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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..0232b6b --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #66222 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/66222) diff --git a/old/66222-0.txt b/old/66222-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 717fb83..0000000 --- a/old/66222-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,8187 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of Mrs. Siddons, by Nina A. Kennard - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: Mrs. Siddons - -Author: Nina A. Kennard - -Editor: John Ingram - -Release Date: September 5, 2021 [eBook #66222] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -Produced by: Nick Wall and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at - https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images - generously made available by The Internet Archive) - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MRS. SIDDONS *** - - - - - - _Eminent Women Series_ - - EDITED BY JOHN H. INGRAM - - MRS. SIDDONS. - - (_All rights reserved_) - - - - - MRS. SIDDONS - - BY - MRS. A. KENNARD. - - LONDON: - W. H. ALLEN & CO., 13 WATERLOO PLACE, S.W. - 1887. - - (_All rights reserved._) - - LONDON: - PRINTED BY W. H. ALLEN AND CO., 13 WATERLOO PLACE, S.W. - - - - -PREFACE. - - -In spite of Mrs. Siddons’s professed shrinking from the celebrity that -biographers would confer upon her, and her preference for the “still -small voice of tender relatives and estimable friends,” we know that she -bequeathed her Memoranda, Letters, and Diary to the poet Campbell—an -intimate friend during her latter years—with a request that he would -prepare them for publication. How, with the ample material at his -command, Campbell wrote so bad a life, it is difficult to conceive. He -seemed conscious himself that he was not doing justice to his subject. -The task of finishing it weighed on him like a nightmare. To secure -himself from interruption he would fix a placard on the door of his -chambers announcing that “Mr. Campbell was engaged with the biography of -Mrs. Siddons, and was not to be disturbed.” - -Though performing the task unwillingly, he stubbornly refused to allow -anyone else to attempt it. When Mrs. Jameson contemplated writing a life -of the great actress he was most indignant, and expressed himself as -unable to understand how Mrs. Combe (Cecilia Siddons) could patronise a -life of her mother by Mrs. Jameson, knowing that he had been appointed -the biographer. - -Boaden’s account of Mrs. Siddons is sketchy and meagre, and his style, -if possible, more pedantic and ponderous than Campbell’s. Crabb Robinson -declared it to be “one of the most worthless books of biography in -existence.” - -In writing an account of a woman like Mrs. Siddons, or, indeed, of -anyone whose life has been passed entirely before the public, it is -necessary to divest the character as much as possible of the legendary -traditions adhering to it. It must be brought down into the regions of -ordinary life, and the only way to accomplish this is to transcribe her -actual words and expressions written without thought of publication. We -must therefore ask our readers to forgive us for quoting so many of her -letters in full. When we attempt to shorten or interpolate, all their -easy charm and freshness seems to evaporate. - -Mr. Percy Fitzgerald, in his _Lives of the Kembles_, has incorporated -Mrs. Siddons’s history with that of her brother, John Kemble, and written -by far the best biography yet done of the great actress. To him we must -express our deep obligation, and almost our contrition, for venturing to -treat a subject already so ably handled in his interesting volumes. We -must also express our gratitude to Mr. Alfred Morrison and Mr. Thibaudeau -for allowing us to make use of the valuable documents contained in the -Morrison collection of autograph letters. - - NINA A. KENNARD. - -February, 1887. - - - - -CONTENTS. - - - PAGE - - CHAPTER I.—PARENTAGE AND CHILDHOOD 1 - - CHAPTER II.—MARRIAGE 18 - - CHAPTER III.—“DAVEY” 33 - - CHAPTER IV.—WORK 48 - - CHAPTER V.—SUCCESS 67 - - CHAPTER VI.—DUBLIN AND EDINBURGH 81 - - CHAPTER VII.—CLOUDS 95 - - CHAPTER VIII.—LADY MACBETH 115 - - CHAPTER IX.—FRIENDS 130 - - CHAPTER X.—1782 TO 1798 149 - - CHAPTER XI.—SHERIDAN 172 - - CHAPTER XII.—HERMIONE 186 - - CHAPTER XIII.—SORROWS 202 - - CHAPTER XIV.—WESTBOURNE FARM 216 - - CHAPTER XV.—RETIREMENT 239 - - CHAPTER XVI.—OLD AGE 255 - - - - -MRS. SIDDONS. - - - - -CHAPTER I. - -PARENTAGE AND CHILDHOOD. - - -The lax morality prevailing in England at the time of the Restoration, -produced a literary and dramatic school of art suited to the taste of the -public. Congreve wrote _Love for Love_, and coolly remarked, when accused -of immorality, “that, if _it_ were an immodest play, he was incapable of -writing a modest one.” - -The reaction from the almost overstrained energy and chivalry of the -Elizabethan age, which a century of Stuart rule effected in the minds of -Englishmen, had brought them thus low. Manners were looked upon as better -than morals. Scepticism as better than belief, as well when it concerned -the tenets of the Bible as the honour of their neighbours’ wives. - -The stage—especially when the public has no other intellectual outlet—is -invariably the test by which we can discover the moral condition of a -country. When that condition is unnatural and feverish, proportionally -artificial and stimulating must be the mental food presented to it, until -the audience gradually becomes incapable of digesting any other. The -want at the end of the seventeenth century produced the supply. A drama -arose which was polished, dainty, finished in detail, but from the stage -of which virtue was excluded like a poor relation, who, clad in fustian, -and shod with hob-nail boots, is not supposed to be fit company for -profligate gentlemen in gold-embroidered coats and lace ruffles. - -Shakespeare was too strong food for the digestive capacities of an age -whose poets preferred falsehood to truth. Pepys speaks of _Henry VIII._ -as a simple thing made up “of a great many patches.” _The Tempest_, he -thinks, “has no great art, but yet good above ordinary plays.” _Othello_ -was to him “a mean thing,” compared to the last new comedy. He is good -enough, however, to allow that he liked or disliked _Macbeth_, according -to the humour of the hour, but there was a “_divertissement_” in it, -which struck him as being a droll thing in tragedy. - -The fiery energy of Pitt was needed to galvanise the paralysed -enthusiasm, the fanatical earnestness of John Wesley was needed to -arouse the deadened moral sense of England. Religion and patriotism come -first as important factors in the education of a people, but they are -closely followed by poetry and the drama. If Pitt and Wesley did much to -elevate the political and religious tone, as much was done to elevate the -literary and dramatic by Samuel Johnson, Oliver Goldsmith, David Garrick, -and Sarah Siddons. - -Our readers may be inclined to think we exaggerate the importance of the -stage, by thus classing poets and players together; but if we wish to -appreciate the influence wielded by players a hundred years ago, we have -but to examine the careers of these last two great artists; and if we -wish to appreciate the moral reform effected, we have but to turn to a -list of the plays in vogue at the time of the Restoration and the plays -in vogue twenty years after Garrick had been acting, and ten years after -Sarah Siddons’s first appearance. - -The reaction came, as do all reactions, with too great intensity; vice -was not only punished in its own person, but the sins of the father -were visited on the children, with a harshness almost Semitic. Through -the fine-spun sentiment of _The Fatal Marriage_, and the melodramatic -heroism of _The Grecian Daughter_, two of Mrs. Siddons’ greatest parts, -we trace the high moral tone that cleared away eventually the foul and -noisome atmosphere hanging over the theatrical world. Gloomy morality and -dramatic pathos paved the way for the return of the _Winter’s Tale_ and -_Hamlet_. - -Justly are the memories of David Garrick and Sarah Siddons revered -by Englishmen, not only because they devoted their genius to the -reinstatement of England’s greatest dramatist, but that, also, by their -strict adherence to an almost rigid decorum in public behaviour and -private life, they raised a profession that had hitherto been despised -and looked upon as one unbefitting a modest woman, or an honourable man, -into a position of respectability and consideration. - -That these two great artists had faults, who can wonder? No reformation -was ever yet accomplished by the flaccid-minded ones, and we must -remember that many of the stories told of his vanity and meanness and her -hardness and reserve, were circulated by their enemies on and off the -stage, because of their very rigidity and morality. In spite, however, of -some passing clouds, never was there a career so admired, a personality -so adored in public life, as that of Mrs. Siddons. Whenever she appeared, -enthusiastic applause rang through the house, not only on account of her -pre-eminent genius, but because of her untarnished private character. -Step by step we propose to trace the career of this wonderful woman, -who, dowered with singular beauty and genius, and placed amid all the -temptations of a profession in which so few of her sex remain pure, has -shown an example of unswerving rectitude and religious fervour, unusual -in any walk of life, keeping her to the last a “great simple being,” -direct and truthful, noble and industrious. She had faults, as we have -said, but they were so far outbalanced by her virtues that we can -well afford to forgive them; always remembering that, though only the -daughter of a strolling actor, born amidst the lowliest surroundings, she -conceived an ideal of her art which enabled her to raise the stage of -her country, from consisting simply in the delineation of the coarsest -gallantry, into a source of the highest moral and artistic instruction. - -Far from the strife of political parties or the vagaries of fashionable -dramatists, both she and Garrick, with whose name we have coupled hers, -were born in the romantic country of Wales: he at Hereford; she in the -small town of Brecon, by the shores of the river Usk. The following copy -of her certificate of baptism, from the register-book in St. Mary’s, -Brecon, is given in the _Gentleman’s Magazine_ in 1826: “Baptism, 1755, -July 14th, Sarah, daughter of George Kemble, a commedian (_sic_), and -Sarah, his wife, was baptised. Thomas Bevan, curate.” Her father’s name -was “Roger,” not “George,” as given above. The young couple’s theatrical -wanderings happened to bring them, at the time of Mrs. Kemble’s -confinement, to the little Welsh town, where they had put up in the High -Street at a public-house familiarly called “The Shoulder of Mutton.” In -1755 the inn was a picturesque gable-fronted old house, with projecting -upper storey, exhibiting as sign-board a large shoulder of mutton. It -was much frequented by the farmers on market-day for its good ale and -its legs of mutton, which might regularly in those days be seen roasting -before the kitchen fire, on a spit turned by a dog in a wheel. - -Brecon is not without dramatic and historic interest, and, as Mrs. -Siddons afterwards was fond of pointing out, is several times mentioned -by Shakespeare. Buckingham, in _Richard III._, says: - - Oh! let me think on Hastings, and begone - To Brecon whilst my fearful head is on. - -Sir Hugh Evans also, that “remnant of Welsh flannel,” in the _Merry Wives -of Windsor_, was curate of the priory of Brecon in the days of Queen -Elizabeth; and from the intimacy which existed between Shakespeare and -the priors of the priory, Campbell tells us, “an idea prevails that he -frequently visited them at their residence in Brecon, and that he not -only availed himself of the whimsicalities of old Sir Hugh, but that he -was indebted for much of the romantic setting of the _Midsummer Night’s -Dream_ to the surrounding scenery, where Puck and his fairy companions -are familiar household words, one of the glens in the neighbourhood -being named Cwm Pwca, or the Valley of Puck.” Be this as it may, we -cannot wonder at Mrs. Siddons’ desire to connect the places that played -important parts in her fortunes with the name of the great poet whom she -honoured so devotedly and so well. - -Roger Kemble, father of the little girl, was the manager of a strolling -company of actors, his theatrical “circuit” including the counties of -Staffordshire, Gloucestershire, and Warwickshire. He was born in Hereford -in the year 1721, and it was said that he began life as a “barber.” John -Kemble, when convivial, would sometimes allude to this fact; but, indeed, -in those days many actors are said to have been “barbers,” the fact being -that, when strolling, it was sometimes found convenient for one of the -company to combine the two professions. He was a Roman Catholic, and -was fond of tracing his descent from an old English family, claiming as -ancestors a Captain Kemble, who fought at Worcester in the camp of the -Stuarts, and a Father Kemble, who died for the faith a few years later. - -Her mother was a Miss Ward, daughter also of an actor and manager of -a strolling company. Peg Woffington, when only fifteen, played at his -theatre in Auniger Street, until Mr. Ward’s strait-laced severity drove -the wild young Irish girl away. The Wards seem, indeed, to have been -almost Methodistical in their strict religious views. The following -inscription may be seen on their tomb at Leominster: - - Here, waiting for the Saviour’s great assize, - And hoping through His merits hence to rise - In glorious mode, in this dark closet lies - - JOHN WARD, GENT., - Who died Oct. 30th, 1773, aged 69 years; - - Also - SARAH, HIS WIFE, - Who died Jan. 30th, 1786, aged 75 years. - -Mrs. Siddons was, therefore, 31 before her grandmother died. Tough, -vigorous races, both Kembles and Wards, full of religion and prejudices, -which they kept intact until they died. On one side we see the great -actress inherited Irish blood. John Ward was an Irishman, and Sally, his -daughter, was born in Clonmel. Roger Kemble, a member of Ward’s company, -aided by his good looks, courteous manners, and fine black eyes, won the -heart of Sally Ward. The father strongly objected to the match; but, -finding opposition of no avail, at last reluctantly consented, making -the hackneyed joke—afterwards attributed to Roger Kemble himself, on -the occasion of Sarah’s marriage with Siddons—that “he wished her not -to become the wife of an actor, and she had certainly complied with his -request.” - -The young couple were married at Cirencester in the year 1753. Sarah was -their first child. John Philip, the second, was born two years after his -sister, at Prescott in Lancashire. They had ten brothers and sisters, -and, although all of them—except those who died in very early youth—went -on the stage, none reached the pre-eminence of the two eldest. They were -an intelligent, industrious family, blossoming into genius in one member -and very remarkable talent in another. As Roger Kemble was a Catholic and -his wife a Protestant, it was agreed that the girls were to be brought up -in the mother’s faith, the boys in their father’s. - -The accounts given us of Mrs. Siddons’ childhood are meagre; but, from -numerous memoirs and racy theatrical reminiscences, we can see what the -life of the travelling actor in England a hundred years ago was like, -with all its accompaniments of squalor and humiliation. In these days, -when actors and actresses of no very great eminence are whirled about -in first-class express carriages or in special trains from place to -place, it is difficult, in spite of accurate information, to realise the -hardships attending the profession then. The travelling from town to town -in all weathers, in carts little better than those constituting a gipsy -caravan; the parading through the streets, offering play-bills and puffs. -A resident of Warwick—Walter Whiter, the commentator on Shakespeare—when -Mrs. Siddons had “become known all the world over,” recalled as one -of the sights of his boyhood in the town, the daylight procession of -old Roger Kemble’s company, advertising and giving a foretaste of the -evening’s entertainment. A little girl, the future Queen of Tragedy, -marched with them in white and spangles, her train held by a handsome boy -in black velvet, John Philip Kemble, of the “all hail hereafter.” - -It is almost impossible to conceive the ignominy the company was -subjected to, when either the mayor of the town—which was often the -case—had forbidden theatrical representation, or when, owing to -the pranks of some rowdy members of the troupe, the feeling of the -inhabitants was aroused against them collectively, and they were obliged -to cringe and supplicate for a renewal of the favour of the changeable -and narrow-minded provincials. - -Enough of the Puritan spirit still remained to induce Government to -frequently place restrictions on the representations of the “Servants -of Belial.” A story is told of the Kemble company evading the tax -on unlicensed houses, introduced by Sir Robert Walpole, by selling -tooth-powder at a shilling a box, and giving the ticket; a proceeding -which reminds one of the old smuggling trick of selling a sham sack of -corn, and making a present of the keg of brandy placed within it. - -The representations of these strolling actors, FitzGerald tells us, -took place sometimes in a coach-house or barn, or sometimes in a room -of an inn; even the open inn-yard, with its galleries running round, -was now and then converted into a theatre. All sorts of old clothes and -decorations were borrowed, a few candles stuck in bottles in front, and -then the play began. Very often the proceeds did not cover expenses, and -either debts were made or the owner of the inn let them go scot-free in -consideration of the amusement they had afforded his guests. - -The shifts and tribulations, related later by the Kembles themselves, -seem almost incredible. Stephen Kemble, the wittiest of the family, -described with great humour a season of privation in a wretched village, -where the unfortunate actors could not muster a farthing, and were -in consequence dunned and abused by their landladies. To avoid their -persecution he lay in bed two days, suffering the pangs of hunger, and -then was obliged to take refuge in a distant turnip-field, where he -persuaded a fellow-actor to accompany him by boasting of the hospitality -and size of the establishment. - -In one town the theatre was said to have been built, the stage in -Sussex, the audience in Kent, the two being divided by a ditch, so as -to enable the players to evade their bailiffs by escaping into another -county. There is a certain humour and tragedy running through all -these theatrical histories, that makes us laugh at one moment at the -comical incidents related, and makes us sad the next to think of men of -talent—often men of genius—being subjected to such degradation. - -It is difficult to understand how Sarah and John Kemble can have emerged -from it so untainted by its associations, and so far above its social and -artistic aims and ideals; or how their stately manners and stem ideas -of morality and decorum can have been fostered in such an atmosphere. -In blaming them, perhaps, later, for what their detractors called their -“closeness” about money matters, we must remember that the years of -suffering and privation they had been through, and the very laxity they -saw around them, was likely to crystallise strong natures like theirs -into hardness and rigidity, exaggerating, perhaps, their ideas of -theatrical dignity and self-respect. - -There can be no doubt, in spite of all its drawbacks, that, from a -professional point of view, the Bohemian existence of the strolling -comedian was a valuable discipline for artistic perception. The intimate -communion in which all lived together, gave much more chance of expansion -to rising genius than the artificial barriers now erected between the -leader of a company and his subordinates. Not only was the freemasonry -existing between underling and superior invaluable, but also the course -of probation before country audiences, who, uninfluenced by prestige or -fashion, spoke their mind without reserve. Young recruits, who arrived -ignorant and raw, thus obtained the necessary ease of deportment and -knowledge of stage effects, uninfluenced by preconceived ideas. The very -fact, also, of so much depending on the individual excellence of the -actor, independently of scenery and accessories, was a valuable stimulus. -His expression, his action, had to tell the story. - -In passing his earliest years upon the stage, the strolling actor -obtained a power of identification with theatrical representation only to -be thus acquired. The atmosphere he breathed from his earliest years was -dramatic. When quite a child, Sarah Kemble was announced as an “Infant -phenomenon,” at an entertainment the company gave. As she appeared, some -confusion arose in the gallery which overpowered all her attempts. Her -mother immediately led her down to the footlights, and made her recite -the fable of _The Boys and Frogs_, which at once lulled the tumult and -restored good humour. Thus early was the actress taught to dominate her -audience, an art that stood her in good stead in after life. - -Besides this early theatrical training, Sarah received as good an -education in the ordinary rudiments of learning as it was possible for -her energetic mother to obtain for her. Mrs. Kemble sent her child to -respectable day schools, we are told, in the country towns to which their -various wanderings brought the troupe. At Worcester, a schoolmistress -of the name of Harris received her among her pupils at Thornloe House, -refusing to accept any payment. An old lady, living not long ago, -recalled perfectly the contempt of the young girls in the establishment -for the “play actors’ daughter,” until, some private theatricals being -set on foot, her histrionic taste and experience made her services -extremely valuable. She won universal popularity by exhibiting a device -for imitating a “sack back” with thick sugar-loaf paper procured from the -grocer. But this education must have been desultory, for Roger Kemble -could not afford to dispense with the girl’s assistance. - -Besides the appearance mentioned above, we hear of her acting as a -child, in a barn at the back of the “Old Bell Inn,” at Stourbridge, -Worcestershire, when some officers quartered in the neighbourhood gave -their services. It is said that she burst into laughter at the most -tragic moment, and inflamed to fury the military tragedian who acted with -her. The play was _The Grecian Daughter_. Another tradition tells us that -her first appearance in a regular five-act piece was as Leonora in _The -Padlock_. - -A play-bill of one of these early performances was found not long ago, -pasted on a brick wall in a shoemaker’s shop, in one of the country towns -of the Kemble circuit. - -Campbell tells that Roger Kemble determined not to allow his children to -follow his vocation; we think, however, this statement must be bracketed -with the legend of the ancestor at the battle of Worcester, for we -find him, as we have seen, making Sarah appear when almost a baby, and -taking John away from a day school at Worcester, while still in frock -and pinafores, to act in Havard’s tragedy of _Charles the First_. The -characters were thus cast: James, Duke of Richmond, by Mr. Siddons, who -was now an actor in Kemble’s company; James, Duke of York, by Master John -Kemble, who was then eleven years old; the young princess by Miss Kemble, -then about thirteen; Lady Fairfax, by Mrs. Kemble. Singing between the -acts by Mr. Fowler and Miss Kemble. In the April following, we again -find “Mr. Kemble’s company of Comedians” appearing in “a celebrated -comedy,” called _The Tempest, or the Enchanted Island_, with all the -scenery, machinery, music, monsters, and the decorations proper to be -given, entirely new. “The performance will open with a representation -of a tempestuous sea (in perpetual agitation), and storm, in which -the usurper’s ship is wrecked; the wreck ends with a beautiful shower -of fire; and the whole to conclude with a calm sea, on which appears -Neptune, poetick god of the ocean, and his royal consort, Amphitrite, -in a chariot drawn by sea-horses, &c. &c.” It was in this performance, -as Ariel, Chief Spirit, that, at the age of thirteen, Sarah made her -first success. “She darted hither and thither,” we are told, “with such -airy grace; there was something so sprite-like in her free swiftness of -motion, she seemed to be so entirely a creature born of the loves of a -breeze and a sunbeam, that the whole audience broke into frantic applause -at the end of the play, and her proud happy father began dimly to foresee -his daughter’s future.” - -Later, we find a performance by the company of _Love in a Village_ -announced, the names printed thus:— - - Sir William Meadows, by Mr. K—mb—le. - Young Meadows, by Mr. S—dd—ns. - Rosetta, by Miss K—mb—le. - Madge, by Mrs. K—mb—le. - Housemaid, by Miss F. K—mb—le. - -In the November following, John Philip was sent to Sedgely Park near -Wolverhampton, a Catholic seminary. A short entry has been discovered -in the College books, stating that “John and (_sic_) Philip Kemble came -Nov. 3rd 1767, and brought 4 suits of clothes, 12 shirts, 12 pairs of -stockings, 6 pairs of shoes, 4 hats, 2 _Daily Companions_, a Half Manual, -knives, forks, spoons, _Æsop’s Fables_, combs, 1 brush 8 handkerchiefs, 8 -nightcaps.” - -“Jack abiit, July 28, 1771.” - -After four years’ residence here, his father sent him to the English -College at Douai, to pursue a regular divinity course, his intention -being to put the future Coriolanus into the priesthood. - -Sarah still continued her studies, such as they were, at the various -towns at which the “comedians” pitched their tent in their wanderings to -and fro. She was taught vocal and instrumental music, and her father, -remarking that she had fine natural powers of elocution, wished them -cultivated by regular tuition as a part of her education, with no view -to the stage; for this purpose he was tempted to enter into an agreement -with an individual named William Combe, to give her a course of lessons. - -The itinerant players were generally looked upon as a valuable addition -to the inn parlour, and were welcome to a supper or a pot of ale in -return for their society and amusing talk. It was on one of these -occasions that Roger Kemble, who was a jovial and popular companion, met -Combe, and was so attracted by his clever conversation, as to engage -him as instructor to his daughter. Mrs. Kemble, evidently a woman -of considerable common sense and penetration, refused to ratify the -appointment, however, and Roger was obliged to get out of his promise by -giving a performance for the benefit of the adventurer, who, having run -through a fortune, was perfectly penniless. - -To the last day of his life William Combe entertained a rancorous -dislike to the great actress, and took pleasure in telling his friends -maliciously how sordid her early life had been, and how he himself -remembered her, when a girl, standing at the wing of a country theatre, -beating snuffers against a candlestick to represent the sound of a -windmill, in some rude pantomime. - -Curiously enough, Milton’s poetry more than Shakespeare’s was the object -of Sarah’s admiration in her youth. When but ten years old, Campbell -tells us, she pored over _Paradise Lost_ for hours together. The long, -tiresome speeches between Adam and his wife, Satan’s address to the -sun—most children’s despair—were her delight. The stately, ponderous -verse suited her genius. The poet also gives us a story which, he tells, -Mrs. Siddons left amongst her memoranda. - -One day her mother promised to take her out with a party of friends -picnicking in the neighbourhood. She was to wear a new pink dress, if the -weather were fine. On going to bed the evening before the great event, -she took her prayer-book with her, and opening it, as she supposed, at -the prayer for fine weather, fell asleep with the book folded in her -arms. At daybreak the child found, to her dismay, that she had been -holding the prayer for rain to her breast, and that the rain—Heaven -having taken her at her word—was pelting against the windows. She went to -bed again, with the book opened at the right place, and found the mistake -remedied. When she awoke the morning was as rosy as the dress she was to -wear. - -Croker thinks it necessary, with all the weight of his authority, to -refute this childish reminiscence, by pointing out that the prayers for -rain and fine weather are on the same page of the prayer-book. We repeat -the story principally because it shows the quaint methodistical piety and -almost childish superstition which dwelt with Mrs. Siddons all through -her chequered career. There is little doubt this piety was greatly owing -to the principles inculcated by her mother. - -Mrs. Kemble was a stately, austere woman, with a certain amount of -genius and much force of character, and energetic and brave in her -humble sphere of life, in most difficult circumstances. She fought by -the side of her husband a hard battle with poverty, and maintained and -educated a family of twelve children. Spartan in her views of training -youth, her imperious despotism of character has often been described -as absolutely awful. It was the custom of the time to rule a household -with some sternness, but her children trembled in her presence. In later -days she addressed a characteristic reproof to her son John: “Sir, you -are as proud as Lucifer.” He and that majestic mother of his must indeed -have been a Coriolanus and Volumnia in every-day life. Her voice had -much of the measured emphasis of her daughter’s, and her portrait, the -only one we know of, that always hung in Mrs. Siddons’ sitting-room, -had an intellectual, almost grand expression, reminding us more of a -good-looking Elizabeth Fry, with the tight-fitting frilled cap, and soft -muslin handkerchief crossed around the throat, than what one might have -pictured Sally Kemble, the strolling actress. Though extremely handsome -when Roger Kemble first married her, and subjected to all the temptations -of an actress’s life, she never wavered in wifely devotion, and would -maintain to the last day of her life that in some parts her Roger was -“unparalleled.” Hers is the only testimony to that effect, and we rather -imagine him to have been a very indifferent actor, but a handsome -good-tempered man with the manners of a gentleman, and views of life -beyond his humble profession. - -Proud, reserved, John Kemble paid, years after, the best tribute to his -memory, when, on hearing of his death, he wrote to his brother from -Madrid, on 31st December 1802: “How sincerely I always loved my father -and respected his sound understanding, you know too well for it to be -necessary that I should even mention what I feel this moment, on opening -your letter. God Almighty receive him into His everlasting happiness, -and teach me to be resigned and resolute, to deserve to follow him -when my appointed hour is come. My poor mother, though I know she will -exert becoming firmness of mind in this, and every passage of her life, -cannot but feel a melancholy void in losing the companion of her youth, -the associate of her advancing years, and the father of her children. -I regret from the very bottom of my heart that I cannot, with the most -dutiful affection, assure her, at her feet, that what a grateful son -can offer and do shall never be wanting from me to promote her content -and ease and happiness. How, in vain, have I delighted myself in -thousands of inconvenient occurrences on this journey, with the thought -of contemplating my father’s cautious incredulity while I related them -to him! Millions of things, uninteresting maybe to anybody else, I had -treasured up for his surprise and scrutiny! It is God’s pleasure that he -is gone from us. The resignation I had long observed in him to the will -of Heaven, and his habitual piety, are no small consolation to me; yet I -cannot help feeling a dejected swelling at my heart, that keeps me in a -flood of tears for him, in spite of all I can do to stop them.” - - - - -CHAPTER II. - -MARRIAGE. - - -As Sarah Kemble passed from childhood to early womanhood, she continued -to act the round of all the company’s plays, taking more important parts -as she grew older. The very atmosphere she breathed was dramatic. To walk -the stage was a second nature to her. She was not, however, at the same -time shut out from common-place every-day matters. She helped her mother -in the household work, and went from a rehearsal to the making of a -pudding or the darning of a pair of stockings. There is little doubt that -this free mixing in the simple family life of her home gave a healthy -balance to her mind. Like her mother, she always kept her domestic life -intact in the midst of her professional occupations, and ever remained -simple and womanly. Her fine friends in later days would tell how they -had found her ironing a frock for one of her children, or studying a new -part while she rocked the cradle of the last baby. - -At the age of sixteen, Sarah’s beauty had attracted the attention of -her audiences. One or two squires of the county places they visited -offered her their homage; but before she was seventeen her affections -were already engaged by a member of the troupe, an ex-apprentice from -Birmingham. - -We have already seen the name of Siddons figuring on the Kemble -play-bills, when Sarah was only thirteen years of age. We can imagine, -therefore, all the opportunities that the young people had of falling -in love, rehearsing together, acting together, with the continual -communion of interest brought about by their profession. No wonder that -even Mr. Evans, a Welsh squire, with three hundred a year, who, enslaved -by Sarah’s singing of _Robin, Sweet Robin_, offered her his hand, was -ignominiously refused. Her parents, however, took a different view, and, -allured by the splendour of Mr. Evans’s offer, revoked the unwilling -consent they had given to their daughter’s engagement to Siddons, and -summarily dismissed him from the company. - -The indignant lover had recourse to a method of revenge that seems as -novel as it was ungentlemanly. Being allowed a farewell benefit, he -took the opportunity—it was at Brecon—of taking the audience into his -confidence, and, in doggrel of the worst description, informed them of -his woes:— - - Ye ladies of Brecon, whose hearts ever feel - For wrongs like to this I’m about to reveal, - Excuse the first product, nor pass unregarded - The complaints of poor Colin, a lover discarded. - - Yet still on his Phyllis his hopes were all placed, - That her vows were so firm they could ne’er be effaced; - But soon she convinced him ’twas all a mere joke, - For duty rose up, _and her vows were all broke_. - - Dear ladies, avoid one indelible stain, - Excuse me, I beg, if my verse is too plain; - _But a jilt is the devil_, as has long been confessed, - Which a heart like poor Colin’s must ever detest. - -We only give three verses of the eleven, being as much, we think, as our -readers could submit to with patience. - -How a girl of any spirit could forgive a lover for thus exposing their -private affairs, and how a girl of any artistic appreciation could -forgive a lover such bad verses, and take him back into her good graces, -is more than we can understand. Mrs. Kemble, her mother, seemed to take -the most correct view of the situation, for, instead of excusing “the -first product” of the luckless poet, “his merits tho’ small,” she amply -rewarded with a ringing box on the ears as he left the stage. - -Jones, a member of Roger Kemble’s company, preserved some verses written -by Sarah to her lover, which show her to be as superior to him in taste -and poetic perception, as she afterwards proved herself in dramatic -power:— - - Say not, Strephon, I’m untrue, - When I only think of you; - If you do but think of me - As I of you, then shall you be - Without a rival in my heart, - Which ne’er can play a tyrant’s part. - Trust me, Strephon, with thy love— - I swear by Cupid’s bow above, - Nought shall make me e’er betray - Thy passion till my dying day: - If I live, or if I die, - Upon my constancy rely. - -Siddons sufficiently relied on her constancy, in spite of his statements -to “ye ladies of Brecon,” to suggest to his beloved an immediate -elopement, which suggestion she, as Campbell quaintly puts it, “tempering -amatory with filial duty,” politely declined, and her lover left. - -As it was considered advisable to wean Sarah from old associations she -was sent away for a time, and lived “under the protection” of Mrs. -Greatheed, of Guy’s Cliff in Warwickshire. Some have maintained that she -was nursemaid or housemaid; but the terms she was on with her mistress, -who presented her with a copy of Milton, precludes that idea, unless, -by her smartness and industry, she, within a very short period of her -engagement, worked herself into a better position. Campbell also points -out that there were no children to be nursed in the Greatheed family -at that time. “Her station with them,” he continues, “was humble, but -not servile, and her principal employment was to read to the elder Mr. -Greatheed.” The secret history of the green room informs us that she was -maid to Lady Mary Bertie, Samuel Greatheed’s second wife; and the Duchess -of Ancaster told Mrs. Geneste she well remembered Lady Mary once bringing -this attractive attendant with her on a visit. - -It was remarked that she delighted in reciting fragments of plays for -the entertainment of the servants’ hall. Lord Robert Bertie was so fond -of listening and admiring her declamation, that Lady Mary had to beg of -him to desist, and “not encourage the girl to go on the stage.” Young -Greatheed told Miss Wynn later on that he had often heard Mrs. Siddons -read _Macbeth_ when she was his mother’s maid. - -Lady Mary confessed years afterwards to “Conversation” Sharp, that so -queenly was the bearing of the young girl, even at that early age, that -she always felt an irresistible inclination to rise from her chair when -her maid came to attend her. - -We can imagine the romantic girl wandering through the lonely glades, -and amongst the stately elm-groves of Guy’s Cliff, or along the shores of -the soft-flowing Avon, Shakespeare’s Avon, that glides at the foot of the -rocks between green meadows, dreaming of her love, and reading the poet -she loved so well, whose birth-place and burial-place lay so near where -she was. She must have heard reminiscences told of the great Jubilee that -had taken place in 1769, only three years before, when Mr. Garrick and a -“brilliant company of nobility and gentry,” had come down to Stratford -to celebrate the Shakesperean centenary. She little knew then that it -was in a repetition of the Jubilee procession on the boards of Drury -Lane she was destined to make her first bow to a London audience. There -is a tradition that she met Garrick during her stay at Guy’s Cliff. It -is not impossible, as, after the Jubilee, he was a constant guest of -the Greatheeds. The statement hardly tallies, however, with his writing -sometime later to Moody to the effect that there “was a woman Siddons” -acting at Liverpool, who might suit the Drury Lane company, and asking -him to go and have a look at her. He might easily, however, have failed -to connect the girl Sarah Kemble with the woman Mrs. Siddons. - -It redounds much to the credit both of the Greatheeds and the actress, -that afterwards, in spite of the change of circumstances, Mrs. Siddons -ever remained a firm friend of the family. We find Miss Berry in 1822, -forty-seven years later, writing in her journal:— - -“Guy’s Cliff, Tuesday, Jan. 1st.—Mrs. Siddons and her daughter arrived. - -“Wednesday, 2nd.—Mrs. Siddons read _Othello_, the two parts of Iago and -Othello, quite _à merveille_.” - -We find Bertie Greatheed standing sponsor for her daughter Cecilia in -1794; and, greatest test of true friendship, writing a tragedy, _The -Regent_, which failed disastrously. - -In spite of stern parents and social obstacles, “Love will be ever Lord -of all.” William Siddons came several times to Guy’s Cliff to see her. -There, almost within sight of Shottery, where Shakespeare enacted his -love story with Anne Hathaway, Sarah Kemble enacted hers. Wandering -amidst the scented fields through which Shakespeare wandered, William -Siddons again pleaded his cause, and was forgiven his bad verses and -untimely confidences for the sake of his persistency. - -The Kembles, seeing the attachment was serious, at last gave their -consent, and in her nineteenth year Sarah Kemble became Mrs. Siddons. - -The marriage took place at Trinity Church, Coventry, November 26th, 1773, -and on the 4th of October following, the first child, Henry, was born, at -Wolverhampton. - -Mr. Siddons was just the man to fascinate a young and high-spirited -girl. Good-looking, calm, sedate, even-tempered, not over-burdened with -brain-power, and not too much will of his own. One might apply to him -what Johnson said of Sheridan’s father, “He is not a bad man, no, Sir; -were mankind to be divided into good and bad, he would stand considerably -within the ranks of the good.” “A damned rascally player,” the Rev. -Henry Bate says forcibly, “but a civil fellow.” We are told that he had -not only that invention which in provincial theatres is the first of -requisites, but he also possessed the second, a quick study, in almost -unequalled perfection. He could make himself master of the longest -dramatic character between night and night, and deliver it with the -accuracy that seems to result only from long application; but so slight -was the impression made, that it escaped from his memory in as few hours -as he had employed to learn it. It was said later, by members of his -wife’s company, that though Siddons was a bad actor himself, he was an -excellent judge, always drilling his wife, and very cross at any failure. -His position as husband of the “great Mrs. Siddons,” continually cast -into the shade by her superiority, was an unthankful one, but we must -confess that he filled it with commendable equanimity. - -Their love wore better than the tinsel finery amidst which it began. The -happy domestic life that succeeded was undoubtedly a great safe-guard -amidst the dangers and difficulties of her life, saving her from much -that is the ruin of her less protected sisters. We are told that in the -days of her success, when her would-be admirers and lovers were legion, -her husband’s ear was the one to which she confided all the incidents of -attempted gallantry, invariably attending an actress’s life; and many -were the hearty laughs they indulged in together over them. Perhaps -now and then there was too great an inclination to make use of him. We -find the poor man writing to managers as their obedient humble servant, -making piteous appeals to Garrick, and put forward to dun Sheridan for -the amount due to his wife; but at first they seem to have shared all the -trials and struggles of their profession together. - -Wolverhampton was their first stage after their marriage. The reigning -Mayor seems to have nourished a prejudice against all actors. He had -closed the King’s Head Yard, and declared contemptuously that “neither -player, puppy, nor monkey,” should perform in the town. After a popular -demonstration, he was induced to rescind this harsh interdict; and by -the Christmas of 1773, Roger Kemble was giving two stock dramas, _The -West Indian_ and _The Padlock_. Sarah appeared for the first time as Mrs. -Siddons, at a farewell “Bespeak.” An address, written by herself, and -spoken on this occasion, has been found and published by an inhabitant of -Wolverhampton:— - - Ladies and Gentlemen,—my spouse and I - Have had a squabble, and I’ll tell you why. - He said I must appear; nay, vowed ’twas right - To give you thanks for favours shown to-night. - ... - He still insisted, and, to win consent, - Strove to o’ercome me with a compliment; - Told me that I the favourite here had reigned, - While he but small or no applause had gained. - “Pen me some lines where I may talk and swagger, - Of poisons, murders, done by bowl or dagger; - Or let me, with my brogue and action ready, - Give them a brush, my dear, of Widow Brady.” - ... - First, for a father, who on this fair ground, - Has met with friendship seldom to be found, - May th’ All-Good Power your every virtue nourish, - Health, wealth, and trade in Wolverhampton flourish! - -This doggrel is almost on a par with Mr. Siddons’s effusion to the Ladies -of Brecon. - -In the year following Mr. and Mrs. Siddons made their way to Cheltenham, -then a town consisting of but one street, “through the middle of which -ran a clear stream of water, with stepping-stones that served as a -bridge.” Already, however, its merits as a watering place had been -noised abroad, and some of the “people of quality” had begun to find -their way there. Seeing the play of _Venice Preserved_ announced for -representation at the theatre, some of the fashionables took tickets, -hoping to be highly diverted with the badness of the rustic performance. -The man at the box-office, who had listened to their thoughtless remarks, -reported them to Mrs. Siddons, who was to act the part of Belvidera. The -young actress felt oppressed at the idea of the ordeal she was to be -subjected to. Ridicule was all her life the one thing the tragic muse -could not face; and from the moment of first coming on she was conscious -of the antagonistic influence in one of the boxes, and imagined she -heard sounds of suppressed laughter. She left the theatre after the -play, deeply mortified. Next day, Mr. Siddons met Lord Aylesbury in the -street, who inquired after Mrs. Siddons’s health. He then expressed -his admiration of her acting the night before, and declared that the -ladies of his party had wept so excessively that they were laid up with -headaches. Mr. Siddons rushed home to gladden his wife’s heart with the -news. The actress owed one of the truest friendships of her life to this -incident, for Miss Boyle, Lord Aylesbury’s step-daughter, came to call -on her the same day to express her delight in person, and from that time -never allowed the intimacy to drop. This lady seems to have possessed -considerable artistic gifts in several ways, having, as Campbell tells us -with much emphasis, written _An Ode to a Poppy_, which was thought full -of merit in her day. What was of more importance to the young actress, -however, than her new friend’s qualifications for writing “odes” was her -power of making costumes for different parts with her own hands, and her -generosity in supplying “properties” from her own wardrobe. There were -some, however, that even the Honourable Miss Boyle did not possess. For -the male habiliments of the Widow Brady, the young actress found on the -night of the performance that no provision had been made. The story goes -that a gentleman politely left the box where he was seated, lent her his -coat, and stood in the side-scenes with a petticoat over his shoulders -until his property was restored to him. Whether this courteous individual -was Lord Aylesbury we are not told, but we know that he was one of Miss -Boyle’s party. - -The particular fascination of Mrs. Siddons’s acting in those early days -was its simplicity and pathos, which, united with remarkable beauty and -power of expression, gained the hearts of all rustic audiences. Her -talent, however, seems to have been singularly immature, considering the -continual practice she had enjoyed, almost from her cradle, in stage -affairs. Rachel reached the summit of her power at seventeen, Mrs. -Siddons not until she was thirty. She herself confesses later, in the -account she gives of her first reading of _Macbeth_: “Being then only -twenty years of age, I believed, as many others do believe, that little -more was necessary than to get the words into my head; for the necessity -of discrimination, and the development of character, at that time of my -life, had scarcely entered into my imagination.” - -The power of drawing tears, however, was already hers, and rumours of the -charm and beauty of the young actress had been wafted to London, reaching -even the ears of the great Garrick himself. Mrs. Siddons tells us, in -her Autograph Recollections: “Mr. King, by order of Mr. Garrick, who had -heard some account of me from the Aylesbury family, came to Cheltenham to -see me in the _Fair Penitent_. I knew neither Mr. King nor his purpose -at the time.” Neither did she know of the second emissary whom Garrick -sent, the Rev. Henry Bate, who in 1781 took the name of Dudley, and was -afterwards made a canon and a baronet; a bruising, muscular clergyman of -the old school, who fought duels one moment and wrote “slashing” articles -on every subject, “human and divine,” the next. He was well known as -a theatrical censor and critic of considerable acumen. We know him by -Gainsborough’s portrait, standing in a garden with his dog. It is said -that a political opponent remarked that the man wanted “execution” and -the dog “hanging.” We find Garrick continually sending him on theatrical -errands. We give the letters he wrote about Mrs. Siddons very nearly in -their entirety, on account of their characteristic quaint humour and -shrewd power of observation; and also because they to a certain degree -exonerate Garrick from some of the charges brought against him by Mrs. -Siddons:— - - MY DEAR FRIEND, - - After combatting the various difficulties of one of the - cussidest cross-roads in this kingdom, we arrived safe at - Cheltenham on Thursday last, and saw the theatrical heroine - of that place in the character of Rosalind. Though I beheld - her from the side wing of the stage (a barn about three yards - over), and consequently under almost every disadvantage, I - own she made so strong an impression upon me, that I think - she cannot fail to be a valuable acquisition to Drury Lane. - Her figure must be remarkably fine, although marred for the - present. Her face (if I could judge from where I saw it) is one - of the most strikingly beautiful for stage effect that I ever - beheld, but I shall surprise you more when I assure you that - these are nothing to her action and general stage deportment, - which are remarkably pleasing and characteristic; in short, I - know no woman who marks the different passages and transitions - with so much variety, and at the same time propriety of - expression. In the latter humbug scene with Orlando previous - to her revealing herself, she did more with it than anyone I - ever saw, not even your divine Mrs. Barry excepted. It is - necessary after this panegyric, however, to inform you that her - voice struck me at first as rather dissonant, and I fancy, from - the private conversation I had with her, that in impassioned - scenes it must be somewhat grating; however, as I found it wear - away as the business became more interesting, I am inclined to - think it only an error of affectation, which may be corrected, - if not totally removed. She informed me she has been upon the - stage from her cradle. This, though it surprised me, gave me - the highest opinion of her judgment, to find she had contracted - no strolling habits, which have so often been the bane of - many a theatrical genius. She will most certainly be of great - use to you, at all events, on account of the great number of - characters she plays, all of which, I will venture to assert, - she fills with propriety, though I have yet seen her but in - one. She is, as you have been informed, a very good breeches - figure, and plays in _Widow Brady_, I am informed, admirably. - I should not wonder, from her ease, figure, and manner, if she - made the _proudest_ she of either house tremble in genteel - comedy—nay, beware yourself, _Great Little Man_, for she plays - Hamlet to the satisfaction of the Worcestershire critics. - - The moment the play was over I wrote a note to her husband - (who is a damned rascally player, though seemingly a very - civil fellow) requesting an interview with him and his wife, - intimating at the same time the nature of my business. You will - not blame me for making this forced march in your favour, as I - learnt that some of the Covent Garden Mohawks were intrenched - near the place and intended carrying her by surprise. At the - conclusion of the farce they waited upon me, and, after I - had opened my commission, she expressed herself happy at the - opportunity of being brought out under your eye, but declined - proposing any terms, leaving it entirely with you to reward her - as you thought proper. - - You will perceive that at present she has all that diffidence - usually the first attendant on merit; how soon the force of - Drury Lane examples, added to the rising vanity of a stage - heroine, may transform her, I cannot say. It happens very - luckily that the company comes to Worcester for the race week, - when I shall take every opportunity of seeing her, and if I - find the least reason to alter my opinion (perhaps too hastily - formed), you shall immediately have my recantation. My wife, - whose judgment in theatrical matters I have a high opinion - of, joins with me in these sentiments respecting her merit. - I should have wrote to you before, but no post went out from - anywhere near here but this night’s. - - I shall expect to hear from you by return of the post, as - Siddons will call upon me to know whether you look upon her - as engaged. My wife joins me in respects to Mrs. Garrick and - yourself. I remain, my dear Sir (after writing a damned jargon, - I suppose, of unintelligible stuff in haste), - - Ever yours most truly, - - H. BATE. - - Worcester, 12th August, 1775. - - P.S.—Direct to me at the “Hop Pole.” - - To David Garrick, Esq., Adelphi, London. - - * * * * * - - Worcester, Aug. 19th, 1775. - - MY DEAR FRIEND, - - I received your very friendly letter, and take the first post - from hence to answer it. I found it unnecessary to make the - intimation you desired to the _husband_, since he requires only - to be employed in any manner you shall think proper; and as - he is much more tolerable than I thought him at first, it may - be no very difficult matter to station him so as to satisfy - the man, without burdening the property. I saw him the other - evening in Young Marlow in Goldsmith’s Comedy, and then he was - far from despicable; neither his figure nor face contemptible. - A jealousy prevailing through the theatre, upon a suspicion of - their leaving them, the acting manager seems determined that I - shall not see her again in any character wherein she might give - me a second display of her theatrical powers. I am resolved, - however, to continue the siege till they give her something - capital, knowing _that_ must speedily be the case, or the - garrison must fall by famine. - - She has already gone _six months_, so that pretty early in - December she will be fit for service; as you certainly mean to - open the ensuing campaign, by charging in person at the head - of your lines, I conceive she will come at a very favourable - crisis to take a second command, when the retreat from the - field may be politically necessary. I am strongly for her first - appearance in _Rosalind_; but you may judge better, perhaps, - after a perusal of the list on the other side; the characters - marked under [in _italics_] are those which she prefers to - others:— - - Jane Shore. - _Alicia._ - Roxana. - _Grecian Daughter._ - Matilda. - _Belvidera._ - Calista. - Monimia. - Juliet. - Cordelia. - Horatia. - Imogen. - Marianne. - _Lady Townley._ - _Portia._ - Mrs. Belville. - Violante. - _Rosalind._ - Mrs. Strickland. - Clarinda. - Miss Aubrey. - Charlotte. - _Widow Brady._ - - You are certainly right respecting a memorandum between you; - the moment, therefore, I receive one from you, it shall be - conveyed to them at Cheltenham, where they return next week, - and they have promised to return me an answer immediately at - Birmingham, for which place I shall set off the instant I have - received your letter in any way to town, in order to conclude - this business finally, and to the satisfaction of all parties. - I am desired to request your answer to the three following - particulars:— - - 1st. As they are ready to attend your summons at any time, - Whether they are not to be allowed something to subsist upon - when they come to town previous to her appearance? - - 2nd. Whether you have any objection to employ him in any - situation in which you may think him likely “to be useful”? - - 3rd. When you chuse they should attend you? - - As to the first, without you are inclined to have them at the - opening of the house, perhaps her remaining in the country, - in their own company, where they do very well, may ease you - of some expense; but of this you must be the best judge. With - respect to him, I think you can have no objection to take him - upon the terms he proposes himself. I forgot to tell you that - Mrs. Siddons is about twenty years of age. It would be unjust - not to remark one circumstance in favour of them both; I mean - the universal good character they have preserved here for many - years, on account of their public as well as private conduct - in life. I beg you to be very particular in your answer to the - three queries, and likewise expressly to mention the time you - wish to see them, that they may arrange their little matters - accordingly. - -In a _postscript_ he adds:— - - She is the most extraordinary quick study I ever heard of. - This cannot be amiss, for, if I recollect right, we have a - sufficient number of the _leaden-headed_ ones at D. Lane - already. - -Then come letters from Siddons, in answer to some from Bate, concluding -an engagement. We can see the trembling anxiety of the young couple. -“They were in much concern,” he says, “at not hearing sooner,” as from -the line he had shown him in Mr. Garrick’s handwriting, he had been -sure of Mrs. Siddons’s engagement. They had, in consequence, given his -partners in management at Cheltenham notice of his intention to go; -if anything had happened, therefore, to prevent their engagement, it -would have “proved a very unlucky circumstance.” He then touches on a -very necessary point—their pressing need of money to tide them over Mrs. -Siddons’s expected confinement. “Mr. Garrick,” he says, “has conferred an -eternal obligation by his kind offer of the cash.” - -In his next letter, dated Gloucester, November 9th, 1775, he -writes:—“From my former accounts of Mrs. Siddons’s time, you’ll be -surprised when I tell you she is brought to bed; she was unexpectedly -taken ill when performing on the stage, and early the next morning -produc’d me a fine girl. They are both, thank Heaven, likely to do well; -but I am afraid, Sir, notwithstanding this, I shan’t be able to leave -this much sooner than the time I last mentioned.” He then alludes to -twenty pounds borrowed in Garrick’s name to meet pressing demands. - -This “fine girl” was Mrs. Siddons’ daughter Sarah, whose premature death -later nearly broke her mother’s heart. - - - - -CHAPTER III. - -“DAVEY.” - - -“Have you ever heard,” asked Garrick, in an unpublished letter to Moody, -then at Liverpool, “of a woman Siddons, who is strolling about somewhere -near you?” Four months later, by the help of the Rev. Henry Bate’s -favourable report of her powers, she made her first appearance at Drury -Lane. The Golden Gates of the Temple of Fame were thrown open. The young -priestess had but to enter, one would have thought, and light the sacred -flame; but genius is not to be bound by expediency or opportunity. - -It was in 1775, the year when Garrick gave up the management, that Mrs. -Siddons appeared on the boards of Drury Lane. She had reached the highest -point of her ambition—she was to act with the greatest actor of his time -before a dramatic audience rendered fastidious and critical by great -traditions. - -This is the most unfortunate portion of her life to recount. Failure -and disappointment attended every step she made; and this failure and -disappointment, although it did not in the least discourage her in the -prosecution of her art, hurried her into bitterness and an unjust feeling -of rancour against Garrick, which an examination of the circumstances of -the case in no way warrants. One of the Kemble weaknesses was a proud -sensitiveness to anything like slight or neglect, and these slights were -as often as not phantoms of their own imaginations. - -It gives one a mournful sense of injustice to see the charge of jealousy -she openly brings repeated by the earlier biographer who wrote about -her—when we, who have fuller light thrown upon the great actor’s life -by the publication of his correspondence, know how free he was from the -besetting sins of his craft. To be popular, a man must have the faults -of those among whom he is placed. Garrick was called stingy because he -did not throw away his money like his colleagues; stiff, because he was a -moral man amidst a laxity of manners that has become proverbial; jealous, -because he placed the honour of his art and his theatre above personal -considerations. He was an object of envy because of his unparalleled -success. The two clouds which veiled the nobility of his character—love -of money and love of fine friends—vanished like mists in the sunshine if -he were really called upon to help a case of distress or take notice of -an old friend. These faults were harped upon, however, by Johnson, Foote, -and hosts of others. Well might Garrick, in the evening of his days, -sitting on the terrace of his house at Twickenham, make the, for him, -bitter observation, “I have not always met gratitude in a play-house.” - -It was at the time, no doubt, a salve to Mrs. Siddons’s disappointment to -listen to the specious Mr. Sheridan’s insinuation of Garrick’s jealousy; -but it is a curious fact, if Sheridan were sincere in his statements, -that when he succeeded Garrick as manager he never endeavoured to -re-engage her; indeed, on the contrary, abruptly and discourteously -closed all negotiations and cancelled all agreements made both with the -actress and her husband for a reappearance at Drury Lane. - -We will allow the reader, however, to judge the story upon its own merits. - -After the favourable reports of King and Bate, Garrick, as we have seen -by the Bate letters, engaged Mrs. Siddons and her husband. The energy -that afterwards distinguished her to such an extraordinary extent was now -exhibited. - -Although not at all strong—her eldest girl, and second child, as we have -seen, having only been born on the 5th of November 1775—in the beginning -of December she began making preparations for her journey to London, no -joke in those days when, “starting two hours before day, or as late at -night,” it took three days to reach Bristol. - -Five days, Mrs. Delaney tells us, travelling over the same road the -Siddons had now to face, it took to reach her father’s place in -Gloucestershire. “Every half hour flop we went into a slough, not -overturned, but stuck. Out we were hauled, and the coach with much -difficulty was set up again.” - -Full of hope and excitement, however, the young actress, accompanied by -husband and babies, prepared for their expedition. No pilgrim approaching -the shrine of Mecca was ever more enthusiastic than she approaching the -bourne of all actors of that day, Drury Lane. Yet already, through all -her delight, we hear a note of dissatisfaction that is displeasing. -Garrick had arranged to give her five pounds a week, a munificent salary -for a beginner in those days. Mrs. Abington and Mrs. Yates only received -ten. She had heard the charge of stinginess made against him, and, -parrot-like, repeated it, without really considering if in her own case -it were true. - -We will relate the story, however, in her own words, taken from -Recollections written many years after, but full of as much bitterness as -though penned while still smarting under her reverse. - -“Happy to be placed where I presumptuously augured that I should do all -that I have since achieved, if I could but once gain the opportunity, -I instantly paid my respects to the great man. I was at that time -good-looking; and certainly, all things considered, an actress well -worth my poor five pounds a week. His praises were most liberally -conferred upon me.” We are told by Campbell that he complimented her in -this interview for not having the regular “tie-tum-tie” or sing-song of -the provincial actress. “But,” she goes on, “his attentions, great and -unremitting as they were, ended in worse than nothing. How was all this -admiration to be accounted for consistently with his subsequent conduct? -Why, thus, I believe: he was retiring from the management of Drury Lane, -and, I suppose, at that time wished to wash his hands of all its concerns -and details. However this may be, he always objected to my appearance -in any very prominent character, telling me that Mrs. Yates and Miss -Young would poison me if I did. I, of course, thought him not only an -oracle but my friend; and, in consequence of his advice, Portia, in the -_Merchant of Venice_, was fixed upon for my _début_, a character in which -it was not likely that I should excite any great sensation. _I was, -therefore, merely tolerated._” - -We here beg to mention that it can hardly be correct that Mrs. Siddons -thought she would make no impression in Portia, as she had underlined -Portia in the list she gave Mr. Bate of her favourite parts, and we find -her choosing it later as the character in which to appear before Horace -Walpole when desirous of propitiating the pitiless critic. But we will -continue to relate the unfortunate story of this period in her own words. - -“The fulsome adulation that courted Garrick in the theatre cannot be -imagined; and whosoever was the luckless wight who should be honoured by -his distinguished and envied smiles, of course, became an object of spite -and malevolence. Little did I imagine that I myself was now that wretched -victim. He would sometimes hand me from my own seat in the green-room -to place me next to his own.... He also,” she goes on, “selected me to -personate Venus at the revival of the _Jubilee_. This gained me the -malicious appellation of Garrick’s ‘Venus,’ and the ladies who so kindly -bestowed it on me rushed before me in the last scene, so that if he -(Mr. Garrick) had not brought us forward with him with his own hands, -my little Cupid and myself, whose appointed situations were in the very -front of the stage, might have as well been in the Island of Paphos at -that moment.” - -Thomas Dibdin, the Cupid on this occasion, afterwards told Campbell that, -as it was necessary for him to smile in the part of his godship, Mrs. -Siddons kept him in good humour by asking him what sort of sugar-plums -he liked best, and promising him a large supply of them. After the -performance she kept her word. This is a characteristic trait; most young -actresses under the circumstances would have been rather occupied with -the effect of their own beauty on the audience than of the smiles of -their Cupids. - -At last the day came on which her fate was to be decided. It fell in -Christmas week, 1775, and the audience present is described as “numerous -and splendid.” - -The following is a copy of the play-bill:— - - (Not acted these two years.) - By Her Majesty’s Company at the Theatre Royal in Drury Lane. - This day will be performed - - THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. - - Shylock Mr. KING. - Antonio Mr. REDDISH. - Gratiano Mr. DODD. - Lorenzo (with songs) Mr. VERNON. - &c. &c. - Then Jessica (with a song) Miss JARRETT. - Nerissa Mrs. DAVIES. - Portia, by a Young Lady (her first appearance). - -The result can best be known by the judgment of the newspaper critics. -One says: “On before us tottered rather than walked a very pretty, -delicate, fragile-looking young creature, dressed in a most unbecoming -manner, in a faded salmon-coloured sack and coat, and uncertain -whereabouts to fix either her eyes or her feet. She spoke in broken, -tremulous tones; and at the close of each sentence her voice sank into -a ‘horrid whisper’ that was almost inaudible. After her first exit, the -judgment of the pit was unanimous as to her beauty, but declared her -awkward and provincial.” - -In the famous Trial scene she regained her courage, and delivered the -great speech to Shylock with “critical propriety,” but with a faintness -of utterance which seemed the result of physical weakness rather than of -want of spirit or feeling. Another paper, who “understood that the new -Portia had been the heroine of one of those petty parties of travelling -comedians which wander over the country,” owned that she had a fine -stage-figure; her features were expressive; she was uncommonly graceful; -but her voice was deficient in variety of tone and clearness. This, -however, might be the effect of a cold or nervousness. Her words were -delivered with good sense and taste, only there was no fire or spirit -in the performance. “Nothing,” the critic ends, “is so barren of either -profit or fame as a cold correctness.” - -Knowing the Kemble failing of over-study and self-restraint, this seems a -fair enough criticism. She represented Portia again a few nights later, -but her name did not appear on the bills. She showed more confidence, and -succeeded a little better, but does not seem to have got a hold of her -audience. - -Garrick was at this time employed in mounting an abridgment by -Colman of Ben Jonson’s _Epicœne_, and trusting, we conclude, to the -statement of his friend Mr. Bate, that the _débutante_ had “a very good -breeches-figure,” he selected her for the heroine’s part. The result -was a failure. Critics complained of “the confusion, when Mrs. Siddons, -disguised in the piece as a woman, revealed herself at the end as a boy.” -The _Morning Post_, edited by Parson Bate, was the only paper that spoke -in favour of the attempt. - -The next part she was put into was by this same Bate, _The Blackamoor -White-washed_. We can see how Garrick was forced by the exigencies of -his obligations to Bate to put this play on the stage; the only mistake -he made was in subjecting the young actress to the risks and chances -of the first representation, which, in consequence of the slashing pen -and vigorous fists of its author, was not likely to be received with -unalloyed approbation. Unfortunately he did not understand the proud -timidity of the girl on whom he had laid the task. His other ladies did -not mind a rebuff, and would do anything for a critic who praised them, -as Mr. Bate had praised “Portia.” As to a theatrical riot, they rather -enjoyed it than otherwise, if it were not turned against them personally. -Though treated to many a one afterwards, Mrs. Siddons never forgot this -first experience. A band of prize-fighters, supposed to be supporters -of the parson’s, burst into the pit, and, striking out right and left, -silenced the would-be detractors of the play. On the next night both -sides mustered in force, and the scene defied description. Officers in -the boxes fought with gentlemen from the pit and galleries. The ladies -were driven from the boxes, leaving them in possession of the combatants. -Garrick, who appeared to try and appease the mob, had an orange flung -at him, and a lighted candle passed close to King, who came from the -author to announce the withdrawal of the piece. Even this statement had -not the effect of restoring quiet until past midnight, when, weary with -their exertions, the rioters dispersed. Next day all the papers abused -the Julia of the piece, who had not been allowed a chance of making -herself heard. “Mrs. Siddons, having no comedy in her nature,” one said, -“rendered that ridiculous which the author evidently intended to be -pleasant.” - -On the 15th of February, Garrick again allowed her to appear; this time -in Mrs. Cowley’s _Runaway_—a slight but telling part, which caused one -of her critics to say that she dropped into the walking gentlewoman, and -was not permitted a long walk before she became the “Runaway.” Garrick -then paid her the compliment of entrusting her with the acting of Mrs. -Strickland to his Ranger in the old comedy of _The Suspicious Husband_. -One lady confesses to being moved to tears by Mrs. Siddons in this part, -but the majority of the audience and the newspapers seem to have passed -her over in complete silence. - -Garrick now began his farewell performances. He selected her to act the -Lady Anne to his Richard III.