Part 12
In the ordinary course the original Paula would have been Winifred Emery, but the expected arrival of one of her daughters robbed her of the chance. The choice at the time was very limited, actresses of prominence all being engaged. It happened, however, {205} that at the Adelphi a young and handsome lady of no long stage experience, named Mrs. Patrick Campbell, was acting in a drama by G. R. Sims. There were doubts whether the methods of an actress who had graduated at the Adelphi were suitable to the St. James's, but Pinero suggested to Alexander that they should see what impression she produced upon them in a talk with her in a room. The interview took place, and after it Pinero told Alexander that, if she would act on the stage as she talked in his office, he felt pretty sure that she was the woman for the part. But her engagement was dependent on her release by the management of the Adelphi. Word promptly came that this was refused, and once more the author of the play and the manager of the St. James's were up to their necks in difficulties. Pinero then proposed to Alexander that he should wind up the matter by engaging Miss Elizabeth Robins, who had lately made a striking success in Ibsen's _Hedda Gabler_, and he proceeded to do so.
As was the custom then, the date and hour were fixed for the author to read his play to the actors and actresses who were to represent it. Alexander was engaged to have luncheon that day in Portland Place, and Pinero arranged to call for him on his way to the theatre. As {206} he drove up in a hansom, Alexander came out of the house in a state of great excitement, crying out: "We can get Mrs. Campbell!"
It appeared that he had only just heard from her that, thanks to pressure put upon them by G. R. Sims, the managers of the Adelphi had consented to release her. On reaching the St. James's Theatre, Pinero said to Alexander: "Look here; this is your job. I will go for a walk in St. James's Park and come back in half an hour to read my play either to Miss Robins or Mrs. Campbell, as it may turn out."
Alexander went to his room, rang the bell, asked if Miss Robins had arrived, and on learning that she was in the theatre requested her to come and see him. She soon entered, holding the book of the play. Alexander told her that an unexpected condition of things had arisen. He would put his cards on the table. Did Miss Robins know that the part of Paula had been first offered to Mrs. Campbell, who, in fact, had been engaged to play it? He was answered: "Yes." Alexander then said: "She has been set free, and is in the theatre. What am I to do?"
Pointing to the book in her hand, Miss Robins replied: "Mr. Alexander, this is the chance of my life. It is also the chance of {207} Mrs. Campbell's life. She is a friend of mine, and I will not take the chance from her."
It was, in my opinion, a great mistake on Alexander's part to add the cares of the London County Council to the management of an important theatre. The strain, I have no doubt, shortened his life, which was of great service to his calling.
[Sidenote: Sir Frank Benson]
"Alec" was always my good friend; and when he summoned a meeting of the leading actors and managers in 1916, the year the Shakespearean Tercentenary was to be celebrated at Drury Lane Theatre, he put the matter so strongly to those assembled that there was no gainsaying his suggestion that I should there and then be invited to speak the address on the occasion if, as he hoped, I would undertake the task. It was no mean effort, and I am afraid that egotism is again fast getting the better of me and urging me to print the result of my labour. My excuse is that the event had national importance: a dramatic episode being the knighthood conferred by the King on Frank Benson, who had given the best years of his life to spreading the love of Shakespeare throughout the land.
Here is the address:
"I am proud, indeed, that it was thought {208} fitting by my comrades to give me the unsought honour, on this great day, of addressing you on their behalf. I thank them for the privilege with all my heart, and promise to bear in mind the wise counsel of Polonius, 'brevity is the soul of wit!' I can only speak from my point of view. There are debts which can never be paid in full; there is homage which never can be amply rendered; there is love no tongue can truly tell. All these are Shakespeare's. As every tribute must fall short of what is really due, I resolved to speak my own words--the best in my power to frame--rather than be but the echo of an abler brain.
"In my early days in theatreland, with the audacity of youth, I acted many characters in Shakespeare's plays and then laid some budding leaves of a modest chaplet at the shrine of the master whose works have made the stage eternal. Now, in my old age, I rejoice in the remembrance that I have been what William Shakespeare was--an actor. With a boundless prodigality he has enriched this England which claims his birth--the dear land he loved so deeply and called:
'This fortress built by Nature for herself, This precious stone set in the silver sea.'
"We owe to Shakespeare the most alluring, the most entrancing creations in our mother-tongue. How much poorer should we be if we lacked the imperishable charm of those {209} Princesses of the drama--Juliet, Rosalind, Ophelia, Beatrice, Viola, Miranda, Portia, Imogen, Desdemona, and Cordelia. They are not withered by age, nor stricken by decay. The Angel of Death passes them by. They are celestial and immortal. What joy that mighty pen must have given for three hundred years to the gifted women who have portrayed those matchless heroines.
