," 72 
 
 " Tlie Ladies' Battle," 53, 241 
 
 "The Lady of Lyons," 78 
 
 7'Ae Liverpool Porcupine, 84 
 
 "The Merchant of Venice," 71 
 
 " The Nightingale," 255-261 
 
 "The Sea of Ice," 53 
 
 " The Seven Poor Travellers," 63 
 
 "The Star of the North," 52 
 
 "The Stranger," 30, 62 
 
 " The Vicar of Wakefield," 295 
 
 The Wag, 84 
 
 " The Wandering Minstrel," 70 
 
 The Welcome Guest, 84 
 
 '• The Wonder," 6, 26 
 
 " The Young Widow," 21 
 
320 
 
 INDEX 
 
 Thomas Moy, 145 
 
 Thorne, Thomas, 182 
 
 "Three Weeks after Marriage," 182 
 
 "Tom and Jerry," 2, 8 
 
 TomStylm, 166, 169, 173 
 
 "Toodles," 72 
 
 Toole, J. L., 266 
 
 Torquay, 279-285 
 
 Turner, Godfrey, 85 
 
 "Used Up," 182 
 Utrecht, 36 
 
 " Vauxhall," 83 
 Vestris, Madame, 44, 54, 179 
 Vezin, Hermann, 145 
 Vining, George, 182, 196 
 Vining, Miss Fatiny, 47 
 " Virginius," 20, 21 
 
 Wallack, W. J., 61, 62, 64 
 Wallack, Lester, 194 
 "War," 180, 286-288, 291 
 Ward, E. D., 266, 306 
 Ward, Miss Genevieve, 146 
 Warden, J. F., 70, 71 
 Waring, Herbeit, 306 
 Webster, Benjamin, 44, 166, 255, 
 256 
 
 " Which Is It ?" 252 
 
 Whittlesea, 19, 29, 33 
 
 Widdicomb, H., 183, 232 
 
 Wigan, Horace, 183 
 
 Wigan, Alfred, 166, 250 
 
 Wilkinson, Tate, 2 
 
 Williams, Barney, 72 
 
 Williams, Mrs. Barney, 72 
 
 Wilton, Miss Marie, 77, 78, 171, 173, 
 
 175, 188, 193, 206, 209 
 Wisbech, 11, 18, 27, 29, 38 
 Wood, Mrs. John, 146 
 Woodin, W. S., 81 
 Wrench, 2 
 Wrench, Mrs., 2 
 Wright, Miss Fanny, 182 
 Wright, Miss Rosina, 64 
 Wyndham, Charles, 149, 268 
 
 Yates, Edmund, 84, 87 
 
 York, 1, 2 
 
 Young, A. W., 61, 286, 288 
 
 Young, Henry, 30, 33 
 
 Young, J. F. , 266 
 
 Young Alarlow, 34 
 
 Younge, Frank, 238 
 
 Younge, Frederick, 70, 183, 193, 211- 
 
 214 
 Younge, Richard, 213 
 
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