—a selection which was an honour coveted by -most of the ladies of the company. The actor surpassed his finest days; -the young actress was almost petrified by the ferocity and fire of his -gaze. She forgot, in her flurry, his important order that she should -stand so that _his_ face might be presented to the audience. The look she -received made her almost faint with terror, and no doubt betrayed her -fright in her acting. The critics pronounced that she was “lamentable,” -and the public were utterly indifferent. This was her last appearance. -And so ended her first disastrous season at Drury Lane. We think every -unbiassed person in reading the account of it will entirely absolve -Garrick of the charges brought against him. Other causes were at work -which the offended actress did not take into consideration. - -Garrick could not forgive crudeness, want of finish. He himself had -stepped on the London stage with as much natural ease, and in his -representation of Richard III. had taken the town as completely by storm -the first time as the last time he acted it. He never made allowances for -timidity, and grew impatient at want of confidence. We know he utterly -despaired of Mrs. Graham, afterwards the great Mrs. Yates, when he -first saw her in the part of Marcia; and Miss Barton, afterwards Mrs. -Abington, he allowed to leave Drury Lane at first because he could not, -he said, give her a fitting part. The Kemble genius, on the other hand, -was a plant of tardy growth, needing much cultivation and many years to -bring it to perfection. - -Garrick was above all a manager who had the honour of his theatre at -heart. He had held the helm at Drury Lane for years, guiding the fortunes -of the company through stormy waters safely into the haven of financial -and artistic success such as no theatre had ever enjoyed before; but at -what a cost! Tormented by the jealousies, insolence, and greed of his -leading ladies, disheartened by the envy and treachery of his oldest -friends, he must have been glad to contemplate retirement from the -turmoil, to enjoy undisturbed the competency he had been able to save -from a long life spent in the service of his art and the public. He had -but one year more of thraldom, but the harness had begun to gall almost -beyond endurance. When he came home ill and worn out after protracted -rehearsals, he found petulant letters to be answered, when he went back -to the theatre hostile attacks to be avoided, while outside were ranged -secret and declared foes, jealous of his success, anxious to find a flaw -in his honour or his genius. Suddenly he bethought him of a method, tried -before with success, to curb the fiery tempers of the ladies within “his -kingdom.” He had heard of a lovely young actress, member of a company -strolling in the provinces. He determined to engage her and use her as -a foil against the rebellious members of his female staff, for the last -year of office. It was not likely that, coming from humble surroundings -and hard work, she would afflict him with many airs and graces; and -before time had been given her to spoil, his term as manager would have -ceased. Garrick had never been given much cause to think highly of women -during his long life as an actor—his own wife always excepted—and he -most likely put Sarah Siddons on the same level as the others—sordid, -like Miss Pope; jealous, like Mrs. Yates; or ill-tempered, like Mrs. -Clive—well able to take care of herself, and not gifted with those two -rare qualities amongst theatrical ladies, modesty or sensitiveness. How -could he guess, even with all his perspicacity and experience, that this -young creature—whose life hitherto had been spent strolling from place -to place with the vagabonds and adventurers her profession threw her -with—was proud, sensitive, timid, nourishing the very highest ideal of -her art, and indifferent to any homage given to her person and not to her -intellectual power of interpreting the works of the great poets of her -country? How could he tell that beneath the pretty exterior of this young -and trembling recruit lay hidden the fiery soul of the majestic, terrific -Lady Macbeth? He treated her with an amount of consideration and courtesy -unusual even with him, sending her boxes for all his great performances, -when Cabinet Ministers were imploring places and had to be refused. He -would hand her from the green-room and put her in the place of honour -beside him; and gave her parts which according to his judgment, formed -hastily on what he had had an opportunity of seeing, best suited her. And -how was he rewarded? By a resentment nourished the whole of a lifetime, -and by a charge persistently stated and repeated by her friends, that the -great “Roscius” was jealous of an unskilled, untrained, country actress! -Why, then, had he not shown jealousy of Mrs. Abington, Mrs. Clive, or, -still more, of the gentlemen of his company, Barry and Smith, the Romeo -and Charles Surface of their day. There are so few figures in public -life complete and admirable as David Garrick’s, so far removed above -the pettiness and egotism accompanying success, that it is with pain we -read Mrs. Siddons’s accusations, and think the only way to excuse her is -to show the anguish experienced by both her husband and herself in the -miserable sequel to the sad story of failure and disappointment, and to -ascribe her injustice to the misery of lives embittered and prospects -blighted, for the time, making her ever afterwards see the facts of the -case through a distorted medium. We will relate in her own words what now -took place:— - -“He (Garrick) promised Mr. Siddons to procure me a good engagement with -the new managers, and desired him to give himself no trouble about the -matter, but to put my cause entirely into his hands. He let me down, -however, after all these protestations, in the most humiliating manner, -and, instead of doing me common justice with those gentlemen, rather -depreciated my talents. This Mr. Sheridan afterwards told me; and said -that when Mrs. Abington heard of my impending dismissal, she told them -they were all acting like fools. When the London season was over, I made -an engagement at Birmingham for the ensuing summer, little doubting of my -return to Drury Lane for the next winter; but, whilst I was fulfilling my -engagement at Birmingham, to my utter dismay and astonishment, I received -an official letter from the prompter of Drury Lane, acquainting me that -my services would be no longer required. It was a stunning and cruel -blow, overwhelming all my ambitious hopes, and involving peril even to -the subsistence of my helpless babes. It was very near destroying me. My -blighted prospects, indeed, induced a state of mind that preyed upon my -health, and for a year and a half I was supposed to be hastening to a -decline. For the sake of my poor children, however, I roused myself to -shake off this despondency, and my endeavours were blest with success, -_in spite of the degradation I had suffered in being banished from Drury -Lane as a worthless candidate for fame and fortune_.” - -Siddons wrote piteously to Garrick on the 9th of February 1776, -soliciting his “friendship” and “endeavour” for their continuance in -Drury Lane. “I account we have been doubly unfortunate at our onset -in the theatre, first that particular circumstances prevented us from -joining it at a proper time, and thereby rendered it impossible for us -to be mingled in the business of the season, where our utility might -have been more observed; second, that we are going to be deprived of you -as manager, and left to those who, perhaps, may not have an opportunity -this winter of observing us at all: these considerations, Sir, have -occasioned this address, with hopes you will lay them before Mr. Lacy and -those gentlemen your successors; and as there has been no agreement with -regard to salary between you and us, it may now be necessary to propose -that article, thereby to acquaint them with what we shall expect, which -(as we are so young in the theatre) is no more than what we can decently -subsist on and appear with some credit to the profession. That is, for -Mrs. Siddons three pounds a week, for myself two; this, I flatter myself, -we shall both be found worthy of for the first year; after that (as it -may be presumed we shall be more experienced in our business) shall wish -to rise as our merits may demand. I am, Sir, with many apologies for this -freedom, your most obedient and very humble servant, WM. SIDDONS.” - -It shows how disastrous the effect of her acting must have been that, in -spite of the smallness of their demands, Lacy, Sheridan & Co. refused to -entertain their proposal. - -It is a curious fact, if, as she says, the treatment she received at -Garrick’s hands was unjust, that at this juncture the managers of the -rival theatre of Covent Garden, who had already been in treaty with her, -and thought themselves unhandsomely dealt with when Garrick secured her, -did not come forward now. It is clear that the anxiety of the Covent -Garden managers for her assistance was extinguished by her performance; -those talents which they were ready before her appearance to contest with -Garrick, they subsequently resigned without an effort to the obscurity -of a strolling company. We have a curious corollary to her statement, -“that Mrs. Abington told them they were all acting like fools,” in the -lately published Memoirs of Crabbe Robinson, in which he relates a -conversation he held in 1811 with Mrs. Abington on the subject of Mrs. -Siddons. She was by no means warm, he says, in her praise. She objected -to the elaborate emphasis given to very insignificant words. “That was -brought in by them,” she added, with truth, alluding to the weakness of -the family. Perhaps the fair Abington’s praise at first was as conclusive -a sign of failure as Sheridan’s dismissal. - -Good-natured Pivey Clive was more honest in saying nothing at the time; -but on going with Mrs. Garrick to see her later, when she was in the -heyday of her success, she pronounced the young actress, in her own -characteristic fashion, to be “all truth and daylight.” - -We never hear Garrick’s name mentioned again with hers, except in a note -in connection with two folio Shakespeares of 1623. “In 1776,” Payne -Collier says, “Garrick had presented the volume (one of the folio copies -with the autographs of David Garrick and Sarah Siddons) to Mrs. Siddons -as a testimony of her merits, and of his obligation.” So far Payne -Collier. Another writer, commenting on this note, demonstrates that it -is not likely that Garrick presented so great a treasure as the folio -Shakespeare of 1623 to Mrs. Siddons, especially as the words “a testimony -of her merits and his obligation” was an addition of Payne Collier. He -then relates the circumstances of her first appearance. Garrick, he says, -amongst other things, noticed some awkward action of her arms, and said -“if she waved them about in that fashion she would knock off his wig,” -upon which she retorted to the person who told her, “He was only afraid I -should overshadow his nose.” A mutual feeling not likely to lead to such -a gift. It would be interesting, therefore, to know through what hands -the volume passed from Garrick to Mrs. Siddons, and from Mrs. Siddons -to Lilly the bookseller. With the great actor’s wife she was afterwards -on terms of friendship; and when Mrs. Garrick died, she left her in her -will a pair of gloves which were Shakespeare’s, “and were presented -to my late dear husband by one of the family during the Jubilee at -Stratford-on-Avon.” And so “Davey” vanishes from her life. - - - - -CHAPTER IV. - -WORK. - - -The rebuff she had sustained at Drury Lane called out all that was finest -in Mrs. Siddons’ nature. The blow had been “stunning and cruel,” as she -says; but the resolute valiant nature she had inherited from her mother -soon reasserted itself. In spite of delicate health, which Wilkinson, -who acted with her in _Evander_, feared “might disable her from -sustaining the fatigues of duty,” we find her moving from place to place, -unintermitting in study, attaining a step higher each new representation -she essayed, persistently raising her audience to her level, not -descending to theirs. - -She no longer led the “vagabond” life of her early strolling days, but -still one of constant anxiety and unrest. The young actress returned to -the provinces with the prestige of having acted with the great Garrick, -and of having even excited the jealousy of “Roscius” by her dramatic -power—a report industriously circulated by her friends and managers, -and, no doubt, confirmed by the actress herself. So unconsciously does -self-interest colour our opinions. - -In saying that she no longer led the “vagabond” life of her early days, -we mean that instead of wandering, as strolling players were obliged to -do, from town to town, trusting to the chances of the hour, pitching -their tent in a barn or an inn, and trusting to the caprice and humours -of the public officials of the places they came to, she now secured -fixed engagements at the best provincial theatres, which, owing to the -difficulties and expenses of a journey to London, were attended during -the season by many of the county magnates, and the lesser stars following -and surrounding the brighter planets. - -Bath stood at the head of these provincial theatres. York, Hull, -Manchester, Hereford, Liverpool, Worcester, and many others came next in -order of merit. - -The first engagement she received on quitting Drury Lane was at -Birmingham, where she remained the whole summer of 1776, acting parts of -the highest standing. Here she enjoyed the privilege of having Henderson -as coadjutor, who, Campbell tells us, was so struck by her merits, that -he wrote immediately to Palmer, the manager of the Bath Theatre, urging -him in the strongest terms to engage her. Palmer was unable to follow -this advice just then, but did so later. - -The only direct communication we have from her during this time of -work and struggle is a letter to Mrs. Inchbald, whose friendship with -the Kembles had begun in 1776. Charges were, indeed, “tremendous -circumstances” to her who, at the best of times in those early days, only -enjoyed a salary of three pounds a week. Her observations about “exotics” -are amusing, she herself figuring so largely later in that character, to -the dread of all provincial actresses:— - -“I played _Hamlet_ in Liverpool, to near a hundred pounds, and wish -I had taken it to myself; but the fear of charges, which, you know, -are most tremendous circumstances, persuaded me to take part of a -benefit with Barry, for which I have since been very much blamed; but -he, I believe, was very much satisfied—and, in short, so am I. Strange -resolutions are formed in our theatrical ministry; one of them I think -very prudent—this little rogue Harry is chattering to such a degree, -I scarce know what I am about. [Her eldest boy was then four.] But to -proceed: Our managers have determined to employ no more exotics; they -have found that Miss Yonge’s late visit to us (which you must have heard -of) has rather hurt than done them service; so that Liverpool must, from -this time forth, be content with such homely fare as we small folks can -furnish to its delicate sense.... Present our kind compliments to Mr. and -Mrs. Wilkinson, and tell the former I never mention his name but I wish -to be regaling with him over a pinch of his most excellent Irish snuff, -which I have never had a snift of but in idea since I left York.” It is -difficult to conceive the divine Melpomene taking snuff, though she did -so all her life; but in that day it was the fashion for everyone to snuff. - -Early in 1777 she played at Manchester, where she made so great an -impression that the shrewd and enterprising Tate Wilkinson, lessee of -the York Theatre, offered her an engagement. Her range of characters -now included “the Grecian Daughter,” Alicia, Jane Shore, Matilda, Lady -Townley—all the tearful dramas of the day, which the young actress -brought into fashion instead of the artificial comedy of the preceding -age. At Manchester, we are astonished to hear, one of her most applauded -characters was _Hamlet_. - -Her playing this great play in strolling days, as Mr. Bate tells us, -“was most likely only a girlish freak.” Her acting it now shows that -she was cultivating her dramatic genius in every direction, working -out of the restricted domain of Jane Shore, the Grecian Daughter, and -Calista, no longer content to move her audience by her pathos and grace, -but determined to bring them to her feet by her intellectual power. It -is curious that, though many years afterwards she acted it in Dublin, -she never could be persuaded to appear in it in London. Her dislike to -anything approaching male attire was almost morbid, and even in Rosalind -she vastly amused the town by her costume—“mysterious nondescript -garments,” that were neither male nor female, devised to satisfy a -prudery which in such a character was wholly out of place. - -At York, where Mrs. Siddons acted for Tate Wilkinson, the manager, -from Easter to Whitsuntide 1777, she enjoyed an unequivocal success. -“All lifted up their eyes with astonishment that such a voice, such -a judgment, and such acting, should have been neglected by a London -audience, and by the first actor in the world!”—another hit at Garrick -made by Wilkinson, who, generously aided by Garrick at the beginning -of his career, had turned against his benefactor, and never missed an -opportunity of detracting from his merits. - -The most critical local censors were lavish in their praise, though all -remarked “how ill and pale she was, and wondered how she got through her -parts.” She acted the round of her characters. Her attitudes and figure -were vastly admired; she was thought “so elegant.” Wilkinson endeavoured -to secure her permanently as a member of his company, and in his Memoirs -tells how he endeavoured to tempt her by fine clothes, providing for -one of her parts a most “elegant sack-back, all over silver trimmings.” -He did not understand any more than Garrick the nature of the woman -with whom he had to deal. On the 17th May she acted Semiramis for her -benefit, and the York season closed. Palmer, of the Bath Theatre, had -not forgotten Henderson’s strong recommendation, and, finding at last an -opening, he concluded an engagement with her. - -Bath was first in importance among the provincial theatres. The audience, -indeed, was very largely composed of the London “fashionables,” who -came to drink the waters; no “sack-backs,” therefore, “all over silver -trimmings,” were allowed to interfere with her determination, for, -although in her petulant moments she was wont to declare that she -preferred the country, and had been treated so cruelly in London she -never would play there again, in her heart she was resolved to rule -supreme on those boards she had once trod with Garrick. - -“I now made an engagement at Bath,” she says in her _Memoranda_. “There -my talents and industry were encouraged by the greatest indulgence, -and, I may say, with some admiration. Tragedies which had been almost -banished, again resumed their proper interest; but still I had the -mortification of being obliged to personate many subordinate characters -in comedy, the first being, by contract, in the possession of another -lady. To this I was obliged to submit, or to forfeit a portion of my -salary, _which was only three pounds a week_. Tragedies were now becoming -more and more fashionable. This was favourable to my cast of powers; -and, whilst I laboured hard, I began to earn a distinct and flattering -reputation. Hard labour, indeed, it was! for, after the rehearsal at -Bath, and on a Monday morning, I had to go and act at Bristol on the -evening of the same day, and reaching Bath again, after a drive of -twelve miles, I was obliged to represent some fatiguing part there on -the Tuesday evening. When I recollect all this labour of mind and body, -I wonder that I had strength and courage to support it, interrupted as -I was by the care of a mother, and by the childish sports of my little -ones, who were often most unwillingly hushed to silence for interrupting -their mother’s studies.” - -From the pages of Horace Walpole, Mrs. Montagu, and Fanny Burney, we -can bring the Pan-tiles of Tunbridge Wells or the parade at Bath, with -their periwigs, powder-patches, and scandal, distinctly before us. Let us -stand for a moment on the parade, and watch the noteworthy people, muses, -poets, statesmen, who have assembled there, in 1778, to drink the water. -Royal dukes and princesses might be seen sauntering about, playing whist -and E. O. in the evening, and taking “three glasses of water, a toasted -roll, a Bath cake, and a cold walk in the mornings.” Next to them, the -celebrated Duchess of Devonshire, loveliest of the lovely, gayest of the -gay, attracts most notice. Her dazzling beauty, and those eyes the Irish -labourer at the Fox Election said he could light his pipe at, are said -to have taken away the readiness of hand and happiness of touch of the -young painter “reported to have some talent,” named Gainsborough, while -painting her this year at Bath. - -After the Queen of Beauty comes the Queen of the Blues, Mrs. Montagu, -“brilliant in clothes, solid in judgment, critical in talk, with the -air and manner of a woman accustomed to being distinguished and of great -parts.” She writes in her letters of hating “ye higgledy-piggledy of -the watering-places,” but seems happy enough combating for precedence -“with the only other candidate for colloquial eminence” she thought -worthy to be her peer—short, plump, brisk Mrs. Thrale; on the one side a -placid, high-strained intellectual exertion, on the other an exuberant -pleasantry, without the smallest malice in either. All the “Johnsonhood,” -as Horace Walpole calls the circle, musters round the two brilliant -ladies, the Great Bear in the centre, for he and Boswell are stopping at -the Pelican Inn. The conversation turns on _Evelina_, the universal topic -of the day; Johnson declaring he had sat up all night to read it, much to -Fanny Burney’s delight, who, thirsting for flattery, sits with observant -eyes and sarcastic little mouth, that belies the prudishly-folded hands -and prim air. Moving about from group to group is the brilliant Sheridan, -walking with his father and wife, and surrounded by the Linley family, -to whom the lovely Cecilia is recounting the honours heaped on them in -London. - -Unnoticed among all these great people is a little lame Scottish boy, -destined to be the greatest of them all. Mrs. Siddons most likely saw -and knew the little fellow then, who afterwards became so true a friend, -for Walter Scott, in his autobiography, tells us he was frequently taken -to Bath for his lameness, and, after he had bathed in the morning, got -through a reading-lesson at the old dame’s near the parade, and had had -a drive over the downs, his uncle would sometimes take him to the old -theatre. On one occasion, witnessing _As You Like It_, his interest was -so great that, in the middle of the wrestling scene in the first act, he -screamed out, “A’n’t they brothers?” - -Amongst this “higgledy-piggledy,” we are suddenly struck by a beautiful -young creature, whose arrival seems to cause a flutter among the -fashionables. She is accompanied by a handsome fair man and two beautiful -children. This is the new actress who is turning every head. From -Lawrence’s coloured crayon drawing, done of her during this stay at -Bath, we can form a distinct idea of what she was like. He has drawn her -three-quarter face, black velvet hat and plume, white muslin cavalier -tie, brown riding spencer with big buttons and lappels turned back. -Under the shadow of the hat is the refined, noble face, with delicate, -arched eye-brows, aquiline nose, finely modelled mouth, and round cleft -chin. She is not yet the tragic muse of Reynolds, nor the full-orbed, -fashionable beauty of Gainsborough, but a lovely young Diana, with frank, -large, out-looking eyes, and a pretty air of defiance and resolution, the -brightness undimmed by the anxiety and hard work of later days; the young -beauty is evidently determined to conquer the universe. - -It was a world strangely at issue with her own ideas into which she had -stepped—a dandified, ceremonious world, full of witty and wicked ladies -and gentlemen, who played cards and backed horses; but, mercifully -for her, a world at the same time full of childish enthusiasm, an age -of pallor and fainting and hysterics. Grown men and women sitting up -at night weeping and laughing over the woes and escapades of Clarissa -Harlowe and Evelina; ladies writing to Richardson: “Pray, Sir, make -Lovelace happy; you can so easily do it. Pray reform him! Will you not -save a soul?” - -The same vivid interest was taken in dramatic situations. It was a common -thing for women—and, indeed, men also—to be carried out fainting; and as -to the crying and sobbing, it was generally audible all over the house. -In a pathetic piece, Miss Burney describes two young ladies, who sat in -a box above her, being both so much shocked at the death of Douglas that -“they both burst into a loud fit of roaring, and sobbed on afterwards -for almost half the farce.” Needless to say, therefore, the enthusiasm -a beautiful young actress like Mrs. Siddons would create. It was not, -however, immediate; she was obliged, as we have seen, to personate -subordinate characters, and was obliged to act in comedy that did not -suit her. - -Thursdays were the nights of the Cotillon balls at Bath, and of the -assemblies at Lady Miller’s, of Bath Easton vase celebrity, which are -alluded to by Horace Walpole: “They hold a Parnassus fair every Thursday, -before the balls, give out rhymes and themes, and all the flux at -Bath contend for the prizes. A Roman vase, dressed with pink ribbons -and myrtles, receives the poetry, which is drawn out every festival. -Six judges of these Olympic games retire and select the brightest -compositions, which the respective successful ten candidates acknowledge.” - -These events always emptied the theatre, and it was one of the young -actress’s grievances that for a time she was put forward—no doubt owing -to the claims of the leading ladies—on these occasions. Gradually, -however, her attraction increased, and on various occasions she succeeded -in drawing the frequenters of the balls to the theatre. She brought -tragedies into fashion, and in _The Mourning Bride_, Juliet, the Queen -in _Hamlet_, Jane Shore, Isabella, succeeded in gaining the suffrages of -her Bath audience. - -We find the “tonish” young men, on the occasion of her benefit, -presenting her with sixty guineas “in order to secure tickets, as they -were afraid the demand for them would be so great by-and-bye.” “Was it -not elegant?” she asks. One of these benefits produced to her one hundred -and forty-six pounds—a handsome sum in those days. Before two years of -her four years’ stay at Bath had elapsed, we see her the favourite and -friend of all the great people in the place. The Duchess of Devonshire -showed her particular favour; and subsequently, when her engagement at -Drury Lane hung in the balance, threw the weight of her influence, which -was supreme, into the scale. - -We cannot help remarking, in spite of the accusations so frequently -brought against her of her love of fine friends, that those who clustered -about her in those early Bath days occupied the same position in her -heart thirty years later. One of these, a Dr. Whalley, and his wife, were -true and devoted friends all her life, and her letters to him contribute -some of the most valuable materials we have for writing her life. Dr. -Thomas Sedgwick Whalley was a gentleman of taste and good income, derived -from his own private estates, and the rich stipend of an unwholesome -Lincolnshire living, which a kind-hearted bishop had given him on -condition he never resided on it. He enjoyed some literary celebrity as -the author of a long narrative poem, _Edwy and Edilda_. He occupied one -of the finest houses on the Crescent; was intimate with Mrs. Piozzi; -corresponded with the voluminous letter-writer, Miss Seward; and was, in -fact, a fine specimen of the _dilettante_ gentleman of the old school. - -Little Burney’s sharp-pointed pen describes Whalley exactly: - - One of the clergymen was Mr. W⸺, a young man who has a house - on the Crescent, and is one of the best supporters of Lady - Miller’s vase at Bath Easton. He is immensely tall, thin, - and handsome, but affected, delicate, and sentimentally - pathetic; and his conversation about his own “feelings,” about - “amiable motives,” and about the wind—which, at the Crescent, - he said in a tone of dying horror, “blew in a manner really - frightful!”—diverted me the whole evening. But Miss Thrale, not - content with private diversion, laughed out at his expressions, - till I am sure he perceived and understood her merriment. - -Later she mentions:— - - In the evening we had Mrs. Lambart, who brought us a tale - called _Edwy and Edilda_, by the sentimental Mr. Whalley, and - unreadably soft and tender and senseless is it. - -He was of the soft and tender school; Miss Seward’s heart “vibrates -to every sentence of his last charming letter”; they indulge in the -“communication of responsive ideas”; and on leaving Bath she thus -addresses him:— - - Edwy, farewell! To Lichfield’s darkened grove, - With aching heart and rising sighs, I go. - Yet bear a grateful spirit as I rove, - For all of thine which balm’d a cureless woe. - -We cannot tell whether the “communication of responsive ideas” with so -many fair ladies aroused Mrs. Whalley’s jealousy ultimately, or whether -incompatibility of temper was the cause, but in 1819 Mrs. Piozzi writes:— - - I hear wondrous tales of Doctor and Mrs. Whalley; half the town - saying he is the party aggrieved, and the other half lamenting - the lady’s fate. Two wiseacres sure, old acquaintances of forty - years’ standing, and both past seventy years old! - -When Mrs. Siddons first knew them at Bath, there was evidently nothing -of that sort. She writes to him from Bristol:— - -“I cannot express how much I am honoured by your friendship; therefore -you must not expect words, but as much gratitude as can inhabit the bosom -of a human being. I hope, with a fervency unusual upon such occasions, -that you will not be disappointed in your expectations of me to-night; -but sorry am I to say I have often observed that I have performed worst -when I most ardently wished to do better than ever. Strange perverseness! -And this leads me to observe—as I believe I may have done before—that -those who act mechanically are sure to be in some sort right; while we -who trust to nature—if we do not happen to be in the humour (which, -however, Heaven be praised! seldom happens)—are dull as anything can be -imagined, because we cannot feign. But I hope Mrs. Whalley will remember -that it was your commendations which she heard, and judge of your praises -by the benevolent heart from which they proceed, more than as standards -of my deserving. Luckily I have been able to procure places in the front -row, next to the stage-box, on the left-hand of you as you go in. These, -I hope, will please you.” - -Meantime, Henderson, who had before so strongly recommended her to the -Bath manager, came down for one or two nights and acted Benedict to her -Beatrice; returned to London so full of her praises that the managers -of Drury Lane made her the offer of an engagement in the summer of -1782. “After my former dismissal from thence,” she says later in her -_Memoranda_, “it may be imagined that this was to me a triumphant moment.” - -At the same time, she was loth to leave her appreciative friends -at Bath, and, curiously enough, hesitated at the last moment about -accepting; so that Whalley’s congratulatory poem on her engagement at -Drury Lane, contributed to Lady Miller’s “Roman Vase,” was a little -premature. At last, however, her departure was formally announced, and -she took her farewell benefit. She acted in the _Distressed Mother_ and -_The Devil to Pay_, and then came forward and recited some lines _of her -own composition_, of which we give the reader only a short sample, as the -“Virgin Muse” does not soar very high:— - - Have I not raised some expectation here? - “Wrote by herself? What! authoress and player? - True, we have heard her”—thus I guess’d you’d say— - “With decency recite another’s lay; - But never heard, nor ever could we dream, - Herself had sipp’d the Heliconian stream.” - Perhaps you farther said—Excuse me, pray, - For thus supposing all that you might say— - “What will she treat of in this same address? - Is it to show her learning? Can you guess?” - Here let me answer: No. Far different views - Possess’d my soul, and fired my virgin Muse. - ’Twas honest gratitude, at whose request - Sham’d be the heart that will not do its best! - -She then informs them they must part; that, if only she meets as much -kindness elsewhere, - - Envy, o’ercome, will hurl her pointless dart, - And critic gall be shed without its smart. - -Nothing would drag her from Bath, she says, but one thing; here she went -to the wing and led forward her children:— - - These are the moles that bear me from your side, - Where I was rooted—where I could have died. - -The moles now numbered three, her second daughter and third child, -Maria, having been born on 1st July 1779. - - Stand forth, ye elves! and plead your mother’s cause, - Ye little magnets, whose soft influence draws - Me from a point where every gentle breeze - Wafted my bark to happiness and ease— - Sends me adventurous on a larger main, - In hopes that you may profit by my gain. - Have I been hasty? Am I, then, to blame? - Answer, all ye who own a parent’s name! - Thus have I tired you with an untaught muse, - Who for your favour still most humbly sues; - That you for classic learning will receive - My soul’s best wishes, which I freely give— - For polished periods round, and touched with art, - The fervent offering of my grateful heart. - -So Mrs. Siddons made her bow. When she next appeared at Bath it was as -the greatest tragic actress then on the stage. - -Towards the end of August, she set out determined to make her way slowly -to London, acting at various country theatres as she went along. Her -letters written to the Whalleys are full of fun, and show she had the pen -of a ready writer. - -“You will be pleased to hear,” she says, “that Mrs. Carr was very civil -to me—gave me a comfortable bed, and I slept very well. We were five of -us in the machine, all females but one, a youth of about sixteen, and the -most civilized being you can conceive—a native of Bristol, too. - -“One of the ladies was, I believe verily, a little insane. Her dress was -the most peculiar, and manner the most offensive, I ever remember to have -met with; her person was taller and more thin than you can imagine; her -hair raven black, drawn as tight as possible over her cushion before and -behind; and at the top of her head was placed a solitary fly-cap of the -last century, composed of materials of about twenty sorts, and as dirty -as the ground; her neck, which was a thin scrag of a quarter of a yard -long, and the colour of a walnut, she wore uncovered, for the solace -of all beholders; her Circassian was an olive-coloured cotton of three -several sorts, about two breadths wide in the skirt, and tied up exactly -in the middle in one place only. She had a black petticoat spotted with -red, and over that a very thin white muslin one, with a long black gauze -apron, and without the least hoop. I never in my life saw so odd an -appearance; and my opinion was not singular, for wherever we stopped she -inspired either mirth or amazement, but was quite innocent of it herself. -On taking her seat among us at Bristol, she flew into a violent passion -on seeing one of the windows down. I said I would put it up, if she -pleased. ‘To be sure,’ said she; ‘I have no ambition to catch my death!’ -No sooner had she done with me, but she began to scold the woman who sat -opposite to her for touching her foot. ‘You have not been used to riding -in a _coach_, I fancy, good woman.’ She met in this lady a little more -spirit than she found in me, and we were obliged to her for keeping this -unhappy woman in tolerable order for the remainder of the day. Bless -me! I had almost forgot to tell you that I was desired to make tea at -breakfast. Vain were my endeavours to please this strange creature. She -had desired to have her tea in a basin, and I followed her directions -as near as it was possible in the making her tea; but she had no sooner -tasted it than she bounced to the window and threw it out, declaring she -had never met with such a set of awkward, ill-bred people. What could be -expected in a stage-coach, indeed? She snatched the canister from me, -poured a great quantity into the basin, with sugar, cream, and water, and -drank it all together. Did you ever hear of anything so strange? When we -sat down to dinner, she seemed terrified to death lest anybody should eat -but herself. - -“The remaining part of our journey was made almost intolerable by -her fretfulness. One minute she was screaming out lest the coachman -should overturn us; she was sure he would, because she would not give -him anything for neglecting to keep her trunk dry; and, though it was -immoderately hot, we were obliged very often to sit with the windows up, -for she had been told that the air was pestilential after sunset, and -that, however people liked it, she did not choose to hazard her life -by sitting with the windows open. All were disposed, for the sake of -peace, to let her have her own way, except the person whom we were really -obliged to for quieting her every now and then. She had been handsome, -but was now, I suppose, sixty years old. I pity her temper, and am sorry -for her situation, which I have set down as that of a disappointed old -maid. - -“At about seven o’clock we arrived at Dorchester. On my stepping out -of the coach, a gentleman very civilly gave me his hand. Who should it -be but Mr. Siddons! who was come on purpose to meet me. He was very -well, and the same night I had the pleasure of seeing my dear boy, more -benefited by the sea than can be conceived. He desires me to thank Mr. -Whalley for the fruit, which he enjoyed very much. We have got a most -deplorable lodging, and the water and the bread are intolerable; ‘but -travellers must be content.’ Mr. Whalley was so good as to be interested -about my bathing. Is there anything I could refuse to do at his or your -request? I intend to bathe to-morrow morning, cost what pain it will. I -expected to have found more company here. - -“I went to Dorchester yesterday to dine with Mr. Beach, who is on a visit -to a relation, and has been laid up with the gout, but is recovering very -fast. He longs to see Langford, and I am anxious to have him see it. I -suppose Mr. Whalley has heard when Mr. Pratt comes. [Mr. Pratt was a Bath -bookseller who had given her lessons in elocution; and afterwards, when -she was not allowed by the manager of Drury Lane to act in his tragedy, -declared he would write an ode on Ingratitude and dedicate it to her.] -Pray present the kindest wishes of Mr. Siddons, little Harry, and myself. -I hope Mr. Whalley will do me the favour to choose the ribbon for my -watch-string. I should like it as near the colour of little dear Paphy’s -ear as possible. I did not very well comprehend what Lady Mary (Knollys) -said about the buckles. Will you please to give her my respectful -compliments, and say I beg her pardon for having deferred speaking to her -on that subject to so awkward a time, but hope my illness the last day I -had the honour of seeing her ladyship will be my excuse. I hope I shall -be favoured with a line from you, and that her ladyship will explain -herself more fully then. Harry has just puzzled me very much. When going -to eat some filberts after dinner, I told him you desired he would not -eat them; ‘But,’ says he, ‘what would you have done if Mr. Whalley had -desired you would?’ I was at a stand for a little while, and at last he -found a means to save me from my embarrassment by saying, ‘But you know -Mr. Whalley would not desire you to eat them if he thought they would -hurt you.’ ‘Very true, Harry,’ says I; so it ended there.” - -The following shows that the engagement with the London manager was not -yet completely ratified; she was probably standing out for better terms, -which he was not inclined to give. - -“I look forward with inexpressible delight to our snug parties, and -I have the pleasure to inform you that I shall not go to London this -winter. Mr. Linley thinks my making a partial appearance will neither -benefit myself nor the proprietors. Mrs. Crawford threatens to leave them -very often, he says, but I suppose she knows her own interest better. -I should suppose she has a very good fortune, and I should be vastly -obliged to her if she would go and live very comfortably upon it. I’ll -give her leave to stay and be of as much service to my good and dear -friend’s tragedy as she possibly can, and then let her retire as soon -as she pleases. I hope I shall not tire you; Mr. Siddons is afraid I -shall, and in compliance to him (who, with me, returns his grateful -acknowledgments for all your kindnesses), I conclude with, I hope, an -unnecessary assurance, that I am ever your grateful and affectionate -servant, S. SIDDONS. - -“P.S.—Please to present our joint compliments to Mr. Whalley, Mrs. -Whalley, and Miss Squire, and, in short, the whole circle, not forgetting -Mrs. Reeves, to whom I am much obliged. In an especial manner, I beg -to be remembered to the cruel beauty, Sappho. She knows her power, and -therefore treats me like a little tyrant. Adieu! God for ever bless you -and yours! The beach here is the most beautiful I ever saw.” - -She alludes above to Whalley’s tragedy _Morval_, which was acted later -with her as heroine. It was a complete failure, and was only performed -three nights. - -Mrs. Siddons became fond of Weymouth, and often returned there in after -years. Miss Burney, in her _Memoirs_, tells us of being there once on -duty with the King and Royal Family. They met the actress, who made -a sweeping curtsey, walking on the sands with her children. The King -commanded a performance at the theatre, but the Royal Family having -gone away on an expedition, did not get back in time, and kept everyone -waiting. The King and Queen arriving at last, sent a page home for their -wigs, so as not to keep the audience waiting any longer. - - - - -CHAPTER V. - -SUCCESS. - - -At last all difficulties were arranged between the manager of Drury Lane -and Mrs. Siddons, and the day dawned on which she was again destined -to make her bow before a London audience. It was the 10th October -1782. Important changes had taken place in the theatre since the fatal -December seven years before. The proud pre-eminence of Drury Lane had -passed away; the magic circle of theatrical genius that Garrick kept -together by his personal influence had been broken up and dispersed -under Sheridan’s erratic management. Mrs. Abington, Mrs. Yates, and -Miss Young had deserted to other companies. So that the fine selection -of plays, ever ready with the same set of players at hand to act them, -ensuring a perfection never achieved before, were now mounted without -care of thought, and acted by whomever the capricious manager chose to -select for the moment. Old trained hands, accustomed to the methodical -rule of Garrick, would not submit to be transferred from part to part, -receiving no due notice beforehand, and, above all, they would not submit -to the irregularity in the money arrangements which had begun almost -immediately after the impecunious Irishman took the reins of government. -There were hardly any names of note now to be seen on the bills except -those of Smith, Palmer, and King, and they openly talked of deserting the -sinking ship. - -There is something almost heroic, therefore, in the appearance of the -young actress on the boards of Drury Lane at this particular juncture. -Alone and unaided, against enormous odds, she saved the famous theatre, -endeared to every lover of dramatic art, from artistic and financial -ruin. She had hitherto proved herself to have indomitable industry and -energy, to have all the qualities of a hard-working, painstaking artist; -now she was suddenly to flash forth in all the splendour of her genius -and power. And yet how simple and womanly she remained. There was no -undue reliance on her own gifts, in spite of the indiscriminate praise -that had been heaped on her at Bath by too zealous friends. She turned -a deaf ear to Miss Seward—“all asterisks and exclamations,” and to Dr. -Whalley—“all sighs and admiration”; but listened to the wise suggestions -of Mr. Linley and of old Sheridan, the father of Richard Brinsley -Sheridan, himself a retired actor with full knowledge of the stage and -its requirements. She and they were afraid her voice was not equal to -filling a large London theatre. “But we soon had reason to think,” she -tells us, “that the bad construction of the Bath theatre, and not the -weakness of my voice was the cause of our mutual fears.” - -Isabella, in Southerne’s pathetic play of _The Fatal Marriage_, was the -part Sheridan recommended her to choose for her first appearance, and -the selection showed his appreciative knowledge both of her powers and -of the audience she was to act to; the combined tenderness, grief and -indignation showing the variety and range of expression of which she -was capable. Hamilton painted a picture of her in this part, dressed -in deep black, holding her boy by the hand, and appealing for help to -her father-in-law, that even now brings the tears to one’s eyes as one -looks at it. Her son Henry, then eight years old, acted with her. It is -said that, observing his mother at rehearsal in the agonies of the dying -scene, he took the fiction for reality, and burst into a flood of tears. -She herself for the fortnight before her appearance suffered from nervous -agitation more than can be imagined. The whole account of her mental -state is best told in her own words. - -“No wonder I was nervous before the _memorable_ day on which hung my -own fate and that of my little family. I had quitted Bath, where all -my efforts had been successful, and I feared lest a second failure in -London might influence the public mind greatly to my prejudice, in the -event of my return from Drury Lane, disgraced as I formerly had been. In -due time I was summoned to the rehearsal of Isabella. Who can imagine -my terror? I feared to utter a sound above an audible whisper; but by -degrees enthusiasm cheered me into a forgetfulness of my fears, and I -unconsciously threw out my voice, which failed not to be heard in the -remotest part of the house by a friend who kindly undertook to ascertain -the happy circumstance. - -“The countenances, no less than tears and flattering encouragements of -my companions, emboldened me more and more, and the second rehearsal was -even more affecting than the first. Mr. King, who was then manager, -was loud in his applause. This second rehearsal took place on the 8th -October 1782, and on the evening of that day I was seized with a nervous -hoarseness, which made me extremely wretched; for I dreaded being obliged -to defer my appearance on the 10th, longing, as I most earnestly did, at -least to know the worst. I went to bed, therefore, in a state of dreadful -suspense. Awaking the next morning, however, though out of restless, -unrefreshing sleep, I found, upon speaking to my husband, that my voice -was very much clearer. This, of course, was a great comfort to me; and, -moreover, the sun, which had been completely obscured for many days, -shone brightly through my curtains. I hailed it, though tearfully, yet -thankfully, as a happy omen; and even now I am not ashamed of _this_ -(as it may, perhaps, be called) childish superstition. On the morning -of the 10th my voice was, most happily, perfectly restored; and again -‘_the blessed sun shone brightly on me_.’ On this eventful day my father -arrived to comfort me, and to be a witness of my trial. He accompanied me -to my dressing-room at the theatre. There he left me; and I, in one of -what I call my desperate tranquillities, which usually impress me under -terrific circumstances, there completed my dress, to the astonishment -of my attendants, without uttering one word, though often sighing most -profoundly.” - -The young actress had been puffed industriously before by Sheridan in -the play-bills, and he had, no doubt, circulated in his dexterous way -that the cause of her previous failure had been Garrick’s jealousy, as, -indeed, we know he told the actress herself. - -There was a certain amount of expectancy and discussion. The house -was full of all that was most brilliant, intellectual, and “tonish” -in the London of that day. They had all come with powdered heads, -gold-laced coats, and diamond-encircled throats to see a pretty woman -act an affecting play; but they were hardly prepared for the passion and -pathos that for the time being shook them out of their artificial lace -handkerchief grief and bowed the powdered heads with genuine emotion. She -was well supported—Smith, Palmer, Farren, Packer, and Mrs. Love acting -with her, to say nothing of the veteran Roger Kemble, her father, who -was, she tells us, little less agitated than herself. Her husband did not -even venture to appear behind or before the scenes, his agitation was so -great. - -“At length I was called to my fiery trial. The awful consciousness that -one is the sole object of attention to that immense space, lined, as -it were, with human intellect from top to bottom and all around, may, -perhaps, be imagined, but can never be described, and can never be -forgotten.” - -If that night were never to pass from the memory of Mrs. Siddons, neither -would it ever pass from the memory of those who were present, nor ever be -erased from the annals of the English stage, of which that beautiful and -pathetic face and form was to be for many years the chief pride. - -The story of _Isabella, or the Fatal Marriage_, is simple in -construction, the interest centring in one figure, that of the heroine. -Biron, son of a proud and worldly-minded man, marries a girl beneath him -in station, contrary to his father’s wish. A son is born, but Biron has -hardly had time to rejoice over his birth before he is called away to the -war, and, after some months, is reported as killed in battle. The wife -appears with the child in the first scene, appealing in vain, for pity’s -sake, to her father-in-law to give her something to support her and the -infant. As the bailiff enters to arrest her for debt, Villeroy (whose -attentions she had repelled, grieving as she was for her husband) comes -forward, frees her from the importunities of her creditors, and induces -her, for her child’s sake, to marry him. Hardly is she Villeroy’s wife -before Biron returns. In despair, she kills herself. - -There were moments, sentences that became traditional after this first -night, as when, in reply to the question put to her on the arrival of -the creditors as to what she would do, she answered, “Do! Nothing!” the -very tone of the words told all her story. Miss Gordon fainted away on -hearing the cry “Biron! Biron!” while we know Madame de Staël’s account -in _Corinne_ of the hysterical laugh when Isabella kills herself at the -end. - -It was an extraordinary evening. The house was carried away in a storm of -emotion; men were not ashamed to sob, and many women went into violent -hysterics. It is difficult, indeed, for us now to understand such -agitation; we fritter away our sentiment on the ordinary business of -life:— - - The town in those days mostly lay - Betwixt the tavern and the play. - -The penny press had not yet come within the radius of everyone, and men -depended on the theatre for their fictitious excitement. A new play, a -young actor or actress, were greater subjects of interest than even Mr. -Pitt’s or Mr. Fox’s last speech, which they only heard of piecemeal. - -Mrs. Siddons had the good fortune still to play to audiences who were in -the full enjoyment of their natural and critical powers of appreciation. -She bent all her powers to calling forth their emotions. She touched -them to the quick with her pathos and power. The audience surrendered -at discretion to the summons of the young enchantress. Her own simple -account of it all is very attractive; and afterwards, in the history of -her life, when a little hardness, or a rather too abrupt assertion of -superiority, is to be regretted, we turn to this spontaneous, almost -girlish account of her first triumph—through which we can see the smiles -beaming, the tears glistening—with pleasure and relief. - -“I reached my own quiet fireside,” she says, “on retiring from the -scene of reiterated shouts and plaudits. I was half dead; and my joy -and thankfulness were of too solemn and overpowering a nature to admit -of words, or even tears. My father, my husband, and myself sat down to -a frugal neat supper in a silence uninterrupted except by exclamations -of gladness from Mr. Siddons. My father enjoyed his refreshments, but -occasionally stopped short, and, laying down his knife and fork, lifting -up his venerable face, and throwing back his silver hair, gave way -to tears of happiness. We soon parted for the night; and I, worn out -with continually broken rest and laborious exertion, after an hour’s -retrospection (who can conceive the intenseness of that reverie?), fell -into a sweet and profound sleep, which lasted to the middle of the next -day. I arose alert in mind and body.” - -And so the seven long years spent in tempering her genius, in working to -gain strength and confidence, had borne their result, for we will not -allow, as Mr. Fitzgerald says, that her present success was owing to the -absence “of the restraint from the patronizing instruction of Garrick,” -or any other exterior circumstance. The change had come from within, -not from without. Hers was essentially a genius of tardy growth, both -physically and mentally she did not reach her full development until the -time when most actresses have enjoyed seven or eight years’ success. She -had worked, and, like all other workers, had reaped her reward; though, -unlike the common run of workers, having genius to back her, the reward -she reaped was not only a temporary success, but fame. The memory of -this night has been handed down to us in company with Garrick’s first -appearance in _Richard III._ and Edmund Kean’s in Shylock in 1814. - -The critics next day were unanimous in her praise. Some found the voice -a little harsh, the passion a little too “restless and fluttering,” but -all were agreed that a great event had occurred in the dramatic world. -It is of little use repeating the praise and criticism, all _that_ can -be done in a reviewal of her artistic life; we are more interested in -the personal history of the woman who had thus stirred up the waters -that had threatened to become stagnant since the retirement of Garrick. -It is natural for us rather to like to hear personal anecdotes of those -who appear publicly before us than pages of hackneyed verbiage on their -acting and appearance. - -She wrote to Dr. Whalley one of those genuine, spontaneous letters -that show how she was misunderstood by those who thought her hard and -reserved:—“My dear, dear friend, the trying moment is passed, and I am -crowned with a success which far exceeds even my hopes. God be praised! -I am extremely hurried, being obliged to dine at Linley’s; have been -at the rehearsal of a new tragedy in prose, a most affecting play, in -which I have a part I like very much. I believe my next character will be -Zara in the _Mourning Bride_. My friend Pratt was, I believe in my soul, -as much agitated, and is as much rejoiced as myself. As I know it will -give you pleasure, I venture to assure you I never in my life heard such -peals of applause. I thought they would not have suffered Mr. Packer to -end the play. Oh! how I wished for you last night, to share a joy which -was too much for me to bear alone! My poor husband was so agitated that -he durst not venture near the house. I enclose an epilogue which my good -friend wrote for me, but which I could not, from excessive fatigue of -mind and body, speak. Never, never let me forget his goodness to me. I -have suffered tortures for (of?) the unblest these three days and nights -past, and believe I am not in perfect possession of myself at present; -therefore excuse, my dear Mr. Whalley, the incorrectness of this scrawl, -and accept it as the first tribute of love (after the first decisive -moment) from your ever grateful and truly affectionate, S. SIDDONS.” - -On the next night her success was even greater. The lobbies were lined -with crowds of ladies and gentlemen “of the highest fashion.” Lady -Shelburne, Lord North the politician, Lady Essex, Mr. Sheridan and the -Linley family weeping in his box, and hosts of others. - -She very soon began to reap substantial benefits from her success. - -“I should be afraid to say,” she continues, “how many times _Isabella_ -was repeated successively, with still increasing favour. I was now -highly gratified by a removal from my very indifferent and inconvenient -dressing-room to one on the stage-floor, instead of climbing a long -staircase; and this room (oh, unexpected happiness!) had been Garrick’s -dressing-room. It is impossible to conceive my gratification when I saw -my own figure in the self-same glass which had so often reflected the -face and form of that unequalled genius—not, perhaps, without some vague, -fanciful hope of a little degree of inspiration from it.” - -For eight nights the play was acted, and still every time she appeared -the tide of popular favour ran higher. The box office was besieged by -people wanting tickets, and the most ridiculous stories were told of -the crush. Two old men stationed themselves to play chess outside at -all hours, so as to secure tickets. Footmen lay stretched out asleep -from dawn to buy places for their mistresses. Years afterwards, when -at a great meeting at Edinburgh, Mrs. Siddons’ health was proposed, -Sir Walter Scott described the scene on one of those far-famed nights: -the breakfasting near the theatre, waiting the whole day, the crushing -at the doors at six o’clock, the getting in and counting their fingers -till seven. But the very first step, the first word she uttered, was -sufficient to overpay everyone their weariness. The house was then -electrified, and it was only from witnessing the effects of her genius -that one could guess to what a pitch theatrical excellence may be -carried. “Those young fellows,” added Sir Walter, “who have only seen the -setting sun of this distinguished performer, beautiful and serene as it -is, must give us old fellows, who have seen its rise, leave to hold our -heads a little higher.” - -After _Isabella_, the actress appeared in Murphy’s _Grecian Daughter_, a -very indifferent play, but one into which she breathed life and beauty by -the power of her intuition. - -Not yet had the ninety-one of the past century dawned upon civilisation -with its Goddess of Reason, its scanty classic draperies, and its -sandalled, bare-footed beauties. Toupees, toques, bouffantes, hoops, -sacques, and all the paraphernalia of horse-hair, powder, pomatum, and -pins were still in the ascendant. Not yet had Charlotte Corday sacrificed -her life for the liberty of her people; but the muttering of the coming -storm was heard in the distance, and, with the prescience of genius, the -young actress anticipated its advent, and amazed her audience by the -simple beauty of her classic draperies, and shook them with excitement by -her rapturous appeals to Liberty. - -There was a glorious enthusiasm about her delivery of certain portions. -She came to perish or to conquer. She seemed to grow several inches -taller. Her voice gained tones undreamt of before:— - - Shall he not tremble when a daughter comes, - Wild with her griefs, and terrible with wrongs? - The _Man of blood shall hear me_! Yes, my voice - Shall mount aloft upon the whirlwind’s wing. - -Her scorn was magnificent. Her reply to Dionysius, when he asks her to -induce her husband to withdraw his army— - - Thinkest thou then - So meanly of my Phocion? Dost thou deem him - Poorly wound up to a mere fit of valour, - To melt away in a weak woman’s tears? - Oh, thou dost little know him. - -At the last line, Boaden tells us, there was a triumphant hurry and -enjoyment in her scorn, which the audience caught as electrical and -applauded in rapture, for at least a minute:— - - A daughter’s arm, fell monster, strikes the blow! - Yes, _first_ she strikes—an injured daughter’s arm - Sends thee devoted to the infernal gods! - -After this she acted Jane Shore. “Mrs Siddons,” as one of the critics -remarked on this performance, “has the air of never being an actress; she -seems unconscious that there is a motley crowd called the pit waiting -to applaud her, or that a dozen fiddlers are waiting for her exit.” -Her “Forgive me, but forgive me,” when asking pardon of her husband, -convulsed the house with sobs. Crabb Robinson, while witnessing this -harrowing performance, burst into a peal of laughter, and, upon being -removed, was found to be in strong hysterics. - -After Jane Shore, she appeared as Calista, Belvidera, and Zara. All were -received with the same enthusiasm. - -On the 5th June she acted Isabella for the last time that season, having -performed in all about eighty nights, and on six of them for the benefit -of others; and during that short time she may be said to have completely -revolutionised the English stage. Nothing now was applauded but tragedy. -The farces which before had won a laugh, were now not listened to. The -young actress so completely depressed the spirits of the audience, -that the best comic actor seemed unable to raise them. Already she was -preparing the way for the stately solemnity of John Kemble and the -Revival of Shakespearean Tragedy. - -The town went “born mad,” as Horace Walpole said, after her. The papers -wrote about her continually, her dress, her movements. Nothing else -seemed to have the same interest. Her salary, originally five pounds a -week, was raised to twenty pounds before the end of the season, and her -first benefit realised eight hundred pounds. - -On this latter occasion she addressed a letter to the public:— - -“Mrs. Siddons would not have remained so long without expressing the -high sense she had of the great honours done her at her late benefit, -but that, after repeated trials, she could not find words adequate to -her feelings, and she must at present be content with the plain language -of a grateful mind; that her heart thanks all her benefactors for the -distinguished and, she fears, too partial encouragement which they -bestowed on this occasion. She is told that the splendid appearance on -that night, and the emoluments arising from it, exceed anything ever -recorded on a similar account in the annals of the English stage; but -she has not the vanity to imagine that this arose from any superiority -over many of her predecessors or some of her contemporaries. She -attributes it wholly to that liberality of sentiment which distinguishes -the inhabitants of this great metropolis from those of any other in the -world. They know her story—they know that for many years, by a strange -fatality, she was confined to move in a narrow sphere, in which the -rewards attendant on her labours were proportionally small. With a -generosity unexampled, they proposed at once to balance the account, and -pay off the arrears due, according to the rate, the too partial rate, -at which they valued her talents. She knows the danger arising from -extraordinary and unmerited favours, and will carefully guard against -any approach of pride, too often their attendant. Happy shall she -esteem herself, if by the utmost assiduity, and constant exertion of her -poor abilities, she shall be able to lessen, though hopeless ever to -discharge, the vast debt she owes the public.” - -Mrs. Siddons was always too fond of taking the public into her -confidence. Everything in this letter can be taken for granted; and it -would have been more dignified to have kept silence. - -More pleasing and natural are the letters written to her friends. She -wrote thus to Dr. Whalley about this time:— - -“Just at this moment are you, my dear Sir, sitting down to supper, -and ‘every guest’s a friend.’ Oh! that I were with you, but for one -half-hour. ‘Oh! God forbid!’ says my dear Mrs. Whalley; ‘for he would -talk so loud and so fast, that he would throw himself into a fever, and -die of unsatisfied curiosity into the bargain.’ Do I flatter myself, my -dear Sir? Oh no! you have both done me the honour to assure me that you -love me, and I would not forego the blessed idea for the world ... I -did receive all your letters, and thank you for them a thousand times. -One line of them is worth all the acclamations of ten thousand shouting -theatres.” - -And so closes this wonderful year in the great actress’s life—the one -to which she always looked back as the climax of her happiness and good -fortune. - - - - -CHAPTER VI. - -DUBLIN AND EDINBURGH. - - -Irishmen have a natural theatrical instinct, and Dublin, at the time of -which we write, was to a certain degree valued as a censor in dramatic -affairs as highly as London. A Dublin audience often ventured to dissent -from the judgments of the metropolis, and, as in the case of Mrs. -Pritchard, who, Campbell quaintly tells us, “electrified the Irish with -disappointment,” to entirely reverse them. Most of the best Drury Lane -players had begun their career at the Smock Alley theatre, and many of -them had Irish blood in their veins. The theatre was the finest in the -kingdom next to Drury Lane, boasting the innovation of a drop scene, -representing the Houses of Parliament, instead of the conventional green -curtain. - -The same causes which placed the provincial towns of England in an -important position, so far as social and dramatic affairs were concerned, -operated still more effectually in the case of Dublin. To cross to London -in those days was as long and tedious a journey as to go to New York in -ours; and none even of the nobility thought of doing so every year. The -vice-regal court was, therefore, really a court, surrounded by a certain -amount of brilliancy and splendour. Ever since the days of Peg Woffington -and the Miss Gunnings, Irish beauties had dared to set the fashion; and -we read in a letter written from Dublin, by a leader of fashion of the -day, that it is of no use English women coming over unless they are -prepared to “make their waists of the circumference of two oranges, no -more”; their “heads a foot high, exclusive of feathers, and stretching to -a pent-house of most horrible projection behind, the breadth from wing -to wing considerably broader than your shoulders; and as many different -things in your cap as in Noah’s ark.... Verily,” the lady ends, “I never -did see such monsters as the heads now in vogue; I am a monster, too, but -a moderate one.” - -Round the small court fluttered young equerries who wrote plays, and were -devoted to the drama. Actors and actresses themselves, if at all within -the pale of respectability, were admitted to the vice-regal circle. -Mrs. Inchbald was intimate with many of the fashionable and literary -ladies. Daly, the manager of the theatre, was a regular _habitué_ of the -“Castle”; and John Kemble, who had arrived in Ireland some time before -his sister, had been introduced by the equerry Jephson to the “set,” -including Tighe, Courtenay, and others. - -All this society was thrown into a ferment of excitement when it was -announced that the beautiful young actress, who had turned all heads in -London, was coming to Dublin. Kemble was interviewed and pestered with -inquiries on the subject. Indeed, his prestige for the time was vastly -increased by his relationship. At a dinner at the Castle, Lord Inchiquin -gave as a toast, “The matchless Mrs. Siddons,” and sent her brother a -ring containing her miniature set in diamonds. - -Daly had gone over himself to engage her; and it was said she had refused -all provincial offers in England for the sake of winning the hearts of -the Irish critics. All seemed propitious, and the way prepared for the -coming of the conquering heroine. Events, however, did not turn out -as expected. There, where the vivacious, impudent, good-natured Peg -Woffington, with her “bad” voice and swaggering way, became a popular -idol, the queenly Siddons, with her imperious, tragic manner, extorted -praise for her acting, no doubt, but never won their hearts. In spite of -the Irish blood in her veins, she had no fellow-feeling for the people; -and an antagonism sprang up between her and her Dublin audience from the -first. She disliked the dirt, ostentation, insincerity, and frivolity of -Irishmen, and refused to acknowledge their kind-heartedness and genuine -artistic appreciation. - -By her letters we can see the impression the country made on her. She -started in the beginning of July, accompanied by a small party, which -consisted of Brereton, her husband, and her sister. On the 14th she -writes to her friend Whalley:— - -“I thank you a thousand and a thousand times for your letter; but you -don’t mention having heard from me since you left England. We rejoice -most sincerely that you are arrived without any material accident, -without any dangerous ones I mean, for, to be sure, some of them were -very _materially_ entertaining. Oh! how I laugh whenever the drowsy -adventure comes across my imagination, for ‘more was meant than met -the ear.’ I am sure I would have given the world to have seen my dear -Mrs. Whalley upon the little old tub. How happy you are in your -descriptions! So she was very well; then very jocular she must be. I -think her conversation, thus enthroned and thus surrounded, must have -been the highest treat in all the world. Some parts of your tour must -have been enchanting. How good it was of you to wish me a partaker of -your pastoral dinner! Be assured, my dear, dear friends, no one can thank -you more sincerely, or be more sensible of the honour of your regard, -though many may deserve it better. What a comfortable thing to meet with -such agreeable people! But society and converse like yours and dear Mrs. -Whalley’s must very soon make savages agreeable. How did poor little -Paphy bear it? Did she remonstrate in her usual melting tones? I am sure -she was very glad to be at rest, which does not happen in a carriage, I -remember, for any length of time. I can conceive nothing so provoking or -ridiculous as the Frenchman’s politeness, and poor Vincent’s perplexity. -You will have heard, long ere this reaches you, that our sweet D⸺ is -safely delivered of a very fine girl, which, I know, will give you no -small pleasure. Now for myself. Our journey was delightful; the roads -through Wales present you with mountains unsurmountable, the grandest and -most beautiful prospects to be conceived; but I want your pen to describe -them. - -“We got very safe to Holyhead, and then I felt as if some great event -was going to take place, having never been on the sea. I was awed, but -not terrified; feeling myself in the hands of a great and powerful God -‘whose mercy is over all His works.’ The sea was particularly rough; we -were lifted mountains high, and sank again as low in an instant. Good -God! how tremendous, how wonderful! A pleasing terror took hold on me, -which it is impossible to describe, and I never felt the majesty of the -Divine Creator so fully before. I was dreadfully sick, and so were my -poor sister and Mr. Brereton. Mr. Siddons was pretty well; and here, my -dear friend, let me give you a little wholesome advice: allways (you see -I have forgot to spell) go to bed the instant you go on board, for by -lying horizontally, and keeping very quiet, you cheat the sea of half -its influence. We arrived in Dublin the 16th June, half-past twelve at -night. There is not a tavern or a house of any kind in this capital city -of a rising kingdom, as they call themselves, that will take a woman in; -and, do you know, I was obliged, after being shut up in the Custom-house -officer’s room, to have the things examined, which room was more like a -dungeon than anything else—after staying here above an hour and a half, -I tell you, I was obliged, sick and weary as I was, to wander about -the streets on foot (for the coaches and chairs were all gone off the -stands) till almost two o’clock in the morning, raining, too, as if -heaven and earth were coming together. A pretty beginning! thought I; but -these people are a thousand years behind us in every respect. At length -Mr. Brereton, whose father had provided a bed for him on his arrival, -ventured to say he would insist on having a bed for us at the house where -he was to sleep. Well, we got to this place, and the lady of the house -vouchsafed, after many times telling us that she never took in ladies, to -say we should sleep there that night.” - -The actress’s first appearance was made in _Isabella_, on the 21st -June 1783. The theatre was crowded to suffocation, and guineas and -half-guineas were paid for seats in the pit and gallery; but after the -first night the enthusiasm seemed to die away, and Mrs. Crawford, at -Crow Street Theatre, who had been completely dethroned by Mrs. Siddons -in London, now boldly ventured to come forward in opposition to her -rival, and, to her own astonishment, as well as that of everyone else, -soon commanded larger houses. The critics also soon began their attacks, -taking the form of ridicule, a method of warfare very trying to a person -of her proud, sensitive nature. - -“On Saturday, Mrs. Siddons, about whom all the world has been talking, -exposed her beautiful, adamantine, soft, and comely person, for the first -time, in the Theatre Royal, Smock Alley. The house was crowded with -hundreds more than it could hold, with thousands of admiring spectators -that went away without a sight. She was nature itself; she was the most -exquisite work of art. Several fainted, even before the curtain drew up. -The fiddlers in the orchestra blubbered like hungry children crying for -their bread and butter; and when the bell rang for music between the -acts, the tears ran from the bassoon player’s eyes in such showers that -they choked the finger-stops, and, making a spout of the instrument, -poured in such a torrent upon the first fiddler’s book, that, not seeing -the overture was in two sharps, the leader of the band actually played -in two flats; but the sobs and sighs of the groaning audience, and the -noise of the corks drawn from the smelling-bottles, prevented the mistake -being discovered. The briny pond in the pit was three feet deep, and the -people that were obliged to stand upon the benches, were in that position -up to their ankles in tears. An Act of Parliament against her playing -will certainly pass, for she has infected the volunteers, and they sit -reading _The Fatal Marriage_, crying and roaring all the time. May the -curses of an insulted nation pursue the gentlemen of the College, the -gentlemen of the Bar, and the peers and peeresses that hissed her on the -second night. True it is that Mr. Garrick never could make anything of -her, and pronounced her below mediocrity; true it is the London audience -did not like her; but what of that?” - -Her consciousness of the antagonism that existed against her in the press -and amongst the public made her stay in the capital by no means either -pleasant or successful, and she was glad to start with the party which -Daly had got together to go the round of the country. It consisted of the -manager and his future wife, Miss Barsanti, the two Kembles, Miss Younge, -Digges, Miss Philipps, and Mrs. Melnotte, wife of Pratt Melnotte, of Bath -celebrity. - -An amusing account of the tour has been left by Bernard the actor, who -happened to be in Ireland at the time. The solemn Kembles certainly seem -out of place in the rollicking fun, and we can imagine Mrs. Siddons’s -stately disgust when a gentleman from the pit called out, “Sally, me -jewel, how are you?” or, as occurred several times, when a general dance -took place in the gallery as soon as the orchestra began. - -Mrs. Siddons does not seem to have had any occasion for changing later -the first opinion she formed of the country, for we find her writing -confidentially to Mr. Whalley from Cork, on the 29th of August, that she -thinks the city of Dublin a sink of filthiness. - - “The noisome smells, and the multitudes of shocking and most - miserable objects, made me resolve never to stir out but - to my business. I like not the people either; they are all - ostentation and insincerity, and in their ideas of finery - very like the French, but not so cleanly; and they not only - speak, but think coarsely. This is in confidence; therefore, - your fingers on your lips, I pray. They are tenacious of their - country to a degree of folly that is very laughable, and - would call me the blackest of ingrates were they to know my - sentiments of them. I have got a thousand pounds among them - this summer. I always acknowledge myself obliged to them, but - I cannot love them. I know but one among them that can in any - degree atone for the barbarism of the rest, who thinks there - are other means of expressing esteem besides forcing people to - eat and to drink, the doing which to a most offensive degree - they call Irish hospitality. I long to be at home, sitting - quietly in the little snug parlour, where I had last the - pleasure, or rather the pain, of seeing you that night. For - the first time in my life I wished not to see you. I dreaded - it, and with reason. I knew (which was the case) I should not - recover that cruel farewell for several days. - - “Oh! my dear friend, do the pleasures of life compensate for - the pangs? I think not. Some people place the whole happiness - of life in the pleasures of imagination, in building castles; - for my part, I am not one that builds very magnificent ones. - Nay; I don’t build any castles, but cottages without end. May - the great Disposer of all events but permit me to spend the - evening of my toilsome, bustling day in a cottage, where I may - sometimes have the converse and society which will make me more - worthy those imperishable habitations which are prepared for - the spirits of just men made perfect! Yes, let me take up my - rest in this world near my beloved Langford. You know this has - been my castle any time these four years. And I am making a - little snug party. Mr. Nott and my dear sister I have secured, - and make no doubt of gaining a few others. Is not this a - delightful scheme? - - “I have played for one charity since I have been here (I - am at Cork, I should tell you), and am to play for another - to-morrow—your favourite Zara, in the _Mourning Bride_. I am - extremely happy that you like your little companion so well - [alluding to a miniature of herself she had sent him]. I - have sat to a young man in this place, who has made a small - full-length of me in Isabella, upon the first entrance of - Biron. You will think this an arduous undertaking, but he has - succeeded to admiration. I think it more like me than any I - have ever yet seen. I am sure you would have been delighted - with it. I never was so well in my life as I have been in - Ireland; but, God be praised, I shall set out for dear England - next Tuesday. - - “This letter has been begun this month, and finished by a line - or two at a time, so you’ll find it a fine scrawl, and I am - still so mere a matter-of-fact body as to despair of giving - you the least entertainment. I can boast no other claim to the - honour and happiness of your correspondence than a very sincere - affection for you both, joined with the most perfect esteem for - your most amiable qualities and great talent. Say all that’s - kind for me to my dear Mrs. W⸺, and believe me, ever your most - affectionate - - “S. SIDDONS.” - - * * * * * - - “Cork, August 29th. - - “I hope you will give me the pleasure of hearing from you soon.” - - * * * * * - - “London, October 7th, 1783. - - “For God’s sake, my dear friends, pray for my memory. I had - forgot to pay the postage, as you kindly desired, and this poor - letter has been wandering about the world ever since I left - Cork. - - “It was opened in Ireland, you see, so I must never show my - face there again. The King commands _Isabella_ to-morrow, and I - play _Jane Shore_ on Saturday. I have affronted Mrs. Jackson by - not being able to procure her places. I am extremely sorry for - it, as I had the highest esteem for herself, and her friendship - to you had tied her close to my heart. I have done all I could - to reinstate myself in her favour, but in vain. Poor Mr. Nott - has been in great trouble; he has lost a brother lately that - was more nearly allied than by blood, and for whose loss he is - inconsolable. He is not in town, but I hope soon to see him. - Adieu! Mr. Siddons, &c., desire kindest wishes. The last letter - I wrote to you I was very near serving in the same manner. Is - it not a little alarming? I fear I shall be superannuated in a - few years.” - -Her acrimony is almost incomprehensible. After the expressions used in -the above letter we can quite understand how she made herself unpopular. -She might have wished secrecy kept, but she was not the woman to hide -what she felt. She is unjust also in the statement that Irishmen -“not only think but speak coarsely.” On this, as on other occasions, -she allowed her wounded vanity to dim her power of observation. The -punishment, however, came sharp and sudden, and destroyed her happiness -for many a day. - -While Mrs. Siddons was acting in Dublin, Jackson, the manager of the -Edinburgh Theatre, opened communications with her with a view to an -engagement. Finding it difficult to come to terms, he at last travelled -over himself, but the history of the negotiation from beginning to end -makes us understand Mrs. Siddons’s unpopularity with all her managers. -There is too resolute an adherence to her own interests, too much of a -calm, cold superiority. She “haggled” and bargained over every step, -until Jackson almost gave the whole business up in despair. Encouraged, -however, FitzGerald tells us, by a purse of £200, which some noblemen -and gentlemen of Scotland had liberally made up to assist him in making -the engagement, he at last assented to her terms. The Siddons’ demands -for nine nights’ performance, besides a “clear benefit,” was £400. They -soon, however, heard of the £200 subscription, and Mr. Siddons then wrote -to know if that sum was to be included in the £400, or if it were to -come under the head of an extra emolument. The manager was explicit in -his statement that the £200 was intended for his benefit. On this Mrs. -Siddons announced that she did not wish for any given sum, but would take -half the clear receipts. Poor Jackson was obliged to agree to this breach -of contract, as he had already gone so far with his patrons in Edinburgh. -The history of the negotiation, however, is not pleasant reading for Mrs. -Siddons’s admirers, especially when we find later that she contrived -to have the £200 subscription paid over to her without the knowledge -of the manager, and that at the end of her engagement Jackson found -himself a loser. The “charges of the house” were put too low. Actors like -Pope, King, and Miss Farren had always allowed something handsome on -settlement. Nothing was to be obtained from Mrs. Siddons. - -The average profit would have been about £25 a night. From Dublin she -returned to London, and acted her second season there; it was even more -brilliant than her first, and rendered noteworthy both by her first -appearance with her brother, John Kemble, in _The Gamester_, who from -that time frequently acted with her, and by her acting of Isabella in -_Measure for Measure_, in which part she made her first success in a -Shakespearean character in London. She looked the novice of St. Clare -to perfection. In the spring she made her way northwards to keep her -engagement with the Edinburgh manager, and on Saturday, 22nd May, 1784, -she appeared on the stage of the Royalty Theatre, in Belvidera. The -well-known impassibility of the Edinburgh audience affected Mrs. Siddons -with an intolerable sense of depression. - -After some of her grandest outbursts of passion, to which no expression -of applause had responded, exhausted and breathless, she would pant -out in despair, under her breath, “Stupid people, stupid people!” This -habitual reserve she soon found, however, gave way at times to very -violent exhibitions of enthusiasm, the more fervent from its general -expression—once, indeed, the whole of the sleep-walking scene in -_Macbeth_ was so vehemently applauded that, contrary to all rule, she had -to go over it a second time before the piece was allowed to proceed. - -Afterwards, when by these ebullitions of real feeling she had proved -her audience’s appreciation, she could afford to tell stories of their -stolidity when she first appeared amongst them. The second night, -disheartened at the cold reception of her most thrilling passages, after -one desperate effort she paused for a reply. It came at last, when the -silence was broken by a single voice exclaiming, “That’s no bad!” a -tribute which was the signal for unbounded applause. One venerable old -gentleman, who was taken by his daughter to see the great actress in -_Venice Preserved_, sat with perfect composure through the first act -and into the second, when he asked his daughter, “Which was the woman -Siddons?” As Belvidera is the only female part in the play, she had no -difficulty in answering. Nothing more occurred till the catastrophe; he -then inquired, “Is this a comedy or a tragedy?” “Why, bless you, father, -a tragedy.” “So I thought, for I am beginning to feel a commotion.” -This instance was typical of the whole of the audience—and once they -began to “feel a commotion,” there was no longer any doubt about their -expression of it. The passion, indeed, for hysterics and fainting at -her performances ran into a fashionable mania. A distinguished surgeon, -familiarly