"As Shakespeare is 'for all time,' so is he for all men the 'guide, philosopher, and friend.' From whom can even monarchs surer look for majesty? Who so inspires the statesman with true patriotism? Who so teaches the gentleman his conduct; the preacher simple piety; the soldier chivalry and courage? Who gives the poet nobler themes; the painter loftier models; the lover sweeter idols; a son such sound advice? Who so plainly tells the player of his faults? and by whom is youth so upheld by hope, or declining years so soothed with consolation?
"I remember well a visit I paid upon a dusky evening to Westminster Abbey. As I walked beneath its stately roof, to the sounds of the organ, twilight shadows were cast down the sacred aisles. It seemed easy under such influence to believe the legend that, while writing the awful scene between Hamlet and his father's ghost, Shakespeare passed a long night alone within those hallowed walls. In the fading light I looked upon the monument {210} in Poets' Corner and read the lines from _The Tempest_ as they are inscribed there:
'The cloudcapt towers, the gorgeous palaces, The solemn temples, the great globe itself, Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve; And like the baseless Fabric of a Vision Leave not a wrack behind.'
What grandeur, what pathos, are in the words; but we will not believe them--at least not of him. The lustre--the undying lustre--Shakespeare's transcendent genius has shed upon the world marches down the ages undimmed by time."
I lately came across a tribute to Shakespeare which provoked alike my admiration and surprise: the author being that brilliant wit and humorist, Douglas Jerrold. These are his words:
"The great magician who has left immortal company for the spirit of man in his weary journey through this briary world--has bequeathed scenes of immortal loveliness for the human fancy to delight in--founts of eternal truth for the lip of man to drink, and drink--and for all time to be renovated with every draught."
[Sidenote: Charles Wyndham]
Of that accomplished and delightful comedian, Charles Wyndham, there are bright thoughts of the happiness he gave to playgoers {211} during an exceptionally prolonged career. Its only blemish, indeed, was its length, when the inevitable decay, which at last declines to be warded off, became manifest towards the end.
His early successes were made at the Criterion Theatre, in plays of an amusing and frivolous kind, such as _The Great Divorce Case_, _Pink Dominoes_ and _Betsy_. These were followed by far better work, of a higher kind, and the production of those admirable comedies by Henry Arthur Jones, _The Case of Rebellious Susan_ and _The Liars_.
I confess to having thought, had I remained longer on the stage, how happy I should have been to have played some types of those delightful, helpful, elderly men, who often make life pleasanter to the young, and were so perfectly acted by Wyndham.
He retained his youthful appearance until late in life: the preservation of his "figure" was amazing, and he remained a good walker to the end, but never carried a cane.
To recall a peculiarity of his hard working days, I have frequently known him stop at a post office and scrawl a hurried letter or send a telegram to himself, as a reminder of something important that he had to remember or to do.
The memory of Charles Wyndham should {212} always be held in high regard for his unbounded generosity and devoted service to the Actors' Benevolent Fund. It was a pleasure and a privilege to me to propose that Lady Wyndham should be chosen to follow in his footsteps as its president.
Charles Hawtrey was a very old friend. We knew him first at his father's well-known preparatory school for Eton, where I sent my son. The next phase came soon afterwards, when he confided to us his wish to go upon the stage; a wish my wife and I at once encouraged. This appeared a little before we commenced our Haymarket career with a revival of Lord Lytton's comedy, _Money_. We said he could appear as a young member in the club scene, with a few lines to speak. Hawtrey enthusiastically accepted the offer. Unfortunately, an illness prevented its fulfilment, or he would have been the companion of Fred Terry in making his first appearance on that eventful evening.
Our paths in life, both on and off the stage, were much asunder, but we were always the best of friends, and I remember with pleasure a strong wish he expressed, during one of our meetings at Marienbad, when a scheme was on foot to build a theatre for him in the Haymarket, that he might christen it "The Bancroft." {213} My wife and I were sorry when the scheme fell through.
He leaves the happiest memories to his shoals of friends--from the early days, of _The Private Secretary_; the middle stage, of _Lord and Lady Algy_ and _The Man from Blankley's_; to end, with the gay maturity of _Ambrose Applejohn's Adventure_,--and laughter all the way.
Charles Hawtrey was the actor I have alluded to who had the widest knowledge of the Bible of any layman I have known.
