Behind the Footlights

ady—No Games, no Holidays—A Party at the Haymarket—Miss Ellaline Terriss and her First Appearance—Seymour Hicks—Ben Webster and Montagu Williams—The Sother

eable little lady—who, like Mrs. Kendal and Miss Terry, may be said to have been born in the theatre—is the only daughter of Samuel Sanderson Emery, a we

t-grandfather was also an actor, so she is really the fourth generation to adopt that profession, but her

Maude, lessee with Mr. Frederick Harrison—not the worl

and the necessity of being always up to the mark at a certain hour every day is, sh

an omnibus. One particularly cold night she jumped into the two-horse vehicle and huddled herself up in the farthest corner, thinking it would be warmer there than nearer the door in s

tell yer; I

ll; she couldn’t have got ou

ll yer; just loo

ther

aughing and fun, and that ’

thoroughly tired and w

g

he had ever been placed in any

roud of the honour. We reached Chicago. Louis XI. was the play. In one act—I think it was the second—I went on as usual and did my part. Having finished, as I thought, I went to my room and began

ight, I

ving is wait

? Why, the act i

the boy, pushing open the door. ‘Mr. Irv

enes as Marie in that act, and usually waited in the

ow & Grove, B

D MR. CYRIL MAUDE IN “

. On the stage was poor Mr. Irving walking about, talking—I know not what. On I rushed, said my lines, gave him my lobst

e to his room. In fear

le,’ he said. ‘Ho

but I forgot,’ I said, and my tears

kindly, ‘but please don

his clever little lady the c

time to play, and when I was sixteen years old I had to keep myself and

int, old-fashioned little creatures, and s

azle, an exact replica of the one reproduced in this volume, and which Mrs. Maude wore when playing that part, while the younger was to be dressed as a Dutch bride, also a copy of one of Miss Emery’s dresses in

was settled that the two little people should be arrayed with the exception of the final touches, and then driven round b

y time she went on the stage, running back to her dressing-room between the scenes, to drop dow

tume of the youn

got on your m

gs—all my very own; but it’s mother’s gold cap, and mother’s earrings, and mother’

mother was relating wonderful stories of her precocity to an a

ing I said,[Pg 51] mamma,” evidently wis

. Maude’s, and the way the elder one attende

surrounded by her family, perfectly content in their society. She is in every sen

ols, and is a most enthusiastic old Carthusian. So is General Baden-Powell, whose interest in the old place went so far as to make him spend his last night in England among his old schoolfellows at the City Charterhouse when h

and solemnly, long stick in hand, takes part in the ceremony at

ents did not[Pg 52] approve of such a proceeding, he commenced his theatrical career in America, where he went through many vicissitudes. He

e nights in the train, with a little straw mattress for my bed, and a small tin can to hold my food. They were somewhat trying experiences, yet most interesting, and gave great opp

dder, and has worked his way industriously up to his present position, which he has he

rmance. When he was a boy of eighteen his family took a house at Dieppe for s

him for three or four weeks, he asked m

g

ien,’ I

gravely, ‘I am quite sure you have not the slightest idea how to act; so, my boy, you had better put such a ridi

ning I just wondered if there were not some way by whic

he name of Bishop, a nice young fellow

and call upon the Pasteur, with the ostensible view of sending another nephew to his excellent establishment. Overjoyed at the

Pasteur was delighted, took me upstairs, showed me all the rooms, and made[Pg 54] quite a fuss over me. Then he called ‘my nephew,’ who nearly gave the show away by choking with laughter when I affectionately greeted him with a chaste salute. This was the only part of the business I did not really enjoy! As we

de, madame,

I might like to discuss with her, and to my horror I was left closeted with madame, nervously fearing she might touch on subjects fit o

ockney French intonations, which was not in the least difficult, as my own French was none of the brightest. The Pasteur turned round, looked hard at me for a moment, and then went back

s, c’était vous la

accepting her second nephew as a pupil, and arranging all the de

luncheon party at their pretty house in Egerton Crescent, where they then lived. The host certainly looked ridiculously young to