called “Sandy Wood,” who, with his shrewd common-sense, had -a way of seeing through the follies of his fashionable patients, was -called from his seat in the pit, where he was to be found every evening -Mrs. Siddons acted, to attend upon the hysterics of one of the excitable -ladies who were tumbling around him. On his way through the crowd a -friend said to him, alluding to Mrs. Siddons, “This is glorious acting, -Sandy.” Looking round at the fainting and screaming ladies in the boxes, -Wood answered, “Yes, and a d⸺d deal o’t, too.” Some verses in the _Scot’s -Magazine_ give a picture of the scene, the pit being described as “all -porter and pathos, all whisky and whining,” while— - - “From all sides of the house, hark! the cry how it swells, - While the boxes are torn with most heart-piercing yells!” - -The enthusiasm to see her was so great, that one day there were more -than 2,500 applications for about 600 seats. The oppression and heat was -so great in the crowded and ill-ventilated theatre, that an epidemic -that attacked the town was humorously attributed to this cause, and was -called “the Siddons fever.” All that was most cultured and intellectual -in Edinburgh came to do her homage—Blair, Hume, Beattie, Mackenzie, Home, -all attended her performances. She made by her engagement, the share of -the house, benefit, and subscription, more than one thousand pounds. And -this success was not only among the educated classes, the pit and gallery -paid their tribute besides. Campbell tells us how a poor servant-girl -with a basket of greens on her arm, one day stopped near her in the High -Street, and hearing her speak, said, “Ah, weel do I ken that sweet voice, -that made me greet sae sair the streen.” - -Before she left she was presented with a silver tea-urn, as a mark of -“esteem” for superior genius and unrivalled talents. She refers to this -visit later in her grandiloquent style. “How shall I express my gratitude -for the honours and kindness of my northern friends? for, should I -attempt it, I should be thought the very queen of egotists. But never -can I forget the private no less than public marks of their gratifying -suffrages.” - - - - -CHAPTER VII. - -CLOUDS. - - -On the 15th June she tore herself away from all these “private” and -“public marks of gratifying suffrages,” and again paid a visit to Dublin, -which at the beginning was more successful than her former one, but -towards the end was clouded with untoward circumstances, which militated -against her for the whole of her professional career. - -This time she became the guest of her former friend Miss Boyle, now -become Mrs. O’Neil of Shane’s Castle. The Lord-Lieutenant welcomed her -as if she were some “great lady of rank,” and she tells us how she -was received “by all the _first families_ with the most flattering -hospitality, and the days I passed with them will be ever remembered -among the most pleasurable of my life.” She paid a visit to Shane’s -Castle. “I have not words to describe the beauty and splendour of this -enchanting place, which, I am sorry to say, has since been levelled to -the earth by a tremendous fire. Here were often assembled all the talent, -and rank, and beauty of Ireland. Among the persons of the Leinster family -whom I met here was poor Lord Edward Fitzgerald, the most amiable, -honourable, though misguided youth I ever knew. - -“The luxury of this establishment almost inspired the recollections -of an Arabian Night’s entertainment. Six or eight carriages, with a -numerous throng of lords and ladies on horseback, began the day by making -excursions around this terrestrial paradise, returning home just in time -to dress for dinner. The table was served with a profusion and elegance -to which I have never seen anything comparable. The sideboards were -decorated with adequate magnificence, on which appeared several immense -silver flagons containing claret. A fine band of musicians played during -the whole of the repast. They were stationed in the corridors, which led -into a fine conservatory, where we plucked our dessert from numerous -trees of the most exquisite fruits. The foot of the conservatory was -washed by the waves of a superb lake, from which the cool and pleasant -wind came, to murmur in concert with the harmony from the corridor. The -graces of the presiding genius, the lovely mistress of the mansion, -seemed to blend with the whole scene.” - -These Arabian Nights’ entertainments, delightful as they may have been, -were calculated to make her very unpopular with her profession. Stories -about her fine-lady airs were freely circulated, to which her own want -of tact, and the injudicious behaviour of her husband, gave a certain -foundation. - -One of these that was actually believed, and copied into the London -papers, was to the effect that, having been persuaded to visit the -studio of a certain Mr. Home, a local artist, he asked her to sit to -him. “Impossible,” was the reply, “I can hardly find time to sit to -Sir Joshua Reynolds.” The offended artist insinuated that her refusal -would not ruin him; upon which she was said to have boxed his ears and -stormed out of the house. This is so palpably ill-natured, and from a -knowledge of Mrs. Siddons’s character so improbable, that we only give -it, among a mass of other evidence, to show how the feeling against her -gradually arose, which, to a certain extent, was destined to pursue her -through life. Mr. Siddons’s good sense did not materially aid her. On one -occasion, dining, in company with John Kemble, at the house of a Dublin -merchant, their host expressed a great wish to be introduced to the young -actress. “I should like to very much, but do not know how to break the -matter to her,” was the husband’s reply, which, we must confess, was not -calculated to increase the geniality of feeling entertained for her in -general society. She managed also to offend the manager, Mr. Daly, who -by all accounts was not an agreeable person, for we read in Bernard’s -_Reminiscences_ that he was an extremely vain, jealous-tempered man, -proud of his acting and good looks. Mrs. Siddons insinuates that his -dislike arose to her scornful rejection of attentions he endeavoured -to press upon her. However that may be, the following is her own -account of the manner in which he first showed his enmity, and gives a -curious insight into the wretched bickerings and heart-burnings of the -profession:— - -“The manager of the theatre also very soon began to adopt every means of -vexation for me that he could possibly devise, merely because I chose -to suggest at rehearsal that his proper situation, as Falconbridge in -_King John_, was at the right hand of the King. During the scene between -Constance and Austria, he thought it necessary that he should, though -he did it most ungraciously, adopt this arrangement; but his malevolence -pursued me unremittedly from that moment. He absurdly fancied that he was -of less consequence when placed at so great a distance from the front -of the stage, at the ends of which the kings were seated; but he had -little or nothing to say, and his being in the front would have greatly -interrupted and diminished the effect of Constance’s best scene. He made -me suffer, however, sufficiently for my personality by employing all the -newspapers to abuse and annoy me the whole time I remained in Dublin, and -to pursue me to England with malignant scandal; but of that anon. The -theatre, meantime, was attended to his heart’s content—indeed, the whole -of this engagement was as profitable as my most sanguine hopes could have -anticipated.” - -Presently, however, she was to be put on her trial for a more serious -charge. The unfortunate actor, Digges, while rehearsing with her, was -struck down with paralysis. Lee Lewes, who endeavours to defend her in -all this business, tells us that her engagement was then drawing to a -close, and she was announced to play at Cork a few days after. Asked -to perform in a benefit for the poor man, she replied that she was -sorry she had but one night to spare, and had already promised to play -for the Marshalsea pensioners. Thinking better of this determination, -however, later, she despatched “a messenger” to Digges, saying she -had reconsidered the matter, and would be glad to perform for him. -Digges expressed his gratitude, and the night and play were fixed; but, -according to her own evidence, everything was done to annoy her and -prevent the carrying out of her charitable intentions. This is her -account of the business:— - -“When my visit to Shane Castle was over, I entered into another -engagement in Dublin. Among the actors was Mr. Digges, who had formerly -held a high rank in the drama, but who was now by age and infirmity -reduced to a subordinate and mortifying situation. It occurred to me -that I might be of some use to him if I could persuade the manager to -give him a night, and the actors to perform for him, at the close of -my engagement; but when I proposed my request to the manager (Daly -declares, as we shall see, that the proposal came from him, and not -from her), he told me it could not be, because the whole company would -be obliged to leave the Dublin theatre in order to open the theatre at -Limerick, but that he would lend the house for my purpose if I could -procure a sufficient number of actors to perform a play. By indefatigable -labour, and in spite of cruel annoyances, Mr. Siddons and myself got -together, from all the little country theatres, as many as would enable -us to attempt _Venice Preserved_. Oh! to be sure it was a scene of -disgust and confusion. I acted Belvidera, without having ever previously -seen the face of one of the actors—for there was no time for even one -rehearsal—but the motive procured us indulgence. Poor Mr. Digges was most -materially benefited by this most ludicrous performance, and I put my -disgust into my pocket since money passed into his. Thus ended my Irish -engagement, but not so my persecution by the manager, at whose instance -the newspapers were filled with the most unjust and malignant reflections -on me. All the time I was on a visit of some length to the Dowager -Duchess of Leinster, unconscious of the gathering storm, whilst the -public mind was imbibing poisonous prejudices against me. Alas for those -who subsist by the stability of public favour!” - -The above was written by Mrs. Siddons in later days, and is eminently -unsatisfactory from every point of view. The dragging in of the -Dowager Duchess of Leinster, when we want a plain statement of facts, -is irritating, and the complaint against public favour at the end is -stilted and artificial. No doubt the manager was unfriendly, but her -first impulse was not a generous one, and she laid herself open to -ill-natured constructions being put on her conduct. The real story we -take to be this: Digges (to whom she was not particularly inclined to be -friendly, owing to her attributing to him the authorship of the satirical -criticisms on her acting when she first arrived in Ireland) was struck -down by illness, in a manner and under circumstances to arouse the -deep sympathy of the members of his profession, ever charitable to one -another. Daly, the manager, before communicating with Digges, asked Mr. -Siddons if his wife would give her services for a benefit. He, instigated -of course by her, refused the request. On this refusal, not unjustly, -were based all the charges brought against her. Daly then offered to pay -for her services; this also was refused, and nothing further was done -until Mrs. Siddons, finding the whole affair unfavourably canvassed, -sent Mr. Siddons to inform Digges that she had arranged to play for his -benefit. This graciousness came too late; the rumour of her refusal had -already got abroad, and very unfavourable comments were made both by the -press and the public. The annoyance also caused her by the inefficient -representation of _Venice Preserved_ might have been avoided if she had -at once acceded to Daly’s request. As it was, the whole company had been -obliged to leave for the opening of the Limerick Theatre. She and Mr. -Siddons, therefore, were obliged to get together a scratch company, and -give the benefit after the season was over, which could not have been -nearly so advantageous to the object of the charity. Money was made, -but not so much as if she had acted in the middle of the season. We can -hardly believe she was actuated in all this by love of money; it is more -likely that the proud resentment she felt when unfavourably criticised in -any way had interfered with her kindlier impulse. - -In the case of Brereton, the same unfortunate sensitiveness seems to have -been at work. Brereton was the leading actor of her troupe, always played -lover to her heroine, and, it was said, had at one time made his love -in so earnest a fashion, that the beautiful actress had, as in the case -of Daly, to check his ardour, or, as Boaden expresses it, “in kindling -his imagination the divinity unsettled his reason, and in clasping the -goddess he became sensible of the charms of the woman.” However this may -be, Brereton was by no means friendly, and never missed an opportunity of -covertly attacking her. When asked, therefore, to play for his benefit, -she actually deducted ten pounds from the profits as her own emolument. -Percy Fitzgerald seems inclined to think that “all this wretched muddle -was the work of Mr. Siddons, who, considering the charitable taxes laid -on her, and the many benefits she had to assist, found himself obliged, -like most husbands of money-getting actresses, to bargain and chaffer for -her gifts as if they were wares, and get as much money as they could be -made to bring in.” - -But we think that at no time of their married life had Siddons enough -influence to induce her to do anything against her better judgment, and -we doubt very much whether he was ever allowed to complete a bargain -of any kind, although his name was frequently used. What aroused the -sympathy of the public more warmly in the cause of Brereton was the -madness that subsequently fell upon him. - -The best side of her character was ever called out by adversity. It was -perhaps undignified to defend herself as she did—or, rather, as Siddons -did in her name—by an exculpatory letter to the papers, appealing to -the two actors, Digges and Brereton, to declare whether she had, or had -not, played for them when asked. Two letters were thus extorted from -them declaring that she had done all that was necessary to satisfy the -calls of charity, &c. Nothing could be conceived more fatal to her cause -than all this bandying of evidence. The idol men set up to worship they -generally delight to drag down and trample under foot if they dare. In -this case, however, they might insult and humiliate, but they could not -drag their victim from the high estate she had achieved. - -Her very high qualities as a wife and mother, her decorum of conduct, -so different to others of her profession, seemed to add a zest to the -acrimony with which they assaulted her. The first part in which she -appeared on the London boards after her return from Dublin was Mrs. -Beverley in the _Gamester_ to her brother’s Stukeley. Hardly had the -curtain been raised, before a storm of hooting and hissing broke forth, -and she whom they had late proclaimed a queen, who had seen the town -enslaved at her feet, now stood “the object of public scorn.” She did the -best thing she could by remaining with perfect composure facing them, -but in those few dreadful moments she discounted all the adulation and -success she had enjoyed. How intense the suffering was we can see by the -account written years after. - -“I had left London,” she tells us, “the object of universal approbation, -but, on my return, only a few weeks afterwards, I was received, on my -first night’s appearance, with universal opprobrium, accused of hardness -of heart, and total insensibility to everything and everybody except -my own interest. Unhappily, contrary winds had for some days precluded -the possibility of receiving from Dublin such letters as would have -refuted those atrocious calumnies, and saved me from the horrors of this -dreadful night, when I was received with hissing and hooting. Amidst -this afflicting clamour I made several attempts to be heard, when at -length a gentleman stood forth in the middle of the front of the pit, -impelled by benevolent and gentlemanly feeling, who, as I advanced to -make my last attempt at being heard, accosted me with these words: ‘For -Heaven’s sake, Madam, do not degrade yourself by an apology, for there is -nothing necessary to be said!’ I shall always look back with gratitude -to this gallant man’s solitary advocacy of my cause; like Abdiel, -‘faithful found; among the faithless, faithful only he.’ His admonition -was followed by reiterated clamour, when my dear brother appeared, and -carried me away from this scene of insult. - -“The instant I quitted it I fainted in his arms; and, on my recovery, -I was thankful that my persecutors had not had the gratification of -beholding this weakness. After I was tolerably restored to myself, I was -induced, by the persuasions of my husband, my brother, and Mr. Sheridan, -to present myself again before that audience by whom I had been so -savagely treated, and before whom, but in consideration of my children, -I would have never appeared again. The play was _The Gamester_, which -commences with a scene between Beverley and Charlotte. - -“Great and pleasant was my astonishment to find myself, on the second -rising of the curtain, received with a silence so profound that I was -absolutely awe-struck, and never yet have I been able to account for this -surprising contrast; for I really think that the falling of a pin might -have been then heard upon the stage.” - -On her entrance the second time, Mrs. Siddons summoned enough courage to -address the audience:— - -“Ladies and gentlemen, the kind and flattering partiality which I have -uniformly experienced in this place would make the present interruption -distressing to me indeed, were I in the slightest degree conscious of -having deserved your censure. I feel no such consciousness. - -“The stories which have been circulated against me are calumnies. When -they shall be proved to be true, my aspersors will be justified; but, -till then, my respect for the public leads me to be confident that I -shall be protected from unmerited insult.” - -These words, spoken by the Muse of Tragedy, with her stately dignity and -flaming eyes, had an instantaneous effect. She withdrew; the curtain fell. - -King, the actor, came forward to beg the indulgence of the audience for a -few moments; and when she appeared again, pale but calm, not an attempt -at interruption was heard. On several occasions after, an attempt was -made to renew the interruption; but the orderly portion of the audience -was strong enough to quell it. She acknowledged the applause when she -came on, and endeavoured to appear perfectly indifferent to the hissing; -but all the triumphant confidence of the first days of success seemed -to have deserted her for the time, and she was again the uncertain, -tottering _débutante_. Her splendid genius was, however, but dimmed, and -all her suffering but lent to serve as a stepping-stone to a higher level -than she had yet attained. We must give here some letters she wrote to -her friends, the Whalleys, as giving an insight into that brave heart -of this wonderful woman, whose “victorious faith upheld her” in this -and many subsequent trials. What wonder, however, that in later years -she grew hard and proud—the first bloom of trust and belief was rubbed -off in these her first encounters with the rough judgment of the mob. -From henceforth the confiding girlish Ophelia and Juliet vanish from the -scene, and Lady Macbeth, with her fierce reliance on intellectual power -alone, and indignant scorn of all human judgment, appears. She wrote to -the Whalleys:— - - “MY DEAREST FRIENDS, - - “I hardly dare hope that you will remember me. I know I don’t - deserve that you should; but I know, also, that you are too - steadfast and too good to cast me off for a seeming negligence - to which my heart and soul are averse, and the appearance - of which I have incessantly regretted. What can I say in - my defence? I have been very unhappy; now ’tis over I will - venture to tell you so, that you may not ‘lose the dues of - rejoicing.’ ‘Envy, malice, detraction, all the fiends of hell - have compassed me round about to destroy me’; ‘but blessed be - God who hath given me the victory,’ &c. I have been charged - with almost everything bad, except incontinence, and it is - attributed to me as thinking a woman may be guilty of every - crime in the catalogue of crimes, provided she retain her - chastity. - - “God help them and forgive them, they know but little of me. - I daresay you will wonder that a favourite should stand her - ground so long; and in truth so do I. I have been degraded; I - am now again the favourite servant of the public, and I have - kept the noiseless tenor of my temper in these extremes. My - spirit has been grieved, but my victorious faith upholds me. - I look forward to a better world for happiness, and am placed - in this in mercy to be a candidate for that. But what makes - the wound rankle deeper is that ingratitude, hypocrisy, and - perfidy have barbed the darts. But it is over, and I am happy. - Good God! what would I give to see you both, but for an hour! - How many thousand, thousand times do I wish myself with you, - and long to unburthen my heart to you. I can’t bear the idea - of your being so long absent. I know you will expect to hear - what I have been doing; and I wish I could do this to your - satisfaction. Suffice it to say that I have acted Lady Macbeth, - Desdemona, and several other things this season with the most - unbounded approbation; and you have no idea how the innocence - and playful simplicity of the latter have laid hold on the - hearts of the people. I am very much flattered by this, as - nobody ever has done anything with that character before. My - brother is charming in _Othello_; indeed, I must do the public - the justice to say that they have been extremely indulgent, if - not partial, to every character I have performed. - - “I have never seen Mr. Pratt since I heard from you, but he - discovers his unworthiness to my own family; he abuses me, - it seems, to one of my sisters in the most complete manner. - How distressing is it to be so deceived! Our old Mary, too, - whom you must remember, has proved a very viper. She has - lately taken to drinking, has defrauded us of a great deal of - money given her to pay the tradespeople, and in her cups has - abused Mr. Siddons and me beyond all bounds; and I believe - in my soul that all the scandalous reports of Mr. Siddons’s - ill-treatment of me originated entirely in her. One may pay for - one’s experience, and the consciousness of acting rightly is a - comfort that hell-born malice cannot rob us of. Lady Langham - has done me the honour to call with her daughter. Her drawings - are very wonderful things for such a girl. In the compositions - she has drawn me in _Macbeth_ asleep and awake; but I think she - has been unsuccessful in this effort. Next week I shall see - your daughter and the rest. Sarah is an elegant creature, and - Maria is as beautiful as a seraph. Harry grows very awkward, - sensible, and well-disposed; and, thank God, we are all well. I - can stay no longer than to hope that you are both so, and happy - (see how disinterested I am!); that Reeves and the dear Paphy - are so too; and that you will love me, and believe me, with the - warmest and truest affection, unalterably and gratefully yours, - - “S. SIDDONS.” - - “My whole family desire the kindest remembrances. We have - bought a house in Gower Street, Bedford Square; the back of it - is most effectually in the country and delightfully pleasant. - - “God bless you, my dear Mrs. Whalley! How perfectly do I see - you at this moment; and you, too, my dear friend, for it is - impossible to separate your images in my mind. Pray write to me - soon, and give me another instance of your unwearied kindness. - Adieu!” - -We can see how bruised and sore her heart is. For the moment she thinks -all are conspiring to betray her. - -The Mr. Pratt she alludes to was a Bath bookseller and dramatist, much -admired by his townsmen. This admiration was not shared by the managers -of Drury Lane, who would not allow Mrs. Siddons to act in his drama -the first year she appeared. She had already sacrificed herself to a -failure, _The Fatal Interview_, which had really injured her professional -reputation. Pratt maintained, however, she might have done him this -service had she been so minded. She herself writes kindly of the aspirant -to fame, but we can see his cause of irritation. - -“Your letter,” she writes in 1783 to Dr. Whalley, “to poor Pratty is -lying on the table by me, and I am selfish enough to grudge it him from -the bottom of my heart, and yet I will not; for just now, poor soul, he -wants much comfort; therefore, let him take it, and God bless him with -it!” - -And again:— - -“_The Fatal Interview_ has been played three times, and is quite done -with; it was the dullest of all representations. Pratty’s Epilogue was -vastly applauded indeed. I shall take care how I get into such another -play; but I fancy the managers will take care of that, too. _They won’t -let me play in Pratty’s comedy._” - -All this shows us how often she was the victim of undeserved resentment -on the part of slighted authors, and how, very often, the fact of doing -a kindness got her into trouble. She had accepted _The Fatal Interview_, -and now Pratt thought himself aggrieved that she would not do the same -for him. Most likely at any other time she would have shrugged her -shoulders at Pratt’s machinations, but everything now hurt her wounded -sensibilities. - -“I must beg you will not mention (I believe I am giving an unnecessary -caution) anything I have told you concerning Mr. Pratt. I would not -wish him to know, by any means, that I have been informed of his last -unkindness, because it might prevent his asking me to do him a favour, -which I shall be at all times ready to grant, when in my power. I must -tell you that after the very unkind letter he sent me, in answer to mine -requesting the ten pounds, I never wrote to or heard from him until about -three months ago, when he wrote to me as if he had never offered such an -indignity, recommending a work he had just finished to my attention. He -did not tell me what this work was, but I had heard it was a tragedy. To -be made a convenient acquaintance only, did not much gratify me; but, -however, I wrote to say he knew the resolution I had been obliged to make -(having made many enemies by reading some, and not being able to give -time to read all tragedies) to read nobody’s tragedy, and then no one -could take offence; but that if it were accepted by the managers, and -there was anything that I could be of service to him in (doing justice to -myself), that I should be very happy to serve him. I have heard nothing -of him since that time till within these few days, when he wrote to my -sister Fanny, accusing me of ingratitude, and calling himself the ladder -upon which I have mounted to fame, and which I am kicking down. - -“What he means by ingratitude I am at a loss to guess, and I fancy he -would be puzzled to explain; our obligations were always, I believe, -pretty mutual. However, in this letter to Fanny, he says he is going to -publish a poem called _Gratitude_, in which he means to show my avarice -and meanness, and all the rest of my amiable qualities to the world, for -having dropped him, as he calls it, so injuriously, and banishing him -my house. Now, as I hope for mercy, I permitted his visits at my house, -after having discovered that he was taking every possible method to -attach my sister to him, which, you may be sure, he took pains to conceal -from us, and I had him to my parties long after I made this discovery. - -“In short, till he chose to write this letter, which I disdained to reply -to, he called as usual. He had the modesty to desist from calling on us -from that time, and now has the goodness to throw this unmerited obloquy -on me. I am so well convinced that a very plain tale will put him down, -that his intentions give me very little concern. I am only grieved to see -such daily instances of folly and wickedness in human nature. - -“It is worth observing, too, that at the very time he chose to write -this agreeable letter, I was using my best influences with Mr. Siddons -to lend him the money I told you of before. I find he thinks it is not -very prudent to quarrel with me, but has the effrontery to think that I -should make advances toward our reconcilement; but I will die first. -‘My towering virtue, from the assurance of my merit, scorns to stoop so -low.’ If he should come round of himself (for I have learnt that best of -knowledge to forgive) I will, out of respect for what I believe he once -was, be of what service I can to him, for I believe he meant well at -one time, when I knew him first, and the noblest vengeance is the most -complete. Once more, your fingers on your lips, I pray.” - -We should like to see less mention of benefits bestowed, the ten pounds -not mentioned; but this letter is a good specimen of the manner in which -she was worried by applicants, and shows how impossible it was for her to -satisfy them all. - -The next is a regular eighteenth-century four-pager, but is so -characteristic, and so sincere and full of affection, that we cannot -help quoting it at the end of this chapter, as the best assurance of her -possession of that heart her enemies declared she did not possess. - -“Mrs. Wapshawe has been so good as to bestow half an hour upon me. -She speaks of you as I should speak of you—as if she could not find -words, and as if her sentiments could not enough honour you both. If -you could look into the hearts of people, trust me, my beloved and ever -lamented friends, you would be convinced that mine yearns after you with -increasing and unutterable affection. See there now—how have I expressed -myself? That is always the way with me: when I speak or write to you, it -is always so inadequately, that I don’t do justice to myself; for I thank -God that I have a soul capable of loving you, and trust I shall find an -advocate in your bosom to assist my inability and simpleness. You know me -of old for a matter-of-fact woman. - -“Mrs. Wapshawe has revived my hopes. She tells me that you will return -sooner than I hoped. Now I’ll begin my cottage again. It has been lying -in heaps a great while, and I have shed many tears over the ruins; but we -will build it up again in joy. You know the spot that I have fixed upon, -and I trust I have not forgotten the plan! - -“Oh! what a reward for all that I have suffered, to retire to the -blessings of your society; for, indeed, my dear friends, I have paid -severely for my eminence, and have smarted with the undeserved pain that -should attend the guilty only; but it is the fate of office, and the -rough brake that virtue must go through; and sweet, ‘sweet are the uses -of adversity.’ I kiss the rod. - -“Mrs. Wapshawe was quite delighted with Mr. Beach’s picture of you; -but she tells me that you wear coloured clothes and lace ruffles; and -I valued my picture more, if possible, for standing the test of such a -change as these (to me unusual) ornaments must necessarily make in you. I -think I shall long to strip you of these trappings. - -“I am so attached to the garments I have been used to see you wear, and -think they harmonize so well with your face and person, that I should -wish them like their dear wearer, who is without change. I am proud -of your chiding, though God knows how unwillingly I would give you a -moment’s pain; nay, more, He knows that I neither go to bed, nor offer -prayers for blessings at His hands, in which your welfare does not make -an ardent petition. But why should I wound your friendly bosoms with the -relation of my vexations? I knew you too well to suppose you could hear -of my distresses without feeling them too poignantly. - -“I resolved to write when I had overcome my enemies. You shall always -share my joys, but suffer me to keep my griefs from your knowledge. Now I -am triumphant, the favourite of the public again; and now you hear from -me. - -“A strange capricious master is the public. However, one consolation -greater than any other, except one’s own approbation, has been that those -whose suffrages I esteemed most have, through all my troubles, clasped -me closer to their hearts; they have been the touchstone to prove who -were really my friends. You will believe me when I affirm that your -friendship, and my dear Mrs. Whalley’s, is an honour and a happiness I -would not forego for any earthly consideration. Tell my dearest Mrs. -Whalley that neither avocations nor indolence would have prevented your -hearing from me long ago but for the reasons already mentioned. I wrote -to you last Sunday, when I had not received your dear letters; so you -will do me the justice to remember that I was not reminded of you but by -my own heart, which, while it beats, will ever love you both with the -warmest and truest affection; however, as she is so seldom mistaken, we -shall have the honour and glory of laughing at her. Would to God I could -laugh with, or cry with, or anything with you, but for half an hour! To -say the truth, though, your tender reproaches gave me a melancholy which -I could not (and I don’t know if I wished it) shake off. Pray let me -hear from you very soon, and very often. I shall be a better woman, and -more worthy of your invaluable friendship, the more I converse with you. -Surely the converse of good and gentle spirits is the nearest approach -to Heaven that we can know; therefore, once more I beg that I may often -hear from you, and, if you do love me, do not think so unworthily of me -as to suppose my affection can, in the nature of things, ever know the -least abatement. I conjure you both to promise me this, for I cannot bear -it—indeed, I can’t!” - - - - -CHAPTER VIII. - -LADY MACBETH. - - -Contemporaneous critics are unanimous in declaring Lady Macbeth to be -Mrs. Siddons’s finest impersonation, and it is with this _rôle_ that -we always connect the Great Actress. She made the part her own, and -identified herself with it in the memories of all who saw her. It is -essentially in Lady Macbeth that Shakespeare proves himself so thoroughly -Anglo-Saxon; the whole conception of the person is Teutonic. The idea -of the remorse-haunted murderess, with her despairing fatalism and -unswerving ambition, is more nearly allied to “Vala,” in the Scandinavian -mythology, than anything in the tragedies of Sophocles or Euripides, and -this it is that rendered Mrs. Siddons so perfect an embodiment of the -character. She was essentially Teutonic in her grandeur, her stateliness, -and, at the same time, sustained energy and vitality. Rachel had moments -of superhuman grandeur and ferocity, but they only flashed for a moment; -hers was the turning-point of passion of the Latin race, but not the -voluminous grandeur, gaining strength, like a mighty river, as it rolls -along, which distinguishes the heroic emotions of the Teuton. - -In studying the annals of genius, it is interesting to observe how -circumstances working from within force it on and bring it to completion, -how circumstances working from without mould it into form, tempering the -fine metal until it is supple and adaptable, but breaking the inferior -metal by the sheer weight of their inexorable pressure. - -Had Mrs. Siddons remained the brilliant, beautiful girl, with life -undimmed by clouds, without experience of the bitterness and sorrow -of life, she never could have acted Lady Macbeth. In her impetuous -indignation at first, she herself said that never again would “she -present herself before that audience that had treated her so savagely”; -but the greater spirit within reasserted itself, and her genius emerged -from the trial strengthened and expanded by a larger range of emotion and -experience. - -With her increased knowledge of life, the actress was enabled to form -a more vivid conception of the character. She was naturally intensely -masterful, determined, and ambitious, undaunted in peril. She had -toiled, and attained the highest point of her ambition. She had known -the incentives of distinction, worldly power, applause, yet she remained -a woman, passionate and wayward in her affections to the last; and this -is the view, seen through the medium of her own character, that she took -of Lady Macbeth, and it was through her lofty impersonation of ambition -in its highest and most sublimated form that she moved her audience to -terror, and by this womanly tenderness that she moved them to sympathy -and pity for the murderess of Banquo. - -Mrs. Siddons had studied the part of Lady Macbeth when little more than a -girl. She gives us a graphic account of the first time she learnt it for -the purposes of stage representation:— - -“It was my custom to study my characters at night, when all the domestic -care and business were over. On the night preceding that in which I -was to appear in this part for the first time, I shut myself up as -usual, when all the family were retired, and commenced my study of -Lady Macbeth. As the character is very short, I thought I should soon -accomplish it. Being then only twenty years of age, I believed, as many -others do believe, that little more was necessary than to get the words -into my head; for the necessity of discrimination, and the development -of character, at that time of my life, had scarcely entered into my -imagination. But to proceed. I went on with tolerable composure, in the -silence of the night (a night I never can forget), till I came to the -assassination scene, when the horrors of the scene rose to a degree that -made it impossible for me to get farther. I snatched up my candle, and -hurried out of the room in a paroxysm of terror. My dress was of silk, -and the rustling of it, as I ascended the stairs to go to bed, seemed to -my panic-struck fancy like the movement of a spectre pursuing me. At last -I reached my chamber, where I found my husband fast asleep. I clapt my -candlestick down upon the table, without the power of putting the candle -out, and I threw myself on my bed without daring to stay even to take -off my clothes. At peep of day I rose to resume my task; but so little -did I know of my part when I appeared in it at night, that my shame and -confusion cured me of procrastinating my business for the remainder of my -life.” - -People afterwards were inclined to find her formal and sententious, and -even denied her sensibility off the stage; but it is impossible to read -the account of the manner in which she entered into her parts, and how -they took hold of her in her early days of work, without feeling that she -had depths of pathos and sympathy in her disposition undreamt of by those -who met her later when, under a dignified tragic manner, she had hidden -her youthful spontaneity of feeling. We have only need of the evidence of -the actors she acted with to see how deeply she entered into her part. - -Miss Kelly said that when, as Constance, Mrs. Siddons wept over her, -her collar was wet with her tears. Tom Davies is said to have declared -that in the third act of the _Fair Penitent_ she “turned pale under her -rouge.” She tells us herself that “when called upon to personate the -character of Constance, I never, from the beginning of the play to the -end of my part in it, once suffered my dressing-room door to be closed, -in order that my attention might be constantly fixed on those distressing -events which, by this means, I could plainly hear going on upon the -stage, the terrible effects of which progress were to be represented by -me. Moreover, I never omitted to place myself, with Arthur in my hand, to -hear the march, when, upon the reconciliation of England and France, they -enter the gates of Angiers to ratify the contract of marriage between the -Dauphin and the Lady Blanche, because the sickening sounds of that march -would usually cause the bitter tears of rage, disappointment, betrayed -confidence, baffled ambition, and, above all, the agonizing feelings of -maternal affection to gush into my eyes.” - -As a set-off against the above statement, we have Cumberland’s -description of Mrs. Siddons coming off the stage in the full flush of -triumph—having harrowed her audience with emotion—and walking up to the -mirror in the green room to survey herself with perfect composure. - -We imagine there is no law to be laid down on the subject of the amount -of feeling an actor really puts into the part he is enacting. It must -vary. Conventionality must, with the greatest of them, now and then take -the place of emotion; or, as Talma expresses it, the “_Métier_ must now -and then take the place of _Le vrai_.” - -We know the story of how once, when Garrick was playing King Lear, -Johnson and Murphy kept up an animated conversation at the side-wing -during one of his most important scenes. When Garrick came over the -stage, he said, “You two talk so loud you destroy all my feelings.” -“Prithee,” replied Johnson, “do not talk of feelings; Punch has no -feeling”—a remark which is borne out by another account of Garrick as -Lear rising from the dead body of his daughter Cordelia, where he had -been convulsing the audience with sobs, running into the green-room -gobbling like a turkey to amuse Kitty Clive and Mrs. Abington. - -Mrs. Siddons is said to have made the statement that, after playing the -part of Lady Macbeth for thirty years, she never read it over without -discovering in it something new. In her _Remarks_, however, on the -character, left amongst her memoranda, we do not find any particular -depth or originality in her conception, and we doubt if she ever improved -much on her first ideal. As to her notion that Lady Macbeth was a -small, fair, blue-eyed woman, delicate and fragile, it could have been -but a “caprice” of later days, originating in her endeavour to find new -readings and impressions. - -A short analysis of some of her opinions on the character may be -interesting. - -“In this astonishing creature,” she says, “one sees a woman in -whose bosom the passion of ambition has almost obliterated all the -characteristics of human nature; in whose composition are associated all -the subjugating powers of intellect, and all the charms and graces of -personal beauty. You will probably not agree with me as to the character -of that beauty; yet, perhaps, this difference of opinion will be entirely -attributable to the difficulty of your imagination disengaging itself -from that idea of the person of her representative which you have been -so long accustomed to contemplate. According to my notion, it is of that -character which, I believe, is generally allowed to be most captivating -to the other sex—fair, feminine, nay, perhaps, even fragile— - - Fair as the forms that, wove in Fancy’s loom, - Float in light visions round the poet’s head. - -“Such a combination only—respectable in energy and strength of mind, and -captivating in feminine loveliness—could have composed a charm of such -potency as to fascinate the mind of a hero so dauntless, a character -so amiable, so honourable as Macbeth, to seduce him to brave all the -dangers of the present and all the terrors of a future world; and we are -constrained, even whilst we abhor his crimes, to pity the infatuated -victim of such a thraldom. - -“His letters, which have informed her of the predictions of those -preternatural beings who accosted him on the heath, have lighted up -into daring and desperate determinations all those pernicious slumbering -fires which the enemy of man is ever watchful to awaken in the bosoms -of his unwary victims. To his direful suggestions she is so far from -offering the least opposition, as not only to yield up her soul to them, -but, moreover, to invoke the sightless ministers of remorseful cruelty -to extinguish in her breast all those compunctious visitings of nature -which otherwise might have been mercifully interposed to counteract, and, -perhaps, eventually to overcome, their unholy instigations. But, having -impiously delivered herself up to the excitement of hell, the pitifulness -of heaven itself is withdrawn from her, and she is abandoned to the -guidance of the demons whom she invoked. Lady Macbeth, thus adorned with -every fascination of mind and person, enters for the first time, reading -a part of those portentous letters from her husband. - -“‘They met me in the day of success; and I have learnt by the perfectest -report they have more in them than mortal knowledge. When I burnt with -desire to question them further, they made themselves into thin air, -into which they vanished. Whilst I stood wrapt in the wonder of it, came -missives from the King, who all-hailed me “Thane of Cawdor,” by which -title before these sisters had saluted me, and referred me to the coming -on of time with “Hail, King that shall be!” This I have thought good -to deliver thee, my dearest partner of greatness, that thou mightest -not lose the dues of rejoicing, by being ignorant of what greatness is -promised. Lay it to thy heart, and farewell.’ - -“Now vaulting ambition and intrepid daring, rekindle in a moment all the -splendours of her dark blue eyes. She fatally resolves that Glamis and -Cawdor shall be also that which the mysterious agents of the Evil One -have promised.” - -Lady Macbeth then gives the wonderful analysis of her husband’s -character, “Yet I do fear thy nature is too full of the milk of human -kindness to catch the nearest way”; proving him to be of a temper so -irresolute as to require “all the efforts, all the excitement, which her -uncontrollable spirit and her unbounded influence over him can perform.” - -“When Macbeth appears, she seems so insensible to everything but the -horrible design which has probably been suggested to her by his letters, -as to have entirely forgotten both the one and the other. It is very -remarkable that Macbeth is frequent in expressions of tenderness to his -wife, while she never betrays one symptom of affection towards him, till, -in the fiery furnace of affliction, her iron heart is melted down to -softness.” This was the side by which Mrs. Siddons had taken such a grasp -of the character of Lady Macbeth. It was by bringing into prominence this -softer side of her character that, while thrilling her audience with -horror, she at the same time brought tears to their eyes with an immense -awe-struck pity. She always held their interest by the human touches -which she brought into as much prominence as possible. - -Alluding to the lines:— - - I have given suck, and know - How tender ’tis to love the babe that milks me, - -she says: “Even here, horrified as she is, she shows herself made by -ambition, but not by nature, a perfectly savage creature. The very use of -such a tender allusion in the midst of her dreadful language, persuades -one unequivocally that she has really felt the maternal yearnings of -a mother towards her babe, and that she considered this action the -most enormous that ever required the strength of human nerves for its -perpetration. Her language to Macbeth is the most potently eloquent that -guilt could use. It is only in soliloquy that she invokes the powers of -hell to unsex her. To her husband she avows, and the naturalness of her -language makes us believe her, that she had felt the instinct of filial -as well as maternal love. But she makes her very virtues the means of a -taunt to her lord: ‘You have the milk of human kindness in your heart,’ -she says (in substance) to him, ‘but ambition, which is my ruling -passion, would be also yours if you had courage. With a hankering desire -to suppress, if you could, all your weaknesses of sympathy, you are too -cowardly to will the deed, and can only dare to wish it. You speak of -sympathies and feelings. I, too, have felt with a tenderness which your -sex cannot know; but I am resolute in my ambition to trample on all that -obstructs my way to a crown. Look to me, and be ashamed of your weakness.” - -“In the tremendous suspense of these moments” (when Duncan sleeps), Mrs. -Siddons again tells us, “while she recollects her habitual humanity, one -trait of tender feelings is expressed: ‘Had he not resembled my father as -he slept, I had done it.’” - -Through many pages Mrs. Siddons thus gives us her views of the character -of Lady Macbeth; sometimes verging on a pomposity that is almost -Johnsonese. Her later criticisms of the parts in which she acted, -bear out the statement that hers was not an intellectual power that -strengthened or expanded after the “middle of the road of life.” This -year, 1785, saw her great triumph. But we doubt if she had not already -mastered the idea of chilling and terrifying her audience when, as -she describes, she worked herself into a paroxysm of terror on first -studying the part as a young girl. The physical power and confidence to -communicate that terror were hers now, but the intellectual comprehension -had been there before, and certainly did not increase; on the contrary, -it deteriorated with years. The power of fresh comprehension passed away, -and with it the elasticity and variety of her earlier effects; and from -being singularly simple and direct, she became stagey and artificial. An -artist gets certain words to utter; he gets the skeleton sketch, as it -were, of the character he has to portray, but the emphasis and passion -he puts into them, which go direct from his heart to the heart of his -audience, must be his, and his alone, and must be as little as possible -the effect of study or deliberation. Thus the ingredients of terror, -ambition, and wifely and maternal love, were the uncomplex emotions at -first impressed on Mrs. Siddons’s brain by the study of the part; and -those were the predominating influences by which she swayed her audience -to the last day she acted it. - -Many are the records that we have of this great performance—all the world -has heard of the Lady Macbeth of Mrs. Siddons—but, alas! how insufficient -are they to give us an idea of the wondrous reality. The weird-like -tones, that sent an involuntary shudder through the house; the bewildered -melancholy; and, lastly, the piteous cry of the strong heart broken, -have come down to us as traditions; but the grandeur of her majesty, the -earnest accents as the demon of the character took possession of her, -must ever remain an unknown sensation to us. One who saw her once act it -from the side scenes, with the disillusion of red ochre, that was daubed -on by her maid under his eyes; her whisper, which Christopher North -eloquently termed “the escaping sighs and moans of the bared soul”; her -face, the terrible mixture of hope, apprehension, and resolution, gave -him a sickly feeling of reality. His tongue clave to the roof of his -mouth, in spite of the evidence of his eyes that the assassination was a -piece of mechanical trickery in which the paint-pot played a conspicuous -part. If a detective had made his appearance at the moment, he declares -he would immediately have given himself up as _particeps criminis_, -accessory before and after the event. The whole fiction, so inimitably -played and so powerfully described, had kicked fact and reason off the -throne. - -But we must return to the first night. It was the 2nd of February. All -the intellect and fashion of the town were present: Burke, Fox, Wyndham, -Gibbon, in the front row, and, above all, Sir Joshua Reynolds, who took -a particular interest in her performance of the character. He had a -seat in the orchestra, where he was privileged to sit on account of his -deafness. He had constantly urged her to act Lady Macbeth before, and had -designed her dress for the sleep-walking scene. Needless to say that her -usual nervousness was magnified tenfold. All had declared her incapable -of rendering the grander plays of Shakespeare. She had reached, they -maintained, the highest point which she was capable of attaining, and her -straining higher was simply presumption. She knew, therefore, that if -she had been criticised before, the observations now would be much more -severe. The representation of the other parts also did not satisfy her. -Smith, popularly known as “Gentleman Smith” because he generally did the -light and airy part of lover in comedy parts, was the Macbeth, Brereton -the Macduff, and Bensley the Banquo; and the memory of the popularity of -Mrs. Pritchard in the part, seemed to stand between her and her audience. -She had already begged Dr. Johnson to let her know his opinion of Mrs. -Pritchard, whom she had never seen, and she tells us in her _Autograph -Recollections_ that he answered:— - -“‘Madam, she was a vulgar idiot; she used to speak of her “gownd,” and -she never read any part in a play in which she acted except her own. -She no more thought of the play out of which her part was taken than -a shoemaker thinks of the skin out of which the piece of leather of -which he is making a pair of shoes is cut.’ Is it possible, thought -I, that Mrs. Pritchard, the greatest of all the Lady Macbeths, should -never have read the play? and I concluded that the Doctor must have -been misinformed; but I was afterwards assured by a gentleman, a friend -of Mrs. Pritchard, that he had supped with her one night after she had -acted Lady Macbeth, and that she declared she had never perused the whole -tragedy. I cannot believe it.” - -It would seem difficult to such a worker as Mrs. Siddons to conceive the -possibility of a woman not mastering the whole play if she had to act the -part of Lady Macbeth, but we think Dr. Johnson must have been too severe -when he called an actress who for years had held the stage with Garrick -“a vulgar idiot.” And there is little doubt that the tradition of her -acting in the part of Lady Macbeth still had a firm hold on the memory -of the audience. As a proof of this we will here quote an incident that -occurred the first night:— - -“Just as I had finished my toilette, and was pondering with fearfulness -my first appearance in the grand fiendish part, comes Mr. Sheridan -knocking at my door, and insisting, in spite of all my entreaties not to -be interrupted at this tremendous moment, to be admitted. He would not be -denied admittance, for he protested he must speak to me on a circumstance -which so deeply concerned my own interest, that it was of the most -serious nature. Well, after much squabbling I was compelled to admit him, -that I might dismiss him the sooner, and compose myself before the play -began. - -“But what was my distress and astonishment when I found that he wanted -me, even at this moment of anxiety and terror, to adopt another mode of -acting the sleeping scene! He told me that he had heard with the greatest -surprise and concern that I meant to act it without holding the candle -in my hand; and when I argued the impracticability of washing out that -‘damned spot’ that was certainly implied by both her own words and those -of her gentlewoman, he insisted that if I did put the candle out of my -hand it would be thought a presumptuous innovation, as Mrs. Pritchard -had always retained it in hers. My mind, however, was made up, and it -was then too late to make me alter it, for I was too agitated to adopt -another method. My deference for Mr. Sheridan’s taste and judgment was, -however, so great, that, had he proposed the alteration whilst it was -possible for me to change my own plan, I should have yielded to his -suggestion; though even then it would have been against my own opinion, -and my observation of the accuracy with which somnambulists perform all -the acts of waking persons. - -“The scene, of course, was acted as I had myself conceived it, and the -innovation, as Mr. Sheridan called it, was received with approbation. -Mr. Sheridan himself came to me after the play, and most ingenuously -congratulated me on my obstinacy.” - -Let us try to recall the vision of Mrs. Siddons as she acted Lady Macbeth -that night. It was in 1785. She was thirty years of age. The “timid -tottering girl,” who had first appeared as Portia on that stage, was now -a queenly woman, in the full meridian of her stately beauty. Success had -developed her intellectually and physically, and she walked the stage in -the plenitude of her power, almost like some superhuman being. - -Her dress in the first and second acts was a heavy black robe, with a -broad border, which ran from her shoulders down to her feet, of the -most vivid crimson, over which fell a long white veil. In the third she -changed this costume for another black dress, with great gold bands -lacing it across, and gold ornaments round her neck and in her hair. Both -of these dresses strike us as being “stagey,” but she never had the art -of dressing herself; so great, however, was her power, that all minor -accessories of dress and scenery were forgotten. For the sleep-walking -scene Sir Joshua had designed clouds of white drapery swathing the pale -drawn face; they lent an appalling weirdness to her appearance, whilst -the glassy stare she managed to throw into her eyes completed the horror. - -The audience were spellbound; they only saw that woe-worn face, and heard -that voice, broken with agony and remorse. It was a night of nights, -for her and them, and yet no applause, no success, turned her from -concentration on the purpose and issue of her art. - -“While standing up before my glass,” she tells us, “and taking off my -mantle, a diverting circumstance occurred to chase away the feelings of -the anxious night, for, _while I was repeating, and endeavouring to call -to mind the appropriate tone and action to the following words_, ‘Here’s -the smell of blood still,’ my dresser innocently exclaimed, ‘Dear me, -Ma’am, how very hysterical you are to-night! I protest and vow, Ma’am, it -was not blood, but rose-pink and water; for I saw the property-man mix it -up with my own eyes.’” - -These were, indeed, the palmy days of the English stage. With a -self-collected, courageous energy, artists then saw and recognised -the greatest, and strained every nerve to attain it. Scenic effect -was of minor importance; the development of mental action, the -portrayal of passion, were the end and aim of the actor’s art, to which -everything else was subsidiary. They spent years upon the evolving of -one heroic conception, not with regard to its details of upholstery -and scene-painting, but with regard to the presentment of the poet’s -imagination which they undertook to represent. - - - - -CHAPTER IX. - -FRIENDS. - - -Needless to say that in those days, when genius was worshipped and the -entrance to the most exclusive circles of society accorded to talent of -every description, the social homage paid to Mrs. Siddons was of the most -enthusiastic description, passing sometimes the bounds of good taste. The -door of the lodgings she occupied in the Strand the first year she acted -was soon beset by various persons quite unknown to her, some of whom -actually forced their way into her drawing-room, in spite of remonstrance -or opposition. - -This was as inconvenient as it was offensive; for as she usually acted -three times a week, and had, besides, to attend the rehearsals, she had -but little time to spend unnecessarily. None were more capable, however, -than she of keeping vulgar curiosity at a respectful distance. She gives -us a comic account of an interview that took place between her and some -of these intrusive individuals:— - -“One morning, though I had previously given orders not to be interrupted, -my servant entered the room in a great hurry, saying, ‘Ma’am, I am very -sorry to tell you there are some ladies below who say they must see you, -and it is impossible for me to prevent it. I have told them over and over -again that you are particularly engaged, but all in vain, and now, Ma’am, -you may actually hear them on the stairs.’ I felt extremely indignant at -such unparalleled impertinence, and, before the servant had done speaking -to me, a tall, elegant, invalid-looking person presented herself (whom, I -am afraid, I did not receive very graciously), and after her four more, -in slow succession. A very awkward silence took place. Presently the -first lady spoke. ‘You must think it strange,’ she said, ‘to see a person -entirely unknown to you intrude in this manner upon your privacy; but, -you must know, I am in a very delicate state of health, and my physician -won’t let me go to the theatre to see you, so I am come to look at you -here.’ She accordingly sat down to look, and I to be looked at, for a -few painful moments, when she arose and apologised.” There is something -awful that sends a cold shiver through us as the Tragic Muse tells us, -“I was in no humour to overlook such insolence, and so let her depart in -silence.” We can picture her contemptuous scorn under the circumstances. -But it was not only in her own home she had to pay the penalty of fame; -the theatre was mobbed outside every evening by a crowd anxious to see -her walk across the pavement to her carriage; her dresses were copied, -and the dressmakers to whom she went were importuned to make for all -the fashionable ladies. Not only in these early days, but all her life, -Mrs. Siddons kept a position unexampled for one of her profession. The -house she occupied in Gore Street during her second season was, when -she entertained, filled with all that was brilliant in literature and -fashion; and later at Westbourne Cottage, and when she was in Pall Mall, -Campbell tells us of rows of “coaches and chairs” standing outside her -door. Invitations to most of the great houses in London poured in upon -her, and she herself gives a comic account of the manner in which she was -mobbed by her fashionable devotees at an assembly at the erratic Miss -Monkton’s (afterwards Lady Cork), one of the “Blues” who made oddity of -dress, appearance, and manner a study, and the running after “notorious -folk” a science. - -The young actress had steadily declined many invitations, feeling that -the moments snatched from her profession ought to be devoted to the care -of her children. Miss Monkton, however, insisted on her coming one Sunday -evening, assuring her that there would only be some half-a-dozen friends -to meet her. - -“The appointed Sunday evening came. I went to her very nearly in undress, -at the early hour of eight, on account of my little boy, whom she desired -me to bring with me, more for effect, I suspect, than for his _beaux -yeux_. I found with her, as I had been taught to expect, three or four -ladies of my acquaintance; and the time passed in agreeable conversation, -till I had remained much longer than I had apprehended. - -“I was, of course, preparing speedily to return home, when incessantly -repeated thunderings at the door, and the sudden influx of such a throng -of people as I had never before seen collected in any private house, -counteracted every attempt that I could make for escape. I was therefore -obliged, in a state of indescribable mortification, to sit quietly down -till I know not what hour in the morning; but for hours before my -departure the room I sat in was so painfully crowded that the people -absolutely stood on the chairs, round the walls, that they might look -over their neighbours’ heads to stare at me; and if it had not been for -the benevolent politeness of Mr. Erskine, who had been acquainted with my -arrangement, I know not what weakness I might have been surprised into, -especially being tormented, as I was, by the ridiculous interrogations -of some learned ladies who were called ‘Blues,’ the meaning of which -title I did not at that time appreciate; much less did I comprehend the -meaning of the greater part of their learned talk. These profound ladies, -however, furnished much amusement to the town for many weeks after—nay, I -believe I might say for the whole winter. Glad enough was I at length to -find myself at peace in my own bed-chamber.” - -Dr. Doran makes this scene take place at Mrs. Montagu’s; but besides -the victim’s own account of this remarkable evening, that gives such a -picture of the times, we have those of Cumberland and of Miss Burney. -Cumberland, in the _Observer_, disguising the people under feigned names, -tells us:— - - I now joined a cluster of people who had crowded round an - actress who sat upon a sofa leaning on her elbow in a pensive - attitude, and seemed to be counting the sticks of her fan, - whilst they were vieing with each other in the most extravagant - encomiums. - - “You were adorable last night in Belvidera,” says a pert young - parson with a high toupée. “I sat in Lady Blubber’s box, and I - can assure you she, and her daughters, too, wept most bitterly. - But then that charming mad scene—but, by my soul, it was a - _chef d’œuvre_! Pray, Madam, give me leave to ask you, was you - really in your senses?” - - “I strove to do it as well as I could,” answered the actress. - - “Do you intend to play comedy next season?” says a lady, - stepping up to her with great eagerness. - - “I shall do as the manager bids me,” she replied. - - “I should be curious to know,” says an elderly lady, “which - part, Madam, you yourself esteem the best you play?” - - “I shall always endeavour to make that which I am about the - best.” - - An elegant and enchanting young woman of fashion now took her - turn of interrogating, and, with many apologies, begged to - be informed by her if she studied those enchanting looks and - attitudes before a glass? - - “I never study anything but my author.” - - “Then you practise them at rehearsals?” rejoined the questioner. - - “I seldom rehearse at all.” - - “She has fine eyes,” says a tragic poet to an eminent painter. - - Vanessa now came up, and, desiring leave to introduce a young - muse to Melpomene, presented a girl in a white frock, with a - fillet of flowers tied round her hair, which hung down her back - in flowing curls. The young muse made a low obeisance, and, - with the most unembarrassed voice and countenance, whilst the - poor actress was covered in blushes, and suffering torture from - the eyes of all in the room, broke forth as follows:— - - “O thou, whom Nature calls her own, - Pride of the stage and favourite of the town!” - -Miss Burney, who was present, also contributes her account of what took -place:— - - My father and I were both engaged to Miss Monckton’s; so was - Sir Joshua, who accompanied us. We found Mrs. Siddons, the - actress, there. She is a woman of excellent character, and, - therefore, I am very glad she is thus patronised, since Mrs. - Abington, and so many frail fair ones, have been thus noticed - by the great. She behaved with great propriety, very calm, - modest, quiet, and unaffected. She has a very fine countenance, - and her eyes look both intelligent and soft. She has, however, - a steadiness in her manner and deportment by no means engaging. - Mrs. Thrale, who was there, said: - - “Why, this is a leaden goddess we are all worshipping; however, - we shall soon gild it.” - - A lady who sat near me then began a dialogue with Mr. Erskine, - who had placed himself exactly opposite to Mrs. Siddons, and - they debated together upon her manner of studying her parts, - disputing upon the point with great warmth, yet not only - forbearing to ask Mrs. Siddons herself which was right, but - quite overpowering her with their loquacity when she attempted, - unasked, to explain the matter. Most vehement praise of all she - did followed, and the lady turned to me and said: - - “What invitation, Miss Burney, is here for genius to display - itself? Everybody, I hear, is at work for Mrs. Siddons; but if - you would work for her, what an inducement to excel you would - both of you have. Dr. Burney⸺” - - “Oh, pray, Madam,” cried I, “don’t say to him⸺” - - “Oh, but I will. If my influence can do you any mischief you - may depend upon having it.” - - She then repeated what she had said to my father, and he - instantly said: - - “Your ladyship may be sure of my interest.” - - I whispered afterwards to know who she was, and heard she was - Lady Lucan.[1] - -It is amusing to see how conceited Fanny Burney always must turn every -incident to herself. When she did work for Mrs. Siddons, the play was -received with roars of laughter, and acted but one night. - -We find a clue in the above description to Mrs. Siddons’s unpopularity. -Little Burney, with the frizzled head, and Mrs. Thrale, who “skipped -about like a young kid, all vivacity and sprightliness,” could not -understand the “steadiness in her manner,” and her dignified way of -checking intrusive admirers. No one appreciated admiration and love from -her intimate friends more than Mrs. Siddons, but to the adoration of -general society she was icy cold. - -Sir Joshua Reynolds frequently went to see her act, and she was a welcome -guest at the house in Leicester Fields. - -“He approved,” she writes, “very much of my costumes, and of my hair -without powder, which at that time was used in great profusion, with -a reddish brown tint, and a great quantity of pomatum, which, well -kneaded together, modelled the fair ladies’ tresses into large curls like -demi-cannon. My locks were generally braided into a small compass, so as -to ascertain the size and shape of my head, which to a painter’s eye was, -of course, an agreeable departure from the mode. My short waist, too, was -to him a pleasing contrast to the long stiff stays and hoop petticoats -which were then the fashion, even on the stage, and it obtained his -unqualified approbation. He always sat in the orchestra; and in that -place were to be seen—O glorious constellation!—Burke, Gibbon, Sheridan, -and Windham.” - -It was at Reynolds’s she first met Edmund Burke. The story goes that -she was reading Milton for the benefit of the company, when she heard -the great orator’s deep melodious tones repeat, as she closed the book, -the lines beginning with “The angel ceased.” That wonderful face, full -of fiery power, was to be seen amongst those surrounding her. He was -afterwards frequently present while she sat to Reynolds for her portrait. -She ever counted mercurial Sheridan as a friend, in spite of the way in -which he treated her. She loved his beautiful, gentle wife, and some of -her happiest hours were spent in their society. She there put off all her -stateliness, and became the joyous-hearted young girl of the old Bath -days. - -Sir Thomas Lawrence cherished all his life a feeling that was almost akin -to adoration for Mrs. Siddons’s genius and beauty. He painted her and -John Kemble in every dress and every pose. He was engaged subsequently to -two of her daughters, first one and then the other. He proposed to the -eldest daughter, Sarah; was accepted; but, before long, became miserable -and dejected, and at last confessed to Mrs. Siddons that he had mistaken -his feelings—that her younger daughter, and not the elder, was the object -of his affection. Fanny Kemble says:— - - Sarah gave up her lover, and he became engaged to the second, - Maria. Both, however, died of consumption. Maria, the youngest, - an exceedingly beautiful girl, died first, and on her death-bed - made her sister promise that she would never marry Lawrence. - The death of her daughters broke off all connection between Sir - Thomas Lawrence and my aunt, and from that time they never saw - or had any intercourse with one another. Yet not long after - this Mrs. Siddons, dining with us one day, asked my mother how - the sketch Lawrence was making of me was getting on. After my - mother’s reply, my aunt remained silent for some time, and - then, laying her hand on my father’s arm, said: “Charles, when - I die, I wish to be carried to my grave by you and Lawrence.” - - Lawrence reached his grave when she was yet tottering on the - brink of hers. - - On my twentieth birthday, which occurred soon after my first - appearance, Lawrence sent me a magnificent proof plate of my - aunt as the “Tragic Muse,” beautifully framed, and with this - inscription: “This portrait, by England’s greatest painter, of - the noblest subject of his pencil, is presented to her niece - and _worthy successor_ by her most faithful humble friend and - servant, Lawrence.” When my mother saw this, she exclaimed at - it, and said: “I am surprised he ever brought himself to write - those words ‘worthy successor.’” - - A few days after, Lawrence begged me to let him have the print - again, as he was not satisfied with the finish of the frame. It - was sent to him, and when it came back he had effaced the words - in which he had admitted any worthy successor to his “Tragic - Muse”; and Mr. H⸺, who was at that time his secretary, told me - that Lawrence had the print lying with that inscription in his - drawing-room for several days before sending it to me, and had - said to him, “I cannot bear to look at it.” - -Among these artists, poets, statesmen, who were continually present at -her representations and attended afterwards at her dressing-room door to -pay their respects, in later years Byron might frequently be seen. He -declared her to be the “_beau ideal_ of acting,” and said, “Miss O’Neill -I would not see for fear of weakening the impression made by the queen of -tragedians. When I read Lady Macbeth’s part I have Mrs. Siddons before -me, and imagination even supplies her voice, whose tones were superhuman -and power over the heart supernatural.” On another occasion, he is -reported to have said that of actors Cook was the most natural, Kemble -the most supernatural, and Kean the medium between the two, but that Mrs. -Siddons was worth them all put together. - -The first year she acted, “the gentlemen of the bar adorned her brows -with laurel,” as she says herself. The “laurel” took the substantial -form of a hundred guineas and a wreath presented by two barristers. She -declared it to be the most shining circumstance of her life, and alluded -modestly to her “poor abilities” and insufficient claims. The gentlemen -of Brookes’s Club also made up a handsome present. - -“Mrs. Siddons continues to be the mode,” Horace Walpole writes, “and to -be modest and sensible. She declines great dinners, and says the business -and cares of her family take her whole time. When Lord Carlisle carried -her the tribute money from Brookes’s, he said she was not _maniérée_ -enough. ‘I suppose she was grateful?’ said my niece, Lady Maria.” - -It is easy to imagine the difficulty she experienced in keeping her -fame untarnished amidst that hotbed of vice, Covent Garden, and amidst -all the adulation lavished on her. It is impossible, indeed, to say how -many enemies she made by rejecting inopportune advances, and by exciting -jealousies and envy; but the worst they could ever allege was that she -was hard and haughty. She was continually on her guard. “One would as -soon think of making love to the Archbishop of Canterbury” was said -of her later; but in the early days of her first appearance at Drury -Lane she was obliged often to have recourse to an outspoken rebuff to -aspirants to her favour. - -As a curious instance of the insidious manner in which attacks were -sometimes made to win her regard, John Taylor relates that one morning, -on calling on her, he found her in the act of burning some letters that -had been returned to her by the executors of the individual to whom they -were addressed. He sat down to help her, and, in doing so, a printed copy -of some scandalous verses on her that had appeared in the _St. James’s -Gazette_ dropped out. Some lines in the handwriting of the deceased poet -that were written on the top of the page proved the author, and proved -that attacker and defender had been one and the same person. In talking -the matter over afterwards, Mrs. Siddons recalled to mind that the same -person had once endeavoured to undermine her affection for her husband by -telling her tales of his infidelity. - -We cannot resist giving here a letter which Mrs. Siddons received many -years after her first appearance on the stage, when one might have -thought her age and reputation a sufficient protection against such -addresses:— - - Loveliest of women! In Belvidera, Isabella, Juliet, and - Calista, I have admired you until my fancy threatened to burst, - and the strings of my imagination were ready to crack to - pieces; but, as Mrs. Siddons, I love you to madness, and until - my heart and soul are overwhelmed with fondness and desire. Say - not that time has placed any difference in years between you - and me. The youths of her day saw no wrinkles upon the brow of - Ninon de l’Enclos. It is for vulgar souls alone to grow old; - but you shall flourish in eternal youth, amidst the war of - elements, and the crash of worlds. - - May 2nd, Barley Mow, Salisbury Square. - -So pertinacious became the persecutions of this young Irishman, for he -was an Irishman, that she was obliged to seek the protection of the law. -His bursting imagination was kept in check for some little time by the -sobering effects of a term of imprisonment. - -Sometimes, also, her would-be adorers boasted of favours never received. - -“If you should meet a Mr. Seton,” she wrote to Dr. Whalley, “who lived -in Leicester Square, you must not be surprised to hear him talk of being -very well with my sister and myself; for, since I have been here, I have -heard the old fright has been giving it out in town. You will find him -rather an unlikely person to be so great a favourite with women.” - -Amongst fashionable ladies she counted many and constant friends. The -doors of Mrs. Montagu’s house (centre of intellect and fashion) were -always open to her; and we hear of her there on one occasion when all -the “Blues” swarmed round their “Queen Bee,” and she wore her celebrated -dress embroidered with the “ruins of Palmyra.” - -Mrs. Damer (Anne Conway), daughter of General Conway, the celebrated -sculptress and woman of fashion, was also one of her most intimate -friends, and later in life the actress spent many hours in her studio -when bitten herself with the love of modelling. Campbell says that Mrs. -Siddons’s love of modelling in clay, began at Birmingham; and he tells -a story of her going into a shop there, seeing a bust of herself, which -the shopman, not knowing who she was, told her was the likeness of the -greatest actress in the world. Mrs. Siddons bought it, and, thinking she -could make a better replica of her own features, set to work and made -modelling a favourite pursuit. Whether the impetus was thus given we -hardly know, but it was the fashion of the time. Mrs. Damer, who was -declared by her admirers “to be as great a sculptor as Mr. Nollekens,” -and many other dainty fine ladies, put on mob caps and canvas aprons, -wielding mallet and chisel, and kneading wax and clay with their small -white hands. Mrs. Siddons was often the guest of Mrs. Damer at Strawberry -Hill. - -In her circle of women friends, we must not forget, either, the -beautiful, fascinating, stuttering Mrs. Inchbald, the dear muse of -her and her brother John. It is said that, coming off the stage one -evening, she was about to sit down by Mrs. Siddons in the green-room, -when, suddenly looking at her magnificent neighbour, she said, “No, I -won’t s-s-s-sit by you; you’re t-t-t-too handsome!” in which respect she -certainly need have feared no competition, and less with Mrs. Siddons -than anyone, their style of beauty being so absolutely dissimilar. - -Miss Seward was one of the adorers of her circle, but, in spite of the -pages of rhapsodies on the subject “of the most glorious of her sex,” -written to “her dear Lichfieldians” and the odes poured out to “Isabella” -and “Euphrasia,” it is a significant fact that we do not find one letter -personally to Mrs. Siddons, nor one from Mrs. Siddons addressed to her. -Practical and sincere herself, the great actress disliked “gush” of all -sorts. Miss Seward wrote, “My dear friends, I arrived here at five. Think -of my mortification! Mrs. Siddons in Belvidera to-night, as is supposed, -for the last time before she lies in. I asked Mrs. Barrow if it would be -impossible to get into the pit. “O heaven!” said she, “impossible in any -part of the house!” Mrs. B⸺ is, I find, in the _petit souper_ circle; so -the dear plays oratorios, and will be a little too much for my wishes, -out of question. Adieu! Adieu!” - -The Lichfieldian incense was a little too pungent for the nostrils to -which it was offered. The great actress wrote, rather weariedly to her -friend Dr. Whalley:— - -“Believe me, my dear Sir, it is not want of inclination, but opportunity, -that prevents my more frequent acknowledgments: but need I tell you this? -No; you generously judge of my heart by your own. I fear I must have -appeared very insensible, and, therefore, unworthy the honour Miss Seward -has done me; but the perpetual round of business in which I am engaged -is incredible. Shall I trespass on your goodness to say that I feel as I -ought on that occasion?” - -She then alludes to the kindness of the King and Queen which, sometimes -to an inconvenient extent, was shown towards her all her life. - -“I believe I told you that the Queen had graciously put my son down on -her list for the Charterhouse; and she has done me the honour to stamp -my reputation by her honoured approbation. They have seen me in all my -characters but Isabella, which they have commanded for Monday next; but, -having seen me in Jane Shore last night, and, judging very humanely that -too quick repetitions of such exertions may injure my health, the King -himself most graciously sent to the managers, and said he must deny -himself the pleasure of seeing Isabella till Tuesday. This is the second -time he has distinguished me in this manner. You see a vast deal of me -in the papers, of my appointment at Court, and the like. All groundless; -but I have the pleasure to inform you that my success has exceeded even -my hopes. My sister is engaged, and is successful. God be praised for all -His mercies! You will think me an egotist, I fear. I shall certainly be -at Bath in the Passion Week, if I am alive. I count the hours till then.” - -Our readers may like to know that when their Majesties, with the Prince -of Wales, the Princess Royal, and the Princess Augusta went in state, -on October 8th, 1783, to see Mrs. Siddons play Isabella, the Sovereign -and his wife sat under a dome covered with crimson velvet and gold; the -heir to the throne sat under another of blue velvet and silver; and the -young Princesses under a third of blue satin and silver fringe. George -III. wore “a plain suit of Quaker-coloured clothes, with gold buttons; -the Queen, a white satin robe, with a head-dress which was ornamented by -a great number of diamonds; the Princess Royal was dressed in a white -and blue figured silk, and Princess Augusta in a rose-coloured and white -silk of the same pattern as her sister’s, having both their head-dresses -richly ornamented with diamonds. His Royal Highness the Prince of Wales -had a suit of dark blue Geneva velvet, richly trimmed with gold lace.” - -We are further told that on this occasion Mrs. Siddons was much -indisposed previous to her going on the stage; and, after the curtain -dropped at the end of the fifth act, was so very ill as not to be capable -of walking to her dressing-room without support. Notwithstanding her -suffering, she went through the part as if inspired. The Queen was so -affected at her performance, that His Majesty seemed alarmed, and often -diverted her attention from situations and passages that were likely to -distress her. - -The following snarl was found among Horace Walpole’s papers:— - - For the _Morning Chronicle_. On the King commanding the Tragedy - of _The Grecian Daughter_ on Thursday the 2nd inst. Jan. 10th, - 1783. - - EPIGRAMMATIC - - Siddons to see—King, Lords, and Commons run, - Glad to forget that Britain is undone. - The Jesuit Shelburne, the apostate Fox, - And Bulls and Bears, together in a Box. - Thurlow neglects his promises to friends; - And scribbling Townsend no more letters sends. - Cits leave their feasts, and sots desert their wine; - Each youth cries “Charming!” and each maid, “Divine!” - See, of false tears, a copious torrent flows, - But not one real, for their country’s woes. - The club of spendthrifts, the rapacious bar - Of words, not arms, support the bloodless war. - Let Spain Gibraltar get, our islands France, - So Siddons acts, or Vestris leads the dance. - Run on, mad nation! pleasure’s frantic round; - For acting, fiddling, dancing be renown’d! - Soon foreign fleets shall rule the Western main; - George fill no throne but that of Drury Lane. - - _Merlin._ - -George III. admired her, he said, “for her repose,” adding, “Garrick -could never stand still; he was a great fidget.” The Queen told her, in -broken English, that the only resource was to turn away from the stage; -the acting was, indeed, too “disagreeable.” She was frequently summoned -to read at the Palace, and to give lessons in elocution to the young -Princesses. - -In Mrs. Siddons’s memoranda, we are given an account of one of these -readings. She felt extremely awkward, she tells us, in the “sack” with -“hoop and treble ruffles which it was considered necessary to put on, -according to court etiquette.” On her arrival she was led into an -ante-chamber, where there were ladies of rank whom she knew, while -presently the King appeared, drawing one of his little daughters in a -“go-cart.” This little princess was about three years old; and when -Mrs. Siddons remarked to the lady standing next her that she longed to -kiss the child, it held out its tiny hand ... so early had she learnt -this lesson of royalty. Mrs. Siddons was obliged to stand during the -whole of a lengthened evening, preferring this to their offers of -refreshment in an adjoining room, as she was terrified at the thought of -retiring backwards through “the whole length of a long apartment, with -highly-polished, slippery floor.” Her Majesty privately expressed much -astonishment at seeing her so collected, and was pleased to say that the -actress had conducted herself as though she had been used to a court. “I -had certainly often personated queens,” was the actress’s remark. - -It may be mentioned as a remarkable fact that the first person outside -the royal family who seems to have entertained a suspicion that insanity -was creeping over the King was Mrs. Siddons. During a visit she paid -to Windsor Castle at the time, the King, without any apparent motive, -placed in her hands a sheet of paper bearing nothing but his signature—an -incident which struck her as so unaccountable, that she immediately -carried it to the Queen, who gratefully thanked her for her discretion. - -But more than all the attentions of royalty, more than all the flattery -lavished upon her by great people, more than all the applause and worship -she received from the crowds who besieged the theatre, did she value -the sparingly awarded praises and sincere shake of the shabby, noble, -snuff-covered hand of “the Great Bear,” before whose growl everyone -trembled. - -In Boswell’s _Life of Johnson_ he tells us the Doctor had a singular -prejudice against players, “futile fellows” whom he rated no higher than -rope-dancers or ballad singers. This prejudice, however, did not prevent -him from hobbling off to see poor crippled Mrs. Porter when forsaken by -all the rest of the world. The beginning of his liking for Mrs. Siddons -is thoroughly characteristic. He always talked to his circle of lady -adorers of that jade, Mrs. Siddons, until one of the “fair females” -suggested that he must see the actress. - -“But, indeed, Dr. Johnson,” said Miss Monckton, “you _must_ see Mrs. -Siddons. Won’t you see her in some fine part?” - -“Why, if I _must_, Madam, I have no choice.” - -“She says, Sir, she shall be very much afraid of you.” - -“Madam, that cannot be true.” - -“Not true?” said Miss Monckton, staring. “Yes, it is.” - -“It _cannot_ be, Madam.” - -“But she said so to me; I heard her say it myself.” - -“Madam, it is not _possible_; remember, therefore, in future, that even -fiction should be supported by probability.” - -Miss Monckton looked all amazement, but insisted upon the truth of what -she had said. - -“I do not believe, Madam,” said he, warmly, “that she knows my name.” - -“Oh, that is rating her too low,” said a gentleman stranger. - -“By not knowing my name,” continued he, “I do not mean literally, but -that when she sees it abused in a newspaper she may possibly recollect -that she has seen it abused in a newspaper before.” - -“Well, Sir,” said Miss Monckton, “but you must see her for all this.” - -“Well, Madam, if you desire it, I will go; see her, I shall not, nor -hear her; but I’ll go, and that will do. The last time I was at a play -I was ordered there by Mrs. Abington, or a Mrs. Somebody, I do not well -remember who, but I placed myself in the middle of the first row of the -front boxes, to show that when I was called I came.” - -He kept his promise, and the huge, slovenly figure, clad in a greasy -brown coat and coarse black worsted stockings, was several times seen -taking handfuls of snuff, and criticising the actress in his outspoken, -growling fashion. She then paid him a visit in his den at Bolt Court, to -which he alludes in one of his letters to Mrs. Thrale:— - -“Mrs. Siddons, in her visit to me, behaved with great modesty and -propriety, and left nothing behind her to be censured or despised. -Neither praise nor money, the two powerful corrupters of mankind, seemed -to have depraved her. I shall be glad to see her again. Her brother -Kemble calls on me, and pleases me very well. Mrs. Siddons and I talked -of plays, and she told me her intention of exhibiting this winter the -character of Constance, Catherine, and Isabella, in Shakespeare.” - -Boswell gives us also the account of what took place:— - -“When Mrs. Siddons came into the room, there happened to be no chair -ready for her, which he observing, said with a smile: ‘Madam, you who -so often occasion a want of seats to other people will the more easily -excuse the want of one yourself.’ - -“Having placed himself by her, he with great good humour entered upon -a consideration of the English drama; and, among other enquiries, -particularly asked her which of Shakespeare’s characters she was most -pleased with. Upon her answering that she thought the character of Queen -Catherine in _Henry VIII._ the most natural: ‘I think so too, Madam,’ -said he; ‘and whenever you perform it I will once more hobble out to the -theatre myself.’ Mrs. Siddons promised she would do herself the honour of -acting his favourite part for him, but was unable to do so before grand -old Samuel was laid to his last rest.” - - - - -CHAPTER X. - -1782 TO 1798. - - -Mrs. Siddons’s life between the years 1785 to 1798 was passed in the -professional treadmill, and her history during this period is best told -by an account of the characters she personated. - -After her appearance as Lady Macbeth on February 2nd, she chose to -act Desdemona to her brother’s Othello, and, to everyone’s surprise, -acted it with a tenderness, playfulness, and simplicity hardly to be -expected of the majestic actress, who had terrified her audience by -her representation of the Thane of Cawdor’s wife. Campbell tells us -that even years after, when he saw her play this part at Edinburgh, not -recognising at first who was acting, he was spellbound by her “exquisite -gracefulness,” and thought it impossible “this soft, sweet creature could -be the Siddons,” until by the emotion and applause of the audience he -knew it could be no other. - -Unfortunately, in her first representation of this part, she was -carelessly given a damp bed to lie on in the death scene, and caught so -severe a cold as almost to threaten rheumatic fever. From this time her -delicacy seems to date, for we now find her continually complaining and -incapacitated from appearing by ill-health. - -After Desdemona she appeared in Rosalind, which we can dismiss with the -criticism of Young, the actor: “Her Rosalind wanted neither playfulness -nor feminine softness, but it was totally without archness—not because -she did not properly conceive it; but how could such a countenance be -arch?” Her dress, too, excited great amusement—“mysterious nondescript -garments.” We have a letter of hers to Hamilton the artist, asking “if -he would be so good as to make her a slight sketch for a boy’s dress to -conceal the person as much as possible.” The woman who was capable of -taking this view of the representation of Rosalind was not capable of -acting the part. - -Imogen, Ophelia, Catherine in the _Taming of the Shrew_, and Cordelia, -all acted with her brother, followed in quick succession. This hard work -entitled her to a salary of twenty-four pounds ten shillings weekly, -while her brother drew ten pounds. Not contented with this, however, she -made a tour in the provinces, Liverpool, Manchester, Birmingham, &c. -These country tours were not only fatiguing in consequence of the amount -of travelling to be done, but also in consequence of the unsympathetic -audiences to be faced, and the discomfort of country theatres. The -system, also, of absorbing all the profits of provincial actors made her -very unpopular in the profession. Some ridiculous stories are related of -these tours. - -When playing the “sleeping scene” in _Macbeth_, at Leeds, a boy who had -been sent for some porter appeared by mistake on the stage, and walking -up, presented it to her. In vain she motioned him away, in vain he was -called off behind the scenes; the house roared with laughter, and all -illusion was dispelled for the rest of the evening. On another occasion -at Leeds, when about to drink poison on the stage, one of the audience in -the gallery howled out “Soop it oop, lass!” She endeavoured to frown down -the interrupter, but her own solemnity gave way. She was also at country -theatres often subjected to bearing the brunt of a local quarrel or -facetiousness directed against a member or members of the audience. Once -at Liverpool the play of _Jane Shore_, which had sent London audiences -into fits of sobbing and hysterics, was announced. The house was full, -and Miss Mellon, from whom we have the story, says the actors behind the -scenes expected a repetition of the same emotion; but the people in the -gallery, seeing the principal merchants with their families present, -thought this a delightful opportunity of indulging their wit respecting -the “soldiering.” Accordingly, they formed two bands, one on each side of -the gallery, and, from the commencement of the play to the end, kept up a -cross-dialogue of impertinence, about “charging guns with brown sugar and -cocoanuts,” and “small arms with cinnamon powder and nutmegs.” - -Miss Mellon was in agony for the object of her theatrical devotion. She -cried, she ran about behind the wings as if she were going out of her -senses. Mrs. Siddons, however, calm though deadly pale, merely said to -her, with a slight tremor in her voice, “I will go through the _time_ -requisite for the scenes, but will not utter them.” - -She went on the stage; said aloud, “It is useless to act,” crossed her -arms, and merely murmured the speeches; and it is a fact that, on the -first night one of Mrs. Siddons’s masterpieces was acted in Liverpool, -she went through the entire performance in dumb show. - -In December 1785 her second son, George, was born. As soon as she was -able to write, she communicated the fact to her friends, the Whalleys, in -one of her lively, light-hearted letters:— - - “I have another son, healthy and lovely as an angel, born the - 26th Dec.; so, you see, I take the earliest opportunity of - relieving the anxiety which I know you and my dear Mrs. Whalley - will feel till you hear of me. My sweet boy is so like a person - of the Royal Family, that I’m rather afraid he’ll bring me to - disgrace. My sister jokingly tells me she’s sure ‘my lady his - mother has played false with the prince,’ and I must own he’s - more like him than anybody else. I will just hint to you that - my father was at one time very like the King, which a little - saves my credit. I rejoice that you are well, and have such - pleasant society, but I wish to God you would return! I have no - news for you, except that the prince is going to devote himself - entirely to a Mrs. Fitzherbert, and the whole world is in an - uproar about it. I know very little of her history more than - that it is agreed on all hands that she is a very ambitious and - clever woman, and that ‘all good seeming by her revolt will be - thought put on for villany,’ for she was thought an example of - propriety. I hear, too, that the Duchess of Devonshire is to - take her by the hand, and to give her the first dinner when the - preliminaries are settled; for it seems everything goes on with - the utmost formality—provision made for children, and so on. - Some people rejoice and some mourn at this event. I have not - heard what his mother says to it. The Royal Family have been - nearly all ill, but are now recovering, and they graciously - intend to command me to play in _The Way to Keep Him_ the first - night I perform. They are gracious to me beyond measure on all - occasions, and take all opportunities to show the world that - they are so. How good and considerate is this! They know what - a sanction their countenance is, and they are amiable beyond - description. Since my confinement I have received the kindest - messages from them; they make me of consequence enough to - desire I won’t think of playing till I feel quite strong, and a - thousand more kind things. I perceive a little shooting in my - temples that tells me I have written enough. - - “I don’t take leave of you, however, without telling you that - I am very much disappointed in Sherriffe’s picture of me, and - am afraid to employ him about your snuff-box. I don’t know what - to do about it, for that promised to be so well that I almost - engaged him in the fulness of my heart to do it. I have not - been in face these last four months; but now that I am growing - as amiable as ever, I shall sit for it as soon as possible. God - Almighty bless you both! - - “Yours, - - “S. SIDDONS.” - -Later she writes again to Whalley:— - - “I have at last, my friend, attained the _ten thousand pounds_ - which I set my heart upon, and am now perfectly at ease with - respect to fortune. I thank God who has enabled me to procure - to myself so comfortable an income. I am sure my dear Mrs. - Whalley and you will be pleased to hear this from myself. - What a thing a balloon would be! but, the deuce take them, I - do not find that they are likely to be brought to any good. - Good heaven! what delight it would be to see you for a few - days only! I have a nice house, and I could contrive to make - up a bed. I know you and my dear Mrs. Whalley would accept - my sincere endeavours to accommodate you; but don’t let me - be taken by surprise, my dear friend, for were I to see you - first at the theatre, I can’t answer for what might be the - consequence. - - “I stand some knocks with tolerable firmness, I suppose from - habit; but those of joy being so infinitely less frequent, I - conceive must be more difficultly sustained. - - “You will find I have been a niggard of my praise, when you - see your Fanny. Oh! my beloved friend, you could not speak to - one who understands those anxieties you mention better than I - do. Surely it is needless to say no one more ardently prays - that God Almighty, in His mercy, will avert the calamity; - and surely, surely there is everything to hope for from such - dispositions, improved by such an education. My family is well, - God be praised! My two sisters are married and happy. Mrs. - Twiss will present us with a new relation towards February. - At Christmas I bring my dear girls from Miss Eames, or rather - she brings them to me. Eliza is the most entertaining creature - in the world; Sally is vastly clever; Maria and George are - beautiful; and Harry, a boy with very good parts, but not - disposed to learning.” - -In spite of her statement that once she had made ten thousand pounds -she would rest contented, we find her for the two next years working -without intermission, going from York to Edinburgh, from Edinburgh to -Liverpool. In 1788 Kemble succeeded King as manager of Drury Lane, and -his sister returned to assist, first of all in his spectacular revival -of _Macbeth_, in which, among other innovations, he brought in the black, -grey, and white spirits, as bands of little boys. One of these imps was -insubordinate, and was sent away in disgrace; his name was “Edmund Kean.” - -They then acted _Henry VIII._ together, Kemble contenting himself with -“doubling” the characters of Cromwell and Griffith, Bensley having -already possession of the part of Wolsey. The representation was a -success in every way, and Mrs. Siddons’s Queen Katherine was henceforth -ranked as equal to her Lady Macbeth. - -On the 7th February following she played for the first time Volumnia to -her brother’s Coriolanus. An eye-witness tells us:— - -“I remember her coming down the stage in the triumphal entry of her son -Coriolanus, when her dumb show drew plaudits that shook the building. She -came alone, marching and beating time to the music; rolling (if that be -not too strong a term to describe her motion) from side to side, swelling -with the triumph of her son. Such was the intoxication of joy which -flashed from her eye, and lit up her whole face, that the effect was -irresistible. She seemed to me to reap all the glory of that procession -to herself. I could not take my eye from her. Coriolanus, banner, and -pageant, all went for nothing to me, after she had walked to her place.” - -Many are the testimonies of actors and actresses that show her -extraordinary personal power. Young relates that he was once acting -Beverley with her at Edinburgh. They had reached the fifth act, when -Beverley had swallowed the poison, and Bates comes in, and says to the -dying man, “Jarvis found you quarrelling with Jewson in the streets -last night.” Mrs. Beverley says, “No, I am sure he did not!” to which -Jarvis replies, “Or if I did?” meaning, it may be supposed, to add, “The -fault was not with my master.” But the moment he utters the words “Or -if I did?” Mrs. Beverley exclaims, “’Tis false, old man! They had no -quarrel—there was no cause for quarrel!” In uttering this, Mrs. Siddons -caught hold of Jarvis, and gave the exclamation with such piercing grief, -that Young said his throat swelled and his utterance was choked. He -stood unable to repeat the words which, as Beverley, he ought to have -immediately delivered. The prompter repeated the speech several times, -till Mrs. Siddons, coming up to her fellow-actor, put the tips of her -fingers on his shoulders, and said in a low voice, “Mr. Young, recollect -yourself.” - -Macready relates an equally remarkable instance of her power. In the last -act of Rowe’s _Tamerlane_, when, by the order of the tyrant Moneses, -Aspasia’s lover is strangled before her face, she worked herself up -to such a pitch of agony that, as she sank a lifeless heap before the -murderer, the audience remained for several moments awe-struck, then -clamoured for the curtain to fall, believing that she was really dead; -and only the earnest assurances of the manager to the contrary could -satisfy them. Holman and the elder Macready were among the spectators, -and looked aghast at one another. “Macready, do I look as pale as you?” -inquired the former. - -On another occasion, when performing _Henry VIII._ with a raw -“supernumerary” who was playing Surveyor, when she warned him against -giving false testimony against his master, her look was so terrific that -the unfortunate youth came off perspiring with terror, and swearing that -nothing would induce him to meet that woman’s eyes again. - -Had Mrs. Siddons lived in our day, every shop-window would have been -crowded with photographs of her classically beautiful face, in every pose -and every costume. Mercifully she lived in the days of Gainsborough and -Reynolds, and is, therefore, the original of two of the most beautiful -female portraits ever painted. Sir Joshua is said to have borrowed his -conception from a figure designed by Michael Angelo on the roof of the -Sixtine Chapel. She is seated in a chair of state, with two figures -behind holding the dagger and the bowl. The head is thrown back in an -attitude of dramatic inspiration, the right hand thrown over an arm of -the seat, the left raised, pointing upwards. A tiara, necklace, and -splendid folds of drapery enhance the stateliness of the composition. -It is, undoubtedly, the great painter’s masterpiece. “The picture,” -Northcote says, “kept him in a fever.” The unfavourable reception his -pictures of the year before had met with made him resolved to show -the critics that he was not past his prime, while the grandeur and -magnificence of the sitter stimulated him to the exertion of all his -genius. - -Mrs. Siddons was fond, in later years, of describing her sittings. -“Ascend your undisputed throne,” said the painter, leading her to the -platform. “Bestow on me some idea of the tragic muse.” And then, when it -was ended, the great painter insisted on inscribing his name on her robe, -saying that he could not lose the honour of going down to posterity on -the hem of her garment. We, who only know of her greatness from hearsay, -can form some idea of what she must have been from this magnificent -conception. - -Very nearly as noble and beautiful is the portrait by Gainsborough. The -delicacy of a refined English complexion has never been so beautifully -painted, while the tone and colour is as exquisite as anything -Gainsborough ever did. The light transparent blue, cool yellow, crimson, -brown, and black, forms an enchanting setting for the lovely head, which -stands out clear and delicate. It is said, that while Gainsborough was -painting her, after working in an absorbed silence for some time, he -suddenly exclaimed, “Damn it, Madam, there is no end to your nose!” And, -indeed, it does stand out a little sharply. But the great feature of -the Kembles was the jaw-bone. The actress herself exclaimed, laughing, -“The Kemble jaw-bone! Why, it is as notorious as Samson’s!” Mrs. Jameson -declares that she saw Mrs. Siddons sitting near Gainsborough’s portrait -two years before her death, and, looking from one to the other, she says, -“It was like her still, at the age of seventy.” - -Years after, Fanny Kemble, her grand-daughter, while walking through the -streets of Baltimore, saw an engraving of Reynolds’s “Tragic Muse” and -Lawrence’s picture of John Kemble’s “Hamlet.” “We stopped,” she says, -“before them, and my father looked with a great deal of emotion at these -beautiful representations of his beautiful kindred. It was a sort of sad -surprise to meet them in this other world, where we are wandering aliens -and strangers.” - -From the numerous portraits extant of Mrs. Siddons we can form an idea -of her appearance, of which such legendary accounts have been handed -down. She was much above middle height; as a girl she was exceedingly -thin and spare, and this remained her characteristic until she was about -twenty-two or three. “Sarah Kemble would be a fine-looking woman one of -these days,” a friend of her father remarked, “provided she could but add -flesh to her bones, and provided her eyes were as small again.” - -This is, in fact, what did occur. Her increasing plumpness rounded off -all angles, making the eyes less prominent; and at the age of twenty-four -or twenty-five she was in the very prime of her marvellous beauty. She -had a singular energy and elasticity of motion. Her head was beautifully -set on her shoulders. Her features were fine and expressive, the nose -a little long, but counterbalanced by the height of the brow, and -firmly-modelled chin. The eye-brows were marked, and ran straight across -the brow; her eyes positively flamed at times. A fixed pallor overspread -her features in later days, which was seldom tinged with colour. It is -difficult, looking at the stately fine lady painted by Gainsborough, to -imagine the bursts of passion that convulsed her on the stage. Her voice, -as years matured its power, was capable of every inflection of feeling; -while her articulation was singularly clear and exact. There was no undue -raising of the voice, no overdoing of action; all was moderate and quiet -until passion was demanded, and then swift and sudden it burst forth. - -In Kemble’s manner at times there was a sacrifice of energy to grace. -This observation, Braden tells us, was made by Mrs. Siddons herself, -who admired her brother, in general, as much as she loved him. She -illustrated her meaning by rising and placing herself in the attitude -of one of the old Egyptian statues; the knees joined together, and the -feet turned a little inwards. Placing her elbows close to her sides, she -folded her hands, and held them upright, with the palms pressed to each -other. Having made those present observe that she had assumed one of the -most constrained, and, therefore, most ungraceful positions possible, she -proceeded to recite the curse of King Lear on his undutiful offspring, in -a manner which made _hair rise and flesh creep_, and then called on us to -remark the additional effect which was gained by the concentrated energy -which the unusual and ungraceful posture in itself implied. - -It is a characteristic trait, that by the Kemble family John should have -been considered a finer player than Sarah. We know that he continually -gave her directions and instructions, which she accepted with all -humility, and followed, until she had made herself _sure_ of her ground. -No one, however gifted, could then shake her conscientious adherence to -her own views. - -The subtle difference that lies between genius and talent separated -the two. Kemble repeated beautiful words suitably; Mrs. Siddons was -magnificent before she spoke, thrilling her audience with a silence more -significant than all else in the development of human emotion. We can see -how grand she was, independently of her author, by the miserable plays -she made famous; when her genius was no longer present to breathe life -and passion into them they passed into oblivion. - -The number of indifferent plays she was entreated to appear in were -legion. All her friends seemed to think they could write plays, and that -she was the one and only person who could appear in them. We find her -piteously writing to a friend who had sent her a tragedy:— - -“It is impossible for you to conceive how hard it is to say that -_Astarte_ will not do as you and I would have it do. Thank God, it is -over! It has been so bitter a sentence for me to pronounce, that it has -wrung drops of sorrow from the very bottom of my heart. Let me entreat, -if you have any idea that I am too tenacious of your honour, that you -will suffer me to ask the opinion of others, which may be done without -naming the author. I must, however, premise that what is charming in the -closet often ceases to be so when it comes into consideration for the -stage.” - -Conceited Fanny Burney must needs write a tragedy, _Edwin and Elgitha_. -Her stumbling-block was “Bishops.” At that time there was a popular drink -called “Bishop,” composed of certain intoxicating ingredients. When, -therefore, in one of the earlier scenes the King gave the order “Bring in -the Bishop,” the audience went into roars of laughter. The dying scene -seemed to have no effect in damping their mirth. A passing stranger, in -a tragic tone, proposed to carry the expiring heroine to the other side -of a hedge. This hedge, though remote from any dwelling, proved to be a -commodious retreat, for, in a few minutes afterwards, the wounded lady -was brought from behind it on an elegant couch, and, after dying in the -presence of her husband, was removed once more to the back of the hedge. -The effect proved too ridiculous for the audience, and Mrs. Siddons was -carried off amidst renewed roars of laughter. - -Dr. Whalley must then needs press a tragedy of his own upon her, _The -Castle of Mowal_, which was yawned at for three nights. It is said that -when the author went down to Mr. Peake, the treasurer, to know what -benefit might have accrued to him, it amounted to nothing. “I have -been,” said the doctor, an old picquet-player, “piqued and repiqued”; and -so he retired from the scene of his discomfiture to Bath, where he plumed -himself on the fact of having “run for three nights.” - -Her next essay in the cause of friendship was in Bertie Greatheed’s -tragedy of _The Regent_. She writes in reference to it:— - -“The plot of the poor young man’s piece, it strikes me, is very lame, and -the characters very—very ill-sustained in general; but more particularly -the lady, for whom the author had me in his eye. This woman is one of -those monsters (I think them) of perfection, who is an angel before her -time, and is so entirely resigned to the will of Heaven, that (to a very -mortal like myself) she appears to be the most provoking piece of still -life one ever had the misfortune to meet. Her struggles and conflicts are -so weakly expressed, that we conclude they do not cost her much pain, and -she is so pious that we are satisfied she looks upon her afflictions as -so many convoys to Heaven, and wish her there, or anywhere else but in -the tragedy. I have said all this, and ten times more, to them both, with -as much delicacy as I am mistress of; but Mr. G. says that it would give -him no great trouble to alter it, provided I will undertake the milksop -lady. I am in a very distressed situation, for, unless he makes her a -totally different character, I cannot possibly have anything to do with -her.” - -The piece was eventually performed for twelve nights, and then consigned -to oblivion; but the author was so satisfied that he gave a supper, which -was followed by a drinking-bout at the “Brown Bear” in Bow Street, at -which a subordinate actor named Phillimore was sufficiently tipsy to -have courage enough to fight his lord and master, John Kemble, who was -elevated enough to defend himself, and generous enough to forget the -affair next morning. - -Other parts were declined by her for other reasons. Colman had written an -epilogue to Mr. Jephson’s _Julia_, which she refused to speak because she -declared it to be “coarse;” and the part of Cleopatra, she said she never -would act, because “she would hate herself if she were to play it as she -thought it should be played.” And there she was right; the “Serpent of -Old Nile” was not within her range. - -One of her admirers tells us that her majestic and imposing person, and -the commanding character of her beauty, militated against the effect she -produced in the part of Mrs. Haller. “No man alive or dead,” said he, -“would have dared to take a liberty with her; wicked she might be, but -weak she could not be, and when she told the story of her ill-conduct in -the play nobody believed her.” Another eye-witness, speaking of “the fair -penitent,” said that it was worth sitting out the piece for her scene -with Romont alone, to see “such a splendid animal in such a magnificent -rage.” - -And yet, what a kind heart it was to an erring sister! “Charming and -beautiful Mrs. Robinson,” she writes, referring to Perdita Robinson, “I -pity her from the bottom of my soul.” And what a generous helping hand -she stretched out to her younger colleagues. When Miss Mellon, twenty -years her junior, was acting with her at Liverpool, Mrs. Siddons one -morning at rehearsal turned to an actor, a friend of hers, who had known -her for years, and said: - -“There is a young woman here whom I am sure I have seen at Drury Lane.” - -He told her it was Miss Mellon, who had just come out. - -“She seems a nice, pretty young woman,” returned the great actress, “and -I pity her situation in that hotbed of iniquity, Drury Lane; it is almost -impossible for a young, pretty, and unprotected female to escape. How has -she conducted herself?” - -The person she addressed, who relates the story, replied: - -“With the greatest propriety.” - -“Then please present her to me.” - -The young lady, colouring highly and looking very handsome, came forward. -The Queen of Tragedy took her by the hand, and, after a few kind -encouraging words, led her forward among the company and said: - -“Ladies and Gentlemen, I am told by one I know very well that this -young lady has always conducted herself with the utmost propriety. I, -therefore, introduce her as my young friend.” - -This electrified the parties in the green-room, who had not looked for -such a flattering distinction for the young actress; but, of course, they -were all too glad to follow Mrs. Siddons in anything, and Miss Mellon was -overwhelmed with attention. Afterwards, on the return of Mrs. Siddons -and Miss Mellon to their duties in London for the succeeding season, the -former repeated the compliment she had paid her at Liverpool, making the -same statement regarding her excellent conduct; and by thus bringing her -forward under such advantageous circumstances, procured her admission to -the first green-room, where her inferior salary did not entitle her to -be, except on such a recommendation as that of Mrs. Siddons. - -In the summer of 1790, being in delicate health, and disgusted at -Sheridan’s treatment of her, she went with her husband to France, -accompanied by Miss Wynn. They first stopped at Calais, where their -daughters, Sarah and Maria, were at a boarding-school, and then went -on to Lisle. The letter she wrote to Lady Harcourt on her return is so -characteristic in its energetic, outspoken sincerity, that it seems -unjust not to quote every word of it:— - - “Sandgate, near Folkestone, Kent. August 2nd. - - “MY DEAR LADY HARCOURT, - - “After so long a silence, your good nature will exalt itself - to hear a long letter full of egotism, and I will begin with - Streatham, where you may remember to have heard me talk - of going with no great degree of pleasurable expectation, - supposing it impossible that I should ever feel much more for - Mrs. P.[2] than admiration of her talents; but, after having - very unexpectedly stayed there more than three weeks, during - which time every moment gave me fresh instances of unremitting - kindness and attention to me, and, indeed, a very extraordinary - degree of benevolence and forbearance towards those who have - not deserved much lenity at her hands (and it is wonderful how - many there are of that description), I left them with great - regret; and between their very great kindness, their wit, and - their music, they made me love, esteem, and admire them very - much. In a few days I set out with Mr. S., Miss Wynn, and her - brother, for Calais, and, after a very rough passage, arrived - at Calais, and found my dear girls quite well and improved - in their persons, and (I am told) in their French. I was very - much struck with the difference of objects and customs when I - reflected how small a space divides one nation from the other, - like true English. We saw all we could, and I thought _of_ my - dear Lord Harcourt, though not _with_ him, in their churches. - I own (though I blame myself at the same time for it) I was - disgusted with all the pomp and magnificence of them, when I - saw the priests ‘playing such fantastic tricks before high - Heaven as (I think) must make the angels weep’; and the people - gabbling over their prayers, even in the _act of gaping_, to - have it over as quick as might be. Alas! said I to myself, in - the pitifulness, and perhaps vanity, of my heart, how sorry I - am for these poor deluded people, and how much more worthy the - Deity (‘who does prefer before all temples the upright heart - and pure’) are the sublime and simple forms of _our_ religion. - Indeed, my dear Madam, I am better satisfied with the ideas and - feelings that have been excited in my heart in _your_ garden at - _Nuneham_, than ever I have been in those fine gewgaw places, - and believe Mr. Haggitt, by his plain and sensible sermons, has - done more good than a legion of these priests would do if they - were to live to the age of Methusalem. I am willing to own that - all this may be prejudice, and that _we_ may not _mean_ better - than our _neighbours_; but _fire_ shall not burn my opinion - out of me, and so _God mend all_. Now, to turn to our _great - selves_. We took our little folks to Lisle; it is a very fine - town, and, though I know nothing of the language, the acting - was so really good that it gave me very great pleasure. The - language of true genius, like that of Nature, is intelligible - to all. We stayed there a few days, and you would have laughed - to have seen my amazement at the valet of the inn assisting - the _femme de chambre_ in the making of our beds. The _beds_ - are the best I ever slept upon; but the valet’s kind offices I - could always, I think, dispense with, good heavens! Well, we - returned to Calais, where I would have stayed a few months, - and have employed myself in acquiring a few French phrases - with the dear children, if Mrs. Temple would have taken me - in; but she said she had not room to accommodate me, and I - unwillingly gave up the point. In a day or two we set sail, - after seeing the civic oath administered on the fourteenth. - It was a fine thing even at Calais. I was extremely delighted - and affected, not, indeed, at the _sensible objects_, though a - great multitude is often a grand thing, but the idea of so many - millions throughout that great nation, with one consent, at one - moment (as it were by Divine Inspiration), breaking their bonds - asunder, filled one with sympathetic exultation, good-will, - and tenderness. I rejoiced with them from my heart, and most - sincerely hope they will not abuse the glorious freedom they - have obtained. We were nearly twenty hours on the sea on our - return, and arrived at Dover fatigued and sick to death. Dr. - Wynn was obliged to make the best of his way to London on - account of a sermon he was engaged to preach, and took his - charming sister with him. _We_ made haste here, and it is the - most agreeable sea-place, excepting those on the Devonshire - coast, I ever saw. Perhaps _agreeable_ is a bad word, for the - country is much more sublime than beautiful. We have tremendous - cliffs overhanging and frowning on the foaming sea, which is - very often so saucy and tempestuous as to _deserve_ frowning - on; from whence, when the weather is clear, we see the land - of France, and the vessels cross from the Downs to Calais. - Sometimes, while you _stand_ there, it is amazing with what - velocity they skim along. Here are little neat lodgings, - and good wholesome provisions. Perhaps they would not suit - a great _countess_, as our friend Mr. Mason has it, but a - little great actress is more easily accommodated. I’m afraid - it will grow larger, though, and then adieu to the comforts of - retirement. At present the place cannot contain above twenty - or thirty strangers, I should think. I have bathed four times, - and believe I shall persevere, for Sir Lucas Pepys says my - disease is entirely nervous. I believe I am better, but I get - on so slowly that I cannot speak as yet with much certainty. - I still suffer a good deal. Mr. Siddons leaves me here for a - fortnight while he goes to town upon business, and my spirits - are so bad that I live in terror of being left alone so long. - We have been here nearly three weeks, and I propose staying - here, if possible, till September, when I shall go to town to - my brother’s for some days, and then set off for Mr. Whalley’s - at Bath. I shall hope to see you at Nuneham, though, before you - leave it. - - “Now, my dear Lady Harcourt, let me congratulate you upon - having almost got to the end of this interesting epistle and - _myself_, in the honour of your friendship, which has flattered - me into the comfort of believing that you will not be tired of - your prosing, but always very affectionate and faithful servant, - - “S. SIDDONS. - - “Pray offer my love, and our united compliments, to all.” - -Michael Kelly gives an account of the landlady’s opinion of _La grande -actrice Anglaise_ at the hotel at St. Omer, where he stopped shortly -after Mrs. Siddons had been there. She considered her handsome, declared -she was trying to imitate French women, but fell very far short of them. - -She was induced to return to Drury Lane about the end of 1790, and in -April we find Horace Walpole writing to tell Miss Berry that he had -supped with Kemble and Mrs. Siddons “t’other night at Miss Farren’s, at -the bow-window house in Green Street, Grosvenor Square.” He pronounces -the actress to be “leaner.” We can see the party: cynical, sneering -Walpole; beautiful Miss Farren, afterwards Countess of Derby, the -hostess; Mrs. Siddons, “august” and matronly; and solemn John, who had -just made a hit as Othello. - -It was the last year of old Drury’s existence, and, for her brother’s -sake, she bore her part bravely, acting when called upon; but she soon -flagged, and could only act a few nights. Her reappearance was welcomed -with wild enthusiasm; she seemed as popular as ever. One night over four -hundred pounds was paid by the public to see her in Mrs. Beverley. - -About 1792 or 3 she seems to have taken a house at Nuneham, near the -Harcourts—the Rectory, we presume, for we find her writing to Lord -Harcourt, devising little comforts for their summer residence at Nuneham, -thanking him for his “neighbourly” attention; and one or two letters she -writes to John Taylor are dated Nuneham Rectory. One is on the subject of -a Life of herself which he wished to undertake; the other refers to her -modelling, and an accident which happened to her husband and children. - -“I am in no danger of being too much occupied by my ‘favorite clay,’ -for it is not arriv’d—how provoking and vexatious! particularly as I -am dying to attempt a Bust of my sweet little George, and his Holidays -will be over, I fear, before I am able to finish it. Apropos to George, -the dear little Soul has escapd being dangerously hurt, if not kill’d -(my blood runs cold at the thought), by almost a miracle. Mr. Siddons -and Maria have not been so fortunate, they are both cripples at present -with each a wounded Leg, but I hope they are in a fair way to get better. -The accident (so these things are called, but not by _me_; I know -you’ll deride my _Superstition_, but this kind of Superstition has not -unfrequently afforded me great aid and consolation, and I hate to discard -an old friend because she happens to be a little out of Fashion, so Laugh -on, I dont care) happen’d from their being forcd to jump out of a little -Market Cart which Mr. Siddons had orderd to indulge the children in a -drive. Thank God I did not see it and that they have escapd so well!!! -This is the Sweetest Situation in England, I believe. I wish you would -come and see it. If I had a Bed to offer you I should be more pressing, -but I could get you one at the Inn in the Village, if you should be -disposd to go to those fine doings at Oxford, where all the world will -be, except such Stupid Souls as myself. Mr. Combe is at Lord Harcourt’s; -I understand he is writing a History of the Thames, and his Lordships -House is the present Seat of his observations. I have not the pleasure to -know him, but am to Dine with him at Lord H⸺’s to-morrow. [This is the -Combe of Wolverhampton memory, whom Mrs. Kemble had refused as instructor -for her daughter. The stately “I have not the pleasure to know him” is -so like Mrs. Siddons.] Give my kind love to Betsey when you See her, and -I earnestly entreat you (if it be not too much vanity to Suppose you wᵈ -_wish_ to preserve them a moment beyond reading them) that you will burn -all my Letters; tell me Seriously you will do so! for there is nothing -I dread like having all one’s nonsense appear in print by some untoward -accident—not accident neither, but wicked or _interested design_, pray do -me the favʳ to ask at our House why my precious Clay has not been Sent, -and tell me Something about it when you write again. Adieu.” - - - - -CHAPTER XI. - -SHERIDAN. - - -The apparition of Sheridan, meteor-like, in the laborious, active, -well-regulated lives of Mrs. Siddons and her brother, and the history of -his professional intercourse with them, is one of the greatest proofs -of the extraordinary glamour exercised by the specious Irishman on all -who came under his personal influence. After Garrick’s retirement from -the management of Drury Lane, the overwhelming success of the _School -for Scandal_, and the engagement of Mrs. Siddons, staved off financial -difficulties for a time; but no amount of receipts were sufficient to -withstand Sheridan’s reckless private expenditure and unbusiness-like -habits. The brilliant Brinsley did not recognise that other qualities -besides the power to write a good play, or make a great speech, were -necessary for the management of such a concern as Garrick’s Drury -Lane. The truth, however, was borne home to him by the utter chaos -that ultimately ensued: actors unpaid, and the treasury repeatedly -emptied by the proprietor himself before the money had been diverted -into its legitimate channels. Yet the receipts at the doors amounted -to nearly sixty thousand pounds a year. Things would have gone better -could he have been persuaded entirely to abstain from management, but -he persistently interfered with his subordinates. When a dramatist was -employed in reading his tragedy to the performers, Brinsley would saunter -in, yawning, at the fifth act, with no other apology than, having sat up -late two nights running, he was unable to appear in time; or he would -arrive drunk, go into the green-room, ask the name of a well-known actor -who was on the stage, and bid them never to allow him to play again. He -was once told, with some spirit, by one of the company, that he rarely -came there, and then never but to find fault. - -Things grew worse and worse. It was piteous to hear the complaints of -the actors and staff of the theatre, who found it impossible to obtain -payment of their weekly salaries. The shifts and devices which he -employed to escape from their importunity was a constant subject of jest. - -At last he was obliged to let the reins of management fall from his -incapable hands. They were taken up by King; but he in turn soon found -the position intolerable, and the stern and businesslike Kemble was -called in to restore discipline among unruly players whose salaries were -overdue, and amongst upholsterers and decorators who had never been paid -for the pieces they had mounted. - -It required the courage and determination of a Kemble to undertake the -clearing out of such an Augean stable. “The public approbation of my -humble endeavours in the discharge of my duties will be the constant -object of my ambition,” he said, in his modest declaration on the -acceptance of the appointment; “and as far as diligence and assiduity -are claims to merit, I trust I shall not be found deficient.” Nor was he -found deficient. Bringing extraordinary determination to the task, he -soon got the theatre into order, with an efficient working company, of -which he and his sister, Mrs. Siddons, were the ruling spirits. - -Sheridan had not even the good sense in this critical juncture in his -affairs to propitiate the great actress on whom the fortunes of the -house rested. There is something comic, indeed, in his relations with -the Tragedy Queen. They rather remind us of an incorrigible schoolboy -continually offending those in authority, and yet confident in their -affection and his own powers of persuasion to obtain indulgence and -forgiveness. - -Once Mrs. Siddons had declared that she would not act until her salary -was paid, she resisted inflexibly the earnest appeals of her colleagues -and the commands of the manager, and was quietly sewing at home after -the curtain had risen for the piece in which she was expected to -perform. Sheridan appeared, like the magician in a pantomime, courteous, -irresistible; she yielded helplessly, “and suffered herself to be driven -to the theatre like a lamb.” - -One night, Mr. Rogers tells us, having heard the story from her own lips, -when she was about to drive away from the theatre, Mr. Sheridan jumped -into the carriage. “Mr. Sheridan,” said the dignified Muse of Tragedy, -“_I trust that you will behave with propriety_; if not, I shall have to -call the footman to show you out of the carriage.” She owned that he -_did_ behave himself. But as soon as the carriage stopped, he leaped out, -and hurried away, as though wishing not to be seen with her. “Provoking -wretch!” she said, with an indulgent smile, which even she, encased in -all her panoply of prudish decorum, could not suppress. - -At last even her patience was worn out, and at the close of her brother’s -first year of management she retired from the theatre. Sheridan dared -to boast they could do without her. A scheme was then hatching in -the ever-fertile Irish brain of the proprietor that was destined to -revolutionise the dramatic world of London. He discovered that the taste -of the day, and the requirements of his own pocket, demanded a larger and -more luxurious building than Old Drury; the walls that had re-echoed to -the grand tones of Betterton, the musical love-making of Barry, and the -passionate declamation of Garrick, was to be pulled down to satisfy the -greed and the ambition of Sheridan. Immediate proposals for debentures -amounting to £160,000 were issued, and, wonderful to relate, taken up -in a very short time. But, alas! to cover the interest of this enormous -sum, it was determined to build a house nearly double the size. Neither -Mrs. Siddons nor her brother seems to have considered the disastrous -consequence this would exercise on their art. The perfect acoustics and -compact stage of the old house were to be swept away to give place to an -immense dome-shaped space, and an expanse requiring undignified energy of -motion to traverse. The immediate consequence was evident; recourse had -to be taken to stage artifice to manage the entrance and the exit, while -gesture had to be more violent, expression more exaggerated, and voice -unduly raised to produce an effect. - -In Garrick’s Drury, also, the front row of boxes was open like a gallery, -and everyone who occupied them was obliged to appear in full dress. -The row of boxes above these again were given up to the _bourgeoisie_, -while the lattices at the top were the portion destined to those whose -reputation was doubtful, and who by their unseemly behaviour might -disturb the decorum of the audience. Garrick was master of his art, and -knew how to value the criticism and sympathy of the crowd. Under his -management the two-shilling gallery was brought down to a level with -the second row of boxes. By that arrangement a player had the mass of -the audience under his immediate control; and that mass, uninfluenced -by fashion or prejudice, unerring in its judgment, is the dread of an -inferior actor, the delight of a great one. - -While the theatre was still in process of erection, the company performed -at the Opera House in the Haymarket, or, as it was called, the King’s -Theatre. The new house was opened on April 21st, 1794, with _Macbeth_. - -“I am told,” Mrs. Siddons writes to Lady Harcourt, “that the banquet is -a thing to go and see of itself. The scenes and dresses all new, and as -superb and characteristic as it is possible to make them. You cannot -conceive what I feel at the prospect of playing there. I daresay I shall -be so nervous as scarcely to be able to make myself heard in the first -scene.” - -This banquetting scene in _Macbeth_ was made the subject of sarcastic -hints in the daily press on the old score of her avarice:— - -“The soul of Mrs. Siddons (Mrs. Siddons whose dinners and suppers are -proverbially numerous) expanded on this occasion. She speaks her joy on -seeing so many guests with an earnestness little short of rapture. Her -address appeared so like reality, that all her hearers about her seized -the wooden fowls”.... - -The great actress soon felt a great mistake had been made. “I am glad -to see you at Drury Lane,” she said to a colleague, “but you are come -to act in a wilderness of a place, and, God knows, if I had not made my -reputation in a small theatre, I never should have done it.” - -It was indeed “a wilderness of a place.” The mere opening for the curtain -was forty-three feet wide, and thirty-eight feet high, or nearly seven -times the height of the performers. Miss Mellon laughingly said she -“felt a mere shrimp” when acting in it. The result might be foreseen. -Had not the great actress indeed made her reputation on a small theatre, -never would she have made it here. We, who only know of Mrs. Siddons by -immediate tradition, are inclined to think that she ranted, and destroyed -her effects by exaggeration of gesture and expression. There is little -doubt we are justified in so thinking, and that the increased size of the -theatre and audience were to blame. - -What a world of significance lies also in her words: “The banquet is -a thing to go and see of itself.” A new era had begun; the stage, and -everything belonging to it, ought to be taken out of the domain of -every-day life, and, by appealing to the intellectual comprehension -of the audience, raise them to an understanding of the grandeur of -conception and passion of a Shakespeare. Garrick acted Othello in a -cocked hat and scarlet uniform, and yet impressed his audience with a -pathetic and intense reality. Mrs. Siddons acted Lady Macbeth in black -velvet and point lace, and yet imparted a majesty and grace to the -impersonation never before seen on the English stage. Now we see the -Mephistopheles, Sheridan, inducing her to barter away her reputation and -ideal of great art for the substantial benefits of increased gains and -larger audiences. - -A different class of entertainment now invaded the classic boards. We can -see _Timour the Tartar_, _Tekeli, or the Siege of Montgatz_, _The Miller -and His Men_, _Pizarro_, and a host of spectacular pieces, mounted to -draw numerous and uncritical audiences. This first season was a fatiguing -and anxious one for the great actress, more especially also that she was -in delicate health. Her daughter Cecilia was born this year, 1794, on -25th July. Her husband wrote to a friend:— - - I have the pleasure to tell you your little god-daughter (for - such she is, myself being your proxy a few days back) is very - well, and as fine a girl as if her father was not more than - one-and-twenty. She is named after Mrs. Piozzi’s youngest - daughter, Cecilia; her sponsors are yourself and Mr. Greatheed, - Mrs. Piozzi and Lady Percival (_ci devant_ Miss B. Wynn); and, - what is better, the mother is well, too, and is just going to - the theatre to perform Mrs. Beverley for the benefit of her - brother’s wife, Mrs. Stephen Kemble. - -She never all through life gave herself the rest requisite to -re-establish her health; always before the public, what wonder that -languor and weakness attacked her physically, and despondency and -dissatisfaction mentally. - -“My whole family are gone to Margate,” she wrote in September, “whither -I am going also, and nothing would make it tolerable to me, but that my -husband and daughters are delighted with the prospect before them. I wish -they could go and enjoy themselves there, and leave me the comfort and -pleasure of remaining in my own convenient house, and taking care of my -baby. But I am every day more and more convinced that half the world -live for themselves, and the other half for the comfort of the former. -At least this I am sure of, that I have had no will of my own since I -remember; and, indeed, to be just, I fancy I should have little delight -in such an existence.” - -She told her friend Mr. Whalley, on the eve of setting out for Edinburgh -to play at her son Henry’s theatre:—“I intend, if it please God, to be at -home again for Passion week. I leave my sweet girl behind me, not daring -to take her so far north this inclement season, and could well wish that -the interests of the best of sons, and most amiable of men, did not so -imperiously call me out of this softer climate just now. But I shall -pack myself up as warmly as I can, trusting that while I run a little -risk, I shall do a great deal of good to my dear Harry, who tells me -all my friends are more eager to see me than ever. It is not impossible -that I may stop a night or two here before I go, which, as I have long -been engaged to act this season after Easter, and cannot in honour or -honesty be off, I think will not be impolitic, lest my enemies, if their -malignity be worth a thought, may think their impotent attempts have -frightened me away. They have done all their malignant treachery could -devise, and have they robbed me of one friend? No, God be praised! But, -on the contrary, have knit them all closer to me. Glad enough should I -be never to appear again, but, while the interests of those so dear and -near as those of son and brother are concerned, one must not let selfish -consideration stand in the way of Christian duties and natural affection.” - -The public are inclined to think that the life of an artist spent -continually before the footlights is one eminently conducive to hardening -the sensibilities against calumny; but it is a curious fact that actors -are like children in their craving for applause and praise, and in their -fear of criticism and blame. Garrick wrote a year before his death to the -scoundrel who persecuted him, “Will Curtius take the word of the accused -for his innocence?” and Mrs. Siddons, through her husband, offered one -thousand pounds for the libeller to whom she refers in the following -letter:— - -“One would think I had already furnished conjectures and lies sufficient -for public gossip; but now the people here begin again with me. They say -that I am mad, and that _that_ is the reason of my confinement. I should -laugh at this rumour were it not for the sake of my children, to whom -it may not be very advantageous to be supposed to inherit so dreadful a -malady; and this consideration, I am almost ashamed to own, has made me -seriously unhappy. However, I really believe I am in my sober senses, -and most heartily do I now wish myself with you at dear Streatham, where -I could, as usual, forget all the pains and torments of illness and the -world. But I fear I have now no chance for such happiness.” - -“Kotzebue and German sausages are the order of the day,” Sheridan said -when he brought out the English adaptation of _The Stranger_. Mrs. -Haller, in Mrs. Siddons’s hands, became pathetic, almost grand; but to -us now-a-days, uninfluenced by the glamour of her presence, the sickly -sentiment and impossible situations of the play make it an untempting -meal for our practical and realistic mental digestions. - -Its success was so great as to induce the author of the _School for -Scandal_—who had lost all power of original conception, yet was obliged -to fill his pockets—to adapt another play, _Pizarro_, also by Kotzebue. -Did we not know the history of the celebrated first night of his play, -on unimpeachable evidence, we should be inclined to look upon it as one -of those exaggerated tales that, related by one of the many gossips of -the time, had grown out of all possibility of credence. Sheridan was -up-stairs in the prompter’s room, stimulating his jaded brain by sips -of port, and writing out the last act of the play, while the earlier -parts were acting; every ten minutes he brought down as much of the -dialogue as he had done piecemeal into the green-room, abusing himself -and his negligence, and making a thousand winning and soothing apologies -for having kept the performers so long in such painful suspense. What, -under these circumstances, became of the thorough and elaborate study -declared by the Kembles to be necessary for the perfection of the -dramatic art, we know not. Rolla and Mrs. Siddons’s Elvira must have -been extemporaneous acting. Perhaps the performances gained in vivid -power and effect what they lost in finish from the nervous strain and -excitement of such a mental effort as they were called upon to make. It -is difficult to account for the success of the play unless the acting was -superlatively good. It is overlaid with bombast and claptrap, and, as -Pitt said, was but a second-rate re-echo of his speeches on the Hastings -trial. For no one but the “hapless genius” would the brother and sister -have thus thrown to the winds all their artistic traditions. We hear of -the inflexible John saying, when irritated past bearing: “I know him -thoroughly, all his paltry tricks and artifices”; yet immediately after -we find both him and the great actress submitting to all his whims and -eccentricities. There is an amusing story told by Boaden of a supper at -beautiful Mrs. Crouch’s, when Kemble arrived charged with his grievances, -and full of threats, expecting to meet Sheridan. Presently in came the -culprit, light and airy as usual. The great actor looked unutterable -things, occasionally emitting a humming sound like that of a bee, and -groaning inwardly in spirit. Some little time elapsed, when at last, -like a “pillar of state,” slowly uprose Kemble, and thus addressed the -proprietor: - -“I am an eagle whose wings have been bound down by frosts and snows, but -now I shake my pinions and cleave into the genial air into which I am -born.” - -After having thus offered his resignation, he solemnly resumed his -seat. Sheridan, however, undaunted, used all his arts of fascination to -mitigate his wrath, and at an early hour of the morning both went away in -perfect harmony. - -Then we have Mrs. Siddons’s opinion of him:— - -“Here I am,” she writes, “sitting close in a little dark room in a little -wretched inn, in a little poking village called Newport Pagnell. I am on -my way to Manchester, where I am to act for a fortnight, from whence I am -to be whirled to Liverpool, there to do the same. From thence I skim away -to York and Leeds; and then, when Drury Lane opens—who can tell? For it -depends upon Mr. Sheridan, who is uncertainty personified. I have got no -money from him yet, and all my last benefit, a very great one, was swept -into his treasury, nor have I seen a shilling of it. Mr. Siddons has -made an appointment to meet him to-day at Hammersley’s. As I came away -very early, I don’t know the result of the conference; but unless things -are settled to Mr. Siddons’s satisfaction, he is determined to put the -affair into his lawyer’s hands.” - -The affair was never put into any lawyer’s hands; she allowed herself to -be mollified, and might well write of Sheridan in 1796:— - -“Sheridan is certainly the greatest phenomenon that nature has produced -for centuries. Our theatre is going on, to the astonishment of everybody. -Very few of the actors are paid, and all are vowing to withdraw -themselves; yet still we go on. Sheridan is certainly omnipotent. I -can get no money from the theatre; my precious two thousand pounds are -swallowed up in that drowning gulf, from which no plea of right or -justice can save its victims.” - -John Kemble remained manager of Drury Lane for some years, sometimes -withdrawing for a time and refusing to manage the affairs any longer, -and again wheedled back by Sheridan’s powers of persuasion. At last, -wearied out, both brother and sister finally withdrew from Drury Lane in -1802, and took shares with Harris in Covent Garden Theatre. Harris was -the direct opposite of Sheridan, punctual in his payments and honourable -in his dealings. Mrs. Inchbald arranged all the monetary portion of the -affair. The concern was valued at £138,000, of which Harris represented -one half; the remainder being divided among four proprietors, of whom -Lewis, the actor, was one. Lewis after a time became anxious to dispose -of his share, and Kemble purchased it for the sum of £23,000; a friend -of his, a Mr. Heathcote, advancing him a large amount to enable him to -do so. The Kemble family all joined him in this venture. The company -included Mrs. Siddons, Charles Kemble, Mr. and Mrs. Henry Siddons, -and Cooke, the well-known actor. As soon as Kemble had completed his -arrangements, he went abroad for some months, visiting Spain and France. -On his return a dinner was given by the managers of Covent Garden to -their Drury Lane rival, Sheridan, who made a sarcastic speech on the -friendship of fellows who had hated each other all their lives. John -Kemble then went abroad again, for a time, to recruit his strength after -the anxiety and worry of his years of management. - -Mrs. Kemble, in a letter written to her husband during his absence, -describes a very smart party at the “Abercorn,” at which the Prince of -Wales, and the Devonshire, Melbourne, Castlereagh, and Westmoreland -families were present, and says significantly at the end: “Mrs. Sheridan -came in a very elegant chariot, four beautiful black horses and two -footmen. The Duchess had only one. Mrs. Sheridan had a fine shawl on, -that he, Sheridan, said he gave forty-five guineas for, a diamond -necklace, ear-rings, cross, cestus, and clasps to her shoulders, and -a double row of fine pearls round her neck.” This was shortly after -Mrs. Siddons’s last benefit, when the brilliant Brinsley had swept the -proceeds into his own pocket. - -The very “ravages of fire,” however, which they “scouted” by the help -of “ample reservoirs” that were exhibited on the stage the night of the -inauguration, by a “lake of real water,” and a “cascade tumbling down,” -were the ravages that were destined to destroy the splendours of the -new building. The misfortune of fire that ruined Kemble was destined, -also, to ruin Sheridan, who had staked his all on this one enterprise. -Drury Lane was destroyed as Covent Garden was rising from its ashes. The -glare of the burning building lit up the Houses of Parliament during a -late sitting. One of the members suggested an adjournment of the House. -With a spice of the highly-flavoured bombast he had lately so frequently -offered his theatrical audiences, Sheridan opposed the idea:—“Whatever -may be the extent of the calamity to me personally, I hope it will not -interfere with the public business of the country,” he said; and quitting -the assembly, he betook himself to one of the coffee-houses in Covent -Garden, where he was found swallowing port by the tumblerful a few hours -later. One of the actors expressed his surprise and disgust at seeing him -there. “Surely a man may be allowed to take a glass of wine by his own -fireside?” was Sheridan’s ready answer. - - - - -CHAPTER XII. - -HERMIONE. - - -It sends a pang through our heart as we hear Mrs. Siddons say in later -life, with a sigh, to Rogers the poet: “After I became famous, none of my -sisters loved me so well.” What a price to pay for fame! “Conversation” -Sharp was frequently consulted by her upon private affairs. She wept -to him over the ingratitude her sisters showed her. Money was lent and -never repaid; the prestige of her name was borrowed to obtain theatrical -engagements, but she never was thanked; every obligation seemed only to -cause a feeling of bitterness. Perhaps the fault lay a little on her -side as well as on theirs. Tact and graciousness were not her strong -points. She was absent-minded, all her attention being concentrated on -the study and comprehension of her profession, which gave her a proud, -self-contained manner, alienating unconsciously those who surrounded her -and were dependent on her. Her children adored her, but her brothers -and sisters stood, to a certain extent, in awe of her. All of them, -stimulated by the examples of the two eldest, went on the stage, but -none possessed her genius, or John Kemble’s talent and industry. The -affectionate comradeship in art that existed between Mrs. Siddons and -John Kemble is one of the pleasantest features in both their lives. - -He was educated, as we have seen, principally at the Roman Catholic -College at Douay, where he became remarkable for his elocution, every -now and then astonishing his masters and schoolfellows by delivering -speeches in scholastic Latin, and learning with the greatest facility -books of Homer and odes of Horace. We are told that his noble cast of -countenance, his deep melodious voice, and the dignity of his delivery, -impressed his comrades considerably; especially in the scene between -Brutus and Cassius, which he got up for their benefit. It is a curious -proof of his want of facility that, although he was extremely fond of -the study of language, grammar being all his life his favourite _light -reading_, he never was able to master any language but his own. He read -Italian, Spanish, and French, but spoke none of them, in spite of his -education in France and his long residence later at Lausanne. He had no -ear, and it never could have been an easy task to him to learn the rhythm -of Shakespeare. We know the story of old Shaw, conductor of the Covent -Garden orchestra, who vainly endeavoured to teach him the song in the -piece of _Richard Cœur de Lion_, “O Richard—O mon roi!” “Mr. Kemble, Mr. -Kemble, you are murdering the time, Sir!” cried the exasperated musician; -on which Kemble made one of the few jokes ever perpetrated by him: “Very -well, Sir, and you are for ever beating it.” - -After six years’ residence at Douay he made up his mind that he was not -suited to the church, and left for England, determined to follow his -father’s profession. He landed at Bristol in that very December, 1775, -that his sister made her unfortunate “first appearance” before the London -public. Dreading his parents’ wrath, he made his way to Wolverhampton, -and there joined a company under the direction of a Mr. Crump and a Mr. -Chamberlain. After going through all the humiliations and privations of -a penniless actor, but also after enjoying the valuable hours of study -and stern discipline of a stroller’s life, we find the future Hamlet, -by the aid of his sister, Mrs. Siddons, enabled to get his foot on -the first round of the ladder. Mr. Younger, manager of the Liverpool -Theatre, gave him an engagement in 1778. We find him afterwards playing -at Wakefield with Tate Wilkinson’s York company, and actually permitted -to act Macbeth at Hull. By the aid of quiet industry and determination he -was working his way to the goal he had in view. He perpetrated a tragedy, -_Belisarius_, that was given on the same occasion at Hull, wrote poetry -which he burnt, gave lectures on oratory, and, in fact, passed through -the curriculum necessary to the full completion of his powers. - -On the 30th September 1783, John Kemble first appeared in London, at -Drury Lane, as Hamlet. The fiery criticisms launched against this -performance by the press, show that at least it was distinguished by -originality. Whatever its faults might be, they were unanimous in -declaring his reading to be scholarly and refined. He is said, in -studying the part of Hamlet, to have written it out no less than forty -times. Some time elapsed before he appeared in the same piece as his -sister; other actors had possession of the parts, and he had to bide his -time. That patient waiting on opportunity, however, was one of the great -Kemble gifts; there was no impatience, no complaining, but a steady, -dogged power of perseverance, with the profound conviction of their own -capabilities to make use of fortune when it came. At last he appeared as -Stukeley to his sister’s Mrs. Beverley, in _The Gamester_. Finely as the -part was played, the sister, not the brother, carried away the honours of -the performance. - -After this, on several benefit nights they were able to appear together, -Kemble replacing Smith in the character of Macbeth to Mrs. Siddons’s Lady -Macbeth, and both of them acting later in _Othello_, he as the Moor, she -as Desdemona. This was not a distinct success. At last, however, his -power found its legitimate development. On the occasion of his sister’s -benefit in January 1788, he acted Lear to her Cordelia. The town was -electrified, and declared him equal to Garrick. Boaden tells us “that he -never played it so grandly or so touchingly as on that night.” - -His really great gift was his large and cultivated understanding, that -enabled him to grasp the spirit of the author he sought to interpret, -giving a new emphasis and truth to scenes that were hackneyed and stale -by a conventional method of rendering. This was particularly the case -with Shakespeare, whose beauties he and his sister first revealed to -their generation. The difference, however, between them was that he -possessed superlative talent, she possessed genius. In speaking to -Reynolds the dramatist, she defined completely the difference between -them, “My brother John, in his most impetuous bursts, is always careful -to avoid any discomposure of his dress or deportment, but in the -whirlwind of passion I lose all thoughts of such matters.” - -He is said to have nourished a tender affection for the -“Muse”—beautiful, clever, fascinating, stuttering Mrs. Inchbald. -When her husband died, it was universally said he would marry her. -Fanny Kemble tells an incident that occurred long after Kemble was -married. Mrs. Inchbald and Miss Mellon were sitting by the fire-place -in the green-room, waiting to be called upon the stage. The two were -laughingly discussing their male friends and acquaintances from the -matrimonial point of view. John Kemble, who was standing near, at length -jestingly said to Mrs. Inchbald, who had been comically energetic in her -declarations of whom she could or would or never could or would have -married, “Well, Mrs. Inchbald, would you have had me?” “Dear heart,” said -the stammering beauty, turning her sweet sunny face up to him, “I’d have -j-j-j-jumped at you!” - -The lady he did eventually marry was no beauty and no “Muse,” but, much -to the indignation of Mrs. Siddons, as people said at the time, a very -ordinary young woman, daughter of a Mr. and Mrs. Hopkins, prompter and -actress at Drury Lane. Priscilla, however, made him a good wife, and he -never had cause to regret his choice. - -The next brother to John, Stephen, although almost born on the stage, had -none of the requisites either of talent or facility to make him a good -actor. Only a few days before John’s first appearance in London, Stephen -appeared before the public as Othello. It was said that the manager had -made a mistake, and had engaged the “big” instead of the “great” Mr. -Kemble. Stephen’s great boast all his life was that he was the only actor -who could play Falstaff “without stuffing.” His qualifications were those -of a boon companion rather than of an actor. He very soon quitted the -London stage and became manager of a provincial theatre. - -Frances, the great actress’s second sister, inherited a considerable -portion of the family beauty, but little dramatic power, and what she had -was rendered inoperative by her unconquerable shyness. Mrs. Siddons first -brought her out at Bath. The papers vented their spleen against the elder -sister on the younger. It was natural, they said, that she should wish to -bring her forward, but they hoped she had learned, by the utter failure -of her attempt, not to “cram incapable actresses down the throats of the -public.” One of the theatrical critics, Steevens, fell in love with her; -but his proposals being rejected, he became her bitterest enemy. - -Mrs. Siddons writes to tell Dr. Whalley of this love affair:—“My sister -Frances is not married, and, I believe, there is very little reason to -suppose she will be soon. In point of circumstances, I believe, the -gentleman you mention would be a desirable husband; but I hear so much of -his ill-temper, and know so much of his caprice, that, though my sister, -I believe, likes him, I cannot wish her gentle spirit linked with his.” - -Mrs. Siddons had judged her sister’s suitor exactly. The engagement -was soon broken off, and the girl married Mr. Twiss, another dramatic -critic, whom Fanny Kemble, in her _Records of a Girlhood_, describes -as a grim-visaged, gaunt-figured, kind-hearted gentleman and profound -scholar, who, it was said, at one time nourished a hopeless passion for -Mrs. Siddons. The Twisses later set up a genteel seminary at Bath, where -fashionable young ladies were sent “to be bettered.” Mrs. Twiss died in -October 1822, and Mr. Twiss in 1827. Mrs. Siddons ever kept up the most -affectionate intercourse with them, and their son Horace Twiss was her -favourite nephew. - -Her next sister, Elizabeth, though apprenticed to a mantua-maker, was -soon bitten with the dramatic enthusiasm of the family. She obtained an -engagement through the influence of her famous sister, but made no way in -London; and after her marriage with Mr. Whitelock, one of the managers -of the Chester company, in 1785, she went with him to America, where she -seems to have had some success. - -Mrs. Whitelock, we are told, was a taller and fairer woman than Mrs. -Siddons. When she returned to England years later, she wore an auburn -wig, which, like the tall cap that surmounted it, was always on one side. -She was a simple-hearted, sweet-tempered woman, but very imperfectly -educated. Her Kemble name, face, figure, and voice helped her in the -United States, but her own qualifications were but meagre. Nothing could -be droller, we are told, than to see her with Mrs. Siddons, of whom she -looked like a clumsy, badly-finished imitation. Her vehement gestures -and violent objurgations contrasted comically with her sister’s majestic -stillness of manner; and when occasionally Mrs. Siddons would interrupt -her with “Elizabeth, your wig is on one side,” and the other replied, -“Oh, is it?” and, giving the offending head-gear a shove, put it quite -as crooked in the other direction, and proceeded with her discourse, -Melpomene herself used to have recourse to her snuff-box to hide the -dawning smile on her face. - -Another sister, Jane, appeared in Lady Randolph at Newcastle when -she was nineteen. She had all the Kemble faults in acting carried to -excess. She was, besides, short and fat; and when a character in the -play, describing her death, said, “She ran, she flew, like lightning -up the hill,” the audience roared with laughter. Shortly after this -discouraging attempt she married a Mr. Mason, of Edinburgh, and retired -from the profession. She died in 1834, leaving a husband, five sons, -and a daughter, who almost all went on the stage. With one unfortunate -exception, the Kemble family were remarkable for their decorous, -well-regulated lives. Although all the brothers married actresses, their -children were admirably brought up, and their households models of -propriety. The unfortunate exception we mentioned was Ann Curtis, the -fourth sister. To a woman of Mrs. Siddons’s proud, sensitive temper, the -vagaries of this wretched woman must have been painful beyond expression. -She was said to be lame, which prevented her going on the stage. In -1783, the year of her great triumph in London, the young actress had the -pleasure of reading in all the papers the following advertisement. Under -the guise of charity it is easy to see the motive that prompted it, and -shows the envy and malignity that pursued her during her career. - - DONATIONS IN FAVOUR OF MRS. CURTIS, YOUNGEST SISTER OF MRS. - SIDDONS. - - A _private_ individual, whose humanity is far more extensive - than her means, having taken the case of the unfortunate MRS. - CURTIS into consideration, pitying her youth, respecting - her talents for the stage, which, unhappily, misfortune has - rendered useless, and desirous to restore a useful member to - Society, earnestly entreats the interference of a generous - public in her behalf, that she may be enabled by the efforts - of humanity to procure such necessaries as may be requisite to - relieve her immediate distress, and for her getting her bread - by needlework, artificial flowers, &c., in which she is well - skilled, and in which she will be happy to be well employed. - Mrs. Curtis is the youngest sister of _Messrs. Kemble_ and - _Mrs. Siddons_, whom she has repeatedly solicited for relief, - which they have flatly refused her; it therefore becomes - necessary to solicit, in her behalf, the benevolent generosity - of that public who have so liberally supported _them_. - - Deny not to Affliction Pity’s tear, - For Virtue’s fairest when she aids Distress! - - Mrs. Curtis’s _Search After Happiness_. - - Donations will be thankfully received at Mr. Ayre’s, Printer of - the Sunday _London Gazette_ and _Weekly Monitor_, &c., No. 5 - Bridges Street, opposite Drury Lane Theatre; and at No. 21 King - Street, Covent Garden. - -All efforts to reclaim her being unavailing, she gradually descended -lower and lower in the social scale. Rumours were circulated of her -having attempted to poison herself, and again her brother and sister were -accused of undue harshness; but almost everything connected with the case -points to their having done all they could, though she proved perfectly -irreclaimable. - -During the latter part of her life she was allowed a small annuity of -twenty pounds a year, which was continued to her in Mrs. Siddons’s will. -She lived until 1838. - -Charles, who approached more nearly in intellectual powers to his -celebrated sister and brother than any of the others, was nearly twenty -years younger than Mrs. Siddons. When thirteen years of age, he was -sent by John Kemble to Douay College, where he remained three years. He -appeared at Drury Lane in 1794. He was a gentlemanly, refined actor; -there were certain characters which he made entirely his own. Charles -married, in 1806, an actress of the name of De Camp. Like Mrs. Garrick, -she had been a ballet-dancer, and had come over from Vienna, brought by -Garrick with the rest of the troupe. In consequence of a riot directed -against the employment of foreigners, the greater part of the troupe was -obliged to return to Vienna. Miss De Camp, however, remained, learnt -English, and, by dint of perseverance, achieved a good position at Drury -Lane. They had three children—Adelaide, who sang professionally, but soon -left the stage to marry Mr. Sartoris; Fanny, authoress of the _Record of -a Girlhood_, who became Mrs. Butler; and a son, John Mitchell Kemble. -Charles Kemble suffered much from deafness during the latter years of his -life, and was entirely ruined by his gift of the share in Covent Garden -valued at £50,000. Mrs. Siddons reappeared for his benefit on the 9th -June 1819. - -Mrs. Siddons had five children who lived to grow up—Henry, who was -born at Wolverhampton on the 4th October 1774; Sarah Martha, born at -Gloucester, November 5th, 1775; Maria, born at Bath, July 1st, 1779; -George, born in London, December 27th, 1785; and Cecilia, born July 25th, -1794. She sent her son Henry to France to study under Le Kain. He went on -the stage, but had none of the qualifications of a good actor. - -Mrs. Siddons, with her usual sensible acceptance of things as they were, -tried to make the best of his powers. On the occasion of his first -appearance, she writes to Mrs. Inchbald from Bannister’s, where she was -stopping with her friend Mrs. Fitzhugh:— - -“I received your kind letter, and thank you very much for the interest -you have taken in my dear Harry’s success. It gives me great pleasure -to find that Mr. Harris appreciates his talents, which I think highly -of, and which, I believe, will grow to great perfection by fostering, on -the one hand, and care and industry on the other. I have little doubt -of Mr. Harris’s liberality, and none of the laudable ambition of my son -to obtain it. It is so long since I have felt anything like joy, that -it appears like a dream to me, and I believe I shall not be able quite -to convince myself that this is real till I am present ‘to attend the -triumph and partake the gale.’ I am all anxiety and impatience to hear -the effect of Hamlet. It is a tremendous undertaking for so young a -creature, and where so perfect a model has been so long contemplated. I -was frightened when I yesterday received information of it. Oh! I hope to -God he will get well through it. Adieu, dear Muse.” - -Henry Siddons soon quitted the stage, married a Miss Murray, daughter -of an actor, and herself an actress, and in 1808 became manager of the -Edinburgh Theatre. - -The death of her daughter Maria was the first serious grief Mrs. Siddons -had known. We have touched on Lawrence the painter’s proposal to her, -and the transference of his affection, after a short engagement, to her -sister Sarah. Mrs. Siddons did everything she could to soften the blow -to the poor deserted girl. We find her writing in desperation to her old -friend Tate Wilkinson:— - - “My plans for the summer are so arranged that I have no - chance of the pleasure of seeing you. The illness of my - second daughter has deranged all schemes of pleasure as well - as profit. I thank God she is better; but the nature of her - constitution is such that it will be long ere we can reasonably - banish the fear of an approaching consumption. It is dreadful - to see an innocent, lovely young creature daily sinking under - the languor of illness, which may terminate in death at last, - in spite of the most vigilant tenderness. A parent’s misery - under this distress you can more easily imagine than I can - describe; but if you are the man I take you for, you will not - refuse me a favour. It would, _indeed_, be a great comfort to - us all, if you would allow our dear Patty to come to us on our - return to town in the autumn, to stay with us a few months. - I am sure it would do my poor Maria so much good, for the - physician tells me she will require the same confinement and - the same care the next winter; and let it not offend the pride - of my good friend when I beg it to be understood that I wish - to defray the expense of her journey. Do, dear soul, grant my - request. Give my kind compliments to your family, my love to my - own dear Patty, and accept yourself the best and most cordial - wishes of - - “S. SIDDONS.” - -From this time until Mrs. Siddons’s death, Patty Wilkinson never left her -house, and remained ever the intimate and beloved friend of her and her -daughters. - -Maria was taken to Clifton at the doctor’s suggestion, while Mrs. Siddons -went a provincial tour to make money enough to meet the heavy demands -upon her purse. At last even the poor mother saw all efforts were -unavailing, and when, on the 6th October 1798, the blow at last came, she -met it with resignation and courage. To Mrs. Fitzhugh she wrote:— - -“Although my mind is not yet sufficiently tranquillised to talk much, -yet the conviction of your undeviating affection impels me to quiet your -anxiety so far as to tell you that I am tolerably well. This sad event -I have been long prepared for, and bow with humble resignation to the -decree of that merciful God who has taken to Himself the dear angel I -must ever tenderly lament. I dare not trust myself further. Oh! that -you were here, that I might talk to you of her death-bed—in dignity of -mind and pious resignation far surpassing the imagination of Rousseau -and Richardson in their Heloïse and Clarissa Harlowe; for hers was, I -believe, from the immediate inspiration of the Divinity.” - -Troubles now began to fall thick and heavy. Mr. Siddons, actuated by -a morbid jealousy of his wife’s energy and success, entered into a -connection with Sadler’s Wells Theatre without consulting her, or even -taking her into his confidence. A considerable amount of her savings -were sacrificed to save him from his ill-advised venture. In spite of -ill-health and lassitude, however, we find her unmurmuringly taking up -her burden to make good the loss. On the 14th of July 1801 she writes -again to Mrs. Fitzhugh:— - -“In about a fortnight I expect to commence my journey to Bath. Mr. -Siddons is there, for he finds no relief from his rheumatism elsewhere. -His accounts of himself are less favourable than those of anyone who -writes to me about him; but I hope and trust that we shall find him -better than he himself thinks; for I know by sad experience with what -difficulty a mind, weakened by long and uninterrupted suffering, admits -hope, much less assurance. I shall be here till next Saturday, and -after that time at Lancaster till Tuesday, the 28th; thence I shall -go immediately to Bath, where I shall have about a month’s quiet, and -then begin to play at Bristol for a few nights. ‘Such resting finds the -sole of unblest feet!’ _When_ we shall come to London is uncertain, -for nothing is settled by Mr. Sheridan, and I think it not impossible -that _my_ winter may be spent in Dublin; for I must go on _making_ to -secure the few comforts that I have been able to attain for myself and -my family. It is providential for us all that I can do so much; but I -hope it is not wrong to say that I am tired, and should be glad to be at -rest indeed. I hope yet to see the day when I can be quiet. My mouth is -not yet well [she had had an attack of erysipelas, the disease that was -ultimately to kill her], though somewhat less exquisitely painful. I have -become a frightful object with it for some time, and, I believe, this -complaint has robbed me of those poor remains of beauty once admired—at -least, which, in your partial eyes, I once possessed.” - -She did not go to Dublin, but returned early in the following year to -Drury Lane, where she performed above forty times. - -On the 25th March 1802 she performed for the first time Hermione in the -_Winter’s Tale_. The enacting of this part is to be counted amongst her -great successes. It was more suitable to her age and appearance than -others that she undertook in later life. On the second or third night she -had a narrow escape of being burned to death. We can give the incident as -related in a letter to Mrs. Fitzhugh:— - - “London, April 1802. - - “... Except for a day or two, the weather has been very - favourable to me hitherto. I trust it may continue so, for the - _Winter’s Tale_ promises to be very attractive; and, whilst - it continues so, I am bound in honour and conscience to put - my shoulder to the wheel, for it has been attended with great - expense to the managers, and, if I can keep warm, I trust I - shall continue tolerably well. As to my plans, they are, as - usual, all uncertain, and I am precisely in the situation of - poor Lady Percy, to whom Hotspur comically says: ‘I trust - thou wilt not utter what thou dost not know.’ This must - continue to be the case, in a great measure, whilst I continue - to be the servant of the public, for whom (and let it not be - thought vain) I can never sufficiently exert myself. I really - think they receive me every night with greater and greater - testimonies of approbation. I know it will give you pleasure - to hear this, my dear Friend, and you will not suspect me of - deceiving myself in this particular. The other night had very - nearly terminated _all_ my exertion, for whilst I was standing - for the statue in the _Winter’s Tale_, my drapery flew over the - lamps that were placed behind the pedestal. It caught fire, and - had it not been for one of the scene-men, who most humanely - crept on his knees and extinguished it without my knowing - anything of the matter, I might have been burnt to death, or, - at all events, I should have been frightened out of my senses. - Surrounded as I was with muslin, the flame would have run - like wildfire. The bottom of the train was entirely burned. - But for the man’s promptitude, it would seem as if my fate - would have been inevitable. I have well rewarded the good man, - and I regard my deliverance as a most gracious interposition - of Providence. There is a special providence in the fall of - a sparrow. Here I am safe and well, God be praised! and may - His goodness make me profit, as I ought, by the time that is - vouchsafed me.” - -We later find her making every exertion to rescue the son of the man who -had saved her, from punishment for desertion. - -“I have written myself almost blind for the last three days, worrying -everybody to get a poor young man, who otherwise bears a most excellent -character, saved from the disgrace and hideous torture of the lash, to -which he has exposed himself. I hope to God I shall succeed. He is the -son of the man—by me ever to be blest—who preserved me from being burned -to death in the _Winter’s Tale_. The business has cost me a great deal -of time, but if I attain my purpose I shall be richly paid. It is twelve -o’clock at night; I am tired very much. To-morrow is my last appearance. -In a few days I shall go to see my dear girl, Cecilia. How I long to see -the darling! Oh! how you would have enjoyed my _entrée_ in Constance last -night. I was received really as if it had been my first appearance in the -season. I have gone about to breakfasts and dinners for this unfortunate -young man, till I am quite worn out with them. You know how pleasure, as -it is called, fatigues.” - - - - -CHAPTER XIII. - -SORROWS. - - -Though still suffering from enfeebled health, Mrs. Siddons again made up -her mind to visit Dublin in the spring of 1802. A strange depression, -partly the result of physical weakness, and partly the result of mental -anxiety, came over her courageous spirit, paralysing all energy, and -breaking down her usual calm composure. We find this woman, who to the -outside public presented a cold and hard exterior, weeping hysterically -on taking leave of her friends. She told Mr. Greatheed she felt that -before they met again a great affliction would have fallen on them both. -They never did meet till after the death of his son Bertie and her -daughter Sarah. To Mrs. Piozzi she wrote:— - - “May 1802. - - “Farewell, my beloved friend—a long, long farewell! Oh, such a - day as this has been! To leave all that is dear to me. I have - been surrounded by my family, and my eyes have dwelt with a - foreboding tenderness, too painful, on the venerable face of - my dear father, that tells me I shall look on it no more. I - commit my children to your friendly protection, with a full and - perfect reliance on the goodness you have always manifested - towards me. - - “Your ever faithful and affectionate - - “S. SIDDONS.” - -The mother’s heart could have hardly had a foreboding of the second -affliction about to fall on her then. A few weeks after she had taken her -departure from Marlborough Street, Sally describes to Patty Wilkinson, -who had accompanied Mrs. Siddons, picnics and parties she and her friend -Dorothy Place had attended, much to their amusement and delight. The girl -gives an account also of her brother Henry’s marriage with Miss Murray, -who, she says, “looked very beautiful in a white chip hat, with a lace -cap under it, her long dark pelisse tied together with purple bows ready -for travelling,” and mentions how she and Dorothy “laughed uproariously” -at a play they had “attended.” Yet death had already laid his hand on -this bright young life. - -Mrs. Siddons proceeded on her melancholy journey, stopping to pay a -visit to Shakespeare’s house at Stratford, and thence to North Wales, -where, at Conway Castle and Penman Mawr, they did the tourist business -of gazing at sunsets through ruined windows, and listening to Welsh -harpers harping below. “In that romantic time and place,” Campbell tells -us in his ambiguous way, Mrs. Siddons “honoured the humblest poet of her -acquaintance by remembering him; and, let the reader blame or pardon my -egotism as he may think fit, I cannot help transcribing what the Diarist -adds: Mrs. Siddons said: ‘I wish that Campbell were here.’” - -The bathos is complete when, the poet tells us, on Miss Wilkinson’s -authority, that while looking at a magnificent landscape of rocks and -water, a lady within hearing of them exclaimed in ecstasy: “This awful -scenery makes me feel as if I were only a worm, or a grain of dust, on -the face of the earth.” Mrs. Siddons turned round and said, “I feel very -differently!” - -She spent two months acting successfully in Dublin; then she went to -Cork, and then to Belfast. On her return to Dublin she received the news -of the death of her father at the ripe age of eighty-two. Although not -unexpected, the severance of this life-long affection, coming, as it did, -at a time when other sorrows and anxieties weighed on her, was a trying -blow, and we find her writing to Dr. Whalley with a certain irritation -that betrays her state of mind, and also betrays her attitude towards her -husband at this time on money matters. - -“I thank you for your kind condolence. My dear father died the death -of the righteous; may my last end be like his, without a groan. With -respect to my dear Mrs. Pennington, my heart is too much alive to her -unhappy situation, and my affection for her too lively, to have induced -the necessity of opening a wound which is of itself too apt to bleed. -Indeed, indeed, my dear Sir, there was no occasion to recall those sad -and tender scenes to soften my nature; but let it pass. You need not -be informed, I imagine, that such a sum as £80 is too considerable to -be immediately produced out of a woman’s quarterly allowance; but, as -I have not the least doubt of Mr. Siddons being ready and willing to -offer this testimony of regard and gratitude, I beg you will arrange the -business with him immediately. I will write to him this day, if I can -find a moment’s time. If you can devise any quicker mode of accomplishing -your amiable purpose, rely upon my paying the £80 within the next six -months. For God’s sake do not let it slip through. If I knew how to -send the money from here, I would do it this instant; but, considering -the delay of distance, and the caprice of wind and sea, it will be more -expeditiously done by Mr. Siddons. God bless and restore you to perfect -health and tranquillity.” - -We can read between the lines of this letter, as we know that about -this time she received a pressing request from her husband for money to -fit out their son George for India, and to pay debts incurred on the -decoration of the house in Great Marlborough Street, suggesting that -in consequence she had better accept an engagement in Liverpool. She -preferred, however, though harassed by disagreements with Jones the -manager, to remain in Dublin. A report was circulated, as on the occasion -of her first visit to Ireland, that she had refused to play for the -benefit of the Lying-in Hospital, a charity much patronised by the Dublin -ladies. She indignantly refuted this accusation, ending with words that -show her state of mental suffering:— - -“It is hard to bear at one and the same time the pressure of domestic -sorrow, the anxiety of business, and the necessity of healing a wounded -reputation; but such is the rude enforcement of the time, and I must -sustain it as I am enabled by that Power who tempers the wind to the -shorn lamb.” - -Her son George came and spent a fortnight with her before his departure -for India, and the news from home concerning her daughter still seemed -good. Like a thunderbolt, therefore, from a summer sky, came a letter -from Mr. Siddons addressed to Miss Wilkinson, saying that Sally was very -ill, but begging her not to make Mrs. Siddons anxious by telling her. -Miss Wilkinson, however, felt it to be her duty to show the letter. The -mother’s heart divined all that was not said. She declared her intention -of starting for England without delay. A violent gale had blown for some -days, and no vessel would leave the harbour. Two days later a reassuring -letter came from Siddons addressed to his wife, telling her all was well -again, and advising her to go to Cork. She went, but her miserable state -of mind may be guessed from a letter addressed to Mrs. Fitzhugh:— - - “Cork, March 21st, 1803. - - “MY DEAR FRIEND, - - “How shall I sufficiently thank you for all your kindness to - me? You know my heart, and I may spare my words, for, God - knows, my mind is in so distracted a state, that I can hardly - write or speak rationally. Oh! why did not Mr. Siddons tell - me when she was first taken so ill? I should then have got - clear of this engagement, and what a world of wretchedness and - anxiety would have been spared to me! And yet—good God! how - should I have crossed the sea? For a fortnight past it has - been so dangerous, that nothing but wherries have ventured to - the Holy Head; but yet I think I should have put myself into - one of them if I could have known that my poor dear girl was - so ill. Oh! tell me all about her. I am almost broken-hearted, - though the last accounts tell me that she has been mending for - several days. Has she wished for me? But I know—I feel that she - has. The dear creature used to think it weakness in me when - I told her of the possibility of what might be endured from - illness when that tremendous element divides one from one’s - family. Would to God I were at her bedside! It would be for me - then to suffer with resignation what I cannot now support with - any fortitude. If anything could relieve the misery I feel, it - would be that my dear and inestimable Sir Lucas Pepys had her - under his care. Pray tell him this, and ask him to write me a - word of comfort. Will you believe that I must play to-night, - and can you imagine any wretchedness like it in this terrible - state of mind? For a moment I comfort myself by reflecting on - the strength of the dear creature’s constitution, which has so - often rallied, to the astonishment of us all, under similar - serious attacks. Then, again, when I think of the frail tenure - of human existence, my heart fails and sinks into dejection. - God bless you! The suspense that distance keeps me in, you may - imagine, but it cannot be described.” - -Meantime, no letters came. The winds raged without, and no vessel could -cross. At the end of the week the news that arrived was not satisfactory. -She made up her mind to throw up her engagement at any cost, and return. -She and Patty Wilkinson set out for Dublin; there they were again -detained, and received no news. Nearly beside herself with anxiety, she -again appealed to Mrs. Fitzhugh:— - - “Dublin, April 2nd, 1803. - - “I am perfectly astonished, my dear Friend, that I have not - heard from you after begging it so earnestly. Good God! what - can be the reason that intelligence must be extorted, as it - were, in circumstances like mine? One would think common - benevolence, setting affection quite aside, might have induced - some of you to alleviate as much as possible such distress as - you know I must feel. The last letter from Mr. Siddons stated - that she was better. Another letter from Mr. Montgomery, at - Oxford, says that George gave him the same account. Why—why am - I to hear this only from a person at that distance from her, - and so ill-informed as the writer must be of the state of her - health? Why should not you or Mr. Siddons have told me this? - I cannot account for your silence at all, for you know how to - feel. I hope to sail to-night, and to reach London the third - day. God knows when that will be. Oh God! what a home to return - to, after all I have been doing! and what a prospect to the end - of my days.” - -At last she was able to cross to Holyhead. At Shrewsbury she received a -letter from Mr. Siddons confirming the worst accounts of Sally’s illness, -but begging her to “remember the preciousness of her own life, and not to -endanger it by over-rapid travelling.” As she read, Miss Wilkinson was -called from the room; a messenger had arrived with the news of the girl’s -death. Mrs. Siddons guessed what had happened by the expression of Miss -Wilkinson’s face when she returned, and, sinking back speechless, lay for -a day “cold and torpid as a stone, with scarcely a sign of life.” - -Her own family came forward with consolation and help. Her brother John -wrote a letter, which she received at Oxford; her brother Charles came -to meet her, and conducted her on her first visit to her widowed mother. -Every other grief had sunk into insignificance by the side of the death -of her daughter. So worn out was she with misery and overwork, that the -doctors recommended the quiet and bracing air of Cheltenham. We get a -glimpse of her frame of mind in a letter addressed thence to her friend -Mrs. Fitzhugh in June 1803:— - -“The serenity of the place, the sweet air and scenery of my cottage, and -the medicinal effect of the waters, have done some good to my shattered -constitution. I am unable at times to reconcile myself to my fate. The -darling being for whom I mourn is assuredly released from a life of -suffering, and numbered among the blessed spirits made perfect. But to be -separated for ever, in spite of reason, and in spite of religion, is at -times too much for me. Give my love to dear Charles Moore, if you chance -to see him. Have you read his beautiful account of my sweet Sally? It is -done with a truth and modesty which has given me the sincerest of all -pleasures that I am now allowed to feel, and assures me still more than -ever that he who could feel and taste such excellence was worthy of the -particular regard she had for him.” - -The life out of doors at Birch Farm, reading “under the haystack in -the farm-yard,” rambling in the fields, and “musing in the orchard,” -gradually soothed the poignancy of her grief. “Rising at six and going -to bed at ten, has brought me to my comfortable sleep once more,” she -writes. “The bitterness and anguish of selfish grief begins to subside, -and the tender recollections of excellence and virtues gone to the -blessed place of their eternal reward, are now the sad though sweet -companions of my lonely walks.” - -In spite of all her stoicism and resolve, however, the sense of her loss -would come back, carrying away all artificial barriers of restraint. - -“If he thinks himself unfortunate,” she wrote of a friend, “let him -look on _me_ and be silent—‘the inscrutable ways of Providence.’ Two -lovely creatures gone, and another is just arrived from school with all -the dazzling frightful sort of beauty that irradiated the countenance -of Maria, and makes me shudder when I look at her. I feel myself like -poor Niobe grasping to her bosom the last and youngest of her children; -and, like her, look every moment for the vengeful arrow of destruction. -Alas! my dear Friend, can it be wondered at that I long for the land -where they are gone to prepare their mother’s place? What have I here? -Yet here, even here, I could be content to linger still in peace and -calmness—content is all I wish. But I must again enter into the bustle -of the world; for though fame and fortune have given me all I wish, -yet while my presence and my exertions here may be useful to others, -I do not think myself at liberty to give myself up to my own selfish -gratification. The second great commandment is ‘Love thy neighbour as -thyself,’ and in this way I shall most probably best make my way to -Heaven.” - -How inscrutable, indeed, are the ways of Providence. Sally was her eldest -daughter and her dearest child. She had been born two months before that -terrible period of probation and failure at Drury Lane. Hers were the -baby fingers, hers the baby voice, that had coaxed the poor young mother -back to resignation and courage. She was twenty-seven when she was taken, -and had ever been the sunshine of the home. Yes, she was the dearest. -Strange that, deaf to our anguish and suffering, those are so often they -who are taken. If a heart in such a trial can still believe and trust -and love, then it is faith indeed—heaven-born, sublime. And such, we see, -was the broken-hearted mother’s. - -During her stay at Birch Farm, John Kemble, Charles Moore, and Miss -Dorothy Place, her daughter Sally’s particular friend, came to stay -with her. In July they all of them made an excursion along the Wye, -after which she paid a visit to her friend Mr. Fitzhugh at Bannister’s, -and then returned to London, where she made an engagement to act the -following winter at Covent Garden. - -Other trials awaited Mrs. Siddons, trials that, to a woman of her proud -and sensitive temper, must have been torture in the extreme. Whatever -her sufferings had been in the course of her professional career, from -scandal and misrepresentation, her character as a wife and mother had -been untouched. Now, when no longer young, and anxious to escape from the -harassing turmoil of the stage into the dignity and calm of a domestic -life, surrounded by her children and friends, a blow fell on her under -which, for the time, she almost sank. The circumstance is not alluded to -either by Campbell or Boaden, but is so interwoven with Mrs. Siddons’s -existence, and so colours her mode of thought at the time, that it can -hardly be passed over. - -Mrs. Siddons met Katherine Galindo, author of the libel, at the -theatre in Dublin. She was a subordinate actress, and her husband a -fencing-master. It is difficult to understand how she can have become so -intimate, except that her own perfect sincerity and openness led her to -bestow confidence on a variety of persons, many of them not in any way -worthy of it. Her daughter, Cecilia, who later wrote _Recollections_ of -her mother, says that, instead of being hard and calculating, as the -outside public imagined, her mother was, on the contrary, too easy—too -much disposed to be ruled by people inferior in every way to herself, -credulous to an extraordinary extent, always trusting to appearances, -and never willing to suspect anyone. Perhaps, also, the great actress’s -weakness was a wish to “make use” of people, and a love of flattery—both -dangerous qualities for a woman in her position, laying her open, as -they did, to the machinations of adventurers. Be it as it may, we are -astounded at the girlish sentimentality of the letters she wrote to the -Galindos. Allowing even for the Laura Matilda style of expression of -the period, they show the substratum of romanticism that underlies her -character. The Galindos accompanied her to Cork, and then to Killarney. -Mrs. Siddons used all her influence to induce Harris, of Covent Garden, -to give Mrs. Galindo an engagement; but Kemble, when he arrived from -abroad, refused to ratify it. A letter from Mrs. Inchbald says:— - -“When Kemble returned from Spain in 1803, he came to me like a madman, -said Mrs. Siddons had been imposed upon by persons whom it was a disgrace -to her to _know_, and he begged me to explain it so to her. He requested -Harris to withdraw his promise of his engaging Mrs. G. at Mrs. Siddons’s -request. Yet such was his tenderness to his sister’s sensibility, that -he would not undeceive her himself. Mr. Kemble blamed me, and I blamed -him for his reserve, and I have never been so cordial since. Nor,” ends -Mrs. Inchbald, with the prim self-sufficiency quite consistent with what -we know of the “dear Muse,” “have I ever admired Mrs. Siddons so much -since; for, though I can pity a dupe, I must also despise one. Even to be -familiar with such people was a lack of virtue, though not of chastity.” - -We read later in Rogers’s _Table Talk_ that, not long before Mrs. -Inchbald’s death he met her walking near Charing Cross, and we are not -astonished to be told that she had been calling on several old friends, -but had seen none of them—some being really not at home, and others -denying themselves to her. “I called,” she said, “on Mrs. Siddons. I knew -_she_ was at home, yet I was not admitted.” - -To return, however, to the Galindos. The wretched woman was stung to the -quick by the withdrawal of her engagement at Covent Garden, and although -Mrs. Siddons advanced a thousand pounds to the husband to buy a share -in a provincial theatre, and showed them much kindness, the jealous and -infuriated wife published in pamphlet form a wild and libellous attack on -the great actress, to which she added the letters that had passed between -them in their days of intimacy. By artfully turning and suppressing -sentences here and there, she succeeded in giving a significance never -intended in the originals. Although she said she had advanced nothing -but what she could substantiate by the most certain evidence, if called -upon to do so, she gave no proof whatever except of her own wild jealousy -and unreasoning disappointment at being refused an engagement at Covent -Garden. - -It seems incredible that a woman of Mrs. Siddons’s social knowledge can -have been so imprudent as to enter into such an intimacy, and to write in -such a strain of deep affection to people she had known only so short a -time. The following is a specimen:— - - “Holyhead, Sunday, 12 o’clock. - - “For some hours we had scarce a breath of wind, and the vessel - seemed to leave your coast as unwillingly as your poor friend. - About six o’clock this morning the snowy tops of the mountains - appeared; they chilled my heart, for I felt that they were - emblematic of the cold and dreary prospect before me. Mr. ⸺ has - been very obliging; he has just left us, but it is probable - we shall meet again upon the road. I thought you would be - glad to know we were safely landed. I will hope, my beloved - friends, for a renewal of the days we have known, and in the - meantime endeavour to amuse and cheer my melancholy with the - recollection of _past joys_, though they be ‘sweet and mournful - to the soul.’ - - “God bless you all, and do not forget - - “Your faithful, affectionate, - - “S. SIDDONS.” - -A little later she writes:— - - “Pray ask Mr. G⸺ to send me those sweet lines ‘To Hope’—that - which he gave me is almost effaced by my tears—and let it be - written by the same hand. I could never describe what I have - lost in you, my beloved friends, and the sweet angel that is - gone for ever! Good God! what a deprivation in a few days. - Adieu! Adieu!” - -Needless to say, this “screeching” friendship ended as one might expect. -As we have said, she failed to obtain an engagement for Mrs. Galindo -at Covent Garden, and lent Galindo a thousand pounds to help him to -take shares in a theatrical company at Manchester. He never repaid -the thousand pounds, and became abusive when she asked for it. She -accused him, in a letter addressed to Miss Wilkinson, of “hypocrisy and -ingratitude,” and the wife accused her of having nourished an affection -passing the bounds of propriety for her husband. All her real friends -mustered round her, but she suffered terribly. - -She wrote to Dr. Whalley:— - -“Among all the kind attentions I have received, none has comforted me -more, my dear friend, than your invaluable letter. I thank God all -my friends are exactly of your opinion with respect to the manner of -treating this diabolical business. To a delicate mind publicity is in -itself painful, and I trust that a life of tolerable rectitude will -justify my conduct to my friends. I have been dreadfully shaken, but I -trust that the natural disposition to be well will shortly restore me. My -dear Cecilia is, indeed, all a fond mother can wish.” - - - - -CHAPTER XIV. - -WESTBOURNE FARM. - - -John Kemble was now both actor and manager at Covent Garden, and the -results were much more satisfactory in every way to Mrs. Siddons. Harris -the proprietor was strictly punctual in his payments, and the Kemble -family, who numbered Charles Kemble in their ranks, were sufficient to -make the performances attractive enough to the public. Mrs. Siddons -appeared in several of her old parts; amongst others in Elvira, when -the actor Cooke came on so drunk as to be unable to act his part. He -did not improve matters by attempting to excuse himself. He could only -articulate, “Ladies and Gentlemen, my old complaint,” when he was -removed, and Henry Siddons had to read his part. Fit pendant to the night -when he appeared as Sir Archy Macsarcasm with Johnstone, who was playing -Sir Calaghan. There was a dead pause. At last Johnstone, advancing to the -footlights, said with a strong brogue, “Ladies and Gentlemen, Mr. Cooke -_says_ he can’t spake,” which bull was received with roars of laughter -and hisses. - -The great actress performed sixty times that season. At its conclusion -she went on a visit to Mrs. Damer at Strawberry Hill, where she met -Louis Philippe, afterwards King of France, and the Prince Regent. The -two ladies, whenever they were together, indulged their passion for -sculpture. As winter approached she suffered much from rheumatism, and, -for the sake of country air, removed from Great Marlborough Street to a -cottage at Hampstead for a few weeks. Mr. Siddons, who was also a martyr -to rheumatism, had advocated the change, and the old gentleman was much -delighted with his new abode. He ate his dinner, and, looking out at -the beautiful view that stretched before the windows, observed, “Sally, -this will cure all our ailments.” In spite of his hopes, however, Mrs. -Siddons was confined to bed for weeks with acute rheumatism. She tried -electricity with some beneficial effect, but suffered anguish while -undergoing the treatment. - -As the winter advanced they returned to town; but Mr. Siddons grew so -much worse that he resolved to try the waters of Bath. Mrs. Siddons -parted, therefore, with her house in Marlborough Street, and took -lodgings for herself and Miss Wilkinson in Princes Street, Hanover -Square. Her landlord there was an upholsterer of the name of Nixon. He -and his wife always talked afterwards with the deepest affection of Mrs. -Siddons. One day, looking at Nixon’s card, she found that he was also an -undertaker, and said laughingly, “I engage your services to bury me, Mr. -Nixon.” Twenty-seven years afterwards Nixon did so. - -During the winter and spring of 1804 and 1805 Mrs. Siddons only performed -twice at Covent Garden, partly in consequence of delicate health, partly -in consequence of the appearance of Master Betty, the “young Roscius,” -a prodigy whom the public ran after with an enthusiasm that seems -inexplicable. Managers gave him sums that a Garrick or a Siddons were -unable to obtain; his bust was done by the best sculptors; his portrait -painted by the best artists, and verses written in a style of idolatrous -adulation were poured upon this boy of thirteen. Actors and actresses -were obliged to appear on the stage with him to avoid giving offence. -Mrs. Siddons and Kemble, with praiseworthy dignity, retired while the -infatuation lasted. She went to see him, however, and gave him what -praise she thought his due. Lord Abercorn came into her box, declaring it -was the finest acting he had ever seen. “My lord,” she answered, “he is a -very clever, pretty boy, but nothing more.” - -Independently of the boy Betty, or any other trials in her profession, -Mrs. Siddons now began to long for rest. We have seen how years before, -when in Dublin, she had expressed herself to Dr. Whalley: “I don’t build -any castles, but cottages without end. May the great Disposer of all -events but permit me to spend the evening of my toilsome, bustling day in -a cottage where I may sometimes have the converse and society which will -make me more worthy those imperishable habitations which are prepared for -the spirits of just men made perfect!” - -In the April of 1805 she satisfied this wish by taking a cottage at -Westbourne, near Paddington. With the help of Nixon she fitted it up -luxuriously, built an additional room behind for a studio, and laid -out the shrubbery and garden. Westbourne was then, we are told, one of -those delightful rural spots for which Paddington was distinguished. It -occupied a rising ground, and commanded a lovely view of Hampstead, -Highgate and the distant city. Mrs. Siddons’s was a small retired house, -in a garden screened with poplars and evergreens, resembling a modest -rural vicarage, standing, it is said, on the site now levelled for the -Great Western Railway Station. She loved, she said, to escape from “the -noise and din of London” to the green fields surrounding her new home. - -Here her friends congregated round her also. Miss Berry and Madame -D’Arblay both mention, in their diaries, having spent an afternoon and -met many people at Mrs. Siddons’s country retreat. - -“I spoke in terms of rapture of Mrs. Siddons to Incledon,” Crabb Robinson -tells us. “He replied, ‘Ah! Sally’s a fine creature. She has a charming -place on the Edgware Road. I dined with her last year, and she paid me -one of the finest compliments I ever received. I sang _The Storm_ after -dinner. She cried and sobbed like a child. Taking both of my hands she -said, “All that I and my brother ever did is nothing compared with the -effect you produce.”’” - -The following lines were written by Mr. Siddons, describing his wife’s -country retreat, during the last visit he ever paid to it:— - - 1. - - Would you I’d Westbourne Farm describe; - I’ll do it then, and free from gall, - For sure it would be sin to gibe - A thing so pretty and so small. - - 2. - - The poplar walk, if you have strength, - Will take a minute’s time to step it; - Nay, certes, ’tis of such a length, - ’Twould almost tire a frog to leap it. - - 3. - - But when the pleasure-ground is seen, - Then what a burst comes on the view; - Its level walk, its shaven green, - For which a razor’s stroke would do. - - 4. - - Now, pray be cautious when you enter, - And curb your strides from much expansion; - Three paces take you to the centre, - Three more, you’re close against the mansion. - - 5. - - The mansion, cottage, house, or hut, - Call’t what you will, has room within - To lodge the King of Lilliput, - But not his court, nor yet his queen. - - 6. - - The kitchen-garden, true to keeping, - Has length and breadth and width so plenty; - A snail, if fairly set a-creeping, - Could scarce go round while you told twenty. - - 7. - - Perhaps you’ll cry, on hearing this, - What! everything so very small? - No; she that made it what it is - Has greatness that makes up for all. - -Mr. Siddons passed some weeks at Westbourne, but, finding the rheumatism -from which he suffered only relieved at Bath, he was obliged to reside -there almost permanently. Bath did not agree with Mrs. Siddons, and -the exigencies of her profession obliged her to live in London. This -difference in their place of abode caused a rumour to get abroad that a -formal separation had taken place. Mr. Boaden, indeed, states explicitly -that Siddons became at this time somewhat impatient of the “crown -matrimonial,” while Campbell declares the report to be “absolutely -unfounded.” - -In judging the case we think, perhaps, a medium course would be the best -to take. We can imagine a decided incompatibility in the husband’s and -wife’s mode of seeing things. She was ever impatient towards want of -energy and practical capacity, while he, all his life having to play -second to her, was jealous of the disposal of her earnings, and rushed -into ill-judged investments and speculations. - -The following letter of good-humoured banter, written to him on the -16th December 1804, reveals the manner in which she turned off his weak -ebullitions of temper:— - - “MY DEAR SID., - - “I am really sorry that my little flash of merriment should - have been taken so seriously, for I am sure, however we may - differ in trifles, _we can never cease to love each other_. You - wish me to say what I expect to have done. I can expect nothing - more than you yourself have designed me in your will. Be (as - you ought to be) the master of all while God permits; but, in - case of your death, only let me be put out of the power of any - person living. This is all that I desire; and I think that you - cannot but be convinced that it is reasonable and proper. - - “Your ever affectionate and faithful, - - “S. S.” - -The wife’s was the stronger, more powerful mind, and with her sincerity -and openness of disposition which impelled her to show everything she -thought or felt, we have no doubt she often offended the irritable vanity -of a man who, in small things, had a painful sense of his own dignity. -Hers was too big a nature to nag and fight about trifles, and at the -same time often too self-absorbed to remember how she offended the -susceptibilities of others. - -“To live in a state of contention,” she writes, “with a brother I so -tenderly love, and with a husband with whom I am to spend what remains -of life, would be more than my subdued spirit and almost broken heart -would be able to endure. In answer to the second, I can only say that the -testimony of the wisdom of all ages, from the foundation of the world to -this day, is childishness and folly, if happiness be anything more than a -_name_; and, I am assured, our own experience will not allow us to refute -the opinion. No, no, it is the inhabitant of a better world. Content, -the offspring of Moderation, is all we ought to aspire to _here_, and -Moderation will be our best and surest guide to that happiness to which -she will most assuredly conduct us.” - -In the season of 1806-7, at Covent Garden, she played Queen Katherine -seven times, Lady Macbeth (to Cooke’s Macbeth) five times, Isabella -(_Fatal Marriage_) twice, Elvira twice, Lady Randolph once, Mrs. Beverley -once, Euphrasia once, and Volumnia fifteen times. We see by this -enumeration of her parts how she, and she alone, achieved popularity for -Shakespeare. - -The subsequent season at Covent Garden was uncommonly short, and extended -only to the 11th of December 1807, when the _Winter’s Tale_ was announced -for her last appearance before Easter. As events turned out, it proved to -be her last for the season. Immediately after the performance she went to -Bath, where she spent six weeks with Mr. Siddons. He was so much improved -in health as to make plans for the future, and declared his intention -of spending a part of the summer at Westbourne. She left him, therefore, -comparatively free from anxiety in February 1808. Within a month of her -departure, however, he was seized with a violent attack of illness, and -on the 11th of March expired. She immediately threw up her engagement in -Edinburgh, and left for her London home. Thence, on the 29th March 1808, -she wrote to Mrs. Piozzi:— - -“How unwearied is your goodness to me, my dear friend. There is something -so awful in this sudden dissolution of so long a connexion, that I shall -feel it longer than I shall speak of it. May I die the death of my -honest, worthy husband; and may those to whom I am dear remember me when -I am gone, as I remember him, forgetting and forgiving all my errors, -and recollecting only my quietness of spirit and singleness of heart. -Remember me to your dear Mr. Piozzi. My head is still so dull with this -stunning surprise that I cannot see what I write. Adieu! dear soul; do -not cease to love your friend.—S. S.” - -So ended the love story begun thirty-three years before. - -Before the end of the year she resumed her cap and bells again, but had -only acted on one or two nights at Covent Garden before it was burnt to -the ground. How the fire originated is a mystery. Some said that the -wadding of a gun, in the performance of _Pizarro_, must have lodged -unperceived in the crevice of the scenery. Miss Wilkinson declared -afterwards, that before the audience left the house she perceived a -strong smell of fire while sitting in Mr. Kemble’s box, and on her way to -Mrs. Siddons’s dressing-room mentioned it to some of the servants; they -declared it to be the smell of the footlights. How complete and rapid -the destruction was we learn by the following letter written by Mrs. -Siddons to her friend James Ballantyne. - - “MY DEAR AND ESTIMABLE FRIEND, - - “You have by this time, I am confident, felt many a humane - pang, for the wretched sufferers in the dreadful calamity which - has been visited on me and those most dear to me. The losses to - the Proprietors are incalculable, irreparable, and of all the - precious and curious dresses and lace and jewels which _I_ have - been collecting for these thirty years—not one, no, not one - article has escap’d! The most grievous of these _my_ losses is - a piece of Lace which had been a Toilette of the poor Queen of - France; it was upwards of four yards long, and more than a yard - wide. It never could have been bought for a thousand pounds, - but that’s the least regret. It was _so_ interesting!! But oh! - let me not suffer myself in the ingratitude of _repining_, - while there are so many reasons for thankful acknowledgment. - My Brothers, God be praised! did not hear of the fire till - ev’ry personal exertion would have been utterly useless. It is - as true as it is strange and awful, that everything appear’d - to be in perfect Security at _Two_ o’clock, and that at _six_ - (the time my poor brother saw it) the whole structure was as - completely swept from the face of the earth as if such a thing - had never existed. Thank God that it _was_ so, since had it - been otherwise, he wou’d probably have perished in exertions - to preserve something from the terrible wreck of his property. - This is comfort. And you, my noble-minded friend, wou’d, I am - confident, participate the joy I feel, in beholding this ador’d - brother, Stemming this torrent of adversity with a manly - fortitude, Serenity, and even _hope_, that almost bursts my - heart with an admiration too big to bear, and blinds my eyes - with the most delicious tears that ever fell from my eyes. Oh! - he is a glorious creature! did not I always _tell_ you so? - Yes, yes, and all will go well with him again! _She_ bears it - like an Angel too. Lord Guilford and Lord Mountjoy have nobly - offer’d to raise him any sum of money—and a thousand instances - of generous feeling have already offer’d that evince the - goodness of human nature, and its Sense of his worth. All this - is so honorable to him, that I shall soon feel little regret - except for the poor beings who perished in the devouring fire. - - “James Ballantyne—God bless and prosper all the desires and - designs of a heart so amiable, a head so sound! prays most - fervently his truly affectionate friend, - - “S. SIDDONS.” - - “My head is so confused I scarce know what I have written; but - you wish’d me to answer your kind letter immediately, therefore - excuse all defects.” - -The result of John Kemble’s thirty years of hard service was swept away -in the flames that destroyed Covent Garden. Mr. Heathcote’s loan was -still unpaid. Boaden gives us a tragi-comic account of a visit he paid -at the Kembles’ house the morning after the fire. Mrs. Kemble loudly -expressing her sorrow. Charles Kemble sitting listening, a tragic -expression on his naturally melancholy face; John shaving himself before -the glass. “Yes,” he said to his visitor in the intervals of this -operation, “it has perished—that magnificent theatre! It is gone, with -all its treasures of every description; that library, which contained all -those immortal productions of our countrymen; that wardrobe; the scenery. -Of all this vast treasure, nothing now remains but the arms of England -over the entrance of the theatre, and the Roman eagle standing solitary -in the market-place.” - -All differences which were said to have arisen between brother and sister -were sunk and forgotten in this crisis. Though she may have smiled at his -sententiousness, and snubbed Mrs. Kemble’s loud-voiced expressions of -grief, she now gave him efficient help in reconstituting the theatre. The -performances of the company were transferred first to the Opera House, -and afterwards to the Haymarket Theatre. Between September 12th, 1808, -and May 6th, 1809, she acted forty times. The wear and tear of this on a -woman of her years—she was now over fifty—must have been great indeed. -All seemed to turn to her, to depend on her masculine strength of will -and energy. - -Beside the anxiety of her profession, we find her occupied with the -future of her children. Letter after letter could be quoted, showing -the affectionate and practical interest she took in their welfare, in -spite of the statement circulated, and believed in, that she bargained -and haggled with her son Henry as though he were some manager with whom -she was doing business. She wrote on November 26th, 1808, to Mr. Ingles -on the subject of an expedition to Edinburgh, to help her son in his -theatrical venture there:— - -“Independently of any other consideration, it is a great object to me -to have a reasonable excuse for spending much of my remaining life in -the admired and beloved society of Scotland; I am therefore, on my _own_ -account as _well_ as his, naturally anxious for the Success of my Son in -the Theatre, and I think I may without arrogance aver that you cou’d not -chuse better. He has great qualifications and wou’d not be the worse, -I apprehend, for my advice in respect to Dramatic business, or for the -pecuniary aid which I should be proud to afford in order to amplify the -costume of The Stage. His abilities as an Actor need not my eulogium, and -his private respectability is so universally acknowledged as to spare his -mother the pain of boasting. I have done my part, and trust the rest to -heaven! I have written to all you advis’d me to write to, and now in one -word let me thank you for your good counsel and assure you that whatever -be the result I shall for ever consider myself exceedingly oblig’d to -you. So much ambiguity and darkness seems to envelop the business (the -Galindo embroglio), however, that I know not what to wish—but that there -was an _end_ of both hopes and fears; since nothing is so insupportable -as Suspense.” - -Those who serve the public have much to suffer from the caprices of -the crowd, but they also experience many proofs of the appreciation of -their genius by individuals. The Kembles met with instances of kindness -and friendliness at the moment of their need that strike one as almost -fabulous in their generosity. The Duke of Northumberland offered Kemble a -loan of ten thousand pounds on his simple bond. He hesitated to accept, -fearing his inability to pay the interest. The Duke promised he should -never be pressed for it, and on the day of the laying the first stone he -cancelled the bond, and made him a present of the whole sum. - -Aided by the munificence of patrons, fifty thousand pounds was soon -subscribed; nearly the same amount was received from the insurance -companies, and on December 30th, 1808, the first stone was laid with -Masonic honours. John Kemble was not a person to do away with the pomp of -a ceremonial. All the actors and actresses were assembled; Mrs. Siddons, -wearing a nodding plume of ominous black feathers, while her brother, who -had risen from his sick bed, stood under the torrents of rain in white -silk stockings and pumps. - -In less than a twelvemonth from the time of its destruction the new -theatre arose from the ashes of its predecessor. While it was building, -Drury Lane, the opposition house, under Sheridan’s management, was also -burnt to the ground, bringing down Sheridan with it in its ruin. - -The new Covent Garden was a much more magnificent building than its -predecessor; but the system of private boxes, which had been introduced -first of all in Drury Lane, was now carried to an extreme extent, and -the third circle of the theatre was entirely given over to them. This -invasion of the privileges of the people by the aristocracy was not to -be borne. The “liberty of the subject” had been talked into fashion by -Fox and Burke, and the populace were determined to put their doctrines -into practice in every department of life. They would not submit, because -the new house had the monopoly of catering for their amusement, to be -slighted and thrust away in a dark gallery where they could neither see -nor hear, while a “bloated aristocracy” lounged in commodious boxes -with ante-rooms behind. We who deplore the radicalism of the age, and -the licence permitted to free speech, should read the account of the -outrageous O. P. (old prices) riots, and congratulate ourselves on the -improved decorum that reigns now-a-days. - -The New House was opened on the 18th September 1809. Crowded to the roof -with a resplendent audience, on whom shone the light shed by thousands of -wax candles, with Kemble and Mrs. Siddons to act the parts of Macbeth and -Lady Macbeth, a brilliant inauguration might have been expected. - -The National Anthem was sung, and then Kemble was to speak a poetical -address. But the moment he made his appearance, dressed for Macbeth, a -yell of defiance greeted him, while the mob in the pit stood up with -their hats on and their backs to the stage. Kemble begged a hearing in -vain. His sister then appeared, pale but determined, and both of them -went through their parts to the end. Whenever for an instant there was a -lull in the yelling and hissing, the musical voice of the great actress -was heard steadily going through her part. - -Two magistrates appeared on the stage and read the Riot Act; soldiers -rushed in to capture the rioters, who let themselves down by the pillars -into the lower gallery. The sight of the soldiery, indeed, only increased -the Babel. “Why were prices raised,” the mob vociferated, “while -exorbitant salaries were paid to the actors and actresses? The money -received by the Kembles and Madame Catalani amounted for the season to -£25,575. There was Mrs. Siddons with £50 a night! The Lord Chief Justice -sat every day in Westminster Hall from 9 to 4 for half the sum!” “She and -her brother also appeared frequently on the stage with clothes worth -£500.[3] All this was to be screwed out of the pockets of the public.” - -The whole state of the popular mind at the time was suffering from the -reflux of the revolutionary tide that had swept over France some years -before. The way, indeed, in which the authorities behaved during the -seventy nights the riots lasted, leads us to think that they were aware -of the undercurrent of political excitement, and were glad to see it -diverted into a channel that did not menace Church and State. In no other -country in the world would such a state of things have been allowed to -go on night after night. A magistrate now and then feebly appeared on -the stage, and read inaudibly the Riot Act. On one occasion the public -climbed the stage, and were only deterred from personally attacking the -actors by the sudden opening of all the traps. A lady received an ovation -for lending a pin to fasten a manifesto to one of the boxes, and the -whole house was placarded with offensive mottoes. The proprietors had -recourse to giving away orders to admit their own partisans. This led -to furious fighting and scuffling. Pigeons were let loose, as symbols -that the public were pigeoned; aspersions were cast on the morality of -the private boxes; the leaders of the riot incited the crowd to further -excesses by inflammatory speeches. On the sixth night Kemble came forward -to announce that Catalani’s engagement, one of the great grievances, -was cancelled, and that the business books of the proprietors would be -examined by competent gentlemen to prove that the theatre was not a -paying concern. The report appeared, proving that if any reduction were -made in prices, the proprietors would lose three-fourths per cent. on -their capital. This statement had no effect on the unreasoning mob. -On the reopening of the house on the 4th October, the riot began more -furiously than ever. Cooke, unfortunately, in a prologue alluded to -the late “hostile rage.” The expression was like throwing a match into -gunpowder. The people lashed themselves into a frenzy; they assailed -the boxes, and ran up and down the pit benches during the play. Then, -too, was introduced, we are told, the famous O. P. war-dance in the -pit, which seems to have resembled the French _Carmagnole_, “with its -calm beginning, its swelling into noise and rapidity, and its finale -of demoniacal uproar and confusion.” Princes of the Blood visited the -boxes, and having beheld the spectacle, and heard the Babel of roaring -throats, laughed and went home! Afterwards the crowd marched to Kemble’s -house, 89 Great Russell Street, Bloomsbury, and continued the riot there. -At last arrests were made of the leaders, but they were acquitted, and -Kemble consented to appear at the dinner given in their honour. This -was a hauling down of the flag, but in reality the proprietors came -off victors. The rate of admission to the pit was reduced by sixpence, -but the half-price remained at two shillings. The private boxes were -diminished, but the new price of admission was maintained. It must have -been a bitter probation for proud tempers like the Kembles to go through. - - “My appearance of illness was occasioned entirely,” Mrs. - Siddons writes about this time to a friend, “by an agitating - visit that morning from poor Mr. John Kemble, on account - of the giving up of the private boxes, which, I fear, must - be at last complied with. Surely nothing ever equalled the - domineering of the mob in these days. It is to me inconceivable - how the public at large submits to be thus dictated to, - against their better judgment, by a handful of imperious and - intoxicated men. In the meantime, what can the poor proprietors - do but yield to overwhelming necessity? Could I once feel that - my poor brother’s anxiety about the theatre was at an end, I - should be, marvellous to say, as well as I ever was in my life. - But only conceive what a state he must have been in, however - good a face he might put upon the business, for upwards of - three months; and think what his poor wife and I must have - suffered, when, for weeks together, such were the outrages - committed on his house and otherwise, that I trembled for even - his personal safety; she, poor soul! living with ladders at - her windows in order to make her escape through the garden in - case of an attack. Mr. Kemble tells me his nerves are much - shaken. What a time it has been with us all—beginning with fire - and continued with fury! Yet sweet sometimes are the uses of - adversity. They not only strengthen family affection, but teach - us all to walk humbly with our God, - - “Yours, - - “S. S.” - -The fury of the rioters was principally directed against John Kemble, -“Black Jack,” as he was called. They never lost a certain respect for -the great actress who had served them so long and so faithfully. We know -the story of her appealing through the windows of her sedan-chair to the -riotous crowds assembled round the theatre, “Good people, let me pass; -I am Sarah Siddons,” and of the mob immediately falling back to make way -for the dignified Queen of Tragedy. The whole business disheartened and -saddened her, however. “I have not always met gratitude in a play-house,” -Garrick said, and she but repeated his words with a sigh. She wrote to -her daughter-in-law, Mrs. Henry Siddons:— - - “Octr. Jubilee Day, Westbourne Farm, Paddington. - - “MY DEAR HARRIET, - - “Mrs. Sterling has kindly undertaken to deliver a parcel to - you, which consists of a Book directed to you at Westbourne, - and a little Toy apiece for my dear little Girls. I would give - you an account of our Theatrical Situation if my right hand - were not so weak that it is with difficulty that I hold my - pen—I believe you saw it blistered at Liverpool, and I am sorry - to say it is but little better for everything I have try’d to - strengthen it. However, the papers give, as I understand, a - tolerably accurate account of this barbarous outrage to decency - and reason, which is a National disgrace: where it will end, - Heaven knows, and it is now generally thought, I believe, that - it _will not_ end without the interference of Government, - and, if they have any recollection of the riots of the year - ’80, it is wonderful they have let it go thus far. I think it - very likely that I shall not appear any more this season, for - nothing shall induce me to place myself again in so painful and - so degrading a situation. Oh, how glad am I that you and my - dear Harry are out of it all! I long to hear how you are going - on; tell me very soon that you are all well and prosperous, - and happy. I find Mr. Harris is going to leave his house in - Marlbro’ Street, and you will have to let it to some other - tenant at the end of his term—I forget how long he took it - for. There is a Print of Mrs. Fitzhugh’s Picture coming out - very soon; I am told it will be the finest thing that has been - seen for many years. The Picture is more really like me than - anything that has been done, and I shall get one for you and - send it by the first opportunity. I have been amusing myself - with making a model of Mrs. Fitzhugh, which everybody says is - liker than anything that ever yet was seen of that kind. I - hope there is modelling Clay to be had in Edinburgh, for, if - it be possible, I will model a head of my dear Harry when I - go there. Give him my love and my blessing. Accept the same - for yourself and the darling children. Remember me kindly to - all our friends, but most afftly. to dear Miss Dallas and the - family of Hume. Patty will write to you by Mrs. Sterling; _her_ - letter will, I hope, be better written and more entertaining - than mine. God bless you my dearest Harriet. - - “Comps. whether it was his _Waft_, or himself. - - “To MRS. H. SIDDONS.” - -The riots were renewed on various occasions again, and though the -frightened managers, by the aid of apologies and humiliations of all -sorts, staved off a repetition of violence, the fate of the new house -as a paying concern was sealed; it had been a mistake artistically and -financially from the first, and soon ceased to be used as a theatre. -A poodle drove Goethe’s and Schiller’s plays from the stage of the -Weimar Theatre, the “dog Carlo” and Master Betty drove _Macbeth_ and -_Coriolanus_ from Covent Garden; in both instances, the public was -justified in its conclusions, but not in the manner in which it expressed -them. By their suppression of all applause and the restrictions they -laid on their audience, the potentates of Weimar stopped all dramatic -spontaneity; by the size and unwieldiness of the theatre they built, -and the banishment of the lower part of the audience to a distance -from the stage, the proprietors of Covent Garden deprived their art of -the indispensable verdict of the ordinary public. The Kembles’ school -of dramatic art also was passing away. They had substituted for the -naturalness and variety of Garrick’s style a measured and stately -dignity. This stateliness was now destined to be succeeded by the -impetuosity and spontaneous passion of Kean. - -We have seen that one of the boys introduced by John Kemble into -the Witches’ Scene in _Macbeth_, and subsequently turned away for -disobedience, was named Edmund Kean. This little imp, undeterred by -hardship, degradation, and misery, had developed into one of the greatest -geniuses that ever trod the English stage. Many are the stories given -of Mrs. Siddons’s first meeting with Kean, but all are unanimous that -it was by no means a creditable performance so far as the young actor -was concerned. It was in Ireland, either at Belfast or Cork. Kean had -been engaged to act with her. As usual, instead of learning his part, -he employed the interim between her arrival and the play in drinking -with some friends, with such success that when he came upon the stage -the whole of his part had vanished from his memory; he was, therefore, -obliged to improvise as he went on. Needless to say, his performance was -a tissue of nonsense, sentences without meaning, drunken absurdities -of all sorts. The audience was not a critical one, but Mrs. Siddons’s -disgust may be imagined. The next play to be performed was _Douglas_, -and in this Kean played Young Norval. Whether he was ashamed, and wished -to show the great actress that he, too, was an actor, it is impossible -to say, but he imparted such pathos and spirit to the part, that she was -surprised into admiration. After the play (Kean himself tells us) she -came to him, and patting him on the head, said: “You have played well, -Sir. It’s a pity, but there’s too little of you to do anything.” - -When the “little man” arrived in London, Kemble and Mrs. Siddons -announced their intention of honouring with their presence the new -actor’s performance of Othello. A relative of Kean, who was very -anxious about the result of the Kemble decision, placed herself in a -box opposite, to observe the effect the performance produced on them. -The Queen of Tragedy sat erect and looked cold; Mr. Kemble gave a grave -attention. But as the young actor warmed to his part, Mrs. Siddons -showed a pleased surprise, and at last leaned forward, her fine head on -her arm, quite engrossed in the scene, while Kemble expressed continual -approbation, turning to his sister as each point told. At the triumphant -close of the performance, Kean’s friend approached the Kembles’ box. Mrs. -Siddons would not allow that this extraordinary genius was the lad that -had acted with her before. “Perhaps,” she said, “he had assumed the name -of Kean.” “Then the present one has every right to drop it,” said Kemble; -“he is not Kean, but the real Othello.” Yet Kemble must have known that -night that a greater than he had arisen. It must have been a noteworthy -scene, those two remarkable figures of a by-gone age, sitting in judgment -on “the little gentleman who,” as Kemble said, “was always so terribly -in earnest,” while he fretted and fumed on that stage, where he was -destined to initiate a new ideal of dramatic art. - -Macready gives an interesting account of his first meeting the great -actress whom every young aspirant looked up to with such awe. It was at -Newcastle; the _Gamester_ and _Douglas_ were the plays selected, and the -young actor received the appalling information that he was to act with -her. With doubt, anxiety, and trepidation he set about his work, the -thought of standing by the side of the great mistress of her Art hanging -over him _in terrorem_. At last she arrived, and he received orders to go -to the Queen’s Head Hotel to rehearse. The impression, he says, the first -sight of her made on him recalled the page’s description of the effect of -Jane de Montfort’s appearance on him in Joanna Baillie’s tragedy. It was - - So queenly, so commanding, and so noble. - -In her grand, but good-natured manner, having seen his nervousness, she -said, “I hope, Mr. Macready, you have brought some hartshorn and water -with you, as I am told you are terribly frightened at me,” and she made -some remarks about his being a very young husband. Her daughter Cecilia -went smiling out of the room, and left them to the business of the -morning. - -Her instructions were vividly impressed on the young actor’s memory, -and he took his leave with fear and trembling. The audience were, as -usual, encouraging, and the first scene passed with applause; but in the -next—his first with Mrs. Beverley—his fear overcame him to that degree, -that for a minute his presence of mind forsook him; his memory seemed to -have gone, and he stood bewildered. She kindly whispered the word to him, -and the scene proceeded. - -The enthusiastic young actor goes on:— - - She stood alone on her height of excellence. Her acting was - perfect, and, as I recall it, I do not wonder, novice as I - was, at my perturbation when on the stage with her. But in the - progress of the play I gradually regained more and more my - self-possession, and in the last scene, as she stood by the - side wing, waiting for the cue of her entrance, on my utterance - of the words, “My wife and sister! Well, well! there is but - one pang more, and then farewell world!” she raised her hands, - clapping loudly and calling out: “Bravo, Sir, bravo!” in sight - of part of the audience, who joined in her applause. - - On that evening I was engaged to a ball, “where all the - beauties”—not of Verona, but of Newcastle—were to meet. Mrs. - Siddons, after the play, sent to me to say, when I was dressed, - she would be glad to see me in her room. On going in, she - “wished,” she said, “to give me a few words of advice before - taking leave of me. You are in the right way,” she said, “but - remember what I say—study, study, study, and do not marry - till you are thirty. I remember what it was to be obliged to - study at nearly your age with a young family about me. Beware - of that: keep your mind on your art, do not remit your study, - and you are certain to succeed. I know you are expected at a - ball to-night, so I will not detain you, but do not forget my - words—study well, and God bless you.” Her words lived with me, - and often in moments of despondency have come to cheer me. - Her acting was a revelation to me, which ever after had its - influence on me in the study of my art. Ease, grace, untiring - energy through all the variations of human passion, blended - into that grand and massive style, had been with her the result - of patient application. On first witnessing her wonderful - impersonations I may say with the poet: - - “Then felt I like some watcher of the skies - When a new planet swims into his ken.” - - And I can only liken the effect they produced on me, in - developing new trains of thought, to the awakening power that - Michael Angelo’s sketch of the Colossal head in the Farnesina - is said to have had on the mind of Raphael. - - - - -CHAPTER XV. - -RETIREMENT. - - -What wonder that Mrs. Siddons now seriously began to think of retirement. -Already, in 1805, she had written to a friend: “It is better to work -hard and have done with it. If I can but add three hundred a year to my -present income, I shall be perfectly well provided for; and I am resolved -when that is accomplished to make no more positive engagements in summer. -I trust that God in His great mercy will enable me to do it; and then, -oh, how lazy, and saucy, and happy will I be! You will have something -to do, I can tell you, my dear, to keep me in order.” This longing now -became a distinct determination. - -In two letters written some time before, one to James Ballantyne and one -to Lady Harcourt, she gave expression to this determination. To Lady -Harcourt she wrote:— - -“You see where I am, and must know the place by representations as well -as reports, I daresay, at least my lord does, yea, ‘every coigne and -vantage’ of this venerable pile, and envies me the view of it just before -me where I am writing. This is an inn. I set myself down here for the -advantage of pure air and perfect quiet, rather than lodge in Leeds, -most disagreeable town in His Majesty’s dominions, God bless him. This -day my task finishes. I have played there four nights, and am very tired -of Kirkstall Abbey. It is too sombre for a person of my age, and I am -no antiquarian. It is, however, extremely beautiful. I am going to York -for a week, and I hope while I am there to hear from you, my ever dear -Lady Harcourt. I must work a little while longer to realise the blessed -prospect (almost, I thank God, within my view) of sitting down in peace -and quiet for the remainder of my life. About £250 more a year will -secure to me the comfort of a carriage, and, believe me, it is one of -the favourite objects in that prospect that I shall have the happiness -of seeing you and my dear Lord Harcourt often, very often; for though -time and circumstances, and that proud barrier of high birth, have all -combined to separate our persons, yet allow me the modest ambition to -think our minds are kindred ones, and, on my part, united ever since -I had the honour and good fortune to be known to you. How could it be -otherwise, since to know you both is to esteem and love you? And now, my -dear Lady Harcourt, I must leave you to dress for Belvidera. It is very -sulky weather, and I am not i’ the mood for acting, but I must play yet a -little while longer, and then! how peaceful, how comfortable shall I be, -after the storms, the tempests, and afflictions of my laborious life! God -bless and preserve you, who are to make a large share of my happiness in -that hour of peace.” - -To James Ballantyne she expresses herself in the same tenor:— - -“I am wandering about the world to get a little more money. I am trying -to Secure to myself the comfort of a Carriage, which is now an absolute -necessary to me, and then—then will I sit down in quiet to the end of -my days. You will perhaps be surprised to hear that I am not abundantly -rich, but you know not the expences I have incurred in times past and -the losses I have Sustain’d; they drain ones purse beyond imagination. -I shall be at York till the 15th inst., from thence I go to Birmingham -where I shall remain till the 4th of August, from the 25th of August -till the 1st of Septr. I shall be at Manchester and then return ‘to that -dear Hut my home.’ You would scarcely know that Sweet little Spot it is -so improv’d Since you Saw it. I believe tho’ I wrote you about my new -dining Room and the pretty Bedchamber at the end of it, where you are -to sleep unannoyd by your former neighbours in their mangers, Stalls, -I _shou’d_ say, I believe. All the Lawrells are green and flourishing, -all the wooden garden pales, hidden by Sweet Shrubs and flow’rs that -form a verdant wall all round me: oh! it is the prettiest little nook -in all the world, and I do hope you will Soon come and Say you _think_ -so. Your letter Surpris’d me in my _Garden of Eden_, where it found me, -‘chewing the Cud of Sweet and bitter fancy,’ you making that very moment -the principal person in the Drama of my musings—and ‘I said in my haste -all men are liars.’ It was more than probable that business, pleasure, -illness and persons perhaps less deserving your regard, might have -diverted recollection from one So distant So incapable of heightening the -joys, alleviating the Sorrows of this ‘working day world’ and our hearts -naturally yearn to those who Share our weal and woe. Yes, said I, his -taste and feelings are alive to my talents; but he does not know me well -enough to value me for Some qualities of greater worth, which in the -honest pride of my heart I will not blush to say I possess—he admires me -for my Celebrity which is all he knows of me. No blame therefore attaches -to him: he is ignorant of my real character, which if he knew he would -also approve; at least if I am not much mistaken in myself and him—in -myself I’m sure I am not mistaken. It is a vulgar error to say we are -ignorant of ourselves, for I am quite Sure that those who think at all -Seriously _must know themselves_ better than any other individual _can_.” - -She had served the public for over thirty-five years, and was now in -her fifty-sixth year. Long since the ten thousand pounds, which was the -original sum with which in the heyday of her prosperity she said she -would rest content, had been doubled. Some of this had been unfortunately -invested by Mr. Siddons, and some had been lost in Sheridan’s bankruptcy; -but still, for a person who had no very expensive personal tastes, whose -children were all provided for, it was a handsome provision. - -Physical disabilities also began now to interfere with her dramatic -effects. Alas! for the days when an “exquisite, fragile, creature” acted -Venus in Garrick’s procession, and with her rosy lips whispered promises -of sweetmeats into little Tommy Dibdin’s ear. The actress had grown stout -and unwieldy in person. When she acted Isabella, and knelt to the Duke, -imploring mercy for her brother, two attendants had to come forward to -help her to rise; and to make this appear correct, the same ceremony was -gone through with a young actress who performed the same part and did not -need any assistance whatever. By caricatures and portraits done of her at -the time we can see how unshapely she had become. Conventionality and -hardness replaced the old spontaneity and pathos; the action of the arms -was more pronounced, the voice was unduly raised, and the deficiency in -beauty and charm was supplied by energy and rant. Mrs. Siddons was only -two years older than her brother, but her physical and mental gifts had -deteriorated much more rapidly. The fact of the sister’s dramatic power -having been a natural gift, and his the result of industry and hard work, -made hers fail more completely with waning strength. Besides all the -disabilities of advancing age, that terrible fear of being supplanted -was ever before her eyes. Mrs. Jordan had some years before snatched -the laurels from her brow in Rosalind; now rumours were wafted across -the Channel of a young and lovely actress, Miss O’Neill, who had taken -all hearts captive as Juliet (a part Mrs. Siddons could never personate -satisfactorily); the matchless beauty of form of the young aspirant, her -sensibility and tenderness were the theme of every tongue. “To hear these -people talk, one would think _I_ had never drawn a tear,” she said sadly. - -The old sensitiveness and pride remained. She accused the public of -taking pleasure in mortifying their old favourites by setting up new -idols; “I have been three times threatened with eclipse, first by means -of Miss Brunton (afterwards Lady Craven), next by means of Miss Smith, -and lastly by means of Miss O’Neill; nevertheless,” she added, “I am not -yet extinguished.” Mrs. Siddons had no right to complain. She had drunk -fully the draught of success and appreciation, and had been singularly -exempt from rivalry in her own particular walk. No public, however -indulgent, can save an actress from the penalties of old age. She -herself had supplanted Mrs. Crawford, and not very gently. The transition -point—the last in her life—had been reached, the chapter of active -professional life was closed for ever, yet she could not resign herself -to accept the decrepitude and inactivity of old age. “I feel as if I were -mounting the first steps of a ladder conducting me to another world,” she -sighed. Moore mentions meeting her at the house of Rogers: - -“Mrs. Siddons came in the evening; had a good deal of conversation with -her, and was, for the first time in my life, interested by her off the -stage. She talked of the loss of friends, and mentioned herself as having -lost twenty-six friends in the course of the last six years. It is -something to _have had_ so many. Among other reasons for her regret at -leaving the stage was, that she always found in it a vent for her private -sorrows, which enabled her to bear them better; and often she has got -credit for the truth and feeling of her acting when she was doing nothing -more than relieving her own heart of its grief.” - -She took her professional farewell of the stage on the 29th of June 1812. -As early as three o’clock in the afternoon people began to assemble -about the pit and gallery doors, and at half-past four the mob was so -great, that those who had come early, in the hope of getting a good -place, were carried away by the rush of the increasing crowd under the -arches. So great was the concourse of people, that not more than twenty -of the weaker sex obtained places in the pit, and the house was crammed -in every part. The play was _Lady Macbeth_. When the great actress made -her appearance, she was received with thunders of applause; for a moment -emotion overcame her, but, collecting herself, she went through her -part as magnificently as in the early days. Often have old play-goers -described the scene on that night. The grand pale face; the pathetic -voice on the stage, speaking its last to those whom it had delighted and -thrilled for so many years. While among the audience, the heart-felt -sorrow, the deep silence, only broken by smothered sobs; then the -irrepressible burst of feeling when the scene, in which she appears for -the last time in _Lady Macbeth_ was over, for the audience could bear it -no longer. The applause continued from the time of her going off till -she again appeared, to speak her address. When silence was restored, she -began the following farewell, written by her nephew Horace Twiss:— - - Who has not felt how growing use endears - The fond remembrance of our former years? - Who has not sigh’d, when doom’d to leave at last - The hopes of youth, the habits of the past, - Ten thousand ties and interests, that impart - A second nature to the human heart, - And wreathing round it close, like tendrils, climb, - Blooming in age, and sanctified by time! - - Yes! at this moment crowd upon my mind - Scenes of bright days for ever left behind, - Bewildering visions of enraptured youth, - When hope and fancy wore the hues of truth, - And long forgotten years, that almost seem - The faded traces of a morning dream! - Sweet are those mournful thoughts: for they renew - The pleasing sense of all I owe to you, - For each inspiring smile, and soothing tear— - For those full honours of my long career, - That cheer’d my earliest hope and chased my latest fear. - - And though for me those tears shall flow no more, - And the warm sunshine of your smile is o’er; - Though the bright beams are fading fast away - That shone unclouded through my summer day; - Yet grateful memory shall reflect their light - O’er the dim shadows of the coming night, - And lend to later life a softer tone, - A moonlight tint—a lustre of her own. - - Judges and Friends! to whom the magic strain - Of nature’s feeling never spoke in vain, - Perhaps your hearts, when years have glided by, - And past emotions wake a fleeting sigh, - May think on her whose lips have poured so long - The charm’d sorrows of your Shakespeare’s song: - On her, who, parting to return no more, - Is now the mourner she but seemed before; - Herself subdued, resigns the melting spell, - And breathes, with swelling heart, her long, - Her last Farewell. - -As she reached the end, all stage exigency and restraint was forgotten, -her voice was broken by real sobs. As soon as the hush of emotion had -passed, the audience seemed suddenly to awake to the fact that it really -was the last time they would ever see the marvellous actress, whom at -one time they had almost idolised. Not satisfied with their usual method -of expressing their feelings, they stood upon the seats, and cheered -her, waving their hats for several minutes. It appeared to be the wish -of the majority of the audience that the play should conclude with this -scene, the curtain was therefore dropped; but Kemble came forward, and -announced that, if it was the wish of the house, the play should proceed. -The audience was divided, and the farce of _The Spoilt Child_ began, -amidst loud acclamation from one side and disappointment from the other. -This continued during the whole of the first act, with constant cries of -“The fifth act! the fifth act!” It was found impossible to allay popular -excitement; the house was all noise and confusion, and the voices on the -stage were totally inaudible. The curtain was, therefore, again dropped; -and the audience, shortly after, quietly dispersed. - -So vanished from her sight that world over which, for the space of -thirty-five years, she had reigned supreme, that world that made her joy -and sorrow; before which, in spite of the many temptations that had beset -her, she could feel with pride she had never degraded the supreme gift -of genius. Amidst her poignant regrets, at least she had nothing tragic, -nothing irremediable, to mourn, like so many of her sisters in the same -profession. Differences of opinion had come between her and them, but all -that was forgotten now in the anguish of “Farewell.” She only remembered -that first night of triumph, its terrors, and its delicious ecstasy; the -weeks, months, and years of appreciated happy work, dreams fulfilled; -parts she had studied and conned as a young girl, unconscious of the -future in store for her, acted with overwhelming success. No Arabian -Night’s Dream of good fortune could have been more brilliant or more -complete; but, as in all things human, the reaction had set in. She had -touched such heights, that there must necessarily be a reflux. - -She had loved her profession, not only for the measure of applause, -but for the daily bustle and work, which, to a woman of her energetic -temperament, was enjoyable in itself. - -Rogers tells us that, sitting with her of an afternoon, years after the -curtain had dropped on her farewell performance, she would vividly recall -every moment of her stage life. “This is the time I used to be thinking -of going to the theatre: first came the pleasure of dressing for my part; -and then, the pleasure of acting it; but that is all over now.” In her -early days even, she always confessed that her spirits were not equal, -and her internal resources were too few for a life of solitude. - -After long years spent amidst the intoxication of applause, to withdraw -into the twilight of private life must always be a great trial. The -nightly stimulus, the mental habit of studying for a certain object, -the production of evanescent emotions and transitory effects, must have -a deteriorating effect on the noblest disposition. Shrewd Miss Berry, -in her Journal, dated February 24th, 1811, mentions a visit she paid at -Westbourne. “Mrs. Siddons received me, as she always does, in a manner -that flattered my internal vanity, for she has the germ of a superior -nature in her, though burnt up by the long-continued brand of popular -applause”; and Fanny Kemble writes: “What a price my Aunt Siddons has -paid for her great celebrity! Weariness, vacuity, and utter deadness of -spirit. The cup has been so highly flavoured, that life is absolutely -without sorrow or sweetness to her now, nothing but tasteless insipidity. -She has stood on a pinnacle till all things have come to look flat and -dreary; mere shapeless, colourless, level monotony to her. Poor woman! -What a fate to be condemned to! and yet how she has been envied as well -as admired!” - -We doubt if the weariness and vacuity was as great as her niece was -inclined to think. Advanced age and impaired powers always bring a -certain deadness and indifference; but she had mental resources the young -girl did not take into consideration. She kept a large circle of firm and -attached friends. She was not without intellectual pursuits. Although -showing no particular genius in any other department of life but the -stage, she had a fine cultivated taste for artistic and beautiful things. -She employed much of her time in modelling, and executed many respectable -pieces of work. Her childish love of Milton revived again now, and after -her retirement she published a small volume of extracts from his poems. -Above all, she had the support and consolation of a pure unswerving -religious faith; through her chequered life of triumph and bereavement, -joy and sorrow, Sarah Siddons had ever kept that alive in her heart. It -saved her in many a crisis, and illumined the darkened road that lay -before her. - -The following verses, written by her at this time, are a truer indication -of her frame of mind than any conclusions drawn from external observation -by outsiders:— - - Say, what’s the brightest wreath of fame, - But canker’d buds, that opening close; - Ah! what’s the world’s most pleasing dream, - But broken fragments of repose? - - Lead me where peace with steady hand - The mingled cup of life shall hold; - Where Time shall smoothly pour his sand, - And Wisdom turn that sand to gold. - - Then haply at Religion’s shrine - This weary heart its load shall lay, - Each _wish_ my fatal love resign, - And passion melt in tears away. - -She had now leisure for journeys abroad and the enjoyment of intellectual -pleasure outside her profession which she had never had before. In the -autumn of 1814 she made an excursion to Paris in company with her -brother John, her youngest daughter, Cecilia, and Miss Wilkinson. A -short interval of peace then reigned, and all interested in art flocked -from England to see the treasures that Napoleon had plundered from every -European capital. The Apollo Belvidere, amongst others, had been set up -in the statuary hall of the Louvre; and Campbell tells us how, giving -his arm to Mrs. Siddons, they walked down the hall towards it, and stood -gazing rapt in its divine beauty. “I could not forget the honour,” -Campbell tells us, quaintly, “of being before him in the company of _so -august a worshipper_; and it certainly increased my enjoyment to see the -first interview between the paragon of Art and that of Nature.” - -The “paragon of Nature” was evidently much struck, and remained standing -silently gazing for some time; then she said, solemnly, “What a great -idea it gives us of God, to think that He has made a human being capable -of fashioning so divine a form!” - -As they walked round the hall, Campbell tells us, he saw every eye fixed -upon her. Her stately bearing, her noble expression, made a sensation, -though the crowd evidently did not know who she was, as he heard whispers -of “Who is she? Is she not an Englishwoman?” - -Crabb Robinson, in his _Memoirs_, also tells us that he heard someone say -in the Louvre, “Mrs. Siddons is below.” He instantly left the Raphaels -and Titians and went in search of her. She was walking with her sister, -Mrs. Twiss. He noticed her grand air and fascinating smile, but he was -disturbed that so glorious a head should have been covered with a small -chip hat. She knit her brows, also, to look at the pictures, as if her -sight were not good; and he remarked a line or two about her mouth, and -a little coarseness of expression. She remained two months in Paris, and -we hear of her going to a review held by the King. She was seen toiling -along towards the Champs de Mars, heated and flushed, and in clouds of -dust; and a joke is made on the subject of her “saving.” - -Further suffering was in store for her in the death of her son Henry. He -died of consumption, like his sisters. Manager of the Edinburgh Theatre, -and in the prime of life, his loss was a great one both to his family and -the Edinburgh public. His poor mother wrote:— - - “Westbourne, 1815. - - “This third shock has, indeed, sadly shaken me, and, although - in the very depths of affliction, I agree with you that - consolation may be found, yet the voice of nature will for a - time overpower that of reason; and I cannot but remember ‘that - such things were, and were most dear to me.’ - - “I am tolerably well, but have no voice. This is entirely - nervousness, and fine weather will bring it back to me. Write - to me, and let me receive consolation in a better account of - your precious health. My brother and Mrs. Kemble have been very - kind and attentive, as indeed they always were in all events - of sickness or of sorrow. The little that was left of my poor - sight is almost washed away by tears, so that I fear I write - scarce legibly. God’s will be done!” - -Later, she complained:— - -“I don’t know why, unless that I am older and feebler, or that I am -now without a profession, which forced me out of myself in my former -afflictions, but the loss of my poor dear Henry seems to have laid a -heavier hand upon my mind than any I have sustained. I drive out to -recover my voice and my spirits, and am better while abroad; but I come -home and lose them both in an hour. I cannot read or do anything else -but puddle with my clay. I have begun a full-length figure of Cecilia; -and this is a resource which fortunately never fails me. Mr. Fitzhugh -approves of it, and that is good encouragement. I have little to complain -of, except a low voice and lower spirits.” - -All these letters do not look like the proud, hard, self-sufficient woman -so often described. We see her sorrowing sincerely, but not giving way to -unreasoning, despairing grief; recognising that all the brightness and -elasticity of life had gone, but doing, nobly and practically, what she -could to help those that were left. - -Before the end of the year she had arranged with Mr. James Ballantyne to -act ten nights for the benefit of her son’s family:— - -“A thousand thousand thanks to you my kind and good friend for your -most delightful and gratifying letter. You do me justice in believing -that whatever conduces to your happiness, or that operates against it, -must ever be interesting to me; and as the happiness and health of your -excellent and most respectable mother is, I know, the first object of -Satisfaction which this world contains for your duteous mind, I am, -indeed, most truly happy, for both your sakes, to receive so comfortable -an account of her. I can conceive no blessing comparable to that of -having such a Son, and such a one was my own dear and lamented Henry. -This last blow lay, indeed, for some time most heavily upon me; but -when I recollect that his pure Spirit has exchang’d a Sphere of painful -and anxious existence, with which he was ill-calculated to Struggle, -for the regions of everlasting peace and joy, I feel the Selfishness of -my Sorrow, and repeat those words, which as often as repeated seem to -tranquilize my mind, ‘The Lord gave, and the Lord taketh away; blessed be -the name of the Lord.’ I hope my visit to Edinborough will be beneficial -to my dear Son’s family; at least, it will evince the greatest proof of -respect for that Public on whom they depend, which it is in my power to -give. I have some doubts whether the motives which induce me to return -to the Public after So long an absence, will Shield me from the darts -of malignity; and when I think of what I have undertaken, altho’ I feel -courageous as to my intentions, I own myself doubtful and weak with -respect to the performance of the Task which I have undertaken. It is -a great disadvantage to have been so long disused to the exertions I -am call’d on to make, but I will not Suffer myself to think of it any -longer. As to the arrangement of the Plays, it must be left entirely to -Mrs. H. Siddons, whose judgment I have always found to be as Strong as -her disposition is amiable, and I can give her no higher praise. She is -indeed ‘wisest, virtuousest, discreetest, best, &c.,’ but I fear I shall -never be able to present myself in Mrs. Beverley, who Should be not only -handsome, but _young_ also. Believe me, my truly estimable friend, I look -forward with the greatest satisfaction to the moment of Seeing you again; -in the meantime do not exalt me too much! You Seem to be in an error, -on the Subject of my engagement, which I must rectify. The necessary -expenses of Clothes, Ornaments, Travelling, &c., are more than my limited -Income wou’d afford, without a chance, _at least_, of being able to -_cover_ these expenses, which is all I desire! and therefore I am to -fulfil my Engagement on my brother’s Terms.” - -In November, therefore, we find her making her way by slow stages to -Edinburgh. She stopped for several days at Kirby Moorside, with Sir Ralph -and Lady Noel, and Lady Byron. In spite of nervousness and fatigue, she -delighted her Edinburgh audiences. She had no reason to make a charge -against her northern friends of unfaithfulness. - - - - -CHAPTER XVI. - -OLD AGE. - - -In 1817 Mrs. Siddons, anxious, for the sake of her daughter Cecilia, to -see more society, left her Country retreat, Westbourne Farm, where so -many hours of repose snatched from the turmoil of her professional life -had been passed, and took a house in Upper Baker Street. It is the last -house on the east side overlooking the Regent’s Park, and has a small -lawn and garden behind. - -On the front, over the doorway, is a medallion stating that “Here -Mrs. Siddons, the actress, lived from 1817 to 1831.” When the houses -in Cornwall Terrace were about to be brought close to the gate of the -park, Mrs. Siddons appealed to the Prince Regent, who had ever remained -her firm and courteous friend. He immediately gave orders that her -view over the Park should not be shut off. The house, which is still -unchanged in its internal arrangements, is now used as the estate -office of the Portman property. The room she built out as a studio -for modelling is screened off into compartments with desks for the -transaction of business. That is really the only change that has been -made. It is an old-fashioned, comfortable house, panelled in dark oak. -The approach to the staircase has steps ascending and descending, and -the stairs themselves twist round corners, off which branch unexpected -passages, until they reach the first floor, where to the right opens the -dining-room, looking on the little garden, and beyond to the Park. There, -between the Grecian pillars with their honey-suckle pediment, once hung -the portrait of her brother John as Hotspur; now the space looks desolate -and bare. - -Here she lived with her daughter Cecilia and Patty Wilkinson, her -attached friend and companion. Some among us are old enough to remember -having heard of her pleasant parties where all that was intellectual -and delightful in the London of her day was assembled. There she would -sometimes, to her intimate friends, give recitations of her favourite -parts, having by this time relinquished doing so in public. Miss -Edgeworth describes one of these readings:— - - I heard Mrs. Siddons read at her town-house a portion of _Henry - VIII_. I was more struck and delighted than I ever was with any - reading in my life. This is feebly expressing what I felt. I - felt that I had never before fully understood, or sufficiently - admired, Shakespeare, or known the full powers of the human - voice and the English language. Queen Katherine was a character - peculiarly suited to her time of life and to reading. There - was nothing that required gesture or vehemence incompatible - with the sitting attitude. The composure and dignity, and - the sort of suppressed feeling, and touches, not bursts of - tenderness, of matronly, not youthful tenderness, were all - favourable to the general effect. I quite forgot to applaud—I - thought she was what she appeared. The illusion was perfect, - till it was interrupted by a hint from her daughter or niece, I - forget which, that Mrs. Siddons would be encouraged by having - some demonstration given of our feelings. I then expressed my - admiration, but the charm was broken. - -Maria Edgeworth seems to have remained friends with Mrs. Siddons, but her -father, Richard Lovell Edgeworth, hopelessly offended her the first time -he met her:— - -“Madam,” he said, “I think I saw you perform Millamant five-and-thirty -years ago.” - -“Pardon me, Sir.” - -“Oh, then it was forty years ago. I recollect it.” - -“You will excuse me, Sir, I never played Millamant.” - -“Oh, but I recollect it.”’ - -“I think,” she said, stiffly turning to Rogers, “it is time for me to -change my place,” and rising with much haughtiness she moved away. - -Many amusing stories were current of the dramatic manner which she -imported into daily life. Her question, in the tragic tones of Lady -Macbeth, to the over-awed draper as she bought a piece of coloured print, -“Will it wash?” The solemn reply to the Scotch provost, “Beef cannot be -too salt for me, my Lord”; and “I asked for water, Boy; you’ve brought -me beer.” Lord Beaconsfield told a story of his father, Isaac Disraeli, -returning home after a visit to London, and declaring that the event -that had made most impression on him was hearing Mrs. Siddons say, -“The Ripstone Pippin is the finest apple in the world.” Moore says he -remembered how proud he was of going to Lady Mount Edgcumbe’s suppers -after the opera. It was at one of these, sitting between Mrs. Siddons and -Lady Castlereagh, he heard for the first time the voice of the former -(never having met her before) transferred to the ordinary things of the -world, and the solemn words in her most tragic tone, “I do love ale -dearly.” Sidney Smith also describes her as “stabbing the potatoes”; and -it is said that on hearing of the sudden death of an acquaintance, who -had been “found dead in his bureau,” she understood the latter word to -mean a piece of furniture, and exclaimed, “Poor man! How gat he there?” - -She was, as a rule, perfectly impervious to external influences, ignoring -them in her self-abstraction. She lived through the most marvellous -period of English and European history, yet no incident seems to have -made an impression on her mode of thought or life. She never entered -into political interests, though the friend of Fox, Burke, and Sheridan. -Her dramatic world of romance was all-sufficient for her. Hers was not a -ready intelligence; she required time for everything, time to comprehend, -time to speak; there was nothing superficial about her, no vivacity of -manner. To petty gossip she could not condescend, and evil-speaking -she abhorred. She cared not to shine in general conversation. Ask her -her opinion, she could not give it until she had studied every side of -the subject; then you might trust to it without appeal. This slowness -of mental action led to a regal, stately, and majestic bearing, that -gradually overlaid her genius to its detriment. As early as 1817, Fanny -Burney describes her as— - - The heroine of a tragedy, sublime, elevated and solemn, in face - and person truly noble and commanding, in manners quiet and - stiff, in voice deep and dragging, and in conversation formal, - sententious, calm, and dry. I expected her to have been all - that is interesting; the delicacy and sweetness with which - she seizes every opportunity to strike and to captivate upon - the stage had persuaded me that her mind was formed with that - peculiar susceptibility which, in different modes, must give - equal powers to attract and delight in common life. But I was - very much mistaken. As a stranger I must have admired her noble - appearance and beautiful countenance, and have regretted that - nothing in her conversation kept pace with their promise. - -We read in 1801 of Campbell meeting her walking on the banks of -Paddington Canal when she was living at Westbourne, and in a perfect -agony of fear “whipping on his great-coat,” and preparing himself for an -interview with the “great woman.” - -Washington Irving gives a characteristic sketch of her:— - - It was a rare gratification to see the Queen of Tragedy thus - out of her robes. Yet her manner, even at the social board, - still partakes of the state and gravity of tragedy. Not that - there is an unwillingness to unbend, but that there is a - difficulty in throwing aside the solemnity of long-acquired - habit. She reminded me of Walter Scott’s knights, “who carved - the meat with their gloves of steel, and drank the red wine - through their helmets barred.” There was, however, entirely - the disposition to be gracious, and to play her part like - herself in conversation. She, therefore, exchanged anecdote - and incident, in the course of which she detailed her feelings - and reflections while wandering among the sublime and romantic - scenery of North Wales, and on the summit of Penmaennmawr. - As she did this her eye kindled and her features beamed, and - in her countenance, which is indeed a volume where one may - read strange matters, you might trace the varying emotions of - her soul. I was surprised to find her face, even at the near - approach of sitting by her side, absolutely handsome, and - unmarked with any of those wrinkles which generally attend - advanced life. Her form is at present becoming unwieldy, - but not shapeless, and is full of dignity. Her gestures and - movements are eminently graceful. Mr. and Mrs. Campbell say - that I was quite fortunate, and might flatter myself on her - being so conversible, for that she is very apt to be on the - reserve towards strangers. - -Mr. and Mrs. Campbell had every reason to say so, for only that very year -she proposed dining with them one day, requesting, as she always did, -that it was only to be a family party. About noon Washington Irving’s -brother and a friend, who had brought letters of introduction from -Sir Walter Scott, arrived. During their visit a servant unfortunately -came into the room and disclosed the fact that Mrs. Siddons was dining -there. Immediately the Americans made up their minds to stay and see -her. Campbell told them how annoyed Mrs. Siddons would be at meeting -strangers; they were not to be gainsaid:— - - When the carriage approached the house, Campbell goes on, I - went out to conduct her over a short pathway on the common, - as well as to prepare her for a sight of the strangers. It - was the only time, during a friendly acquaintance of so many - years, that I ever saw a cloud upon her brow. She received - my apology very coldly, and walked into my house with tragic - dignity. At first she kept the gentlemen of the New World at a - transatlantic distance; and they made the matter worse, as I - thought, for a time, by the most extravagant flattery. But my - Columbian friends had more address than I supposed, and they - told her so many interesting anecdotes about their native stage - and the enthusiasm of their countrymen respecting herself that - she grew frank and agreeable, and shook hands with both of them - at parting. - -Many were the honours heaped on her during these last years. She received -a formal invitation to visit the Universities of Oxford and Cambridge. -Her daughter writes to Miss Wilkinson, expressing their delight with the -visit:— - - I over and over wished for you, who would have enjoyed as much - as I did the attention and admiration shown to our Darling. - We had sights to see, colleges and libraries to examine, and - at every one of them there was a principal inhabitant, eager - to show and proud to entertain Mrs. Siddons. In the public - library, my mother received the honour of an address from - Professor Clarke, who presented her with a handsome Bible from - the Stereotype press. After which she read to almost all the - members of the University at present there the trial scene - in the _Merchant of Venice_, and more finely she never did - it in her life. Everyone was, or seemed to be, enchanted and - enthusiastic. - -After her retirement from the stage, she gave public readings at -the Argyll Rooms in London. The arrangements were most simple. A -reading-desk with lights, on which lay her book, a quarto volume, -printed in large letters. When her memory failed her, she assisted her -sight by spectacles, which in the intervals she handled and used so -gracefully, that it was impossible to wish her without them. A large -red screen formed an harmonious background to her white dress, and -classically-shaped head, round which her dark hair was rolled in loose -coils. All her former dignity and grace seemed to return in these -readings. The effect she produced was marvellous, considering it was -without the aid of stage illusion or scenery. - -The attention shown her by the Royal Family was a source of much -gratification. Her letters written, after a visit to Windsor, in January -1813, are almost girlish in their emphasis and expressions of delight. - -She was in the middle of dressing to go and dine at Mrs. Damer’s, when an -especial messenger arrived in the dusk, from Lady Stewart, intimating the -Queen’s desires. Everything was rose colour. “The charming accomplished -Princesses, so _sweetly_ and _graciously_ acknowledge the amusement I -was so happy as to afford them. To have been able to amuse a little -a few of the heavy mournful hours, the weight of which those royal -amiable sufferers must so often feel, has been to me the _greatest_, the -_proudest gratification_.” - -A magnificent gold chain, with a cross of many coloured jewels, was -presented to her by the Queen, and a “silken quilt for my bed, which she -sewed with her own hands.” - -On the 9th of June 1819, when past sixty, Mrs. Siddons was induced to -appear for the benefit of her brother, Charles Kemble, at Covent Garden. -She had done so before, at the command of the Princess Charlotte, who -at the last moment had been unable to come. All the best critics were -of opinion it was a mistake. The part chosen, too, Lady Randolph, was -injudicious, with its lengthy speeches and continual movement. The -audience certainly gave three rounds of applause, in recognition of her -personal character, when Young Norval asked: - - But did my sire surpass the rest of men - As thou excellest all of woman kind? - -But this was a poor substitute for the breathless thrill, the agony of -emotion, with which she shook her audience in the old days. - -Unfortunately for us and them, players are not immortal. Health, -strength, beauty, voice, fail them, and without these adventitious aids -genius is of no avail on the stage. Any loss of reputation to an actress -like Mrs. Siddons was a loss to the world; these reappearances, when age -and infirmity had weakened her powers, were much to be deplored. Let us, -however, turn from this subject to more pleasant ones; and there were so -many pleasant incidents and so few mistakes in Mrs. Siddons’s dignified -and decorous life, that we can afford to be lenient. - -In Fanny Kemble’s _Record of a Girlhood_, we get glimpses of Aunt -Siddons, stately and gentle, surrounded by children and grandchildren. - - You know we were to spend Christmas Eve at my Aunt Siddons’s; - we had a delightful evening, and I was very happy. My aunt came - down from the drawing-room (for we danced in the dining-room - on the ground-floor) and sat among us, and you cannot think - how nice and pretty it was to see her surrounded by her clan, - more than three dozen strong; some of them so handsome, and - many with a striking likeness to herself, either in feature or - expression. Mrs. Harry and Cecy danced with us, and we enjoyed - ourselves very much. - -The younger sons of her son George Siddons (who had obtained a Government -post at Calcutta), were being educated with their sisters in England, and -always spent their holidays with their grandmother, Mrs. Siddons. The -youngest of these three school-boys was the father of the beautiful Mrs. -Scott Siddons of the present day. - -Mrs. Siddons was very fond of children. Campbell tells a story of his -once leaving his little boy, aged six, with her, when she was stopping in -Paris. When he returned, he found them both in animated conversation. She -had been amusing him with all sorts of stories, which she told admirably. -The evening before she had been to a fashionable party and offended -everyone by the austerity of her manners. - -Her letters about her grandchildren are full of simple grandmotherly -love, naturally expressed. She wrote from Broadstairs in 1806:— - -“My dear Harry, I have very great pleasure in telling you that your dear -little ones are quite well. The bathing agrees with them perfectly. They -are exceedingly improved in looks and appetite, though their stomachs -turn a little, poor dears, at the sight of the machines; but, indeed, -upon the whole, the dipping is pretty well got over, and they look so -beautiful after it, it would do your heart good to see them. I assure you -they are the belles of Broadstairs. Their nurse is very good-humoured to -them. She is certainly not a beauty, but they like her as well as if she -were a Venus. Never were little souls so easily managed, or so little -troublesome.” - -The great actress would boast with more pride of the effect she produced -on a little girl during the performance of _Jane Shore_, than of her -greatest triumphs. In the last scenes of the play, when the unfortunate -heroine, destitute and starving, exclaims in an agony of suffering, “I -have not tasted bread for three days,” a little voice was heard, broken -by sobs, exclaiming, “Madam, madam! do take my orange, if you please,” -and the audience and the actress beheld, in one of the stage boxes, a -little girl holding her out an orange. - -A lady, now alive, recalls to mind, when she was very young, being taken -to pay a visit to “the great Mrs. Siddons.” She long after remembered -those wonderful eyes, and particularly the long silky eye-lashes, which -she noticed were of extraordinary length, and curled upwards in a -beautiful curve. On being told that the child was obliged to go away to -the country, and would have no opportunity of hearing her on the stage, -she kindly said she would recite for her, and did so there and then. - -One of her grandchildren has described the interest of her visits -to her. Frequently her grandmother would read to them, giving them -the choice of the play. One evening in particular she recalled the -reading of _Othello_. “It was a stormy night, and the thunder was heard -occasionally, and she so grand and impressive; her look! her voice, her -magnificent eyes, still clear and brilliant. It was real reading, not -declamation, and yet the effect,” she says, “was beyond anything I could -conceive of the finest acting.” This was only the winter before her death. - -We find her now suffering all the fluctuations in spirits old age is -subject to, sometimes complaining of feebleness and suffering, at others -returning to all the girlish playfulness of her younger days. On July -12th, 1819, she writes to her friend Mrs. Fitzhugh:— - -“Well, my dear friend, though I am not of rank and condition to be myself -at the Prince’s ball, my fine clothes, at any rate, will have that -honour. Lady B⸺ has borrowed my Lady Macbeth’s finest banquet dress, -and I wish her ladyship joy in wearing it, for I found the weight of it -almost too much for endurance for half an hour. How will she be able to -carry it for such a length of time? But young and old are expected to -appear, upon that ‘high solemnity’ in splendid and fanciful apparel, and -many of these beauties will appear in my stage finery. Lady C⸺ at first -intended to present herself (as she said very drolly) as a vestal virgin, -but has now decided upon the dress of a fair Circassian. I should like -to see this gorgeous assembly, and I have some thoughts of walking in in -the last dress of Lady Macbeth, and swear I came there in my sleep. But -enough of this nonsense.” - -Her brother John, sharer of most of her trials and triumphs, settled at -Lausanne towards the end of his life. The loss of his society was a sad -deprivation, and in 1821 she paid him a visit. Her daughter Cecilia, in -a letter home, described the delights of the villa the Kembles lived in, -and the beauty of the surrounding scenery. - -Mrs. Siddons meditated an expedition to Chamounix but for some reason it -was given up, and they went to Berne; the weather was wet, however, and -they were obliged to return sooner than they expected. They ate chamois, -crossed a lake, mounted a glacier with two men, cutting steps in the ice -with a hatchet, and did all that was required of them as travellers. “My -mother bore all the fatigues much more wonderfully than any of us,” the -letter ends. - -In spite of her wonderful energy, old age was creeping on her apace. -Erysipelas, which was ultimately fatal, frequently attacked her with -a burning soreness in her mouth, or with headaches that were equally -painful. She had to submit to that worst penalty of advancing years, the -death of friends; those of Mrs. Damer and of Mrs. Piozzi were a great -loss. In February 1823, John Kemble died at Lausanne. On the 9th he dined -out, and it was remarked that he was in very good spirits; the next -evening a few friends dropped in for a rubber of whist. The following -Sunday he was out in his garden; but while he was sitting reading the -paper, it fell from his hands. His wife rushed to him; he only faltered -a few words, begging her not to be alarmed. The doctor was sent for, but -one stroke after another seized him, and he died on the 20th. This was a -sad blow to Mrs. Siddons. - -In her seventy-third year she wrote to Mrs. Fitzhugh from Cobham Hall, -the seat of Lord Darnley:— - - “I have brought myself to see whether change of scene, and the - cordial kindness of my noble host and hostess, will not at - least do something to divert my torment. But real evils will - not give way to such applications, gratifying though they may - be. I have had the honour, however, of conversing with Prince - Leopold; he is a very agreeable and sensible converser, and Her - Royal Highness the Duchess of Kent seems to justify all the - opinions of her amiability. I have begun to recover the loss of - my dear little girls, George’s daughters. How I long to hear - they are safe in the arms of their anxious parents. In this - magnificent place, I assure you, my seventy-second birthday was - celebrated with the most gratifying and flattering cordiality. - We had music and Shakespeare, which Lord Darnley has at his - finger’s ends. I should have enjoyed the party more if it had - not been so large; but twenty-three people at dinner is rather - too much of a good thing.... Talking of the arts, I cannot help - thinking with sorrow of the statue of my poor brother. It is - an absolute libel on his noble person and air. I should like to - pound it into dust, and scatter it to the winds. - - “Yours, - - “S. S.” - -A statue of the great actress, by Chantry, was put up later, by Macready, -beside her brother’s in Westminster Abbey. - -In April 1831 she was attacked with the illness that was to prove fatal. -The appearance of the erysipelas in one of her ancles alarmed the -doctor, but she got better, and before the end of the month felt so far -recovered, that she laughingly told him that he need not come to see her -any more, for “she had health to sell.” - -Unfortunately, she ventured out driving soon afterwards, the day was -cold, and a chill seemed to have developed the erysipelas internally. On -the 31st May she was seized with sickness and ague, and in the course of -the evening both her legs were attacked with erysipelas inflammation. -This increased during the night, and was accompanied by much fever. In -the course of the following day there was a consultation of doctors. They -pronounced the case hopeless, mortification supervened, and about nine on -the morning of the 8th June she expired, after a week of acute suffering. - -On the 15th June she was buried in the New Ground of Paddington Church, -followed to the grave by her brother Charles Kemble, two sons of Henry -Siddons, and many others. Alas! of her own immediate family few were -left, and her eldest son was in India. In the procession were eleven -mourning coaches, with the performers of the Theatre Royal Drury Lane -and Covent Garden. When the burial service had been read, a young woman, -Campbell tells us, knelt down beside the coffin with demonstrations of -the wildest grief. She came veiled, and her name was never discovered. - -Why go into the items of the will Mrs. Siddons left, and the articles -she assigned to her heirs? To us she has bequeathed the memory of one of -the greatest dramatic artists that ever graced our stage, and of one of -the noblest of the long list of noble women enrolled in the annals of -our country. Time goes on whirling away all memories in its relentless -rush. A new generation is ever ready to depreciate the enthusiasms of -their grandfathers, and ours is incredulous when told of the powers of a -Garrick or a Siddons. - -It was with a feeling of pain that, while standing the other day by the -great actress’s grave where it lies lonely and untended in Paddington -churchyard, we heard that our cousins across the Atlantic set more -store on the memory of Sarah Siddons than we do. Miss Mary Anderson, -the custodian told us, whenever she is in London, comes up on Sunday -afternoons, with parties of her countrymen, to lay fresh flowers on the -grave, and has undertaken, at her own expense, to execute all necessary -repairs to the railings and tombstone. Let us, before it is too late, -anticipate this high-minded and generous offer. - - - - -FOOTNOTES - - -[1] It was the same Lady Lucan who was said once to have asked the -actress: “Pray, Madam, when you are to prepare yourself in a character, -what is your _primary object_ of attention, the _superstructure_, as it -may be called, or the ‘foundation’ of the part?” - -[2] Mrs. Piozzi, who, after Mr. Thrale’s death, had married again, much -to the disgust of the Johnsonian band. - -[3] On the first night of the O. P. riots, we are told the actress wore -a costume fashioned after the bridal suit of the unfortunate Queen of -Scots, and was a perfect blaze with the jewels in the stomacher of the -dress, as well as upon her hair and around her neck. - - -London: Printed by W. H. Allen & Co., 13 Waterloo Place. S.W. - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MRS. 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Kennard</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online -at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you -are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the -country where you are located before using this eBook. -</div> - -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: Mrs. Siddons</p> - -<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Nina A. Kennard</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Editor: John Ingram</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: September 5, 2021 [eBook #66222]</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Character set encoding: UTF-8</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Produced by: Nick Wall and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive)</div> - -<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MRS. SIDDONS ***</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_i"></a>[i]</span></p> - -<p class="titlepage larger"><i>Eminent Women Series</i></p> - -<p class="center">EDITED BY JOHN H. INGRAM</p> - -<p class="titlepage larger">MRS. SIDDONS.</p> - -<p class="titlepage smaller">(<i>All rights reserved</i>)</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_ii"></a>[ii]</span></p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_iii"></a>[iii]</span></p> - -<p class="titlepage larger">MRS. SIDDONS</p> - -<p class="titlepage"><span class="smaller">BY</span><br /> -MRS. A. KENNARD.</p> - -<p class="titlepage">LONDON:<br /> -W. H. ALLEN & CO., 13 WATERLOO PLACE, S.W.<br /> -1887.</p> - -<p class="center smaller">(<i>All rights reserved.</i>)</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_iv"></a>[iv]</span></p> - -<p class="titlepage smaller">LONDON:<br /> -PRINTED BY W. H. ALLEN AND CO., 13 WATERLOO PLACE, S.W.</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_v"></a>[v]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak">PREFACE.</h2> - -</div> - -<p>In spite of Mrs. Siddons’s professed shrinking from -the celebrity that biographers would confer upon her, -and her preference for the “still small voice of tender -relatives and estimable friends,” we know that she -bequeathed her Memoranda, Letters, and Diary to -the poet Campbell—an intimate friend during her -latter years—with a request that he would prepare -them for publication. How, with the ample material -at his command, Campbell wrote so bad a life, it -is difficult to conceive. He seemed conscious himself -that he was not doing justice to his subject. The -task of finishing it weighed on him like a nightmare. -To secure himself from interruption he would fix a -placard on the door of his chambers announcing that -“Mr. Campbell was engaged with the biography of -Mrs. Siddons, and was not to be disturbed.”</p> - -<p>Though performing the task unwillingly, he stubbornly -refused to allow anyone else to attempt it. -When Mrs. Jameson contemplated writing a life of -the great actress he was most indignant, and expressed -himself as unable to understand how Mrs. Combe -(Cecilia Siddons) could patronise a life of her mother<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_vi"></a>[vi]</span> -by Mrs. Jameson, knowing that he had been appointed -the biographer.</p> - -<p>Boaden’s account of Mrs. Siddons is sketchy and -meagre, and his style, if possible, more pedantic and -ponderous than Campbell’s. Crabb Robinson declared -it to be “one of the most worthless books of biography -in existence.”</p> - -<p>In writing an account of a woman like Mrs. Siddons, -or, indeed, of anyone whose life has been -passed entirely before the public, it is necessary to -divest the character as much as possible of the legendary -traditions adhering to it. It must be brought -down into the regions of ordinary life, and the only -way to accomplish this is to transcribe her actual -words and expressions written without thought of publication. -We must therefore ask our readers to forgive -us for quoting so many of her letters in full. When -we attempt to shorten or interpolate, all their easy -charm and freshness seems to evaporate.</p> - -<p>Mr. Percy Fitzgerald, in his <i>Lives of the Kembles</i>, -has incorporated Mrs. Siddons’s history with that of -her brother, John Kemble, and written by far the best -biography yet done of the great actress. To him we -must express our deep obligation, and almost our contrition, -for venturing to treat a subject already so ably -handled in his interesting volumes. We must also -express our gratitude to Mr. Alfred Morrison and Mr. -Thibaudeau for allowing us to make use of the valuable -documents contained in the Morrison collection of -autograph letters.</p> - -<p class="right">NINA A. KENNARD.</p> - -<p>February, 1887.</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_vii"></a>[vii]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak">CONTENTS.</h2> - -</div> - -<table summary="Contents"> - <tr> - <td></td> - <td class="tdpg smaller">PAGE</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>CHAPTER I.—<span class="smcap">Parentage and Childhood</span></td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_I">1</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>CHAPTER II.—<span class="smcap">Marriage</span></td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_II">18</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>CHAPTER III.—<span class="smcap">“Davey”</span></td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_III">33</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>CHAPTER IV.—<span class="smcap">Work</span></td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_IV">48</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>CHAPTER V.—<span class="smcap">Success</span></td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_V">67</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>CHAPTER VI.—<span class="smcap">Dublin and Edinburgh</span></td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_VI">81</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>CHAPTER VII.—<span class="smcap">Clouds</span></td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_VII">95</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>CHAPTER VIII.—<span class="smcap">Lady Macbeth</span></td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_VIII">115</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>CHAPTER IX.—<span class="smcap">Friends</span></td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_IX">130</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>CHAPTER X.—<span class="smcap">1782 to 1798</span></td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_X">149</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>CHAPTER XI.—<span class="smcap">Sheridan</span></td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_XI">172</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>CHAPTER XII.—<span class="smcap">Hermione</span></td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_XII">186</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>CHAPTER XIII.—<span class="smcap">Sorrows</span></td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIII">202</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>CHAPTER XIV.—<span class="smcap">Westbourne Farm</span></td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIV">216</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>CHAPTER XV.—<span class="smcap">Retirement</span></td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_XV">239</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>CHAPTER XVI.—<span class="smcap">Old Age</span></td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVI">255</a></td> - </tr> -</table> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_1"></a>[1]</span></p> - -<h1>MRS. SIDDONS.</h1> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_I">CHAPTER I.<br /> -<span class="smaller">PARENTAGE AND CHILDHOOD.</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p>The lax morality prevailing in England at the time of -the Restoration, produced a literary and dramatic -school of art suited to the taste of the public. Congreve -wrote <i>Love for Love</i>, and coolly remarked, when -accused of immorality, “that, if <i>it</i> were an immodest -play, he was incapable of writing a modest one.”</p> - -<p>The reaction from the almost overstrained energy -and chivalry of the Elizabethan age, which a century -of Stuart rule effected in the minds of Englishmen, had -brought them thus low. Manners were looked upon -as better than morals. Scepticism as better than belief, -as well when it concerned the tenets of the Bible as -the honour of their neighbours’ wives.</p> - -<p>The stage—especially when the public has no other -intellectual outlet—is invariably the test by which we -can discover the moral condition of a country. When -that condition is unnatural and feverish, proportionally -artificial and stimulating must be the mental -food presented to it, until the audience gradually<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_2"></a>[2]</span> -becomes incapable of digesting any other. The want -at the end of the seventeenth century produced the -supply. A drama arose which was polished, dainty, -finished in detail, but from the stage of which virtue -was excluded like a poor relation, who, clad in fustian, -and shod with hob-nail boots, is not supposed to be fit -company for profligate gentlemen in gold-embroidered -coats and lace ruffles.</p> - -<p>Shakespeare was too strong food for the digestive -capacities of an age whose poets preferred falsehood -to truth. Pepys speaks of <i>Henry VIII.</i> as a simple -thing made up “of a great many patches.” <i>The -Tempest</i>, he thinks, “has no great art, but yet good -above ordinary plays.” <i>Othello</i> was to him “a mean -thing,” compared to the last new comedy. He is -good enough, however, to allow that he liked or disliked -<i>Macbeth</i>, according to the humour of the hour, -but there was a “<i>divertissement</i>” in it, which struck -him as being a droll thing in tragedy.</p> - -<p>The fiery energy of Pitt was needed to galvanise -the paralysed enthusiasm, the fanatical earnestness of -John Wesley was needed to arouse the deadened moral -sense of England. Religion and patriotism come first -as important factors in the education of a people, but -they are closely followed by poetry and the drama. If -Pitt and Wesley did much to elevate the political and -religious tone, as much was done to elevate the literary -and dramatic by Samuel Johnson, Oliver Goldsmith, -David Garrick, and Sarah Siddons.</p> - -<p>Our readers may be inclined to think we exaggerate -the importance of the stage, by thus classing poets and -players together; but if we wish to appreciate the -influence wielded by players a hundred years ago, we -have but to examine the careers of these last two great<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_3"></a>[3]</span> -artists; and if we wish to appreciate the moral reform -effected, we have but to turn to a list of the plays in -vogue at the time of the Restoration and the plays in -vogue twenty years after Garrick had been acting, -and ten years after Sarah Siddons’s first appearance.</p> - -<p>The reaction came, as do all reactions, with too great -intensity; vice was not only punished in its own -person, but the sins of the father were visited on the -children, with a harshness almost Semitic. Through -the fine-spun sentiment of <i>The Fatal Marriage</i>, and -the melodramatic heroism of <i>The Grecian Daughter</i>, -two of Mrs. Siddons’ greatest parts, we trace the high -moral tone that cleared away eventually the foul and -noisome atmosphere hanging over the theatrical world. -Gloomy morality and dramatic pathos paved the way -for the return of the <i>Winter’s Tale</i> and <i>Hamlet</i>.</p> - -<p>Justly are the memories of David Garrick and -Sarah Siddons revered by Englishmen, not only because -they devoted their genius to the reinstatement of -England’s greatest dramatist, but that, also, by their -strict adherence to an almost rigid decorum in public -behaviour and private life, they raised a profession -that had hitherto been despised and looked upon as -one unbefitting a modest woman, or an honourable -man, into a position of respectability and consideration.</p> - -<p>That these two great artists had faults, who can -wonder? No reformation was ever yet accomplished -by the flaccid-minded ones, and we must remember -that many of the stories told of his vanity and meanness -and her hardness and reserve, were circulated by -their enemies on and off the stage, because of their -very rigidity and morality. In spite, however, of -some passing clouds, never was there a career so<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_4"></a>[4]</span> -admired, a personality so adored in public life, as -that of Mrs. Siddons. Whenever she appeared, enthusiastic -applause rang through the house, not only -on account of her pre-eminent genius, but because of -her untarnished private character. Step by step we -propose to trace the career of this wonderful woman, -who, dowered with singular beauty and genius, and -placed amid all the temptations of a profession in -which so few of her sex remain pure, has shown an -example of unswerving rectitude and religious fervour, -unusual in any walk of life, keeping her to the last a -“great simple being,” direct and truthful, noble and -industrious. She had faults, as we have said, but they -were so far outbalanced by her virtues that we can well -afford to forgive them; always remembering that, -though only the daughter of a strolling actor, born -amidst the lowliest surroundings, she conceived an ideal -of her art which enabled her to raise the stage of her -country, from consisting simply in the delineation -of the coarsest gallantry, into a source of the highest -moral and artistic instruction.</p> - -<p>Far from the strife of political parties or the vagaries -of fashionable dramatists, both she and Garrick, -with whose name we have coupled hers, were born in -the romantic country of Wales: he at Hereford; she -in the small town of Brecon, by the shores of the -river Usk. The following copy of her certificate -of baptism, from the register-book in St. Mary’s, -Brecon, is given in the <i>Gentleman’s Magazine</i> in 1826: -“Baptism, 1755, July 14th, Sarah, daughter of George -Kemble, a commedian (<i>sic</i>), and Sarah, his wife, was -baptised. Thomas Bevan, curate.” Her father’s name -was “Roger,” not “George,” as given above. The -young couple’s theatrical wanderings happened to<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_5"></a>[5]</span> -bring them, at the time of Mrs. Kemble’s confinement, -to the little Welsh town, where they had put up in the -High Street at a public-house familiarly called “The -Shoulder of Mutton.” In 1755 the inn was a picturesque -gable-fronted old house, with projecting upper -storey, exhibiting as sign-board a large shoulder of -mutton. It was much frequented by the farmers on -market-day for its good ale and its legs of mutton, -which might regularly in those days be seen roasting -before the kitchen fire, on a spit turned by a dog in a -wheel.</p> - -<p>Brecon is not without dramatic and historic interest, -and, as Mrs. Siddons afterwards was fond of pointing -out, is several times mentioned by Shakespeare. Buckingham, -in <i>Richard III.</i>, says:</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">Oh! let me think on Hastings, and begone</div> - <div class="verse indent0">To Brecon whilst my fearful head is on.</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p class="noindent">Sir Hugh Evans also, that “remnant of Welsh flannel,” -in the <i>Merry Wives of Windsor</i>, was curate of the -priory of Brecon in the days of Queen Elizabeth; and -from the intimacy which existed between Shakespeare -and the priors of the priory, Campbell tells us, “an -idea prevails that he frequently visited them at their -residence in Brecon, and that he not only availed himself -of the whimsicalities of old Sir Hugh, but that he -was indebted for much of the romantic setting of the -<i>Midsummer Night’s Dream</i> to the surrounding scenery, -where Puck and his fairy companions are familiar -household words, one of the glens in the neighbourhood -being named Cwm Pwca, or the Valley of Puck.” -Be this as it may, we cannot wonder at Mrs. Siddons’ -desire to connect the places that played important -parts in her fortunes with the name of the great poet -whom she honoured so devotedly and so well.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_6"></a>[6]</span></p> - -<p>Roger Kemble, father of the little girl, was the -manager of a strolling company of actors, his theatrical -“circuit” including the counties of Staffordshire, -Gloucestershire, and Warwickshire. He was -born in Hereford in the year 1721, and it was said -that he began life as a “barber.” John Kemble, when -convivial, would sometimes allude to this fact; but, -indeed, in those days many actors are said to have been -“barbers,” the fact being that, when strolling, it was -sometimes found convenient for one of the company -to combine the two professions. He was a Roman -Catholic, and was fond of tracing his descent from -an old English family, claiming as ancestors a Captain -Kemble, who fought at Worcester in the camp of the -Stuarts, and a Father Kemble, who died for the faith -a few years later.</p> - -<p>Her mother was a Miss Ward, daughter also of an -actor and manager of a strolling company. Peg -Woffington, when only fifteen, played at his theatre -in Auniger Street, until Mr. Ward’s strait-laced -severity drove the wild young Irish girl away. The -Wards seem, indeed, to have been almost Methodistical -in their strict religious views. The following inscription -may be seen on their tomb at Leominster:</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">Here, waiting for the Saviour’s great assize,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">And hoping through His merits hence to rise</div> - <div class="verse indent0">In glorious mode, in this dark closet lies</div> - </div> - -<p class="center"><span class="smcap">John Ward, Gent.</span>,<br /> -Who died Oct. 30th, 1773, aged 69 years;</p> - -<p class="center">Also<br /> -<span class="smcap">Sarah, his Wife</span>,<br /> -Who died Jan. 30th, 1786, aged 75 years.</p> -</div> -</div> - -<p>Mrs. Siddons was, therefore, 31 before her grandmother -died. Tough, vigorous races, both Kembles<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_7"></a>[7]</span> -and Wards, full of religion and prejudices, which -they kept intact until they died. On one side we see -the great actress inherited Irish blood. John Ward -was an Irishman, and Sally, his daughter, was born -in Clonmel. Roger Kemble, a member of Ward’s -company, aided by his good looks, courteous manners, -and fine black eyes, won the heart of Sally Ward. -The father strongly objected to the match; but, -finding opposition of no avail, at last reluctantly -consented, making the hackneyed joke—afterwards -attributed to Roger Kemble himself, on the occasion -of Sarah’s marriage with Siddons—that “he wished -her not to become the wife of an actor, and she had -certainly complied with his request.”</p> - -<p>The young couple were married at Cirencester in -the year 1753. Sarah was their first child. John -Philip, the second, was born two years after his sister, -at Prescott in Lancashire. They had ten brothers and -sisters, and, although all of them—except those who -died in very early youth—went on the stage, none -reached the pre-eminence of the two eldest. They -were an intelligent, industrious family, blossoming into -genius in one member and very remarkable talent in -another. As Roger Kemble was a Catholic and his -wife a Protestant, it was agreed that the girls were -to be brought up in the mother’s faith, the boys in -their father’s.</p> - -<p>The accounts given us of Mrs. Siddons’ childhood -are meagre; but, from numerous memoirs and racy -theatrical reminiscences, we can see what the life of -the travelling actor in England a hundred years ago -was like, with all its accompaniments of squalor and -humiliation. In these days, when actors and actresses -of no very great eminence are whirled about in first-class<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_8"></a>[8]</span> -express carriages or in special trains from place -to place, it is difficult, in spite of accurate information, -to realise the hardships attending the profession then. -The travelling from town to town in all weathers, in -carts little better than those constituting a gipsy caravan; -the parading through the streets, offering play-bills -and puffs. A resident of Warwick—Walter Whiter, -the commentator on Shakespeare—when Mrs. Siddons -had “become known all the world over,” recalled as -one of the sights of his boyhood in the town, the -daylight procession of old Roger Kemble’s company, -advertising and giving a foretaste of the evening’s -entertainment. A little girl, the future Queen of -Tragedy, marched with them in white and spangles, -her train held by a handsome boy in black velvet, -John Philip Kemble, of the “all hail hereafter.”</p> - -<p>It is almost impossible to conceive the ignominy -the company was subjected to, when either the mayor -of the town—which was often the case—had forbidden -theatrical representation, or when, owing to the pranks -of some rowdy members of the troupe, the feeling of -the inhabitants was aroused against them collectively, -and they were obliged to cringe and supplicate for a -renewal of the favour of the changeable and narrow-minded -provincials.</p> - -<p>Enough of the Puritan spirit still remained to induce -Government to frequently place restrictions on the -representations of the “Servants of Belial.” A story -is told of the Kemble company evading the tax on -unlicensed houses, introduced by Sir Robert Walpole, -by selling tooth-powder at a shilling a box, and giving -the ticket; a proceeding which reminds one of the old -smuggling trick of selling a sham sack of corn, and -making a present of the keg of brandy placed within it.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_9"></a>[9]</span></p> - -<p>The representations of these strolling actors, FitzGerald -tells us, took place sometimes in a coach-house -or barn, or sometimes in a room of an inn; even the -open inn-yard, with its galleries running round, was -now and then converted into a theatre. All sorts of -old clothes and decorations were borrowed, a few -candles stuck in bottles in front, and then the play -began. Very often the proceeds did not cover expenses, -and either debts were made or the owner of -the inn let them go scot-free in consideration of the -amusement they had afforded his guests.</p> - -<p>The shifts and tribulations, related later by the -Kembles themselves, seem almost incredible. Stephen -Kemble, the wittiest of the family, described with -great humour a season of privation in a wretched -village, where the unfortunate actors could not muster -a farthing, and were in consequence dunned and abused -by their landladies. To avoid their persecution he lay -in bed two days, suffering the pangs of hunger, and -then was obliged to take refuge in a distant turnip-field, -where he persuaded a fellow-actor to accompany -him by boasting of the hospitality and size of the -establishment.</p> - -<p>In one town the theatre was said to have been built, -the stage in Sussex, the audience in Kent, the two -being divided by a ditch, so as to enable the players to -evade their bailiffs by escaping into another county. -There is a certain humour and tragedy running -through all these theatrical histories, that makes us -laugh at one moment at the comical incidents related, -and makes us sad the next to think of men -of talent—often men of genius—being subjected to -such degradation.</p> - -<p>It is difficult to understand how Sarah and John<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_10"></a>[10]</span> -Kemble can have emerged from it so untainted by -its associations, and so far above its social and artistic -aims and ideals; or how their stately manners and -stem ideas of morality and decorum can have been -fostered in such an atmosphere. In blaming them, -perhaps, later, for what their detractors called their -“closeness” about money matters, we must remember -that the years of suffering and privation they had been -through, and the very laxity they saw around them, -was likely to crystallise strong natures like theirs -into hardness and rigidity, exaggerating, perhaps, -their ideas of theatrical dignity and self-respect.</p> - -<p>There can be no doubt, in spite of all its drawbacks, -that, from a professional point of view, the -Bohemian existence of the strolling comedian was a -valuable discipline for artistic perception. The intimate -communion in which all lived together, gave -much more chance of expansion to rising genius than -the artificial barriers now erected between the leader -of a company and his subordinates. Not only was the -freemasonry existing between underling and superior -invaluable, but also the course of probation before -country audiences, who, uninfluenced by prestige or -fashion, spoke their mind without reserve. Young recruits, -who arrived ignorant and raw, thus obtained -the necessary ease of deportment and knowledge of -stage effects, uninfluenced by preconceived ideas. The -very fact, also, of so much depending on the individual -excellence of the actor, independently of scenery and -accessories, was a valuable stimulus. His expression, -his action, had to tell the story.</p> - -<p>In passing his earliest years upon the stage, the -strolling actor obtained a power of identification with -theatrical representation only to be thus acquired.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_11"></a>[11]</span> -The atmosphere he breathed from his earliest years -was dramatic. When quite a child, Sarah Kemble -was announced as an “Infant phenomenon,” at an -entertainment the company gave. As she appeared, -some confusion arose in the gallery which overpowered -all her attempts. Her mother immediately led her -down to the footlights, and made her recite the fable -of <i>The Boys and Frogs</i>, which at once lulled the -tumult and restored good humour. Thus early was the -actress taught to dominate her audience, an art that -stood her in good stead in after life.</p> - -<p>Besides this early theatrical training, Sarah received -as good an education in the ordinary rudiments -of learning as it was possible for her energetic mother -to obtain for her. Mrs. Kemble sent her child to -respectable day schools, we are told, in the country -towns to which their various wanderings brought the -troupe. At Worcester, a schoolmistress of the name -of Harris received her among her pupils at Thornloe -House, refusing to accept any payment. An old lady, -living not long ago, recalled perfectly the contempt of -the young girls in the establishment for the “play -actors’ daughter,” until, some private theatricals being -set on foot, her histrionic taste and experience made -her services extremely valuable. She won universal -popularity by exhibiting a device for imitating a “sack -back” with thick sugar-loaf paper procured from the -grocer. But this education must have been desultory, -for Roger Kemble could not afford to dispense with -the girl’s assistance.</p> - -<p>Besides the appearance mentioned above, we hear -of her acting as a child, in a barn at the back of the -“Old Bell Inn,” at Stourbridge, Worcestershire, when -some officers quartered in the neighbourhood gave<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_12"></a>[12]</span> -their services. It is said that she burst into laughter -at the most tragic moment, and inflamed to fury the -military tragedian who acted with her. The play was -<i>The Grecian Daughter</i>. Another tradition tells us -that her first appearance in a regular five-act piece -was as Leonora in <i>The Padlock</i>.</p> - -<p>A play-bill of one of these early performances was -found not long ago, pasted on a brick wall in a shoemaker’s -shop, in one of the country towns of the -Kemble circuit.</p> - -<p>Campbell tells that Roger Kemble determined not -to allow his children to follow his vocation; we think, -however, this statement must be bracketed with the -legend of the ancestor at the battle of Worcester, for -we find him, as we have seen, making Sarah appear -when almost a baby, and taking John away from a -day school at Worcester, while still in frock and pinafores, -to act in Havard’s tragedy of <i>Charles the First</i>. -The characters were thus cast: James, Duke of Richmond, -by Mr. Siddons, who was now an actor in -Kemble’s company; James, Duke of York, by Master -John Kemble, who was then eleven years old; the -young princess by Miss Kemble, then about thirteen; -Lady Fairfax, by Mrs. Kemble. Singing between the -acts by Mr. Fowler and Miss Kemble. In the April -following, we again find “Mr. Kemble’s company -of Comedians” appearing in “a celebrated comedy,” -called <i>The Tempest, or the Enchanted Island</i>, with -all the scenery, machinery, music, monsters, and the -decorations proper to be given, entirely new. “The -performance will open with a representation of a tempestuous -sea (in perpetual agitation), and storm, in -which the usurper’s ship is wrecked; the wreck ends -with a beautiful shower of fire; and the whole to conclude<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_13"></a>[13]</span> -with a calm sea, on which appears Neptune, -poetick god of the ocean, and his royal consort, Amphitrite, -in a chariot drawn by sea-horses, &c. &c.” It -was in this performance, as Ariel, Chief Spirit, that, -at the age of thirteen, Sarah made her first success. -“She darted hither and thither,” we are told, “with -such airy grace; there was something so sprite-like in -her free swiftness of motion, she seemed to be so -entirely a creature born of the loves of a breeze and a -sunbeam, that the whole audience broke into frantic -applause at the end of the play, and her proud happy -father began dimly to foresee his daughter’s future.”</p> - -<p>Later, we find a performance by the company of -<i>Love in a Village</i> announced, the names printed -thus:—</p> - -<ul> -<li>Sir William Meadows, by Mr. K—mb—le.</li> -<li>Young Meadows, by Mr. S—dd—ns.</li> -<li>Rosetta, by Miss K—mb—le.</li> -<li>Madge, by Mrs. K—mb—le.</li> -<li>Housemaid, by Miss F. K—mb—le.</li> -</ul> - -<p>In the November following, John Philip was sent -to Sedgely Park near Wolverhampton, a Catholic -seminary. A short entry has been discovered in the -College books, stating that “John and (<i>sic</i>) Philip -Kemble came Nov. 3rd 1767, and brought 4 suits of -clothes, 12 shirts, 12 pairs of stockings, 6 pairs of -shoes, 4 hats, 2 <i>Daily Companions</i>, a Half Manual, -knives, forks, spoons, <i>Æsop’s Fables</i>, combs, 1 brush -8 handkerchiefs, 8 nightcaps.”