[Sidenote: John Hare]
My intimate and affectionate relations, both private and professional, with John Hare make me a little shy of writing about him with the warmth his long and brilliant career upon the stage deserves. I was his oldest professional friend, having been a member of the company he first joined. In the following year my wife offered him an engagement, and for ten years he was prominent among the attractive company of the old Prince of Wales's Theatre. No young actor was, perhaps, so fortunate as himself, appearing as he did in three such successive and distinctive character parts as Lord Ptarmigant, the sleepy old Peer in _Society_, Prince Perovsky, the courtly Russian diplomat in _Ours_, and Sam Gerridge, the humble gasfitter in _Caste_. The delicacy and finish of Hare's {214} acting was of great service to the Robertson comedies, in all of which he appeared.
When he left us it was to enter into friendly managerial rivalry. I applauded the step as a wise one on his part; but, after so many years of close intimacy, I felt the wrench. From that moment the dressing-room he and I had shared knew me no more, and I found a lonely corner on another floor.
And a friendly rivalry it was. If we had our _Diplomacy_, he had his _Olivia_, a delightful play, in which Ellen Terry made so conspicuous a success and Terriss laid the firm foundation of his fine career. My sole disappointment in connection with this beautiful production was that Hare had not plucked up the courage to attack the part of the dear old Vicar himself.
It is not for me to dwell upon his career, which was always to the credit of his calling, or enumerate his successes, only naming Pinero's brilliant works, _The Notorious Mrs. Ebbsmith_ and _The Gay Lord Quex_. In the first of them Mrs. Patrick Campbell clinched her previous triumph; in the second Irene Vanbrugh seized the opportunity of rushing to the front, where she has remained ever since.
On an occasion when Hare proposed my health in distinguished company, it was pleasant {215} to listen to words which were too flattering to allow of their repetition.
[Sidenote: Meissonier of our stage]
I am inclined to say that Hare's best and most complete individual work was his delightful portrait of old Benjamin Goldfinch in _A Pair of Spectacles_, a performance which gave us something of the simplicity and benevolence of the immortal Samuel Pickwick. I think of Hare, in all he did, as the Meissonier of our stage.
{216}
X
ONE OTHER EMPTY CHAIR
"If we really love those whom we lose, We never really lose those whom we love."
The time has come for me to offer my apology for this book. In my lonely, but not unhappy, old age, the most void of all the Empty Chairs which now surround me is the one so long filled by my partner for more than fifty years.
Let me begin by saying that the foundation of our fortunes was due, solely, to her courage in gallantly deciding that danger was preferable to dullness, and in producing _Society_, the first of the Robertson comedies, against adverse advice and the fact that the manuscript had been "turned down" by the leading London managers of the day. It may be that the brave decision was also pleasant to her because at the time our mutual attachment was steadily ripening, and, although the part she was willing to take was not prominent, the character which would fall to my lot was a good one and likely to advance my position, if I played it well.
{217}
[Sidenote: The return to Nature]
To the exceptional and startling success upon production of Robertson's five delicate little comedies, and to the frequently-recurring revivals of them, we owed much. They appeared just when they were wanted to revive interest in the drama. Nature was Robertson's goddess, and he looked upon the bright young manager as the high-priestess of the natural school of acting.
When the prolific fountain ceased, through the early and untimely death of Robertson, the choice of plays until the end of our career was left to me. I was honoured and helped by implicit confidence in my judgment; no word of rebuke passed her lips for a mistake, no word of praise was withheld when it was thought merited. No spark of professional jealousy was born to her; she always loved to act with the ablest and best equipped of her comrades. She had no place for the more sordid side of life, and was as free from extravagance as she was indifferent about money. Her life from childhood was passed in the service of the public until I thought the time had come for it to be less strenuous.
It may be that for the early withdrawal from triumphant scenes of the great gifts of so famous an actress I was to blame--if blame there was. I plead excuse in a painful {218} remembrance of pitiful words, written by a powerful pen, on lingering too long upon the stage; words which drew the sad picture of a much-loved servant of the public clinging to the faded chaplet won as its idol in earlier days; of clutching at the withered trophy after the time had come for its graceful surrender to youth and promise, and before the admiration once so showered upon her should be replaced by indulgence--indulgence to be followed by compassion, compassion in its turn by indifference. Indulgence--compassion--indifference. The mere utterance of such words causes one pain. Twilight in art--as in nature--must be mournful: surely a sweeter picture is the splendid sinking of an early autumnal sun.
It will mean happiness to me to lay a few flowers at her feet, gathered in the gardens of those who knew and loved her. So I have asked three dear friends, a man of letters, a dramatist, and an actor, to help me in that task.
[Sidenote: Macready and the child]
The first tribute is from the pen of W. L. Courtney:
"MY DEAR B,--
"I gladly avail myself of the opportunity you give me to pay a tribute to the memory of Lady Bancroft.
