Behind the Footlights

nds for the War Fund—The Stage Door reached—Glamour fades—The Divorce Court and the Theatre—Childish Enthusiasm—Old Scotch Bo

rl as she sat one day opposite her father,

put down his pen, cast a scrutinising gla

o on the s

, such a delightful offer—to play a girl’s part in th

that she was speaking seriously. Then he took the letter she held out, read it most carefully, folded

llowing you to play in priv

from her eyes, and her lips tremb

great career opening before me. I wan

ore grave than ever

been to your first ball; you know not

arn, and inte

s in the papers, when at one jump you expect to gain the position already attained by some great actress. What you do not see, however, is the hard work, th

ible struggle could there be

g

to make your surroundings happy, that at the moment when I hoped you were going to prove a companion and a comfort, you announce the fact that you wish to

our seemed to be rolling away like mist before her eyes, while glor

you are twenty-one, for then you can do as you like; but nearly four years stretc

all of us when our nearest and dearest appear to understand

ld be enjoying herself, taking upon her shoulders cares and worries which I have striven for years to avert—therefore I must save you f

to indignation, indignation to emotion, and the

—her father the late Dr. George

asure, and, finally, of my own free will abandoned the girlish determination of becoming an actress. Wild dreams of glory and success eventually gave place to more rational idea

and an injudicious word then would have sent me forth at a tang

are certainly numbers of boys and girls who think the stage is strewn with pearls and diamonds. All the traditions o

ion they dine off gold, wear jewels, laces, and furs, hear the applause of the multitude—and are happy.

struggling on the lower rung, while hundreds fall out weary and heart-sore before passing even th

r a woman (1829). She was related to Sarah Siddons and John Kemble, a daughter of Charles and Fanny Kemble, and yet no dramatic fire burned in her veins. She was short and plain, with large feet and hands, her only charm her vivacity and expression. Ruin was imminent in the family when the

nvulsively together, and the tears I in vain endeavoured to repress well

upon the stage to-day who fe

back. But I never really completed any studies in my youth, and in these days of ke

folk some time during the course of their existences. It is scarcely strange that such should be the case, for both hold their mystery, both have their excitements, and man

se, and there are some who have longed for the “back cloth” to be lifted also, that they might peep behind. In the

own expression, therefore one can only generalise, for it is imp

g

ancashire. Charles Dickens often stayed there when acting for some charity in Liverpool. Samuel Lover was a constant visitor at the house, as also the great American tragedian, Charlotte Cushman. Her beautiful sister Susan (the Juliet of her Romeo) married

prefer private

private theatricals, consent was given, “provided,” as he said, “you paint the s

d with. It gave an enormous amount of work

one of our tiny company. Sweethearts, Mr. W. S. Gilbert’s delightful little comedy, was chosen for the performance, but at the last moment the girl who should have played the maid was taken ill. Off to Queen’s College, where I was then a pupil, I rushed, dragged Maud Holt—who became Mrs Tree a

ang charmingly, and read voraciously. In those days she was a great disciple of Brownin

day. On the Friday before that day she saw announced in the Daily Mail that a new poem by Rudyard Kipling on the Transvaal war theme would appear in the Tuesday issue. This she thought would be a splendid opportunity to declaim a topical song at the

Street with her elbows on the table she read and re-read it several times. This, she thought, might bring grist to the war mill. Into a hansom she j

remarkable that I think if recited in your Hall nightly it would

manager’s ha

pounds a week

ecite it every evening, and hand ove

s way to accepting the offer on his own responsibility

she recited “Pay, pay, pay.” There never have been such record houses at the Palace either before or since, and at the end of ten weeks she handed over[Pg 10] a cheque for ￡1,000 to the fund. Nor was this all, large sums were paid into the collecting boxes

t of the curtain, to the real thing behind. How little the audience entering wide halls, proceeding up pile carpeted stairs, sweeping

ouse than to fairyland. Rough men lounge about outside, those scene-shifters, carpenters, and that odd list of humanity who jostle each othe

airs than Turkey carpets. Inside this little bureau sits that severe guardian of order, the stage door keeper. He is a Pope and a Czar in one. He is a