</p> - -<p>“Jack abiit, July 28, 1771.”</p> - -<p>After four years’ residence here, his father sent -him to the English College at Douai, to pursue a -regular divinity course, his intention being to put the -future Coriolanus into the priesthood.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_14"></a>[14]</span></p> - -<p>Sarah still continued her studies, such as they were, -at the various towns at which the “comedians” -pitched their tent in their wanderings to and fro. -She was taught vocal and instrumental music, and her -father, remarking that she had fine natural powers of -elocution, wished them cultivated by regular tuition -as a part of her education, with no view to the stage; -for this purpose he was tempted to enter into an agreement -with an individual named William Combe, to -give her a course of lessons.</p> - -<p>The itinerant players were generally looked upon -as a valuable addition to the inn parlour, and were -welcome to a supper or a pot of ale in return for their -society and amusing talk. It was on one of these -occasions that Roger Kemble, who was a jovial and -popular companion, met Combe, and was so attracted -by his clever conversation, as to engage him as instructor -to his daughter. Mrs. Kemble, evidently a -woman of considerable common sense and penetration, -refused to ratify the appointment, however, and Roger -was obliged to get out of his promise by giving a performance -for the benefit of the adventurer, who, having -run through a fortune, was perfectly penniless.</p> - -<p>To the last day of his life William Combe entertained -a rancorous dislike to the great actress, and -took pleasure in telling his friends maliciously how -sordid her early life had been, and how he himself remembered -her, when a girl, standing at the wing of a -country theatre, beating snuffers against a candlestick -to represent the sound of a windmill, in some rude -pantomime.</p> - -<p>Curiously enough, Milton’s poetry more than Shakespeare’s -was the object of Sarah’s admiration in her -youth. When but ten years old, Campbell tells us,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_15"></a>[15]</span> -she pored over <i>Paradise Lost</i> for hours together. The -long, tiresome speeches between Adam and his wife, -Satan’s address to the sun—most children’s despair—were -her delight. The stately, ponderous verse suited -her genius. The poet also gives us a story which, he -tells, Mrs. Siddons left amongst her memoranda.</p> - -<p>One day her mother promised to take her out with -a party of friends picnicking in the neighbourhood. -She was to wear a new pink dress, if the weather were -fine. On going to bed the evening before the great -event, she took her prayer-book with her, and opening -it, as she supposed, at the prayer for fine weather, fell -asleep with the book folded in her arms. At daybreak -the child found, to her dismay, that she had -been holding the prayer for rain to her breast, and -that the rain—Heaven having taken her at her word—was -pelting against the windows. She went to bed -again, with the book opened at the right place, and -found the mistake remedied. When she awoke the -morning was as rosy as the dress she was to wear.</p> - -<p>Croker thinks it necessary, with all the weight of -his authority, to refute this childish reminiscence, by -pointing out that the prayers for rain and fine weather -are on the same page of the prayer-book. We repeat -the story principally because it shows the quaint -methodistical piety and almost childish superstition -which dwelt with Mrs. Siddons all through her -chequered career. There is little doubt this piety was -greatly owing to the principles inculcated by her -mother.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Kemble was a stately, austere woman, with a -certain amount of genius and much force of character, -and energetic and brave in her humble sphere of -life, in most difficult circumstances. She fought by<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_16"></a>[16]</span> -the side of her husband a hard battle with poverty, -and maintained and educated a family of twelve children. -Spartan in her views of training youth, her -imperious despotism of character has often been -described as absolutely awful. It was the custom of -the time to rule a household with some sternness, but -her children trembled in her presence. In later days -she addressed a characteristic reproof to her son -John: “Sir, you are as proud as Lucifer.” He -and that majestic mother of his must indeed have -been a Coriolanus and Volumnia in every-day life. -Her voice had much of the measured emphasis of her -daughter’s, and her portrait, the only one we know of, -that always hung in Mrs. Siddons’ sitting-room, had -an intellectual, almost grand expression, reminding us -more of a good-looking Elizabeth Fry, with the tight-fitting -frilled cap, and soft muslin handkerchief -crossed around the throat, than what one might have -pictured Sally Kemble, the strolling actress. Though -extremely handsome when Roger Kemble first married -her, and subjected to all the temptations of an -actress’s life, she never wavered in wifely devotion, and -would maintain to the last day of her life that in -some parts her Roger was “unparalleled.” Hers is -the only testimony to that effect, and we rather -imagine him to have been a very indifferent actor, -but a handsome good-tempered man with the manners -of a gentleman, and views of life beyond his humble -profession.</p> - -<p>Proud, reserved, John Kemble paid, years after, -the best tribute to his memory, when, on hearing of -his death, he wrote to his brother from Madrid, on -31st December 1802: “How sincerely I always loved -my father and respected his sound understanding, you<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_17"></a>[17]</span> -know too well for it to be necessary that I should -even mention what I feel this moment, on opening -your letter. God Almighty receive him into His -everlasting happiness, and teach me to be resigned -and resolute, to deserve to follow him when my appointed -hour is come. My poor mother, though I -know she will exert becoming firmness of mind in this, -and every passage of her life, cannot but feel a melancholy -void in losing the companion of her youth, the -associate of her advancing years, and the father of her -children. I regret from the very bottom of my heart -that I cannot, with the most dutiful affection, assure -her, at her feet, that what a grateful son can offer and -do shall never be wanting from me to promote her -content and ease and happiness. How, in vain, have -I delighted myself in thousands of inconvenient occurrences -on this journey, with the thought of contemplating -my father’s cautious incredulity while I related -them to him! Millions of things, uninteresting maybe -to anybody else, I had treasured up for his surprise -and scrutiny! It is God’s pleasure that he is gone -from us. The resignation I had long observed in him -to the will of Heaven, and his habitual piety, are no -small consolation to me; yet I cannot help feeling a -dejected swelling at my heart, that keeps me in a flood -of tears for him, in spite of all I can do to stop them.”</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_18"></a>[18]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_II">CHAPTER II.<br /> -<span class="smaller">MARRIAGE.</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p>As Sarah Kemble passed from childhood to early -womanhood, she continued to act the round of all the -company’s plays, taking more important parts as she -grew older. The very atmosphere she breathed was -dramatic. To walk the stage was a second nature to -her. She was not, however, at the same time shut out -from common-place every-day matters. She helped -her mother in the household work, and went from a -rehearsal to the making of a pudding or the darning -of a pair of stockings. There is little doubt that this -free mixing in the simple family life of her home gave -a healthy balance to her mind. Like her mother, she -always kept her domestic life intact in the midst of her -professional occupations, and ever remained simple and -womanly. Her fine friends in later days would tell -how they had found her ironing a frock for one of -her children, or studying a new part while she rocked -the cradle of the last baby.</p> - -<p>At the age of sixteen, Sarah’s beauty had attracted -the attention of her audiences. One or two squires of -the county places they visited offered her their homage; -but before she was seventeen her affections were<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_19"></a>[19]</span> -already engaged by a member of the troupe, an ex-apprentice -from Birmingham.</p> - -<p>We have already seen the name of Siddons figuring -on the Kemble play-bills, when Sarah was only thirteen -years of age. We can imagine, therefore, all the -opportunities that the young people had of falling in -love, rehearsing together, acting together, with the -continual communion of interest brought about by -their profession. No wonder that even Mr. Evans, a -Welsh squire, with three hundred a year, who, enslaved -by Sarah’s singing of <i>Robin, Sweet Robin</i>, -offered her his hand, was ignominiously refused. Her -parents, however, took a different view, and, allured -by the splendour of Mr. Evans’s offer, revoked the -unwilling consent they had given to their daughter’s -engagement to Siddons, and summarily dismissed him -from the company.</p> - -<p>The indignant lover had recourse to a method of -revenge that seems as novel as it was ungentlemanly. -Being allowed a farewell benefit, he took the opportunity—it -was at Brecon—of taking the audience into -his confidence, and, in doggrel of the worst description, -informed them of his woes:—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">Ye ladies of Brecon, whose hearts ever feel</div> - <div class="verse indent0">For wrongs like to this I’m about to reveal,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Excuse the first product, nor pass unregarded</div> - <div class="verse indent0">The complaints of poor Colin, a lover discarded.</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">Yet still on his Phyllis his hopes were all placed,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">That her vows were so firm they could ne’er be effaced;</div> - <div class="verse indent0">But soon she convinced him ’twas all a mere joke,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">For duty rose up, <i>and her vows were all broke</i>.</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">Dear ladies, avoid one indelible stain,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Excuse me, I beg, if my verse is too plain;</div> - <div class="verse indent0"><i>But a jilt is the devil</i>, as has long been confessed,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Which a heart like poor Colin’s must ever detest.</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_20"></a>[20]</span></p> - -<p>We only give three verses of the eleven, being as -much, we think, as our readers could submit to with -patience.</p> - -<p>How a girl of any spirit could forgive a lover for -thus exposing their private affairs, and how a girl of -any artistic appreciation could forgive a lover such -bad verses, and take him back into her good graces, -is more than we can understand. Mrs. Kemble, her -mother, seemed to take the most correct view of the -situation, for, instead of excusing “the first product” -of the luckless poet, “his merits tho’ small,” she -amply rewarded with a ringing box on the ears as he -left the stage.</p> - -<p>Jones, a member of Roger Kemble’s company, preserved -some verses written by Sarah to her lover, -which show her to be as superior to him in taste and -poetic perception, as she afterwards proved herself in -dramatic power:—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">Say not, Strephon, I’m untrue,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">When I only think of you;</div> - <div class="verse indent0">If you do but think of me</div> - <div class="verse indent0">As I of you, then shall you be</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Without a rival in my heart,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Which ne’er can play a tyrant’s part.</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Trust me, Strephon, with thy love—</div> - <div class="verse indent0">I swear by Cupid’s bow above,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Nought shall make me e’er betray</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Thy passion till my dying day:</div> - <div class="verse indent0">If I live, or if I die,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Upon my constancy rely.</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>Siddons sufficiently relied on her constancy, in spite -of his statements to “ye ladies of Brecon,” to suggest -to his beloved an immediate elopement, which suggestion -she, as Campbell quaintly puts it, “tempering -amatory with filial duty,” politely declined, and her -lover left.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_21"></a>[21]</span></p> - -<p>As it was considered advisable to wean Sarah from -old associations she was sent away for a time, and -lived “under the protection” of Mrs. Greatheed, -of Guy’s Cliff in Warwickshire. Some have maintained -that she was nursemaid or housemaid; but -the terms she was on with her mistress, who presented -her with a copy of Milton, precludes that idea, unless, -by her smartness and industry, she, within -a very short period of her engagement, worked herself -into a better position. Campbell also points out -that there were no children to be nursed in the -Greatheed family at that time. “Her station with -them,” he continues, “was humble, but not servile, -and her principal employment was to read to the elder -Mr. Greatheed.” The secret history of the green -room informs us that she was maid to Lady Mary -Bertie, Samuel Greatheed’s second wife; and the -Duchess of Ancaster told Mrs. Geneste she well remembered -Lady Mary once bringing this attractive -attendant with her on a visit.</p> - -<p>It was remarked that she delighted in reciting fragments -of plays for the entertainment of the servants’ -hall. Lord Robert Bertie was so fond of listening and -admiring her declamation, that Lady Mary had to beg -of him to desist, and “not encourage the girl to go on -the stage.” Young Greatheed told Miss Wynn later -on that he had often heard Mrs. Siddons read <i>Macbeth</i> -when she was his mother’s maid.</p> - -<p>Lady Mary confessed years afterwards to “Conversation” -Sharp, that so queenly was the bearing of the -young girl, even at that early age, that she always felt -an irresistible inclination to rise from her chair when -her maid came to attend her.</p> - -<p>We can imagine the romantic girl wandering through<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_22"></a>[22]</span> -the lonely glades, and amongst the stately elm-groves -of Guy’s Cliff, or along the shores of the soft-flowing -Avon, Shakespeare’s Avon, that glides at the foot of -the rocks between green meadows, dreaming of her -love, and reading the poet she loved so well, whose -birth-place and burial-place lay so near where she was. -She must have heard reminiscences told of the great -Jubilee that had taken place in 1769, only three years -before, when Mr. Garrick and a “brilliant company -of nobility and gentry,” had come down to Stratford -to celebrate the Shakesperean centenary. She little -knew then that it was in a repetition of the Jubilee procession -on the boards of Drury Lane she was destined -to make her first bow to a London audience. There -is a tradition that she met Garrick during her stay at -Guy’s Cliff. It is not impossible, as, after the Jubilee, -he was a constant guest of the Greatheeds. The statement -hardly tallies, however, with his writing sometime -later to Moody to the effect that there “was a -woman Siddons” acting at Liverpool, who might suit -the Drury Lane company, and asking him to go and -have a look at her. He might easily, however, have -failed to connect the girl Sarah Kemble with the -woman Mrs. Siddons.</p> - -<p>It redounds much to the credit both of the Greatheeds -and the actress, that afterwards, in spite of the -change of circumstances, Mrs. Siddons ever remained -a firm friend of the family. We find Miss Berry in -1822, forty-seven years later, writing in her journal:—</p> - -<p>“Guy’s Cliff, Tuesday, Jan. 1st.—Mrs. Siddons and -her daughter arrived.</p> - -<p>“Wednesday, 2nd.—Mrs. Siddons read <i>Othello</i>, -the two parts of Iago and Othello, quite <i>à merveille</i>.”</p> - -<p>We find Bertie Greatheed standing sponsor for her<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_23"></a>[23]</span> -daughter Cecilia in 1794; and, greatest test of true -friendship, writing a tragedy, <i>The Regent</i>, which failed -disastrously.</p> - -<p>In spite of stern parents and social obstacles, “Love -will be ever Lord of all.” William Siddons came -several times to Guy’s Cliff to see her. There, almost -within sight of Shottery, where Shakespeare enacted -his love story with Anne Hathaway, Sarah Kemble -enacted hers. Wandering amidst the scented fields -through which Shakespeare wandered, William Siddons -again pleaded his cause, and was forgiven his bad -verses and untimely confidences for the sake of his -persistency.</p> - -<p>The Kembles, seeing the attachment was serious, -at last gave their consent, and in her nineteenth year -Sarah Kemble became Mrs. Siddons.</p> - -<p>The marriage took place at Trinity Church, Coventry, -November 26th, 1773, and on the 4th of October following, -the first child, Henry, was born, at Wolverhampton.</p> - -<p>Mr. Siddons was just the man to fascinate a young -and high-spirited girl. Good-looking, calm, sedate, -even-tempered, not over-burdened with brain-power, -and not too much will of his own. One might apply -to him what Johnson said of Sheridan’s father, “He -is not a bad man, no, Sir; were mankind to be divided -into good and bad, he would stand considerably within -the ranks of the good.” “A damned rascally player,” -the Rev. Henry Bate says forcibly, “but a civil -fellow.” We are told that he had not only that -invention which in provincial theatres is the first of -requisites, but he also possessed the second, a quick -study, in almost unequalled perfection. He could make -himself master of the longest dramatic character between<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_24"></a>[24]</span> -night and night, and deliver it with the accuracy -that seems to result only from long application; but so -slight was the impression made, that it escaped from -his memory in as few hours as he had employed -to learn it. It was said later, by members of his -wife’s company, that though Siddons was a bad actor -himself, he was an excellent judge, always drilling his -wife, and very cross at any failure. His position as -husband of the “great Mrs. Siddons,” continually -cast into the shade by her superiority, was an unthankful -one, but we must confess that he filled it -with commendable equanimity.</p> - -<p>Their love wore better than the tinsel finery amidst -which it began. The happy domestic life that succeeded -was undoubtedly a great safe-guard amidst -the dangers and difficulties of her life, saving her -from much that is the ruin of her less protected -sisters. We are told that in the days of her success, -when her would-be admirers and lovers were legion, -her husband’s ear was the one to which she confided -all the incidents of attempted gallantry, invariably -attending an actress’s life; and many were the -hearty laughs they indulged in together over them. -Perhaps now and then there was too great an inclination -to make use of him. We find the poor man -writing to managers as their obedient humble servant, -making piteous appeals to Garrick, and put forward to -dun Sheridan for the amount due to his wife; but at -first they seem to have shared all the trials and -struggles of their profession together.</p> - -<p>Wolverhampton was their first stage after their -marriage. The reigning Mayor seems to have nourished -a prejudice against all actors. He had closed -the King’s Head Yard, and declared contemptuously<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_25"></a>[25]</span> -that “neither player, puppy, nor monkey,” should perform -in the town. After a popular demonstration, he -was induced to rescind this harsh interdict; and by the -Christmas of 1773, Roger Kemble was giving two -stock dramas, <i>The West Indian</i> and <i>The Padlock</i>. -Sarah appeared for the first time as Mrs. Siddons, at -a farewell “Bespeak.” An address, written by herself, -and spoken on this occasion, has been found and -published by an inhabitant of Wolverhampton:—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">Ladies and Gentlemen,—my spouse and I</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Have had a squabble, and I’ll tell you why.</div> - <div class="verse indent0">He said I must appear; nay, vowed ’twas right</div> - <div class="verse indent0">To give you thanks for favours shown to-night.</div> - <div class="verse center">...</div> - <div class="verse indent0">He still insisted, and, to win consent,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Strove to o’ercome me with a compliment;</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Told me that I the favourite here had reigned,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">While he but small or no applause had gained.</div> - <div class="verse indent0">“Pen me some lines where I may talk and swagger,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Of poisons, murders, done by bowl or dagger;</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Or let me, with my brogue and action ready,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Give them a brush, my dear, of Widow Brady.”</div> - <div class="verse center">...</div> - <div class="verse indent0">First, for a father, who on this fair ground,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Has met with friendship seldom to be found,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">May th’ All-Good Power your every virtue nourish,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Health, wealth, and trade in Wolverhampton flourish!</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>This doggrel is almost on a par with Mr. Siddons’s -effusion to the Ladies of Brecon.</p> - -<p>In the year following Mr. and Mrs. Siddons made -their way to Cheltenham, then a town consisting of -but one street, “through the middle of which ran a -clear stream of water, with stepping-stones that served -as a bridge.” Already, however, its merits as a watering -place had been noised abroad, and some of the -“people of quality” had begun to find their way there. -Seeing the play of <i>Venice Preserved</i> announced for<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_26"></a>[26]</span> -representation at the theatre, some of the fashionables -took tickets, hoping to be highly diverted with the -badness of the rustic performance. The man at the -box-office, who had listened to their thoughtless -remarks, reported them to Mrs. Siddons, who was to -act the part of Belvidera. The young actress felt -oppressed at the idea of the ordeal she was to be subjected -to. Ridicule was all her life the one thing the -tragic muse could not face; and from the moment of first -coming on she was conscious of the antagonistic influence -in one of the boxes, and imagined she heard -sounds of suppressed laughter. She left the theatre -after the play, deeply mortified. Next day, Mr. Siddons -met Lord Aylesbury in the street, who inquired -after Mrs. Siddons’s health. He then expressed his -admiration of her acting the night before, and declared -that the ladies of his party had wept so excessively -that they were laid up with headaches. Mr. Siddons -rushed home to gladden his wife’s heart with the news. -The actress owed one of the truest friendships of her -life to this incident, for Miss Boyle, Lord Aylesbury’s -step-daughter, came to call on her the same day to -express her delight in person, and from that time -never allowed the intimacy to drop. This lady seems -to have possessed considerable artistic gifts in several -ways, having, as Campbell tells us with much emphasis, -written <i>An Ode to a Poppy</i>, which was thought full of -merit in her day. What was of more importance to -the young actress, however, than her new friend’s -qualifications for writing “odes” was her power of -making costumes for different parts with her own -hands, and her generosity in supplying “properties” -from her own wardrobe. There were some, however, -that even the Honourable Miss Boyle did not possess.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_27"></a>[27]</span> -For the male habiliments of the Widow Brady, the -young actress found on the night of the performance -that no provision had been made. The story goes that -a gentleman politely left the box where he was seated, -lent her his coat, and stood in the side-scenes with a -petticoat over his shoulders until his property was -restored to him. Whether this courteous individual -was Lord Aylesbury we are not told, but we know that -he was one of Miss Boyle’s party.</p> - -<p>The particular fascination of Mrs. Siddons’s acting -in those early days was its simplicity and pathos, -which, united with remarkable beauty and power of -expression, gained the hearts of all rustic audiences. -Her talent, however, seems to have been singularly -immature, considering the continual practice she had -enjoyed, almost from her cradle, in stage affairs. -Rachel reached the summit of her power at seventeen, -Mrs. Siddons not until she was thirty. She -herself confesses later, in the account she gives of her -first reading of <i>Macbeth</i>: “Being then only twenty -years of age, I believed, as many others do believe, -that little more was necessary than to get the words -into my head; for the necessity of discrimination, and -the development of character, at that time of my life, -had scarcely entered into my imagination.”</p> - -<p>The power of drawing tears, however, was already -hers, and rumours of the charm and beauty of the -young actress had been wafted to London, reaching -even the ears of the great Garrick himself. Mrs. -Siddons tells us, in her Autograph Recollections: -“Mr. King, by order of Mr. Garrick, who had heard -some account of me from the Aylesbury family, came -to Cheltenham to see me in the <i>Fair Penitent</i>. I knew -neither Mr. King nor his purpose at the time.” Neither<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_28"></a>[28]</span> -did she know of the second emissary whom Garrick -sent, the Rev. Henry Bate, who in 1781 took the name -of Dudley, and was afterwards made a canon and a -baronet; a bruising, muscular clergyman of the old -school, who fought duels one moment and wrote -“slashing” articles on every subject, “human and -divine,” the next. He was well known as a theatrical -censor and critic of considerable acumen. We know -him by Gainsborough’s portrait, standing in a garden -with his dog. It is said that a political opponent -remarked that the man wanted “execution” and -the dog “hanging.” We find Garrick continually -sending him on theatrical errands. We give the -letters he wrote about Mrs. Siddons very nearly in -their entirety, on account of their characteristic quaint -humour and shrewd power of observation; and also -because they to a certain degree exonerate Garrick -from some of the charges brought against him by Mrs. -Siddons:—</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p class="noindent"><span class="smcap">My Dear Friend</span>,</p> - -<p>After combatting the various difficulties of one of the cussidest -cross-roads in this kingdom, we arrived safe at Cheltenham on Thursday -last, and saw the theatrical heroine of that place in the character -of Rosalind. Though I beheld her from the side wing of the stage -(a barn about three yards over), and consequently under almost every -disadvantage, I own she made so strong an impression upon me, that -I think she cannot fail to be a valuable acquisition to Drury Lane. -Her figure must be remarkably fine, although marred for the present. -Her face (if I could judge from where I saw it) is one of the most -strikingly beautiful for stage effect that I ever beheld, but I shall -surprise you more when I assure you that these are nothing to her -action and general stage deportment, which are remarkably pleasing -and characteristic; in short, I know no woman who marks the different -passages and transitions with so much variety, and at the same -time propriety of expression. In the latter humbug scene with -Orlando previous to her revealing herself, she did more with it than -anyone I ever saw, not even your divine Mrs. Barry excepted. It is<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_29"></a>[29]</span> -necessary after this panegyric, however, to inform you that her voice -struck me at first as rather dissonant, and I fancy, from the private -conversation I had with her, that in impassioned scenes it must be -somewhat grating; however, as I found it wear away as the business -became more interesting, I am inclined to think it only an error of -affectation, which may be corrected, if not totally removed. She -informed me she has been upon the stage from her cradle. This, -though it surprised me, gave me the highest opinion of her judgment, -to find she had contracted no strolling habits, which have so often -been the bane of many a theatrical genius. She will most certainly -be of great use to you, at all events, on account of the great number -of characters she plays, all of which, I will venture to assert, she -fills with propriety, though I have yet seen her but in one. She is, as -you have been informed, a very good breeches figure, and plays in -<i>Widow Brady</i>, I am informed, admirably. I should not wonder, from -her ease, figure, and manner, if she made the <i>proudest</i> she of either -house tremble in genteel comedy—nay, beware yourself, <i>Great Little -Man</i>, for she plays Hamlet to the satisfaction of the Worcestershire -critics.</p> - -<p>The moment the play was over I wrote a note to her husband (who -is a damned rascally player, though seemingly a very civil fellow) -requesting an interview with him and his wife, intimating at the same -time the nature of my business. You will not blame me for making -this forced march in your favour, as I learnt that some of the Covent -Garden Mohawks were intrenched near the place and intended carrying -her by surprise. At the conclusion of the farce they waited upon -me, and, after I had opened my commission, she expressed herself -happy at the opportunity of being brought out under your eye, but -declined proposing any terms, leaving it entirely with you to reward -her as you thought proper.</p> - -<p>You will perceive that at present she has all that diffidence usually -the first attendant on merit; how soon the force of Drury Lane -examples, added to the rising vanity of a stage heroine, may transform -her, I cannot say. It happens very luckily that the company comes -to Worcester for the race week, when I shall take every opportunity -of seeing her, and if I find the least reason to alter my opinion -(perhaps too hastily formed), you shall immediately have my recantation. -My wife, whose judgment in theatrical matters I have a high -opinion of, joins with me in these sentiments respecting her merit. I -should have wrote to you before, but no post went out from anywhere -near here but this night’s.</p> - -<p>I shall expect to hear from you by return of the post, as Siddons -will call upon me to know whether you look upon her as engaged.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_30"></a>[30]</span> -My wife joins me in respects to Mrs. Garrick and yourself. I remain, -my dear Sir (after writing a damned jargon, I suppose, of unintelligible -stuff in haste),</p> - -<p class="center">Ever yours most truly,</p> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">H. Bate</span>.</p> - -<p>Worcester, 12th August, 1775.</p> - -<p>P.S.—Direct to me at the “Hop Pole.”</p> - -<p class="noindent">To David Garrick, Esq., Adelphi, London.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p class="right">Worcester, Aug. 19th, 1775.</p> - -<p class="noindent"><span class="smcap">My Dear Friend</span>,</p> - -<p>I received your very friendly letter, and take the first post -from hence to answer it. I found it unnecessary to make the intimation -you desired to the <i>husband</i>, since he requires only to be employed -in any manner you shall think proper; and as he is much more -tolerable than I thought him at first, it may be no very difficult -matter to station him so as to satisfy the man, without burdening -the property. I saw him the other evening in Young Marlow in -Goldsmith’s Comedy, and then he was far from despicable; neither his -figure nor face contemptible. A jealousy prevailing through the -theatre, upon a suspicion of their leaving them, the acting manager -seems determined that I shall not see her again in any character -wherein she might give me a second display of her theatrical powers. -I am resolved, however, to continue the siege till they give her something -capital, knowing <i>that</i> must speedily be the case, or the garrison -must fall by famine.</p> - -<p>She has already gone <i>six months</i>, so that pretty early in December -she will be fit for service; as you certainly mean to open the ensuing -campaign, by charging in person at the head of your lines, I conceive -she will come at a very favourable crisis to take a second command, -when the retreat from the field may be politically necessary. I am -strongly for her first appearance in <i>Rosalind</i>; but you may judge -better, perhaps, after a perusal of the list on the other side; the -characters marked under [in <i>italics</i>] are those which she prefers to -others:—</p> - -<ul> -<li>Jane Shore.</li> -<li><i>Alicia.</i></li> -<li>Roxana.</li> -<li><i>Grecian Daughter.</i></li> -<li>Matilda.</li> -<li><i>Belvidera.</i></li> -<li>Calista.</li> -<li>Monimia.</li> -<li>Juliet.</li> -<li>Cordelia.</li> -<li>Horatia.</li> -<li>Imogen.</li> -<li>Marianne.</li> -<li><i>Lady Townley.</i></li> -<li><i>Portia.</i></li> -<li>Mrs. Belville.</li> -<li>Violante.</li> -<li><i>Rosalind.</i></li> -<li>Mrs. Strickland.</li> -<li>Clarinda.</li> -<li>Miss Aubrey.</li> -<li>Charlotte.</li> -<li><i>Widow Brady.</i></li> -</ul> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_31"></a>[31]</span></p> - -<p>You are certainly right respecting a memorandum between you; -the moment, therefore, I receive one from you, it shall be conveyed -to them at Cheltenham, where they return next week, and they have -promised to return me an answer immediately at Birmingham, for -which place I shall set off the instant I have received your letter in -any way to town, in order to conclude this business finally, and to the -satisfaction of all parties. I am desired to request your answer to -the three following particulars:—</p> - -<p>1st. As they are ready to attend your summons at any time, -Whether they are not to be allowed something to subsist upon when -they come to town previous to her appearance?</p> - -<p>2nd. Whether you have any objection to employ him in any situation -in which you may think him likely “to be useful”?</p> - -<p>3rd. When you chuse they should attend you?</p> - -<p>As to the first, without you are inclined to have them at the -opening of the house, perhaps her remaining in the country, in -their own company, where they do very well, may ease you of some -expense; but of this you must be the best judge. With respect to -him, I think you can have no objection to take him upon the terms -he proposes himself. I forgot to tell you that Mrs. Siddons is -about twenty years of age. It would be unjust not to remark one -circumstance in favour of them both; I mean the universal good -character they have preserved here for many years, on account of -their public as well as private conduct in life. I beg you to be very -particular in your answer to the three queries, and likewise expressly -to mention the time you wish to see them, that they may arrange -their little matters accordingly.</p> - -</div> - -<p>In a <i>postscript</i> he adds:—</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p>She is the most extraordinary quick study I ever heard of. This -cannot be amiss, for, if I recollect right, we have a sufficient number -of the <i>leaden-headed</i> ones at D. Lane already.</p> - -</div> - -<p>Then come letters from Siddons, in answer to some -from Bate, concluding an engagement. We can see -the trembling anxiety of the young couple. “They -were in much concern,” he says, “at not hearing -sooner,” as from the line he had shown him in Mr. -Garrick’s handwriting, he had been sure of Mrs. Siddons’s -engagement. They had, in consequence, given -his partners in management at Cheltenham notice of<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_32"></a>[32]</span> -his intention to go; if anything had happened, therefore, -to prevent their engagement, it would have -“proved a very unlucky circumstance.” He then -touches on a very necessary point—their pressing need -of money to tide them over Mrs. Siddons’s expected -confinement. “Mr. Garrick,” he says, “has conferred -an eternal obligation by his kind offer of the cash.”</p> - -<p>In his next letter, dated Gloucester, November 9th, -1775, he writes:—“From my former accounts of Mrs. -Siddons’s time, you’ll be surprised when I tell you she -is brought to bed; she was unexpectedly taken ill when -performing on the stage, and early the next morning -produc’d me a fine girl. They are both, thank Heaven, -likely to do well; but I am afraid, Sir, notwithstanding -this, I shan’t be able to leave this much sooner than -the time I last mentioned.” He then alludes to -twenty pounds borrowed in Garrick’s name to meet -pressing demands.</p> - -<p>This “fine girl” was Mrs. Siddons’ daughter Sarah, -whose premature death later nearly broke her mother’s -heart.</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_33"></a>[33]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_III">CHAPTER III.<br /> -<span class="smaller">“DAVEY.”</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p>“Have you ever heard,” asked Garrick, in an unpublished -letter to Moody, then at Liverpool, “of a -woman Siddons, who is strolling about somewhere near -you?” Four months later, by the help of the Rev. -Henry Bate’s favourable report of her powers, she -made her first appearance at Drury Lane. The -Golden Gates of the Temple of Fame were thrown -open. The young priestess had but to enter, one -would have thought, and light the sacred flame; but -genius is not to be bound by expediency or opportunity.</p> - -<p>It was in 1775, the year when Garrick gave up the -management, that Mrs. Siddons appeared on the -boards of Drury Lane. She had reached the highest -point of her ambition—she was to act with the greatest -actor of his time before a dramatic audience rendered -fastidious and critical by great traditions.</p> - -<p>This is the most unfortunate portion of her life to -recount. Failure and disappointment attended every -step she made; and this failure and disappointment, -although it did not in the least discourage her in<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_34"></a>[34]</span> -the prosecution of her art, hurried her into bitterness -and an unjust feeling of rancour against Garrick, -which an examination of the circumstances of the -case in no way warrants. One of the Kemble weaknesses -was a proud sensitiveness to anything like -slight or neglect, and these slights were as often as -not phantoms of their own imaginations.</p> - -<p>It gives one a mournful sense of injustice to see -the charge of jealousy she openly brings repeated by -the earlier biographer who wrote about her—when we, -who have fuller light thrown upon the great actor’s -life by the publication of his correspondence, know -how free he was from the besetting sins of his craft. -To be popular, a man must have the faults of those -among whom he is placed. Garrick was called stingy -because he did not throw away his money like his colleagues; -stiff, because he was a moral man amidst a -laxity of manners that has become proverbial; jealous, -because he placed the honour of his art and his theatre -above personal considerations. He was an object of -envy because of his unparalleled success. The two -clouds which veiled the nobility of his character—love -of money and love of fine friends—vanished like mists -in the sunshine if he were really called upon to help a -case of distress or take notice of an old friend. These -faults were harped upon, however, by Johnson, Foote, -and hosts of others. Well might Garrick, in the evening -of his days, sitting on the terrace of his house at -Twickenham, make the, for him, bitter observation, “I -have not always met gratitude in a play-house.”</p> - -<p>It was at the time, no doubt, a salve to Mrs. Siddons’s -disappointment to listen to the specious Mr. Sheridan’s -insinuation of Garrick’s jealousy; but it is a curious -fact, if Sheridan were sincere in his statements, that<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_35"></a>[35]</span> -when he succeeded Garrick as manager he never -endeavoured to re-engage her; indeed, on the contrary, -abruptly and discourteously closed all negotiations -and cancelled all agreements made both with the -actress and her husband for a reappearance at Drury -Lane.</p> - -<p>We will allow the reader, however, to judge the -story upon its own merits.</p> - -<p>After the favourable reports of King and Bate, -Garrick, as we have seen by the Bate letters, engaged -Mrs. Siddons and her husband. The energy that afterwards -distinguished her to such an extraordinary extent -was now exhibited.</p> - -<p>Although not at all strong—her eldest girl, and -second child, as we have seen, having only been born -on the 5th of November 1775—in the beginning of -December she began making preparations for her -journey to London, no joke in those days when, -“starting two hours before day, or as late at night,” -it took three days to reach Bristol.</p> - -<p>Five days, Mrs. Delaney tells us, travelling over -the same road the Siddons had now to face, it took -to reach her father’s place in Gloucestershire. “Every -half hour flop we went into a slough, not overturned, -but stuck. Out we were hauled, and the coach with -much difficulty was set up again.”</p> - -<p>Full of hope and excitement, however, the young -actress, accompanied by husband and babies, prepared -for their expedition. No pilgrim approaching the -shrine of Mecca was ever more enthusiastic than she -approaching the bourne of all actors of that day, -Drury Lane. Yet already, through all her delight, we -hear a note of dissatisfaction that is displeasing. Garrick -had arranged to give her five pounds a week, a<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_36"></a>[36]</span> -munificent salary for a beginner in those days. Mrs. -Abington and Mrs. Yates only received ten. She had -heard the charge of stinginess made against him, and, -parrot-like, repeated it, without really considering if in -her own case it were true.</p> - -<p>We will relate the story, however, in her own words, -taken from Recollections written many years after, but -full of as much bitterness as though penned while still -smarting under her reverse.</p> - -<p>“Happy to be placed where I presumptuously -augured that I should do all that I have since achieved, -if I could but once gain the opportunity, I instantly -paid my respects to the great man. I was at that time -good-looking; and certainly, all things considered, an -actress well worth my poor five pounds a week. His -praises were most liberally conferred upon me.” We -are told by Campbell that he complimented her in this -interview for not having the regular “tie-tum-tie” or -sing-song of the provincial actress. “But,” she goes -on, “his attentions, great and unremitting as they -were, ended in worse than nothing. How was all this -admiration to be accounted for consistently with his -subsequent conduct? Why, thus, I believe: he was -retiring from the management of Drury Lane, and, I -suppose, at that time wished to wash his hands of all -its concerns and details. However this may be, he -always objected to my appearance in any very prominent -character, telling me that Mrs. Yates and Miss -Young would poison me if I did. I, of course, thought -him not only an oracle but my friend; and, in consequence -of his advice, Portia, in the <i>Merchant of Venice</i>, -was fixed upon for my <i>début</i>, a character in which it -was not likely that I should excite any great sensation. -<i>I was, therefore, merely tolerated.</i>”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_37"></a>[37]</span></p> - -<p>We here beg to mention that it can hardly be correct -that Mrs. Siddons thought she would make no impression -in Portia, as she had underlined Portia in the list -she gave Mr. Bate of her favourite parts, and we find -her choosing it later as the character in which to -appear before Horace Walpole when desirous of -propitiating the pitiless critic. But we will continue -to relate the unfortunate story of this period in her -own words.</p> - -<p>“The fulsome adulation that courted Garrick in the -theatre cannot be imagined; and whosoever was the -luckless wight who should be honoured by his distinguished -and envied smiles, of course, became an object -of spite and malevolence. Little did I imagine that -I myself was now that wretched victim. He would -sometimes hand me from my own seat in the green-room -to place me next to his own.... He also,” -she goes on, “selected me to personate Venus at the -revival of the <i>Jubilee</i>. This gained me the malicious -appellation of Garrick’s ‘Venus,’ and the ladies who so -kindly bestowed it on me rushed before me in the last -scene, so that if he (Mr. Garrick) had not brought us -forward with him with his own hands, my little Cupid -and myself, whose appointed situations were in the very -front of the stage, might have as well been in the -Island of Paphos at that moment.”</p> - -<p>Thomas Dibdin, the Cupid on this occasion, afterwards -told Campbell that, as it was necessary for him -to smile in the part of his godship, Mrs. Siddons kept -him in good humour by asking him what sort of sugar-plums -he liked best, and promising him a large supply -of them. After the performance she kept her word. -This is a characteristic trait; most young actresses -under the circumstances would have been rather occupied<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_38"></a>[38]</span> -with the effect of their own beauty on the audience -than of the smiles of their Cupids.</p> - -<p>At last the day came on which her fate was to be -decided. It fell in Christmas week, 1775, and the -audience present is described as “numerous and -splendid.”</p> - -<p>The following is a copy of the play-bill:—</p> - -<p class="center">(Not acted these two years.)<br /> -By Her Majesty’s Company at the Theatre Royal in Drury Lane.<br /> -This day will be performed</p> - -<p class="center">THE MERCHANT OF VENICE.</p> - -<table summary="Cast list"> - <tr> - <td>Shylock</td> - <td>Mr. <span class="smcap">King</span>.</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>Antonio</td> - <td>Mr. <span class="smcap">Reddish</span>.</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>Gratiano</td> - <td>Mr. <span class="smcap">Dodd</span>.</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>Lorenzo (with songs)</td> - <td>Mr. <span class="smcap">Vernon</span>.</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td colspan="2" class="center">&c. &c.</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>Then Jessica (with a song)</td> - <td>Miss <span class="smcap">Jarrett</span>.</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>Nerissa</td> - <td>Mrs. <span class="smcap">Davies</span>.</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td colspan="2">Portia, by a Young Lady (her first appearance).</td> - </tr> -</table> - -<p>The result can best be known by the judgment of -the newspaper critics. One says: “On before us -tottered rather than walked a very pretty, delicate, -fragile-looking young creature, dressed in a most unbecoming -manner, in a faded salmon-coloured sack and -coat, and uncertain whereabouts to fix either her eyes -or her feet. She spoke in broken, tremulous tones; -and at the close of each sentence her voice sank into a -‘horrid whisper’ that was almost inaudible. After -her first exit, the judgment of the pit was unanimous -as to her beauty, but declared her awkward and provincial.”</p> - -<p>In the famous Trial scene she regained her courage, -and delivered the great speech to Shylock with -“critical propriety,” but with a faintness of utterance -which seemed the result of physical weakness rather -than of want of spirit or feeling. Another paper, who<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_39"></a>[39]</span> -“understood that the new Portia had been the heroine -of one of those petty parties of travelling comedians -which wander over the country,” owned that she had a -fine stage-figure; her features were expressive; she was -uncommonly graceful; but her voice was deficient in -variety of tone and clearness. This, however, might -be the effect of a cold or nervousness. Her words -were delivered with good sense and taste, only there -was no fire or spirit in the performance. “Nothing,” -the critic ends, “is so barren of either profit or fame -as a cold correctness.”</p> - -<p>Knowing the Kemble failing of over-study and self-restraint, -this seems a fair enough criticism. She -represented Portia again a few nights later, but her -name did not appear on the bills. She showed more -confidence, and succeeded a little better, but does not -seem to have got a hold of her audience.</p> - -<p>Garrick was at this time employed in mounting an -abridgment by Colman of Ben Jonson’s <i>Epicœne</i>, and -trusting, we conclude, to the statement of his friend -Mr. Bate, that the <i>débutante</i> had “a very good -breeches-figure,” he selected her for the heroine’s part. -The result was a failure. Critics complained of “the -confusion, when Mrs. Siddons, disguised in the piece -as a woman, revealed herself at the end as a boy.” -The <i>Morning Post</i>, edited by Parson Bate, was the -only paper that spoke in favour of the attempt.</p> - -<p>The next part she was put into was by this same -Bate, <i>The Blackamoor White-washed</i>. We can see -how Garrick was forced by the exigencies of his obligations -to Bate to put this play on the stage; the only -mistake he made was in subjecting the young actress -to the risks and chances of the first representation, -which, in consequence of the slashing pen and vigorous<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_40"></a>[40]</span> -fists of its author, was not likely to be received with -unalloyed approbation. Unfortunately he did not -understand the proud timidity of the girl on whom -he had laid the task. His other ladies did not mind -a rebuff, and would do anything for a critic who -praised them, as Mr. Bate had praised “Portia.” As -to a theatrical riot, they rather enjoyed it than otherwise, -if it were not turned against them personally. -Though treated to many a one afterwards, Mrs. Siddons -never forgot this first experience. A band of prize-fighters, -supposed to be supporters of the parson’s, -burst into the pit, and, striking out right and left, -silenced the would-be detractors of the play. On the -next night both sides mustered in force, and the scene -defied description. Officers in the boxes fought with -gentlemen from the pit and galleries. The ladies were -driven from the boxes, leaving them in possession of -the combatants. Garrick, who appeared to try and -appease the mob, had an orange flung at him, and a -lighted candle passed close to King, who came from -the author to announce the withdrawal of the piece. -Even this statement had not the effect of restoring -quiet until past midnight, when, weary with their -exertions, the rioters dispersed. Next day all the -papers abused the Julia of the piece, who had not been -allowed a chance of making herself heard. “Mrs. -Siddons, having no comedy in her nature,” one said, -“rendered that ridiculous which the author evidently -intended to be pleasant.”</p> - -<p>On the 15th of February, Garrick again allowed her -to appear; this time in Mrs. Cowley’s <i>Runaway</i>—a -slight but telling part, which caused one of her critics -to say that she dropped into the walking gentlewoman, -and was not permitted a long walk before she became<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_41"></a>[41]</span> -the “Runaway.” Garrick then paid her the compliment -of entrusting her with the acting of Mrs. -Strickland to his Ranger in the old comedy of <i>The -Suspicious Husband</i>. One lady confesses to being -moved to tears by Mrs. Siddons in this part, but the -majority of the audience and the newspapers seem to -have passed her over in complete silence.</p> - -<p>Garrick now began his farewell performances. He -selected her to act the Lady Anne to his Richard -III.—a selection which was an honour coveted by most -of the ladies of the company. The actor surpassed -his finest days; the young actress was almost petrified -by the ferocity and fire of his gaze. She forgot, in -her flurry, his important order that she should stand -so that <i>his</i> face might be presented to the audience. -The look she received made her almost faint with -terror, and no doubt betrayed her fright in her acting. -The critics pronounced that she was “lamentable,” -and the public were utterly indifferent. This was her -last appearance. And so ended her first disastrous -season at Drury Lane. We think every unbiassed -person in reading the account of it will entirely absolve -Garrick of the charges brought against him. Other -causes were at work which the offended actress did not -take into consideration.</p> - -<p>Garrick could not forgive crudeness, want of finish. -He himself had stepped on the London stage with as -much natural ease, and in his representation of -Richard III. had taken the town as completely by -storm the first time as the last time he acted it. He -never made allowances for timidity, and grew impatient -at want of confidence. We know he utterly despaired -of Mrs. Graham, afterwards the great Mrs. Yates, -when he first saw her in the part of Marcia; and Miss<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_42"></a>[42]</span> -Barton, afterwards Mrs. Abington, he allowed to leave -Drury Lane at first because he could not, he said, give -her a fitting part. The Kemble genius, on the other -hand, was a plant of tardy growth, needing much cultivation -and many years to bring it to perfection.</p> - -<p>Garrick was above all a manager who had the honour -of his theatre at heart. He had held the helm at -Drury Lane for years, guiding the fortunes of the -company through stormy waters safely into the haven -of financial and artistic success such as no theatre had -ever enjoyed before; but at what a cost! Tormented -by the jealousies, insolence, and greed of his leading -ladies, disheartened by the envy and treachery of -his oldest friends, he must have been glad to contemplate -retirement from the turmoil, to enjoy undisturbed -the competency he had been able to save -from a long life spent in the service of his art and -the public. He had but one year more of thraldom, -but the harness had begun to gall almost beyond -endurance. When he came home ill and worn out -after protracted rehearsals, he found petulant letters -to be answered, when he went back to the theatre -hostile attacks to be avoided, while outside were ranged -secret and declared foes, jealous of his success, anxious -to find a flaw in his honour or his genius. Suddenly -he bethought him of a method, tried before with success, -to curb the fiery tempers of the ladies within -“his kingdom.” He had heard of a lovely young -actress, member of a company strolling in the provinces. -He determined to engage her and use her as -a foil against the rebellious members of his female -staff, for the last year of office. It was not likely -that, coming from humble surroundings and hard work, -she would afflict him with many airs and graces; and<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_43"></a>[43]</span> -before time had been given her to spoil, his term as -manager would have ceased. Garrick had never been -given much cause to think highly of women during -his long life as an actor—his own wife always excepted—and -he most likely put Sarah Siddons on -the same level as the others—sordid, like Miss Pope; -jealous, like Mrs. Yates; or ill-tempered, like Mrs. -Clive—well able to take care of herself, and not gifted -with those two rare qualities amongst theatrical ladies, -modesty or sensitiveness. How could he guess, even -with all his perspicacity and experience, that this -young creature—whose life hitherto had been spent -strolling from place to place with the vagabonds and -adventurers her profession threw her with—was proud, -sensitive, timid, nourishing the very highest ideal of -her art, and indifferent to any homage given to her -person and not to her intellectual power of interpreting -the works of the great poets of her country? How -could he tell that beneath the pretty exterior of this -young and trembling recruit lay hidden the fiery soul -of the majestic, terrific Lady Macbeth? He treated -her with an amount of consideration and courtesy unusual -even with him, sending her boxes for all his -great performances, when Cabinet Ministers were imploring -places and had to be refused. He would hand -her from the green-room and put her in the place of -honour beside him; and gave her parts which according -to his judgment, formed hastily on what he had -had an opportunity of seeing, best suited her. And -how was he rewarded? By a resentment nourished -the whole of a lifetime, and by a charge persistently -stated and repeated by her friends, that the great -“Roscius” was jealous of an unskilled, untrained, -country actress! Why, then, had he not shown jealousy<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_44"></a>[44]</span> -of Mrs. Abington, Mrs. Clive, or, still more, of the -gentlemen of his company, Barry and Smith, the -Romeo and Charles Surface of their day. There are -so few figures in public life complete and admirable -as David Garrick’s, so far removed above the pettiness -and egotism accompanying success, that it is with -pain we read Mrs. Siddons’s accusations, and think the -only way to excuse her is to show the anguish experienced -by both her husband and herself in the miserable -sequel to the sad story of failure and disappointment, -and to ascribe her injustice to the misery of -lives embittered and prospects blighted, for the time, -making her ever afterwards see the facts of the case -through a distorted medium. We will relate in her -own words what now took place:—</p> - -<p>“He (Garrick) promised Mr. Siddons to procure me -a good engagement with the new managers, and desired -him to give himself no trouble about the matter, -but to put my cause entirely into his hands. He -let me down, however, after all these protestations, -in the most humiliating manner, and, instead of -doing me common justice with those gentlemen, rather -depreciated my talents. This Mr. Sheridan afterwards -told me; and said that when Mrs. Abington heard of -my impending dismissal, she told them they were all -acting like fools. When the London season was over, -I made an engagement at Birmingham for the ensuing -summer, little doubting of my return to Drury Lane -for the next winter; but, whilst I was fulfilling my -engagement at Birmingham, to my utter dismay and -astonishment, I received an official letter from the -prompter of Drury Lane, acquainting me that my -services would be no longer required. It was a -stunning and cruel blow, overwhelming all my ambitious<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_45"></a>[45]</span> -hopes, and involving peril even to the subsistence -of my helpless babes. It was very near destroying -me. My blighted prospects, indeed, induced a state -of mind that preyed upon my health, and for a year -and a half I was supposed to be hastening to a decline. -For the sake of my poor children, however, -I roused myself to shake off this despondency, and -my endeavours were blest with success, <i>in spite of -the degradation I had suffered in being banished from -Drury Lane as a worthless candidate for fame and -fortune</i>.”</p> - -<p>Siddons wrote piteously to Garrick on the 9th of -February 1776, soliciting his “friendship” and “endeavour” -for their continuance in Drury Lane. “I -account we have been doubly unfortunate at our -onset in the theatre, first that particular circumstances -prevented us from joining it at a proper time, -and thereby rendered it impossible for us to be -mingled in the business of the season, where our -utility might have been more observed; second, that -we are going to be deprived of you as manager, and -left to those who, perhaps, may not have an opportunity -this winter of observing us at all: these considerations, -Sir, have occasioned this address, with -hopes you will lay them before Mr. Lacy and those -gentlemen your successors; and as there has been no -agreement with regard to salary between you and us, -it may now be necessary to propose that article, thereby -to acquaint them with what we shall expect, which (as -we are so young in the theatre) is no more than what -we can decently subsist on and appear with some -credit to the profession. That is, for Mrs. Siddons -three pounds a week, for myself two; this, I flatter -myself, we shall both be found worthy of for the first<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_46"></a>[46]</span> -year; after that (as it may be presumed we shall be -more experienced in our business) shall wish to rise as -our merits may demand. I am, Sir, with many apologies -for this freedom, your most obedient and very humble -servant, <span class="smcap">Wm. Siddons</span>.”</p> - -<p>It shows how disastrous the effect of her acting must -have been that, in spite of the smallness of their -demands, Lacy, Sheridan & Co. refused to entertain -their proposal.</p> - -<p>It is a curious fact, if, as she says, the treatment -she received at Garrick’s hands was unjust, that at -this juncture the managers of the rival theatre of -Covent Garden, who had already been in treaty with -her, and thought themselves unhandsomely dealt with -when Garrick secured her, did not come forward -now. It is clear that the anxiety of the Covent -Garden managers for her assistance was extinguished -by her performance; those talents which they were -ready before her appearance to contest with Garrick, -they subsequently resigned without an effort to the -obscurity of a strolling company. We have a curious -corollary to her statement, “that Mrs. Abington -told them they were all acting like fools,” in the -lately published Memoirs of Crabbe Robinson, in which -he relates a conversation he held in 1811 with Mrs. -Abington on the subject of Mrs. Siddons. She was -by no means warm, he says, in her praise. She objected -to the elaborate emphasis given to very insignificant -words. “That was brought in by them,” she -added, with truth, alluding to the weakness of the -family. Perhaps the fair Abington’s praise at first was -as conclusive a sign of failure as Sheridan’s dismissal.</p> - -<p>Good-natured Pivey Clive was more honest in saying -nothing at the time; but on going with Mrs. Garrick<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_47"></a>[47]</span> -to see her later, when she was in the heyday of her -success, she pronounced the young actress, in her own -characteristic fashion, to be “all truth and daylight.”</p> - -<p>We never hear Garrick’s name mentioned again with -hers, except in a note in connection with two folio -Shakespeares of 1623. “In 1776,” Payne Collier says, -“Garrick had presented the volume (one of the folio -copies with the autographs of David Garrick and Sarah -Siddons) to Mrs. Siddons as a testimony of her merits, -and of his obligation.” So far Payne Collier. Another -writer, commenting on this note, demonstrates that it -is not likely that Garrick presented so great a treasure -as the folio Shakespeare of 1623 to Mrs. Siddons, -especially as the words “a testimony of her merits and -his obligation” was an addition of Payne Collier. He -then relates the circumstances of her first appearance. -Garrick, he says, amongst other things, noticed some -awkward action of her arms, and said “if she waved -them about in that fashion she would knock off his -wig,” upon which she retorted to the person who told -her, “He was only afraid I should overshadow his -nose.” A mutual feeling not likely to lead to such a -gift. It would be interesting, therefore, to know -through what hands the volume passed from Garrick -to Mrs. Siddons, and from Mrs. Siddons to Lilly the -bookseller. With the great actor’s wife she was afterwards -on terms of friendship; and when Mrs. Garrick -died, she left her in her will a pair of gloves which were -Shakespeare’s, “and were presented to my late dear -husband by one of the family during the Jubilee at -Stratford-on-Avon.” And so “Davey” vanishes from -her life.</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_48"></a>[48]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_IV">CHAPTER IV.<br /> -<span class="smaller">WORK.</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p>The rebuff she had sustained at Drury Lane called out -all that was finest in Mrs. Siddons’ nature. The blow -had been “stunning and cruel,” as she says; but the -resolute valiant nature she had inherited from her -mother soon reasserted itself. In spite of delicate -health, which Wilkinson, who acted with her in -<i>Evander</i>, feared “might disable her from sustaining -the fatigues of duty,” we find her moving from place -to place, unintermitting in study, attaining a step -higher each new representation she essayed, persistently -raising her audience to her level, not descending to -theirs.</p> - -<p>She no longer led the “vagabond” life of her early -strolling days, but still one of constant anxiety and -unrest. The young actress returned to the provinces -with the prestige of having acted with the great -Garrick, and of having even excited the jealousy of -“Roscius” by her dramatic power—a report industriously -circulated by her friends and managers, and, -no doubt, confirmed by the actress herself. So unconsciously -does self-interest colour our opinions.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_49"></a>[49]</span></p> - -<p>In saying that she no longer led the “vagabond” -life of her early days, we mean that instead of wandering, -as strolling players were obliged to do, from -town to town, trusting to the chances of the hour, -pitching their tent in a barn or an inn, and trusting to -the caprice and humours of the public officials of the -places they came to, she now secured fixed engagements -at the best provincial theatres, which, owing to -the difficulties and expenses of a journey to London, -were attended during the season by many of the county -magnates, and the lesser stars following and surrounding -the brighter planets.</p> - -<p>Bath stood at the head of these provincial theatres. -York, Hull, Manchester, Hereford, Liverpool, Worcester, -and many others came next in order of merit.</p> - -<p>The first engagement she received on quitting Drury -Lane was at Birmingham, where she remained the -whole summer of 1776, acting parts of the highest -standing. Here she enjoyed the privilege of having -Henderson as coadjutor, who, Campbell tells us, was -so struck by her merits, that he wrote immediately to -Palmer, the manager of the Bath Theatre, urging him -in the strongest terms to engage her. Palmer was -unable to follow this advice just then, but did so later.</p> - -<p>The only direct communication we have from her -during this time of work and struggle is a letter to -Mrs. Inchbald, whose friendship with the Kembles -had begun in 1776. Charges were, indeed, “tremendous -circumstances” to her who, at the best of times -in those early days, only enjoyed a salary of three -pounds a week. Her observations about “exotics” are -amusing, she herself figuring so largely later in that -character, to the dread of all provincial actresses:—</p> - -<p>“I played <i>Hamlet</i> in Liverpool, to near a hundred<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_50"></a>[50]</span> -pounds, and wish I had taken it to myself; but the -fear of charges, which, you know, are most tremendous -circumstances, persuaded me to take part of a benefit -with Barry, for which I have since been very much -blamed; but he, I believe, was very much satisfied—and, -in short, so am I. Strange resolutions are formed -in our theatrical ministry; one of them I think very -prudent—this little rogue Harry is chattering to such -a degree, I scarce know what I am about. [Her eldest -boy was then four.] But to proceed: Our managers -have determined to employ no more exotics; they have -found that Miss Yonge’s late visit to us (which you -must have heard of) has rather hurt than done them -service; so that Liverpool must, from this time forth, -be content with such homely fare as we small folks can -furnish to its delicate sense.... Present our kind -compliments to Mr. and Mrs. Wilkinson, and tell the -former I never mention his name but I wish to be -regaling with him over a pinch of his most excellent -Irish snuff, which I have never had a snift of but in -idea since I left York.” It is difficult to conceive the -divine Melpomene taking snuff, though she did so all -her life; but in that day it was the fashion for -everyone to snuff.</p> - -<p>Early in 1777 she played at Manchester, where she -made so great an impression that the shrewd and -enterprising Tate Wilkinson, lessee of the York -Theatre, offered her an engagement. Her range of characters -now included “the Grecian Daughter,” Alicia, -Jane Shore, Matilda, Lady Townley—all the tearful -dramas of the day, which the young actress brought -into fashion instead of the artificial comedy of the preceding -age. At Manchester, we are astonished to hear, -one of her most applauded characters was <i>Hamlet</i>.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_51"></a>[51]</span></p> - -<p>Her playing this great play in strolling days, as Mr. -Bate tells us, “was most likely only a girlish freak.” -Her acting it now shows that she was cultivating her -dramatic genius in every direction, working out of the -restricted domain of Jane Shore, the Grecian Daughter, -and Calista, no longer content to move her audience by -her pathos and grace, but determined to bring them -to her feet by her intellectual power. It is curious -that, though many years afterwards she acted it in -Dublin, she never could be persuaded to appear in it -in London. Her dislike to anything approaching male -attire was almost morbid, and even in Rosalind she -vastly amused the town by her costume—“mysterious -nondescript garments,” that were neither male nor -female, devised to satisfy a prudery which in such a -character was wholly out of place.</p> - -<p>At York, where Mrs. Siddons acted for Tate Wilkinson, -the manager, from Easter to Whitsuntide -1777, she enjoyed an unequivocal success. “All -lifted up their eyes with astonishment that such a -voice, such a judgment, and such acting, should have -been neglected by a London audience, and by the first -actor in the world!”—another hit at Garrick made by -Wilkinson, who, generously aided by Garrick at the -beginning of his career, had turned against his benefactor, -and never missed an opportunity of detracting -from his merits.</p> - -<p>The most critical local censors were lavish in their -praise, though all remarked “how ill and pale she -was, and wondered how she got through her parts.” -She acted the round of her characters. Her attitudes -and figure were vastly admired; she was thought “so -elegant.” Wilkinson endeavoured to secure her permanently -as a member of his company, and in his<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_52"></a>[52]</span> -Memoirs tells how he endeavoured to tempt her by -fine clothes, providing for one of her parts a most -“elegant sack-back, all over silver trimmings.” He -did not understand any more than Garrick the nature -of the woman with whom he had to deal. On the -17th May she acted Semiramis for her benefit, and -the York season closed. Palmer, of the Bath Theatre, -had not forgotten Henderson’s strong recommendation, -and, finding at last an opening, he concluded an -engagement with her.</p> - -<p>Bath was first in importance among the provincial -theatres. The audience, indeed, was very largely -composed of the London “fashionables,” who came to -drink the waters; no “sack-backs,” therefore, “all over -silver trimmings,” were allowed to interfere with her -determination, for, although in her petulant moments -she was wont to declare that she preferred the country, -and had been treated so cruelly in London she never -would play there again, in her heart she was resolved -to rule supreme on those boards she had once trod -with Garrick.</p> - -<p>“I now made an engagement at Bath,” she says in -her <i>Memoranda</i>. “There my talents and industry -were encouraged by the greatest indulgence, and, I -may say, with some admiration. Tragedies which had -been almost banished, again resumed their proper -interest; but still I had the mortification of being -obliged to personate many subordinate characters in -comedy, the first being, by contract, in the possession -of another lady. To this I was obliged to submit, or -to forfeit a portion of my salary, <i>which was only three -pounds a week</i>. Tragedies were now becoming more -and more fashionable. This was favourable to my -cast of powers; and, whilst I laboured hard, I began<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_53"></a>[53]</span> -to earn a distinct and flattering reputation. Hard -labour, indeed, it was! for, after the rehearsal at -Bath, and on a Monday morning, I had to go and act -at Bristol on the evening of the same day, and reaching -Bath again, after a drive of twelve miles, I was -obliged to represent some fatiguing part there on -the Tuesday evening. When I recollect all this -labour of mind and body, I wonder that I had -strength and courage to support it, interrupted as I -was by the care of a mother, and by the childish -sports of my little ones, who were often most unwillingly -hushed to silence for interrupting their mother’s -studies.”</p> - -<p>From the pages of Horace Walpole, Mrs. Montagu, -and Fanny Burney, we can bring the Pan-tiles of -Tunbridge Wells or the parade at Bath, with their -periwigs, powder-patches, and scandal, distinctly before -us. Let us stand for a moment on the parade, and -watch the noteworthy people, muses, poets, statesmen, -who have assembled there, in 1778, to drink the -water. Royal dukes and princesses might be seen -sauntering about, playing whist and E. O. in the -evening, and taking “three glasses of water, a toasted -roll, a Bath cake, and a cold walk in the mornings.” -Next to them, the celebrated Duchess of Devonshire, -loveliest of the lovely, gayest of the gay, attracts most -notice. Her dazzling beauty, and those eyes the Irish -labourer at the Fox Election said he could light his -pipe at, are said to have taken away the readiness of -hand and happiness of touch of the young painter -“reported to have some talent,” named Gainsborough, -while painting her this year at Bath.</p> - -<p>After the Queen of Beauty comes the Queen of the -Blues, Mrs. Montagu, “brilliant in clothes, solid in<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_54"></a>[54]</span> -judgment, critical in talk, with the air and manner of -a woman accustomed to being distinguished and of -great parts.” She writes in her letters of hating -“ye higgledy-piggledy of the watering-places,” but -seems happy enough combating for precedence “with -the only other candidate for colloquial eminence” she -thought worthy to be her peer—short, plump, brisk -Mrs. Thrale; on the one side a placid, high-strained -intellectual exertion, on the other an exuberant -pleasantry, without the smallest malice in either. -All the “Johnsonhood,” as Horace Walpole calls the -circle, musters round the two brilliant ladies, the Great -Bear in the centre, for he and Boswell are stopping at -the Pelican Inn. The conversation turns on <i>Evelina</i>, -the universal topic of the day; Johnson declaring he -had sat up all night to read it, much to Fanny Burney’s -delight, who, thirsting for flattery, sits with observant -eyes and sarcastic little mouth, that belies the prudishly-folded -hands and prim air. Moving about from group -to group is the brilliant Sheridan, walking with his -father and wife, and surrounded by the Linley family, -to whom the lovely Cecilia is recounting the honours -heaped on them in London.</p> - -<p>Unnoticed among all these great people is a little -lame Scottish boy, destined to be the greatest of them -all. Mrs. Siddons most likely saw and knew the little -fellow then, who afterwards became so true a friend, -for Walter Scott, in his autobiography, tells us he was -frequently taken to Bath for his lameness, and, after -he had bathed in the morning, got through a reading-lesson -at the old dame’s near the parade, and had had -a drive over the downs, his uncle would sometimes take -him to the old theatre. On one occasion, witnessing -<i>As You Like It</i>, his interest was so great that, in the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_55"></a>[55]</span> -middle of the wrestling scene in the first act, he -screamed out, “A’n’t they brothers?”</p> - -<p>Amongst this “higgledy-piggledy,” we are suddenly -struck by a beautiful young creature, whose -arrival seems to cause a flutter among the fashionables. -She is accompanied by a handsome fair man and two -beautiful children. This is the new actress who is -turning every head. From Lawrence’s coloured crayon -drawing, done of her during this stay at Bath, we can -form a distinct idea of what she was like. He has -drawn her three-quarter face, black velvet hat and -plume, white muslin cavalier tie, brown riding spencer -with big buttons and lappels turned back. Under the -shadow of the hat is the refined, noble face, with -delicate, arched eye-brows, aquiline nose, finely modelled -mouth, and round cleft chin. She is not yet the tragic -muse of Reynolds, nor the full-orbed, fashionable beauty -of Gainsborough, but a lovely young Diana, with frank, -large, out-looking eyes, and a pretty air of defiance and -resolution, the brightness undimmed by the anxiety -and hard work of later days; the young beauty is -evidently determined to conquer the universe.