"She herself has told us the sort of impression she made on those around her when she was {219} a child; and because that early verdict passed on her is singularly prescient, it is worth recalling. Macready is the first witness. Marie Wilton--to use her maiden name, which was soon to be famous on the stage--acted the parts of the boy Fleance and the apparition of a child in the caldron scene to Macready's Macbeth at the close of his career, and was invited by the great actor to visit him in his room. 'Well,' he said, 'I suppose you hope to be a great actress some day. And what do you intend to play?' The answer came at once: 'Lady Macbeth.' 'Oh, is that all! Well, I like your ambition. You are a strange little thing and have such curious eyes. But you must change them before you play Lady Macbeth, or you will make your audience laugh instead of cry.' The story shows that Macready had quickly noticed two things about the child. Her eyes, which were not so much curious as unusual and always alive, were laughing, merry, twinkling eyes, the eyes of one who would never allow her outlook on the world to be other than genial and good; who could bear misfortune with as much courage as good fortune. He had noticed also what was almost the first thing that the spectator observed about Marie Bancroft's performance in almost every one of her parts, and that was the inscrutable fashion in which she at once established the best relations with her audience. It was in its way a little bit of {220} magic, the secret of which she retained. The effect was irresistible. She came down to the footlights, or stayed where she was, without movement, and instantly flashes of mutual goodwill passed between her and the audience, even before the musical tones of her voice were heard. Sometimes, as with an actress like Eleonora Duse, time has to elapse while she is, so to speak, making herself at home. Marie Bancroft had undoubtedly what I have called a little bit of magic. Whatever the part that she was to play, there was always the comfortable feeling when she was on the stage that everything was going well, and that success was practically assured. In the series of her parts in the Robertsonian drama she was, of course, helped by the author's knowledge of her and of her temperament; but whether she was a schoolgirl or supposed to be grown up; whether the part belonged to the upper or the lower levels of society: in every case sympathy was instantly linking her with the eager and attentive house. She no sooner came than she saw what was wanted, and she conquered with what seemed consummate ease and economy of effort. I have never seen an actress who more rapidly and easily made her presence known on the stage as a gracious, winsome, affectionate creature, filled with human kindness, and always ready to believe the best of people and of things.
[Sidenote: Dickens and the girl]
"And so the judgment of Charles Dickens is {221} established as surely as that of Macready. 'I really wish,' said Dickens in a letter to John Forster, 'I really wish you would go to see _The Maid and the Magpie_ burlesque at the Strand Theatre. There is the strangest thing in it that I have ever seen on the stage. The boy Pippo, by Miss Marie Wilton, while it is astonishingly impudent--must be or it could not be done at all--is so stupendously like a boy and unlike a woman that it is perfectly free from offence. I have never seen such a curious thing; the manner, the appearance, the levity, impulse and spirits of it are so exactly like a boy that you cannot see anything like her sex in association with it. I call her the cleverest girl I have ever seen on the stage in my time, and the most original.' That is, of course, a tribute to her cleverness, which made her the best of burlesque actresses. If Macready's judgment refers to the seriousness of her ambition, Charles Dickens calls attention to her extraordinary versatility, her power of identifying herself with any part she assumed, and the rapidity with which she comprehended all that was implicit in it. Of the burlesques of those days Marie Wilton was the acknowledged queen, inspiring the whole of the silly or serious business with her inimitable gaiety and amazing ability.
"The more general the sympathy an actress possesses with human nature, the wider will be her interpretation of a part. We talk {222} about building up a character. It is only saying in other words that the primary duty of the heroine in a play is to make us understand, not only what she is in the play, but what she might be under other conditions. The extraordinary thing about Marie Bancroft, when she left burlesque for modern comedy, is that from the first she interpreted the character she was representing in the largest, most sympathetic manner, as having an inner nature or temperament of much more subtle value than came out in the actual presentation. Superficially, the characters of Polly Eccles and Naomi Tighe--both great favourites with Marie Bancroft--can be easily described. They are bright, garrulous, happy creatures, full of fun, quick in tongue, responsive to humour, and always amusing to watch. But as we left the theatre, after seeing her act them, we were aware that they are something more. Behind the drolleries of Naomi Tighe beats an extremely warm heart, a genuine comradeship, and an especial love, of course, of her dear friend, Bella. But in Polly Eccles there was still more. I was always surprised to think that Marie Bancroft should have preferred the schoolgirl Naomi to the high-hearted, devoted friend who was Polly Eccles, in whom we have touches of a fuller personality than could be found either in Naomi or in Mary Netley of _Ours_.
[Sidenote: The fulfilment]