arried out on a small scale, with trees in the gardens in front, trees in the b

bottom of a man’s top hat, but yet wicked enough to do a vast amount of damage, for it had that morning pul

o get rid of the theatre in the summer, for besides having eight performances a week of The Man?uvres of Jane at that time—which was doing even better business at the end of nine months than it was at the beginning—those unfortun

was spent gazing at Miss Ellaline Terriss, who

ied for eleven years, with the proudes

been marrie

e to believe that such could be the case. Hard work seems to agree with some peopl

it was quite ridiculous to see the small child already showing inherited talent. She was calm and

aby,” nodding her head at the other small[Pg 57] thing of si

ix-year-old. But when I asked he

arnt yet, but

g forward to some weeks’ holiday wh

is not a necessity,” she said. “I have so much dressin

a wedding to which they had just

ngs, but I always regr

t would be worse than the Mormons. H

usband, but I want to be the bride.” At

re never happy unless you a

torted; “women always a

oy, who, aged about seven, was to go to a wedding as a page in

g

he had officiated twice before. Something he said leading

o busy looking at the bride th

ll gentleman ind

to look at me, then I don’t

rtain amount of vanity eve

ehearsal, and it is not until I have got on my stage clothes that it ceases to be a troubl

udied and work is looming ahead, whereas now I have six months of complete idleness in front of me. It is splendid to have time to tidy my drawers in peace, ransack my bookshelves, see to a hundred

endal wrote, “I’ve had ten days’ holiday[Pg 59] this

’s holiday in a twelvemonth, while one of the most successful actresses of modern times has to be content with ten days d

ack scene and Suffolk Street are almost identical. Mrs. Maude, with a dear little girl on either side, received her friends, and an interesting group of friends they were. Every one who was any one seemed to have been bidden thither. The stage was, of course, not large enough for this goodly throng, so a great staircase had been built down from the footlights

g

t periwigs and old stage coaches would have disappeared in favour of closely-cut heads, electric broughams, shilling hansoms with C springs and rubber tyres, or motor cars? What would he have thought of the electric light in place of candle dips and smelling lamps? How surprised he would have been to find neatly coat

a merry twinkle in his eyes, with a sound of tears in his voice, and it is this combination, doubtless, which charms his audience. He is a low comedian, a character-actor, and y

g

d, plays began at any time, the waits between the acts were of any length, and general disorder reigned in the candle and oil-lighted theatres—a disorder to which a few visitors did not materially add. All is changed nowadays. The play begins to the minute, and ends with equal regularity. Actors do not fail to appear without d

a charming hoste

eluctantly at the appointed time, and the stage carpenters streamed in. Away went the palms, off came the bunting, down came the sta

a boyish man and a girlish woman, in the best sense of lighthearted youthfulness, yet they have a record of successes behind them, of which many well advanced in years might be proud. No daintier, prettier, more piquan

en grandparents, and Mrs. Hicks is no exception, for she is the daughter of the late well-known actor, William Terriss. She was not origin

across the room, and thus made a stage, and on the preceding night informed a few friends of the morrow’s performance. The news greatly astonished my father, who laughed. I daresay he was secretly pleased, though he pretended not to be. A couple of months passed

e up at once. Play Cupid

r, and Miss Freke’s dress was too large for me. The whole affair seemed like a dream. However, I am happy to say Mr. Tree stood by and saw me act, and I secured the honour of a ‘call.’ I played for

ws how much sweeter money seems when acquired by one’s own exertions. Five-pound notes have come thick and fast sinc

ughter to follow his own calling. But talent will out. It waits its[Pg 64] opportunity, and then, like love, asserts itself. The opportunity came in a kindly way; the talent was there, an