It is no portal to a palace. The folk hanging about are not arrayed in velvets an

re plenty of good men and women in the profession, men and women whose friendship it is an honour to possess. M

ility, nor obtain the notoriety of the Divorce Court, neither being creditable nor essen

ith the population of the country, which is over forty millions. But then of course the Divorce Court is only the foam; the surging billows of discontent and unhappiness lie beneath, and about six thousand judicia

so, whatever may be said for or against the morality of the stage, the Divo

ven children sometimes wax warm over theatrical folk. Once I

he asked excitedly, when the

a great frie

about him,” she excl

you want

he is like a real prince; we save up our pocket-money to buy

y you all adore

h! doesn’t he look too beautiful in his velvet suit as——? He is young and handsom

. B. C. is not tall—in fact, he is quite short.” She l

sallow! but he is handso

nk he is abou

. B. C. fifty-two. Oh no. You are chaff

is grey,” I

ed. “Not grey? O

truthfully,” I replied. She stood silent for a

t married

en married for fiv

crestfallen I felt

at school be surprised! Are you quite, quite sure he is

, clever and charming, and he works hard, but he is no lover in velvet and jerkin, no hero

e this child that there are only p

4] puritanical person—who once informed me, “T

ed, amazed y

ns there, ma’am, and it’s morbid to discuss emotions and just sil

k the theatre a h

ng to make thunder for amusement as the good God does to sho

e, but fearing to hurt her feelings, I merely smiled, wondering what the old lady would say

I ventured to ask, not wishing to d

ord fo

bazaars, and did not mind a little flutter over raffles, and on one occasi

just alone, ma’am, wi’ a piano, so there was no harm in that,” added the[P

ubject, I asked her how

bad, the Lord’s agin us the year; but

the best of the lack of potatoes, as that was a punishment from above; but sh

stage was as amusing as the absurd

outh or sensual old age, and handsome men are pestered with them from old maids, or unhappily married women. Some curious epistles are

a sample

g of the kind, and had never even seen the man), “so I went[Pg 16] home happy—oh so happy. I have sent you some roses the last two nights, and felt sorry you did not wear them. Is there any flower you like better? I hardly dare presume to ask you for a meeting, but if you only knew how much I adm

as! some women—write again and again, send flowers and presents

ond ring was tied up in the bunch—those glittering stones began

he met her evil genius, died lately in poverty and obscurity. The world had scoffed at her and turned aside,

with it a sting,

professions. Its[Pg 17] very publicity spells mischief. There is the horrid man in all audiences who tries to make love and ogle pretty

afely are doubly to be congratulated, for the man who meets temptation and holds aloof is surely a f

probably require less knowledge and training

paste” work in journalism, rough housework, or to “walk on” on the stage; but oh! what an amount of work and experience is necessary to ensure a satisfactory ending, more particularly upon th

ood hearts and true; while hard work, patient enduranc

a man; but a man oft

g

uch a sensitive creature, why he is generally in the highest spirits or deepest depths of woe, why he is full of moods and as varying as a weathercock.

I., when a French Company which numbered women among its players crossed the Channel, and craved a hearing from Queen Henrietta Maria. One critic of the time called them “unwomanish and graceless”; another sai

he boxes at four shillings, the cheapest the gallery at one shilling. Ladies wore masks at the play, probab

rbances. In those days folk arrived in sedan chairs, and their noisy footmen were allowed free admission to the upper gallery to wait for their lords and ladies, added to which the orange girls called their wares and did a brisk trade in c

(much the same post as the Lord Chamberlain now holds) to correct these abuses. All actors, mountebanks, etc., had to submit their play

pened his eyes to his own selfishness, his own greed of wealth, his harshness to a child, or indifference to a wife. There is no doubt about it, the stage is a great power, and that is why it is so importan

a correspondent, ‘the tickets are enclosed in envelopes, and in this form are sold to the public. The scheme has proved a great success, especially among the working classes, whom it was meant to benefit. To prevent ticket speculators making a “corner,” the principle of one ticket for

on a piece that is public poison. Some queer plays teach splendid moral lessons—well and good; but some strange dramas drag t

ow & Grove, B

RESS FORD IN “MERRY

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