To go through the same lines, the same songs, the same dances, to look as if one were enjoying oneself, to enter into the spirit and fun of the representation, was indeed a

ereoscopic Co., Lt

RS. SEYMO

y, but his own taste did not lie in that direction, and when only sixteen and a half he elected to go upon the stage, and five years later was playing a principal light comedy part at the Gaiety Theatre. Like his wife, he has been several times in America, where both have met with success, and whe

ses, whose lives are necessarily so public, love the quiet of the country coupled with plenty of exercise when able to take a change. The theatre is bare

o plead in court, he was given an appointment as magistrate. I only remember meeting him once—it was at Ramsgate. When walking along the Esplanade one day—I think about the year 1890—I found my father talking to a neat, dapper little gentleman in a fur coat, thickly muffled about the throat. He introduced his friend as Montag

ion part to his sister in the Scrap of Paper, then on tour. He had often acted as an amateur; and earned some little success during his few weeks’ professional engagement, so that when he returned to town and found Montagu Williams removed from active prac

leman, and a decidedly obstinate one. On one occasion his obstin

n and Churchill were outside the room where he lay, and the

r old Ben going at last,” and he sadly

the bed, where old Ben was sitting bolt upright. “

but from that moment h

so to speak, and took to the profession as naturally as ducks to water, w

of an engagement to play at the Scarborough Theatre in Dundreary and Garrick, and had secured a house near us. Naturally I spent much of my time with my girl friend, and we used often to accompany her father in a boat when he went on his dearly-loved fishing expeditions. Never was there a merrier, more good-natured, pleasanter gentleman than this actor. He was always

, and considerable anxiety was felt as to what could have become of him. His eldest son, Lytton, since dead, appeared especially distressed. He had been down to the shore to inquire of the boatmen, but nothing could be heard of his father. We finished our meal—Mr. Sothern’s having been sen

me in a cab; the stage manager popped his head into our box to inquire if the missing hero had by chance arrived, the orchestra struck up, but still no Mr. Sothern. It was a curious experience. The “gods” became uneasy, the pit began to stamp, the orchestra played louder, and at last, dreading a su

sually spick-and-span, carefully groomed Mr. Sothern, with his white locks drippin

ed through the opposite wing. Immense relief and some amusement kept the audience in

wing that Sothern was terribly fatigued and had eaten but little food, he tore a small hole in the canvas which composed the wall of the room, and, peeping through, saw to his horror that the actor was fast asleep. This was an awkward situation. He called him—no response. The poor man on the stage still gagged on gazing anxiously behi

t not only might he not be able to keep his appointment at the theatre, but was in peril of ever getting back any more. He made all sorts of mental vows never to go out fishing again when he was due to play at night;

r. Frohman. His is a name to conjure with in theatrical circles on that side of the Atlantic, and is be

to be no rehearsal in progress all was still except at the box office. I ga

rge writing-table[Pg 71] sat Mr. Frohman. He rose and received me most kindly, and was full of questions concerning the Kendals and oth

that?”

atest Hamlet in America, the

“for although ‘Eddy’ was somewhat older, he used often to come to the nursery in Harley Street to

the great success of young Edward Sothern, for of c

ing been arranged, the attendant who conducts one thither rings a bell to inform the great man that his visitor is about to enter. Mr. Frohman was interesting

“as Americans are in London, and the same may be said

ance, Sir Henry Irving, Miss Ellen Terry, Mr. and Mrs. Kendal, Mr. Weedon Grossmith, Mr. E. S. Willard, Miss Fay Davis, Madame Sarah Bernhardt, Miss Winifred Emery, Mr. Cyril Maude, Miss Ellaline Terriss, Mr. Seymour Hicks, Mr. and Mrs. Beerbohm Tree, Mr. W. S. Gilbert, Mr. Anthony Hope, Mr. A. W. Pinero, a

sition at the head of affairs. On the whole, American theatres are smaller than our own, the entire floor is composed of stalls which only cost 8s. 4d. each, and there is no pit. In the green-room, halls, and passages Mr. Frohman pointed out with evident delight various pictures of Booth as H

re many more, including Dion and Nina Boucicault, whose parents were a well-known theatrical couple, George and Weedon Grossmith, the so

cradled in the profession. They were “mummers” in the blood, if one may be forgiven the us