</p> - -<p>It was a world strangely at issue with her own ideas -into which she had stepped—a dandified, ceremonious -world, full of witty and wicked ladies and gentlemen, -who played cards and backed horses; but, mercifully -for her, a world at the same time full of childish -enthusiasm, an age of pallor and fainting and hysterics. -Grown men and women sitting up at night weeping and -laughing over the woes and escapades of Clarissa -Harlowe and Evelina; ladies writing to Richardson: -“Pray, Sir, make Lovelace happy; you can so easily -do it. Pray reform him! Will you not save a -soul?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_56"></a>[56]</span></p> - -<p>The same vivid interest was taken in dramatic -situations. It was a common thing for women—and, -indeed, men also—to be carried out fainting; and as -to the crying and sobbing, it was generally audible all -over the house. In a pathetic piece, Miss Burney -describes two young ladies, who sat in a box above -her, being both so much shocked at the death of -Douglas that “they both burst into a loud fit of -roaring, and sobbed on afterwards for almost half the -farce.” Needless to say, therefore, the enthusiasm a -beautiful young actress like Mrs. Siddons would create. -It was not, however, immediate; she was obliged, as -we have seen, to personate subordinate characters, -and was obliged to act in comedy that did not suit -her.</p> - -<p>Thursdays were the nights of the Cotillon balls at -Bath, and of the assemblies at Lady Miller’s, of Bath -Easton vase celebrity, which are alluded to by Horace -Walpole: “They hold a Parnassus fair every Thursday, -before the balls, give out rhymes and themes, and all -the flux at Bath contend for the prizes. A Roman -vase, dressed with pink ribbons and myrtles, receives -the poetry, which is drawn out every festival. Six -judges of these Olympic games retire and select the -brightest compositions, which the respective successful -ten candidates acknowledge.”</p> - -<p>These events always emptied the theatre, and it was -one of the young actress’s grievances that for a time -she was put forward—no doubt owing to the claims -of the leading ladies—on these occasions. Gradually, -however, her attraction increased, and on various occasions -she succeeded in drawing the frequenters of the -balls to the theatre. She brought tragedies into fashion, -and in <i>The Mourning Bride</i>, Juliet, the Queen in<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_57"></a>[57]</span> -<i>Hamlet</i>, Jane Shore, Isabella, succeeded in gaining the -suffrages of her Bath audience.</p> - -<p>We find the “tonish” young men, on the occasion -of her benefit, presenting her with sixty guineas “in -order to secure tickets, as they were afraid the demand -for them would be so great by-and-bye.” “Was it -not elegant?” she asks. One of these benefits produced -to her one hundred and forty-six pounds—a -handsome sum in those days. Before two years of -her four years’ stay at Bath had elapsed, we see her -the favourite and friend of all the great people in the -place. The Duchess of Devonshire showed her particular -favour; and subsequently, when her engagement -at Drury Lane hung in the balance, threw the weight -of her influence, which was supreme, into the scale.</p> - -<p>We cannot help remarking, in spite of the accusations -so frequently brought against her of her love of -fine friends, that those who clustered about her in -those early Bath days occupied the same position -in her heart thirty years later. One of these, a Dr. -Whalley, and his wife, were true and devoted friends -all her life, and her letters to him contribute some of -the most valuable materials we have for writing her -life. Dr. Thomas Sedgwick Whalley was a gentleman -of taste and good income, derived from his own private -estates, and the rich stipend of an unwholesome Lincolnshire -living, which a kind-hearted bishop had given -him on condition he never resided on it. He enjoyed -some literary celebrity as the author of a long narrative -poem, <i>Edwy and Edilda</i>. He occupied one of -the finest houses on the Crescent; was intimate with -Mrs. Piozzi; corresponded with the voluminous letter-writer, -Miss Seward; and was, in fact, a fine specimen -of the <i>dilettante</i> gentleman of the old school.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_58"></a>[58]</span></p> - -<p>Little Burney’s sharp-pointed pen describes Whalley -exactly:</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p>One of the clergymen was Mr. W⸺, a young man who has a -house on the Crescent, and is one of the best supporters of Lady -Miller’s vase at Bath Easton. He is immensely tall, thin, and handsome, -but affected, delicate, and sentimentally pathetic; and his -conversation about his own “feelings,” about “amiable motives,” -and about the wind—which, at the Crescent, he said in a tone of -dying horror, “blew in a manner really frightful!”—diverted me the -whole evening. But Miss Thrale, not content with private diversion, -laughed out at his expressions, till I am sure he perceived and understood -her merriment.</p> - -</div> - -<p>Later she mentions:—</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p>In the evening we had Mrs. Lambart, who brought us a tale called -<i>Edwy and Edilda</i>, by the sentimental Mr. Whalley, and unreadably -soft and tender and senseless is it.</p> - -</div> - -<p>He was of the soft and tender school; Miss -Seward’s heart “vibrates to every sentence of his last -charming letter”; they indulge in the “communication -of responsive ideas”; and on leaving Bath she -thus addresses him:—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">Edwy, farewell! To Lichfield’s darkened grove,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">With aching heart and rising sighs, I go.</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Yet bear a grateful spirit as I rove,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">For all of thine which balm’d a cureless woe.</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>We cannot tell whether the “communication of -responsive ideas” with so many fair ladies aroused -Mrs. Whalley’s jealousy ultimately, or whether incompatibility -of temper was the cause, but in 1819 Mrs. -Piozzi writes:—</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p>I hear wondrous tales of Doctor and Mrs. Whalley; half the town -saying he is the party aggrieved, and the other half lamenting the -lady’s fate. Two wiseacres sure, old acquaintances of forty years’ -standing, and both past seventy years old!</p> - -</div> - -<p>When Mrs. Siddons first knew them at Bath, there<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_59"></a>[59]</span> -was evidently nothing of that sort. She writes to him -from Bristol:—</p> - -<p>“I cannot express how much I am honoured by -your friendship; therefore you must not expect words, -but as much gratitude as can inhabit the bosom of a -human being. I hope, with a fervency unusual upon -such occasions, that you will not be disappointed in -your expectations of me to-night; but sorry am I to -say I have often observed that I have performed worst -when I most ardently wished to do better than ever. -Strange perverseness! And this leads me to observe—as -I believe I may have done before—that those -who act mechanically are sure to be in some sort -right; while we who trust to nature—if we do not -happen to be in the humour (which, however, Heaven -be praised! seldom happens)—are dull as anything -can be imagined, because we cannot feign. But I -hope Mrs. Whalley will remember that it was your -commendations which she heard, and judge of your -praises by the benevolent heart from which they proceed, -more than as standards of my deserving. Luckily -I have been able to procure places in the front row, -next to the stage-box, on the left-hand of you as you -go in. These, I hope, will please you.”</p> - -<p>Meantime, Henderson, who had before so strongly -recommended her to the Bath manager, came down -for one or two nights and acted Benedict to her -Beatrice; returned to London so full of her praises -that the managers of Drury Lane made her the -offer of an engagement in the summer of 1782. -“After my former dismissal from thence,” she says -later in her <i>Memoranda</i>, “it may be imagined that -this was to me a triumphant moment.”</p> - -<p>At the same time, she was loth to leave her appreciative<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_60"></a>[60]</span> -friends at Bath, and, curiously enough, hesitated -at the last moment about accepting; so that Whalley’s -congratulatory poem on her engagement at Drury Lane, -contributed to Lady Miller’s “Roman Vase,” was a -little premature. At last, however, her departure was -formally announced, and she took her farewell benefit. -She acted in the <i>Distressed Mother</i> and <i>The Devil to -Pay</i>, and then came forward and recited some lines <i>of -her own composition</i>, of which we give the reader only -a short sample, as the “Virgin Muse” does not soar -very high:—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">Have I not raised some expectation here?</div> - <div class="verse indent0">“Wrote by herself? What! authoress and player?</div> - <div class="verse indent0">True, we have heard her”—thus I guess’d you’d say—</div> - <div class="verse indent0">“With decency recite another’s lay;</div> - <div class="verse indent0">But never heard, nor ever could we dream,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Herself had sipp’d the Heliconian stream.”</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Perhaps you farther said—Excuse me, pray,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">For thus supposing all that you might say—</div> - <div class="verse indent0">“What will she treat of in this same address?</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Is it to show her learning? Can you guess?”</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Here let me answer: No. Far different views</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Possess’d my soul, and fired my virgin Muse.</div> - <div class="verse indent0">’Twas honest gratitude, at whose request</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Sham’d be the heart that will not do its best!</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>She then informs them they must part; that, if only -she meets as much kindness elsewhere,</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">Envy, o’ercome, will hurl her pointless dart,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">And critic gall be shed without its smart.</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p class="noindent">Nothing would drag her from Bath, she says, but -one thing; here she went to the wing and led forward -her children:—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">These are the moles that bear me from your side,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Where I was rooted—where I could have died.</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>The moles now numbered three, her second daughter<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_61"></a>[61]</span> -and third child, Maria, having been born on 1st July -1779.</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">Stand forth, ye elves! and plead your mother’s cause,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Ye little magnets, whose soft influence draws</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Me from a point where every gentle breeze</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Wafted my bark to happiness and ease—</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Sends me adventurous on a larger main,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">In hopes that you may profit by my gain.</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Have I been hasty? Am I, then, to blame?</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Answer, all ye who own a parent’s name!</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Thus have I tired you with an untaught muse,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Who for your favour still most humbly sues;</div> - <div class="verse indent0">That you for classic learning will receive</div> - <div class="verse indent0">My soul’s best wishes, which I freely give—</div> - <div class="verse indent0">For polished periods round, and touched with art,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">The fervent offering of my grateful heart.</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>So Mrs. Siddons made her bow. When she next -appeared at Bath it was as the greatest tragic actress -then on the stage.</p> - -<p>Towards the end of August, she set out determined -to make her way slowly to London, acting at various -country theatres as she went along. Her letters -written to the Whalleys are full of fun, and show -she had the pen of a ready writer.</p> - -<p>“You will be pleased to hear,” she says, “that -Mrs. Carr was very civil to me—gave me a comfortable -bed, and I slept very well. We were five of -us in the machine, all females but one, a youth of -about sixteen, and the most civilized being you can -conceive—a native of Bristol, too.</p> - -<p>“One of the ladies was, I believe verily, a little -insane. Her dress was the most peculiar, and manner -the most offensive, I ever remember to have met with; -her person was taller and more thin than you can -imagine; her hair raven black, drawn as tight as possible -over her cushion before and behind; and at the -top of her head was placed a solitary fly-cap of the last<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_62"></a>[62]</span> -century, composed of materials of about twenty sorts, -and as dirty as the ground; her neck, which was a -thin scrag of a quarter of a yard long, and the colour -of a walnut, she wore uncovered, for the solace of all -beholders; her Circassian was an olive-coloured cotton -of three several sorts, about two breadths wide in the -skirt, and tied up exactly in the middle in one place -only. She had a black petticoat spotted with red, and -over that a very thin white muslin one, with a long -black gauze apron, and without the least hoop. I -never in my life saw so odd an appearance; and my -opinion was not singular, for wherever we stopped -she inspired either mirth or amazement, but was quite -innocent of it herself. On taking her seat among us -at Bristol, she flew into a violent passion on seeing -one of the windows down. I said I would put it up, -if she pleased. ‘To be sure,’ said she; ‘I have no -ambition to catch my death!’ No sooner had she -done with me, but she began to scold the woman who -sat opposite to her for touching her foot. ‘You have -not been used to riding in a <i>coach</i>, I fancy, good -woman.’ She met in this lady a little more spirit -than she found in me, and we were obliged to her for -keeping this unhappy woman in tolerable order for -the remainder of the day. Bless me! I had almost -forgot to tell you that I was desired to make tea at -breakfast. Vain were my endeavours to please this -strange creature. She had desired to have her tea in -a basin, and I followed her directions as near as it was -possible in the making her tea; but she had no sooner -tasted it than she bounced to the window and threw it -out, declaring she had never met with such a set of -awkward, ill-bred people. What could be expected in -a stage-coach, indeed? She snatched the canister<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_63"></a>[63]</span> -from me, poured a great quantity into the basin, with -sugar, cream, and water, and drank it all together. -Did you ever hear of anything so strange? When we -sat down to dinner, she seemed terrified to death lest -anybody should eat but herself.</p> - -<p>“The remaining part of our journey was made -almost intolerable by her fretfulness. One minute -she was screaming out lest the coachman should overturn -us; she was sure he would, because she would -not give him anything for neglecting to keep her trunk -dry; and, though it was immoderately hot, we were -obliged very often to sit with the windows up, for she -had been told that the air was pestilential after sunset, -and that, however people liked it, she did not choose -to hazard her life by sitting with the windows open. -All were disposed, for the sake of peace, to let her -have her own way, except the person whom we were -really obliged to for quieting her every now and then. -She had been handsome, but was now, I suppose, sixty -years old. I pity her temper, and am sorry for her -situation, which I have set down as that of a disappointed -old maid.</p> - -<p>“At about seven o’clock we arrived at Dorchester. -On my stepping out of the coach, a gentleman very -civilly gave me his hand. Who should it be but Mr. -Siddons! who was come on purpose to meet me. He -was very well, and the same night I had the pleasure -of seeing my dear boy, more benefited by the sea than -can be conceived. He desires me to thank Mr. -Whalley for the fruit, which he enjoyed very much. -We have got a most deplorable lodging, and the water -and the bread are intolerable; ‘but travellers must be -content.’ Mr. Whalley was so good as to be interested -about my bathing. Is there anything I could<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_64"></a>[64]</span> -refuse to do at his or your request? I intend to bathe -to-morrow morning, cost what pain it will. I expected -to have found more company here.</p> - -<p>“I went to Dorchester yesterday to dine with Mr. -Beach, who is on a visit to a relation, and has been -laid up with the gout, but is recovering very fast. He -longs to see Langford, and I am anxious to have him -see it. I suppose Mr. Whalley has heard when Mr. -Pratt comes. [Mr. Pratt was a Bath bookseller who -had given her lessons in elocution; and afterwards, -when she was not allowed by the manager of Drury -Lane to act in his tragedy, declared he would write an -ode on Ingratitude and dedicate it to her.] Pray present -the kindest wishes of Mr. Siddons, little Harry, and -myself. I hope Mr. Whalley will do me the favour to -choose the ribbon for my watch-string. I should like -it as near the colour of little dear Paphy’s ear as -possible. I did not very well comprehend what Lady -Mary (Knollys) said about the buckles. Will you -please to give her my respectful compliments, -and say I beg her pardon for having deferred -speaking to her on that subject to so awkward -a time, but hope my illness the last day I had the -honour of seeing her ladyship will be my excuse. -I hope I shall be favoured with a line from you, -and that her ladyship will explain herself more -fully then. Harry has just puzzled me very much. -When going to eat some filberts after dinner, I told -him you desired he would not eat them; ‘But,’ says -he, ‘what would you have done if Mr. Whalley had -desired you would?’ I was at a stand for a little -while, and at last he found a means to save me from -my embarrassment by saying, ‘But you know Mr. -Whalley would not desire you to eat them if he thought<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_65"></a>[65]</span> -they would hurt you.’ ‘Very true, Harry,’ says I; -so it ended there.”</p> - -<p>The following shows that the engagement with the -London manager was not yet completely ratified; she -was probably standing out for better terms, which he -was not inclined to give.</p> - -<p>“I look forward with inexpressible delight to our -snug parties, and I have the pleasure to inform you -that I shall not go to London this winter. Mr. Linley -thinks my making a partial appearance will neither -benefit myself nor the proprietors. Mrs. Crawford -threatens to leave them very often, he says, but I -suppose she knows her own interest better. I should -suppose she has a very good fortune, and I should be -vastly obliged to her if she would go and live very -comfortably upon it. I’ll give her leave to stay and -be of as much service to my good and dear friend’s -tragedy as she possibly can, and then let her retire -as soon as she pleases. I hope I shall not tire you; -Mr. Siddons is afraid I shall, and in compliance to -him (who, with me, returns his grateful acknowledgments -for all your kindnesses), I conclude with, I hope, -an unnecessary assurance, that I am ever your grateful -and affectionate servant, <span class="smcap">S. Siddons</span>.</p> - -<p>“P.S.—Please to present our joint compliments to -Mr. Whalley, Mrs. Whalley, and Miss Squire, and, in -short, the whole circle, not forgetting Mrs. Reeves, to -whom I am much obliged. In an especial manner, I -beg to be remembered to the cruel beauty, Sappho. -She knows her power, and therefore treats me like a -little tyrant. Adieu! God for ever bless you and -yours! The beach here is the most beautiful I ever -saw.”</p> - -<p>She alludes above to Whalley’s tragedy <i>Morval</i>,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_66"></a>[66]</span> -which was acted later with her as heroine. It was a -complete failure, and was only performed three nights.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Siddons became fond of Weymouth, and often -returned there in after years. Miss Burney, in her -<i>Memoirs</i>, tells us of being there once on duty with the -King and Royal Family. They met the actress, who -made a sweeping curtsey, walking on the sands with -her children. The King commanded a performance -at the theatre, but the Royal Family having gone away -on an expedition, did not get back in time, and kept -everyone waiting. The King and Queen arriving at -last, sent a page home for their wigs, so as not to keep -the audience waiting any longer.</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_67"></a>[67]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_V">CHAPTER V.<br /> -<span class="smaller">SUCCESS.</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p>At last all difficulties were arranged between the -manager of Drury Lane and Mrs. Siddons, and the day -dawned on which she was again destined to make her -bow before a London audience. It was the 10th October -1782. Important changes had taken place in the -theatre since the fatal December seven years before. -The proud pre-eminence of Drury Lane had passed -away; the magic circle of theatrical genius that Garrick -kept together by his personal influence had been -broken up and dispersed under Sheridan’s erratic -management. Mrs. Abington, Mrs. Yates, and Miss -Young had deserted to other companies. So that the -fine selection of plays, ever ready with the same set -of players at hand to act them, ensuring a perfection -never achieved before, were now mounted without care -of thought, and acted by whomever the capricious -manager chose to select for the moment. Old trained -hands, accustomed to the methodical rule of Garrick, -would not submit to be transferred from part to -part, receiving no due notice beforehand, and, above -all, they would not submit to the irregularity in the -money arrangements which had begun almost immediately<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_68"></a>[68]</span> -after the impecunious Irishman took the reins -of government. There were hardly any names of note -now to be seen on the bills except those of Smith, -Palmer, and King, and they openly talked of deserting -the sinking ship.</p> - -<p>There is something almost heroic, therefore, in the -appearance of the young actress on the boards of -Drury Lane at this particular juncture. Alone and -unaided, against enormous odds, she saved the famous -theatre, endeared to every lover of dramatic art, from -artistic and financial ruin. She had hitherto proved -herself to have indomitable industry and energy, to -have all the qualities of a hard-working, painstaking -artist; now she was suddenly to flash forth in all the -splendour of her genius and power. And yet how -simple and womanly she remained. There was no -undue reliance on her own gifts, in spite of the indiscriminate -praise that had been heaped on her at -Bath by too zealous friends. She turned a deaf ear -to Miss Seward—“all asterisks and exclamations,” -and to Dr. Whalley—“all sighs and admiration”; -but listened to the wise suggestions of Mr. Linley -and of old Sheridan, the father of Richard Brinsley -Sheridan, himself a retired actor with full knowledge -of the stage and its requirements. She and they -were afraid her voice was not equal to filling a large -London theatre. “But we soon had reason to think,” -she tells us, “that the bad construction of the Bath -theatre, and not the weakness of my voice was the -cause of our mutual fears.”</p> - -<p>Isabella, in Southerne’s pathetic play of <i>The Fatal -Marriage</i>, was the part Sheridan recommended her to -choose for her first appearance, and the selection -showed his appreciative knowledge both of her powers<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_69"></a>[69]</span> -and of the audience she was to act to; the combined -tenderness, grief and indignation showing the variety -and range of expression of which she was capable. -Hamilton painted a picture of her in this part, dressed -in deep black, holding her boy by the hand, and appealing -for help to her father-in-law, that even now brings -the tears to one’s eyes as one looks at it. Her son -Henry, then eight years old, acted with her. It is -said that, observing his mother at rehearsal in the -agonies of the dying scene, he took the fiction for -reality, and burst into a flood of tears. She herself -for the fortnight before her appearance suffered from -nervous agitation more than can be imagined. The -whole account of her mental state is best told in her -own words.</p> - -<p>“No wonder I was nervous before the <i>memorable</i> -day on which hung my own fate and that of my little -family. I had quitted Bath, where all my efforts had -been successful, and I feared lest a second failure in -London might influence the public mind greatly to my -prejudice, in the event of my return from Drury Lane, -disgraced as I formerly had been. In due time I was -summoned to the rehearsal of Isabella. Who can -imagine my terror? I feared to utter a sound above -an audible whisper; but by degrees enthusiasm cheered -me into a forgetfulness of my fears, and I unconsciously -threw out my voice, which failed not to be -heard in the remotest part of the house by a friend -who kindly undertook to ascertain the happy circumstance.</p> - -<p>“The countenances, no less than tears and flattering -encouragements of my companions, emboldened me -more and more, and the second rehearsal was even more -affecting than the first. Mr. King, who was then<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_70"></a>[70]</span> -manager, was loud in his applause. This second rehearsal -took place on the 8th October 1782, and on the -evening of that day I was seized with a nervous hoarseness, -which made me extremely wretched; for I dreaded -being obliged to defer my appearance on the 10th, -longing, as I most earnestly did, at least to know the -worst. I went to bed, therefore, in a state of dreadful -suspense. Awaking the next morning, however, -though out of restless, unrefreshing sleep, I found, -upon speaking to my husband, that my voice was -very much clearer. This, of course, was a great -comfort to me; and, moreover, the sun, which had -been completely obscured for many days, shone -brightly through my curtains. I hailed it, though -tearfully, yet thankfully, as a happy omen; and even -now I am not ashamed of <i>this</i> (as it may, perhaps, be -called) childish superstition. On the morning of the -10th my voice was, most happily, perfectly restored; -and again ‘<i>the blessed sun shone brightly on me</i>.’ On -this eventful day my father arrived to comfort me, and -to be a witness of my trial. He accompanied me to -my dressing-room at the theatre. There he left me; -and I, in one of what I call my desperate tranquillities, -which usually impress me under terrific -circumstances, there completed my dress, to the -astonishment of my attendants, without uttering one -word, though often sighing most profoundly.”</p> - -<p>The young actress had been puffed industriously -before by Sheridan in the play-bills, and he had, no -doubt, circulated in his dexterous way that the cause -of her previous failure had been Garrick’s jealousy, as, -indeed, we know he told the actress herself.</p> - -<p>There was a certain amount of expectancy and discussion. -The house was full of all that was most<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_71"></a>[71]</span> -brilliant, intellectual, and “tonish” in the London of -that day. They had all come with powdered heads, -gold-laced coats, and diamond-encircled throats to see -a pretty woman act an affecting play; but they were -hardly prepared for the passion and pathos that for -the time being shook them out of their artificial lace -handkerchief grief and bowed the powdered heads -with genuine emotion. She was well supported—Smith, -Palmer, Farren, Packer, and Mrs. Love acting -with her, to say nothing of the veteran Roger Kemble, -her father, who was, she tells us, little less agitated -than herself. Her husband did not even venture -to appear behind or before the scenes, his agitation -was so great.</p> - -<p>“At length I was called to my fiery trial. The -awful consciousness that one is the sole object of attention -to that immense space, lined, as it were, with -human intellect from top to bottom and all around, -may, perhaps, be imagined, but can never be described, -and can never be forgotten.”</p> - -<p>If that night were never to pass from the memory -of Mrs. Siddons, neither would it ever pass from the -memory of those who were present, nor ever be erased -from the annals of the English stage, of which that -beautiful and pathetic face and form was to be for -many years the chief pride.</p> - -<p>The story of <i>Isabella, or the Fatal Marriage</i>, is -simple in construction, the interest centring in one -figure, that of the heroine. Biron, son of a proud -and worldly-minded man, marries a girl beneath him -in station, contrary to his father’s wish. A son is -born, but Biron has hardly had time to rejoice over his -birth before he is called away to the war, and, after -some months, is reported as killed in battle. The wife<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_72"></a>[72]</span> -appears with the child in the first scene, appealing in -vain, for pity’s sake, to her father-in-law to give her -something to support her and the infant. As the -bailiff enters to arrest her for debt, Villeroy (whose -attentions she had repelled, grieving as she was for her -husband) comes forward, frees her from the importunities -of her creditors, and induces her, for her -child’s sake, to marry him. Hardly is she Villeroy’s -wife before Biron returns. In despair, she kills herself.</p> - -<p>There were moments, sentences that became traditional -after this first night, as when, in reply to the -question put to her on the arrival of the creditors as to -what she would do, she answered, “Do! Nothing!” the -very tone of the words told all her story. Miss Gordon -fainted away on hearing the cry “Biron! Biron!” -while we know Madame de Staël’s account in <i>Corinne</i> -of the hysterical laugh when Isabella kills herself at -the end.</p> - -<p>It was an extraordinary evening. The house was -carried away in a storm of emotion; men were not -ashamed to sob, and many women went into violent -hysterics. It is difficult, indeed, for us now to understand -such agitation; we fritter away our sentiment on -the ordinary business of life:—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">The town in those days mostly lay</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Betwixt the tavern and the play.</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p class="noindent">The penny press had not yet come within the radius -of everyone, and men depended on the theatre for -their fictitious excitement. A new play, a young actor -or actress, were greater subjects of interest than even -Mr. Pitt’s or Mr. Fox’s last speech, which they only -heard of piecemeal.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_73"></a>[73]</span></p> - -<p>Mrs. Siddons had the good fortune still to play to -audiences who were in the full enjoyment of their -natural and critical powers of appreciation. She bent -all her powers to calling forth their emotions. She -touched them to the quick with her pathos and power. -The audience surrendered at discretion to the summons -of the young enchantress. Her own simple account -of it all is very attractive; and afterwards, in the history -of her life, when a little hardness, or a rather too -abrupt assertion of superiority, is to be regretted, we -turn to this spontaneous, almost girlish account of her -first triumph—through which we can see the smiles -beaming, the tears glistening—with pleasure and -relief.</p> - -<p>“I reached my own quiet fireside,” she says, “on -retiring from the scene of reiterated shouts and -plaudits. I was half dead; and my joy and thankfulness -were of too solemn and overpowering a nature to -admit of words, or even tears. My father, my husband, -and myself sat down to a frugal neat supper -in a silence uninterrupted except by exclamations of -gladness from Mr. Siddons. My father enjoyed his -refreshments, but occasionally stopped short, and, -laying down his knife and fork, lifting up his venerable -face, and throwing back his silver hair, gave way to tears -of happiness. We soon parted for the night; and I, -worn out with continually broken rest and laborious -exertion, after an hour’s retrospection (who can conceive -the intenseness of that reverie?), fell into a sweet -and profound sleep, which lasted to the middle of the -next day. I arose alert in mind and body.”</p> - -<p>And so the seven long years spent in tempering -her genius, in working to gain strength and confidence, -had borne their result, for we will not allow, as<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_74"></a>[74]</span> -Mr. Fitzgerald says, that her present success was owing -to the absence “of the restraint from the patronizing -instruction of Garrick,” or any other exterior circumstance. -The change had come from within, not from -without. Hers was essentially a genius of tardy -growth, both physically and mentally she did not reach -her full development until the time when most -actresses have enjoyed seven or eight years’ success. -She had worked, and, like all other workers, had -reaped her reward; though, unlike the common run of -workers, having genius to back her, the reward she -reaped was not only a temporary success, but fame. -The memory of this night has been handed down to -us in company with Garrick’s first appearance in -<i>Richard III.</i> and Edmund Kean’s in Shylock in 1814.</p> - -<p>The critics next day were unanimous in her praise. -Some found the voice a little harsh, the passion a little -too “restless and fluttering,” but all were agreed that -a great event had occurred in the dramatic world. It -is of little use repeating the praise and criticism, all -<i>that</i> can be done in a reviewal of her artistic life; we -are more interested in the personal history of the -woman who had thus stirred up the waters that had -threatened to become stagnant since the retirement of -Garrick. It is natural for us rather to like to hear -personal anecdotes of those who appear publicly before -us than pages of hackneyed verbiage on their acting -and appearance.</p> - -<p>She wrote to Dr. Whalley one of those genuine, spontaneous -letters that show how she was misunderstood -by those who thought her hard and reserved:—“My -dear, dear friend, the trying moment is passed, and I -am crowned with a success which far exceeds even my -hopes. God be praised! I am extremely hurried,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_75"></a>[75]</span> -being obliged to dine at Linley’s; have been at the -rehearsal of a new tragedy in prose, a most affecting -play, in which I have a part I like very much. I -believe my next character will be Zara in the <i>Mourning -Bride</i>. My friend Pratt was, I believe in my soul, as -much agitated, and is as much rejoiced as myself. As -I know it will give you pleasure, I venture to assure -you I never in my life heard such peals of applause. -I thought they would not have suffered Mr. Packer to -end the play. Oh! how I wished for you last night, -to share a joy which was too much for me to bear -alone! My poor husband was so agitated that he -durst not venture near the house. I enclose an epilogue -which my good friend wrote for me, but which -I could not, from excessive fatigue of mind and body, -speak. Never, never let me forget his goodness to me. -I have suffered tortures for (of?) the unblest these -three days and nights past, and believe I am not in -perfect possession of myself at present; therefore -excuse, my dear Mr. Whalley, the incorrectness of -this scrawl, and accept it as the first tribute of love -(after the first decisive moment) from your ever -grateful and truly affectionate, <span class="smcap">S. Siddons</span>.”</p> - -<p>On the next night her success was even greater. -The lobbies were lined with crowds of ladies and -gentlemen “of the highest fashion.” Lady Shelburne, -Lord North the politician, Lady Essex, Mr. -Sheridan and the Linley family weeping in his box, -and hosts of others.</p> - -<p>She very soon began to reap substantial benefits from -her success.</p> - -<p>“I should be afraid to say,” she continues, “how -many times <i>Isabella</i> was repeated successively, with -still increasing favour. I was now highly gratified<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_76"></a>[76]</span> -by a removal from my very indifferent and inconvenient -dressing-room to one on the stage-floor, -instead of climbing a long staircase; and this room -(oh, unexpected happiness!) had been Garrick’s -dressing-room. It is impossible to conceive my gratification -when I saw my own figure in the self-same -glass which had so often reflected the face and form of -that unequalled genius—not, perhaps, without some -vague, fanciful hope of a little degree of inspiration -from it.”</p> - -<p>For eight nights the play was acted, and still every -time she appeared the tide of popular favour ran -higher. The box office was besieged by people wanting -tickets, and the most ridiculous stories were told of -the crush. Two old men stationed themselves to play -chess outside at all hours, so as to secure tickets. -Footmen lay stretched out asleep from dawn to buy -places for their mistresses. Years afterwards, when at -a great meeting at Edinburgh, Mrs. Siddons’ health -was proposed, Sir Walter Scott described the scene on -one of those far-famed nights: the breakfasting near -the theatre, waiting the whole day, the crushing at the -doors at six o’clock, the getting in and counting their -fingers till seven. But the very first step, the first -word she uttered, was sufficient to overpay everyone -their weariness. The house was then electrified, and -it was only from witnessing the effects of her genius -that one could guess to what a pitch theatrical excellence -may be carried. “Those young fellows,” added -Sir Walter, “who have only seen the setting sun of -this distinguished performer, beautiful and serene as it -is, must give us old fellows, who have seen its rise, -leave to hold our heads a little higher.”</p> - -<p>After <i>Isabella</i>, the actress appeared in Murphy’s<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_77"></a>[77]</span> -<i>Grecian Daughter</i>, a very indifferent play, but one -into which she breathed life and beauty by the power -of her intuition.</p> - -<p>Not yet had the ninety-one of the past century -dawned upon civilisation with its Goddess of Reason, -its scanty classic draperies, and its sandalled, bare-footed -beauties. Toupees, toques, bouffantes, hoops, -sacques, and all the paraphernalia of horse-hair, -powder, pomatum, and pins were still in the ascendant. -Not yet had Charlotte Corday sacrificed her life for the -liberty of her people; but the muttering of the coming -storm was heard in the distance, and, with the prescience -of genius, the young actress anticipated its advent, -and amazed her audience by the simple beauty of her -classic draperies, and shook them with excitement by -her rapturous appeals to Liberty.</p> - -<p>There was a glorious enthusiasm about her delivery -of certain portions. She came to perish or to conquer. -She seemed to grow several inches taller. Her voice -gained tones undreamt of before:—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">Shall he not tremble when a daughter comes,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Wild with her griefs, and terrible with wrongs?</div> - <div class="verse indent0">The <i>Man of blood shall hear me</i>! Yes, my voice</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Shall mount aloft upon the whirlwind’s wing.</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>Her scorn was magnificent. Her reply to Dionysius, -when he asks her to induce her husband to withdraw -his army—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent14">Thinkest thou then</div> - <div class="verse indent0">So meanly of my Phocion? Dost thou deem him</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Poorly wound up to a mere fit of valour,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">To melt away in a weak woman’s tears?</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Oh, thou dost little know him.</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>At the last line, Boaden tells us, there was a triumphant -hurry and enjoyment in her scorn, which the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_78"></a>[78]</span> -audience caught as electrical and applauded in rapture, -for at least a minute:—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">A daughter’s arm, fell monster, strikes the blow!</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Yes, <i>first</i> she strikes—an injured daughter’s arm</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Sends thee devoted to the infernal gods!</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>After this she acted Jane Shore. “Mrs Siddons,” -as one of the critics remarked on this performance, -“has the air of never being an actress; she seems unconscious -that there is a motley crowd called the pit -waiting to applaud her, or that a dozen fiddlers are -waiting for her exit.” Her “Forgive me, but forgive -me,” when asking pardon of her husband, convulsed -the house with sobs. Crabb Robinson, while witnessing -this harrowing performance, burst into a peal -of laughter, and, upon being removed, was found to be -in strong hysterics.</p> - -<p>After Jane Shore, she appeared as Calista, Belvidera, -and Zara. All were received with the same -enthusiasm.</p> - -<p>On the 5th June she acted Isabella for the last time -that season, having performed in all about eighty -nights, and on six of them for the benefit of others; -and during that short time she may be said to have -completely revolutionised the English stage. Nothing -now was applauded but tragedy. The farces which -before had won a laugh, were now not listened to. -The young actress so completely depressed the spirits of -the audience, that the best comic actor seemed unable -to raise them. Already she was preparing the way for -the stately solemnity of John Kemble and the Revival -of Shakespearean Tragedy.</p> - -<p>The town went “born mad,” as Horace Walpole -said, after her. The papers wrote about her continually, -her dress, her movements. Nothing else<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_79"></a>[79]</span> -seemed to have the same interest. Her salary, originally -five pounds a week, was raised to twenty pounds -before the end of the season, and her first benefit -realised eight hundred pounds.</p> - -<p>On this latter occasion she addressed a letter to the -public:—</p> - -<p>“Mrs. Siddons would not have remained so long -without expressing the high sense she had of the great -honours done her at her late benefit, but that, after -repeated trials, she could not find words adequate to -her feelings, and she must at present be content with -the plain language of a grateful mind; that her heart -thanks all her benefactors for the distinguished and, -she fears, too partial encouragement which they bestowed -on this occasion. She is told that the splendid -appearance on that night, and the emoluments arising -from it, exceed anything ever recorded on a similar -account in the annals of the English stage; but she -has not the vanity to imagine that this arose from -any superiority over many of her predecessors or -some of her contemporaries. She attributes it wholly -to that liberality of sentiment which distinguishes -the inhabitants of this great metropolis from those -of any other in the world. They know her story—they -know that for many years, by a strange fatality, -she was confined to move in a narrow sphere, in which -the rewards attendant on her labours were proportionally -small. With a generosity unexampled, they -proposed at once to balance the account, and pay off -the arrears due, according to the rate, the too partial -rate, at which they valued her talents. She knows -the danger arising from extraordinary and unmerited -favours, and will carefully guard against any approach -of pride, too often their attendant. Happy shall she<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_80"></a>[80]</span> -esteem herself, if by the utmost assiduity, and constant -exertion of her poor abilities, she shall be able -to lessen, though hopeless ever to discharge, the vast -debt she owes the public.”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Siddons was always too fond of taking the -public into her confidence. Everything in this letter -can be taken for granted; and it would have been -more dignified to have kept silence.</p> - -<p>More pleasing and natural are the letters written to -her friends. She wrote thus to Dr. Whalley about this -time:—</p> - -<p>“Just at this moment are you, my dear Sir, -sitting down to supper, and ‘every guest’s a friend.’ -Oh! that I were with you, but for one half-hour. -‘Oh! God forbid!’ says my dear Mrs. Whalley; ‘for -he would talk so loud and so fast, that he would throw -himself into a fever, and die of unsatisfied curiosity -into the bargain.’ Do I flatter myself, my dear Sir? -Oh no! you have both done me the honour to assure -me that you love me, and I would not forego the -blessed idea for the world ... I did receive all your -letters, and thank you for them a thousand times. -One line of them is worth all the acclamations of -ten thousand shouting theatres.”</p> - -<p>And so closes this wonderful year in the great -actress’s life—the one to which she always looked back -as the climax of her happiness and good fortune.</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_81"></a>[81]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_VI">CHAPTER VI.<br /> -<span class="smaller">DUBLIN AND EDINBURGH.</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p>Irishmen have a natural theatrical instinct, and Dublin, -at the time of which we write, was to a certain degree -valued as a censor in dramatic affairs as highly as -London. A Dublin audience often ventured to dissent -from the judgments of the metropolis, and, as in the -case of Mrs. Pritchard, who, Campbell quaintly tells -us, “electrified the Irish with disappointment,” to -entirely reverse them. Most of the best Drury Lane -players had begun their career at the Smock Alley -theatre, and many of them had Irish blood in their -veins. The theatre was the finest in the kingdom -next to Drury Lane, boasting the innovation of a -drop scene, representing the Houses of Parliament, -instead of the conventional green curtain.</p> - -<p>The same causes which placed the provincial towns -of England in an important position, so far as social -and dramatic affairs were concerned, operated still -more effectually in the case of Dublin. To cross to -London in those days was as long and tedious a -journey as to go to New York in ours; and none even of -the nobility thought of doing so every year. The<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_82"></a>[82]</span> -vice-regal court was, therefore, really a court, surrounded -by a certain amount of brilliancy and -splendour. Ever since the days of Peg Woffington -and the Miss Gunnings, Irish beauties had dared to -set the fashion; and we read in a letter written from -Dublin, by a leader of fashion of the day, that it is -of no use English women coming over unless they -are prepared to “make their waists of the circumference -of two oranges, no more”; their “heads a -foot high, exclusive of feathers, and stretching to a -pent-house of most horrible projection behind, the -breadth from wing to wing considerably broader than -your shoulders; and as many different things in your -cap as in Noah’s ark.... Verily,” the lady ends, -“I never did see such monsters as the heads now in -vogue; I am a monster, too, but a moderate one.”</p> - -<p>Round the small court fluttered young equerries who -wrote plays, and were devoted to the drama. Actors -and actresses themselves, if at all within the pale of -respectability, were admitted to the vice-regal circle. -Mrs. Inchbald was intimate with many of the fashionable -and literary ladies. Daly, the manager of the -theatre, was a regular <i>habitué</i> of the “Castle”; and -John Kemble, who had arrived in Ireland some time -before his sister, had been introduced by the equerry -Jephson to the “set,” including Tighe, Courtenay, -and others.</p> - -<p>All this society was thrown into a ferment of excitement -when it was announced that the beautiful young -actress, who had turned all heads in London, was -coming to Dublin. Kemble was interviewed and pestered -with inquiries on the subject. Indeed, his prestige for -the time was vastly increased by his relationship. At -a dinner at the Castle, Lord Inchiquin gave as a toast,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_83"></a>[83]</span> -“The matchless Mrs. Siddons,” and sent her brother -a ring containing her miniature set in diamonds.</p> - -<p>Daly had gone over himself to engage her; and it -was said she had refused all provincial offers in England -for the sake of winning the hearts of the Irish -critics. All seemed propitious, and the way prepared -for the coming of the conquering heroine. Events, -however, did not turn out as expected. There, where -the vivacious, impudent, good-natured Peg Woffington, -with her “bad” voice and swaggering way, became a -popular idol, the queenly Siddons, with her imperious, -tragic manner, extorted praise for her acting, no doubt, -but never won their hearts. In spite of the Irish -blood in her veins, she had no fellow-feeling for the -people; and an antagonism sprang up between her -and her Dublin audience from the first. She disliked -the dirt, ostentation, insincerity, and frivolity of Irishmen, -and refused to acknowledge their kind-heartedness -and genuine artistic appreciation.</p> - -<p>By her letters we can see the impression the country -made on her. She started in the beginning of July, -accompanied by a small party, which consisted of -Brereton, her husband, and her sister. On the 14th -she writes to her friend Whalley:—</p> - -<p>“I thank you a thousand and a thousand times for -your letter; but you don’t mention having heard from -me since you left England. We rejoice most sincerely -that you are arrived without any material accident, -without any dangerous ones I mean, for, to be sure, -some of them were very <i>materially</i> entertaining. Oh! -how I laugh whenever the drowsy adventure comes -across my imagination, for ‘more was meant than -met the ear.’ I am sure I would have given the -world to have seen my dear Mrs. Whalley upon<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_84"></a>[84]</span> -the little old tub. How happy you are in your -descriptions! So she was very well; then very -jocular she must be. I think her conversation, thus -enthroned and thus surrounded, must have been the -highest treat in all the world. Some parts of your -tour must have been enchanting. How good it was of -you to wish me a partaker of your pastoral dinner! -Be assured, my dear, dear friends, no one can thank you -more sincerely, or be more sensible of the honour of -your regard, though many may deserve it better. -What a comfortable thing to meet with such agreeable -people! But society and converse like yours and dear -Mrs. Whalley’s must very soon make savages agreeable. -How did poor little Paphy bear it? Did she remonstrate -in her usual melting tones? I am sure she was -very glad to be at rest, which does not happen in a -carriage, I remember, for any length of time. I can -conceive nothing so provoking or ridiculous as the -Frenchman’s politeness, and poor Vincent’s perplexity. -You will have heard, long ere this reaches you, that -our sweet D⸺ is safely delivered of a very fine girl, -which, I know, will give you no small pleasure. Now -for myself. Our journey was delightful; the roads -through Wales present you with mountains unsurmountable, -the grandest and most beautiful prospects -to be conceived; but I want your pen to describe -them.</p> - -<p>“We got very safe to Holyhead, and then I felt as -if some great event was going to take place, having -never been on the sea. I was awed, but not terrified; -feeling myself in the hands of a great and powerful -God ‘whose mercy is over all His works.’ The sea -was particularly rough; we were lifted mountains high, -and sank again as low in an instant. Good God! how<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_85"></a>[85]</span> -tremendous, how wonderful! A pleasing terror took -hold on me, which it is impossible to describe, and I -never felt the majesty of the Divine Creator so fully -before. I was dreadfully sick, and so were my poor -sister and Mr. Brereton. Mr. Siddons was pretty -well; and here, my dear friend, let me give you a little -wholesome advice: allways (you see I have forgot to -spell) go to bed the instant you go on board, for by -lying horizontally, and keeping very quiet, you cheat -the sea of half its influence. We arrived in Dublin -the 16th June, half-past twelve at night. There is not -a tavern or a house of any kind in this capital city of -a rising kingdom, as they call themselves, that will -take a woman in; and, do you know, I was obliged, -after being shut up in the Custom-house officer’s room, -to have the things examined, which room was more -like a dungeon than anything else—after staying here -above an hour and a half, I tell you, I was obliged, -sick and weary as I was, to wander about the streets -on foot (for the coaches and chairs were all gone off -the stands) till almost two o’clock in the morning, -raining, too, as if heaven and earth were coming together. -A pretty beginning! thought I; but these -people are a thousand years behind us in every respect. -At length Mr. Brereton, whose father had provided a -bed for him on his arrival, ventured to say he would -insist on having a bed for us at the house where he was -to sleep. Well, we got to this place, and the lady of -the house vouchsafed, after many times telling us that -she never took in ladies, to say we should sleep there -that night.”</p> - -<p>The actress’s first appearance was made in <i>Isabella</i>, -on the 21st June 1783. The theatre was crowded -to suffocation, and guineas and half-guineas were paid<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_86"></a>[86]</span> -for seats in the pit and gallery; but after the first -night the enthusiasm seemed to die away, and Mrs. -Crawford, at Crow Street Theatre, who had been -completely dethroned by Mrs. Siddons in London, -now boldly ventured to come forward in opposition to -her rival, and, to her own astonishment, as well as that -of everyone else, soon commanded larger houses. The -critics also soon began their attacks, taking the form -of ridicule, a method of warfare very trying to a person -of her proud, sensitive nature.</p> - -<p>“On Saturday, Mrs. Siddons, about whom all the -world has been talking, exposed her beautiful, adamantine, -soft, and comely person, for the first time, in the -Theatre Royal, Smock Alley. The house was crowded -with hundreds more than it could hold, with thousands -of admiring spectators that went away without a sight. -She was nature itself; she was the most exquisite work -of art. Several fainted, even before the curtain drew -up. The fiddlers in the orchestra blubbered like -hungry children crying for their bread and butter; -and when the bell rang for music between the acts, -the tears ran from the bassoon player’s eyes in such -showers that they choked the finger-stops, and, making -a spout of the instrument, poured in such a torrent -upon the first fiddler’s book, that, not seeing the overture -was in two sharps, the leader of the band actually -played in two flats; but the sobs and sighs of the -groaning audience, and the noise of the corks drawn -from the smelling-bottles, prevented the mistake being -discovered. The briny pond in the pit was three feet -deep, and the people that were obliged to stand upon -the benches, were in that position up to their ankles in -tears. An Act of Parliament against her playing will -certainly pass, for she has infected the volunteers, and<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_87"></a>[87]</span> -they sit reading <i>The Fatal Marriage</i>, crying and roaring -all the time. May the curses of an insulted -nation pursue the gentlemen of the College, the gentlemen -of the Bar, and the peers and peeresses that -hissed her on the second night. True it is that Mr. -Garrick never could make anything of her, and pronounced -her below mediocrity; true it is the London -audience did not like her; but what of that?”</p> - -<p>Her consciousness of the antagonism that existed -against her in the press and amongst the public made -her stay in the capital by no means either pleasant or -successful, and she was glad to start with the party -which Daly had got together to go the round of the -country. It consisted of the manager and his future -wife, Miss Barsanti, the two Kembles, Miss Younge, -Digges, Miss Philipps, and Mrs. Melnotte, wife of -Pratt Melnotte, of Bath celebrity.</p> - -<p>An amusing account of the tour has been left by -Bernard the actor, who happened to be in Ireland at -the time. The solemn Kembles certainly seem out of -place in the rollicking fun, and we can imagine Mrs. -Siddons’s stately disgust when a gentleman from the -pit called out, “Sally, me jewel, how are you?” or, -as occurred several times, when a general dance took -place in the gallery as soon as the orchestra began.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Siddons does not seem to have had any occasion -for changing later the first opinion she formed of the -country, for we find her writing confidentially to Mr. -Whalley from Cork, on the 29th of August, that she -thinks the city of Dublin a sink of filthiness.</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p>“The noisome smells, and the multitudes of shocking and -most miserable objects, made me resolve never to stir -out but to my business. I like not the people either; -they are all ostentation and insincerity, and in their<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_88"></a>[88]</span> -ideas of finery very like the French, but not so cleanly; -and they not only speak, but think coarsely. This -is in confidence; therefore, your fingers on your lips, -I pray. They are tenacious of their country to a -degree of folly that is very laughable, and would call -me the blackest of ingrates were they to know my -sentiments of them. I have got a thousand pounds -among them this summer. I always acknowledge myself -obliged to them, but I cannot love them. I know but -one among them that can in any degree atone for the -barbarism of the rest, who thinks there are other -means of expressing esteem besides forcing people to -eat and to drink, the doing which to a most offensive -degree they call Irish hospitality. I long to be at -home, sitting quietly in the little snug parlour, where -I had last the pleasure, or rather the pain, of seeing -you that night. For the first time in my life I wished -not to see you. I dreaded it, and with reason. I -knew (which was the case) I should not recover that -cruel farewell for several days.</p> - -<p>“Oh! my dear friend, do the pleasures of life compensate -for the pangs? I think not. Some people -place the whole happiness of life in the pleasures of -imagination, in building castles; for my part, I am not -one that builds very magnificent ones. Nay; I don’t -build any castles, but cottages without end. May the -great Disposer of all events but permit me to spend the -evening of my toilsome, bustling day in a cottage, where -I may sometimes have the converse and society which -will make me more worthy those imperishable habitations -which are prepared for the spirits of just men -made perfect! Yes, let me take up my rest in this -world near my beloved Langford. You know this has -been my castle any time these four years. And I am<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_89"></a>[89]</span> -making a little snug party. Mr. Nott and my dear -sister I have secured, and make no doubt of gaining -a few others. Is not this a delightful scheme?</p> - -<p>“I have played for one charity since I have been -here (I am at Cork, I should tell you), and am to play -for another to-morrow—your favourite Zara, in the -<i>Mourning Bride</i>. I am extremely happy that you like -your little companion so well [alluding to a miniature -of herself she had sent him]. I have sat to a young -man in this place, who has made a small full-length of -me in Isabella, upon the first entrance of Biron. You -will think this an arduous undertaking, but he has -succeeded to admiration. I think it more like me than -any I have ever yet seen. I am sure you would have -been delighted with it. I never was so well in my life -as I have been in Ireland; but, God be praised, I shall -set out for dear England next Tuesday.</p> - -<p>“This letter has been begun this month, and finished -by a line or two at a time, so you’ll find it a fine scrawl, -and I am still so mere a matter-of-fact body as to -despair of giving you the least entertainment. I can -boast no other claim to the honour and happiness of -your correspondence than a very sincere affection for -you both, joined with the most perfect esteem for your -most amiable qualities and great talent. Say all that’s -kind for me to my dear Mrs. W⸺, and believe me, -ever your most affectionate</p> - -<p class="right">“<span class="smcap">S. Siddons</span>.”</p> - -</div> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p class="right">“Cork, August 29th.</p> - -<p>“I hope you will give me the pleasure of hearing -from you soon.”</p> - -</div> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p class="right">“London, October 7th, 1783.</p> - -<p>“For God’s sake, my dear friends, pray for my<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_90"></a>[90]</span> -memory. I had forgot to pay the postage, as you -kindly desired, and this poor letter has been wandering -about the world ever since I left Cork.</p> - -<p>“It was opened in Ireland, you see, so I must never -show my face there again. The King commands -<i>Isabella</i> to-morrow, and I play <i>Jane Shore</i> on Saturday. -I have affronted Mrs. Jackson by not being able -to procure her places. I am extremely sorry for it, as -I had the highest esteem for herself, and her friendship -to you had tied her close to my heart. I have -done all I could to reinstate myself in her favour, but -in vain. Poor Mr. Nott has been in great trouble; he -has lost a brother lately that was more nearly allied -than by blood, and for whose loss he is inconsolable. -He is not in town, but I hope soon to see him. Adieu! -Mr. Siddons, &c., desire kindest wishes. The last -letter I wrote to you I was very near serving in the -same manner. Is it not a little alarming? I fear I -shall be superannuated in a few years.”</p> - -</div> - -<p>Her acrimony is almost incomprehensible. After -the expressions used in the above letter we can quite -understand how she made herself unpopular. She -might have wished secrecy kept, but she was not the -woman to hide what she felt. She is unjust also in -the statement that Irishmen “not only think but speak -coarsely.” On this, as on other occasions, she allowed -her wounded vanity to dim her power of observation. -The punishment, however, came sharp and sudden, and -destroyed her happiness for many a day.</p> - -<p>While Mrs. Siddons was acting in Dublin, Jackson, -the manager of the Edinburgh Theatre, opened communications -with her with a view to an engagement. -Finding it difficult to come to terms, he at last travelled -over himself, but the history of the negotiation from<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_91"></a>[91]</span> -beginning to end makes us understand Mrs. Siddons’s -unpopularity with all her managers. There is too -resolute an adherence to her own interests, too -much of a calm, cold superiority. She “haggled” and -bargained over every step, until Jackson almost gave -the whole business up in despair. Encouraged, however, -FitzGerald tells us, by a purse of £200, which -some noblemen and gentlemen of Scotland had liberally -made up to assist him in making the engagement, he -at last assented to her terms. The Siddons’ demands -for nine nights’ performance, besides a “clear benefit,” -was £400. They soon, however, heard of the £200 -subscription, and Mr. Siddons then wrote to know if -that sum was to be included in the £400, or if it were -to come under the head of an extra emolument. The -manager was explicit in his statement that the £200 -was intended for his benefit. On this Mrs. Siddons -announced that she did not wish for any given sum, -but would take half the clear receipts. Poor Jackson -was obliged to agree to this breach of contract, as he -had already gone so far with his patrons in Edinburgh. -The history of the negotiation, however, is not pleasant -reading for Mrs. Siddons’s admirers, especially when we -find later that she contrived to have the £200 subscription -paid over to her without the knowledge of -the manager, and that at the end of her engagement -Jackson found himself a loser. The “charges of the -house” were put too low. Actors like Pope, King, -and Miss Farren had always allowed something handsome -on settlement. Nothing was to be obtained from -Mrs. Siddons.</p> - -<p>The average profit would have been about £25 a -night. From Dublin she returned to London, and -acted her second season there; it was even more brilliant<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_92"></a>[92]</span> -than her first, and rendered noteworthy both by -her first appearance with her brother, John Kemble, in -<i>The Gamester</i>, who from that time frequently acted -with her, and by her acting of Isabella in <i>Measure for -Measure</i>, in which part she made her first success in a -Shakespearean character in London. She looked the -novice of St. Clare to perfection. In the spring she -made her way northwards to keep her engagement with -the Edinburgh manager, and on Saturday, 22nd May, -1784, she appeared on the stage of the Royalty Theatre, -in Belvidera. The well-known impassibility of the Edinburgh -audience affected Mrs. Siddons with an intolerable -sense of depression.</p> - -<p>After some of her grandest outbursts of passion, to -which no expression of applause had responded, exhausted -and breathless, she would pant out in despair, -under her breath, “Stupid people, stupid people!” -This habitual reserve she soon found, however, gave -way at times to very violent exhibitions of enthusiasm, -the more fervent from its general expression—once, -indeed, the whole of the sleep-walking scene in <i>Macbeth</i> -was so vehemently applauded that, contrary to all rule, -she had to go over it a second time before the piece was -allowed to proceed.</p> - -<p>Afterwards, when by these ebullitions of real feeling -she had proved her audience’s appreciation, she could -afford to tell stories of their stolidity when she first -appeared amongst them. The second night, disheartened -at the cold reception of her most thrilling -passages, after one desperate effort she paused for a -reply. It came at last, when the silence was broken -by a single voice exclaiming, “That’s no bad!” a -tribute which was the signal for unbounded applause. -One venerable old gentleman, who was taken by his<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_93"></a>[93]</span> -daughter to see the great actress in <i>Venice Preserved</i>, -sat with perfect composure through the first act and -into the second, when he asked his daughter, “Which -was the woman Siddons?” As Belvidera is the only -female part in the play, she had no difficulty in answering. -Nothing more occurred till the catastrophe; he -then inquired, “Is this a comedy or a tragedy?” -“Why, bless you, father, a tragedy.” “So I thought, -for I am beginning to feel a commotion.” This instance -was typical of the whole of the audience—and -once they began to “feel a commotion,” there was no -longer any doubt about their expression of it. The -passion, indeed, for hysterics and fainting at her performances -ran into a fashionable mania. A distinguished -surgeon, familiarly called “Sandy Wood,” who, -with his shrewd common-sense, had a way of seeing -through the follies of his fashionable patients, was -called from his seat in the pit, where he was to be -found every evening Mrs. Siddons acted, to attend -upon the hysterics of one of the excitable ladies who -were tumbling around him. On his way through the -crowd a friend said to him, alluding to Mrs. Siddons, -“This is glorious acting, Sandy.” Looking round at -the fainting and screaming ladies in the boxes, Wood -answered, “Yes, and a d⸺d deal o’t, too.” Some -verses in the <i>Scot’s Magazine</i> give a picture of the -scene, the pit being described as “all porter and -pathos, all whisky and whining,” while—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">“From all sides of the house, hark! the cry how it swells,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">While the boxes are torn with most heart-piercing yells!”</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>The enthusiasm to see her was so great, that one day -there were more than 2,500 applications for about 600 -seats. The oppression and heat was so great in the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_94"></a>[94]</span> -crowded and ill-ventilated theatre, that an epidemic -that attacked the town was humorously attributed to -this cause, and was called “the Siddons fever.” All -that was most cultured and intellectual in Edinburgh -came to do her homage—Blair, Hume, Beattie, Mackenzie, -Home, all attended her performances. She -made by her engagement, the share of the house, -benefit, and subscription, more than one thousand -pounds. And this success was not only among the -educated classes, the pit and gallery paid their tribute -besides. Campbell tells us how a poor servant-girl -with a basket of greens on her arm, one day stopped -near her in the High Street, and hearing her speak, -said, “Ah, weel do I ken that sweet voice, that made -me greet sae sair the streen.”</p> - -<p>Before she left she was presented with a silver tea-urn, -as a mark of “esteem” for superior genius and -unrivalled talents. She refers to this visit later in her -grandiloquent style. “How shall I express my gratitude -for the honours and kindness of my northern -friends? for, should I attempt it, I should be thought -the very queen of egotists. But never can I forget the -private no less than public marks of their gratifying -suffrages.”</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_95"></a>[95]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_VII">CHAPTER VII.<br /> -<span class="smaller">CLOUDS.</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p>On the 15th June she tore herself away from all these -“private” and “public marks of gratifying suffrages,” -and again paid a visit to Dublin, which at the beginning -was more successful than her former one, but -towards the end was clouded with untoward circumstances, -which militated against her for the whole of -her professional career.</p> - -<p>This time she became the guest of her former -friend Miss Boyle, now become Mrs. O’Neil of -Shane’s Castle. The Lord-Lieutenant welcomed her -as if she were some “great lady of rank,” and she -tells us how she was received “by all the <i>first -families</i> with the most flattering hospitality, and the -days I passed with them will be ever remembered -among the most pleasurable of my life.” She paid -a visit to Shane’s Castle. “I have not words to -describe the beauty and splendour of this enchanting -place, which, I am sorry to say, has since been -levelled to the earth by a tremendous fire. Here -were often assembled all the talent, and rank, and -beauty of Ireland. Among the persons of the Leinster -family whom I met here was poor Lord Edward<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_96"></a>[96]</span> -Fitzgerald, the most amiable, honourable, though misguided -youth I ever knew.</p> - -<p>“The luxury of this establishment almost inspired -the recollections of an Arabian Night’s entertainment. -Six or eight carriages, with a numerous throng of -lords and ladies on horseback, began the day by -making excursions around this terrestrial paradise, -returning home just in time to dress for dinner. The -table was served with a profusion and elegance to -which I have never seen anything comparable. The -sideboards were decorated with adequate magnificence, -on which appeared several immense silver flagons -containing claret. A fine band of musicians played -during the whole of the repast. They were stationed -in the corridors, which led into a fine conservatory, -where we plucked our dessert from numerous trees of -the most exquisite fruits. The foot of the conservatory -was washed by the waves of a superb lake, from which -the cool and pleasant wind came, to murmur in concert -with the harmony from the corridor. The graces -of the presiding genius, the lovely mistress of the -mansion, seemed to blend with the whole scene.”</p> - -<p>These Arabian Nights’ entertainments, delightful as -they may have been, were calculated to make her very -unpopular with her profession. Stories about her fine-lady -airs were freely circulated, to which her own want -of tact, and the injudicious behaviour of her husband, -gave a certain foundation.</p> - -<p>One of these that was actually believed, and copied -into the London papers, was to the effect that, having -been persuaded to visit the studio of a certain Mr. -Home, a local artist, he asked her to sit to him. -“Impossible,” was the reply, “I can hardly find time -to sit to Sir Joshua Reynolds.” The offended artist<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_97"></a>[97]</span> -insinuated that her refusal would not ruin him; upon -which she was said to have boxed his ears and stormed -out of the house. This is so palpably ill-natured, and -from a knowledge of Mrs. Siddons’s character so improbable, -that we only give it, among a mass of other -evidence, to show how the feeling against her gradually -arose, which, to a certain extent, was destined to -pursue her through life. Mr. Siddons’s good sense -did not materially aid her. On one occasion, dining, in -company with John Kemble, at the house of a Dublin -merchant, their host expressed a great wish to be -introduced to the young actress. “I should like to -very much, but do not know how to break the matter -to her,” was the husband’s reply, which, we must -confess, was not calculated to increase the geniality of -feeling entertained for her in general society. She -managed also to offend the manager, Mr. Daly, who -by all accounts was not an agreeable person, for we -read in Bernard’s <i>Reminiscences</i> that he was an -extremely vain, jealous-tempered man, proud of his -acting and good looks. Mrs. Siddons insinuates that -his dislike arose to her scornful rejection of attentions -he endeavoured to press upon her. However that may -be, the following is her own account of the manner in -which he first showed his enmity, and gives a curious -insight into the wretched bickerings and heart-burnings -of the profession:—</p> - -<p>“The manager of the theatre also very soon began -to adopt every means of vexation for me that he -could possibly devise, merely because I chose to suggest -at rehearsal that his proper situation, as Falconbridge -in <i>King John</i>, was at the right hand of -the King. During the scene between Constance -and Austria, he thought it necessary that he should,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_98"></a>[98]</span> -though he did it most ungraciously, adopt this arrangement; -but his malevolence pursued me unremittedly -from that moment. He absurdly fancied -that he was of less consequence when placed at so -great a distance from the front of the stage, at the -ends of which the kings were seated; but he had little -or nothing to say, and his being in the front would -have greatly interrupted and diminished the effect of -Constance’s best scene. He made me suffer, however, -sufficiently for my personality by employing all -the newspapers to abuse and annoy me the whole -time I remained in Dublin, and to pursue me to -England with malignant scandal; but of that anon. -The theatre, meantime, was attended to his heart’s -content—indeed, the whole of this engagement was as -profitable as my most sanguine hopes could have -anticipated.”</p> - -<p>Presently, however, she was to be put on her -trial for a more serious charge. The unfortunate -actor, Digges, while rehearsing with her, was struck -down with paralysis. Lee Lewes, who endeavours to -defend her in all this business, tells us that her -engagement was then drawing to a close, and she -was announced to play at Cork a few days after. -Asked to perform in a benefit for the poor man, she -replied that she was sorry she had but one night to -spare, and had already promised to play for the -Marshalsea pensioners. Thinking better of this determination, -however, later, she despatched “a messenger” -to Digges, saying she had reconsidered the -matter, and would be glad to perform for him. Digges -expressed his gratitude, and the night and play were -fixed; but, according to her own evidence, everything -was done to annoy her and prevent the carrying out<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_99"></a>[99]</span> -of her charitable intentions. This is her account of -the business:—</p> - -<p>“When my visit to Shane Castle was over, I -entered into another engagement in Dublin. Among -the actors was Mr. Digges, who had formerly held a -high rank in the drama, but who was now by age -and infirmity reduced to a subordinate and mortifying -situation. It occurred to me that I might be of -some use to him if I could persuade the manager to -give him a night, and the actors to perform for him, at -the close of my engagement; but when I proposed my -request to the manager (Daly declares, as we shall see, -that the proposal came from him, and not from her), -he told me it could not be, because the whole company -would be obliged to leave the Dublin theatre in order -to open the theatre at Limerick, but that he would -lend the house for my purpose if I could procure a -sufficient number of actors to perform a play. By -indefatigable labour, and in spite of cruel annoyances, -Mr. Siddons and myself got together, from all the -little country theatres, as many as would enable us to -attempt <i>Venice Preserved</i>. Oh! to be sure it was a -scene of disgust and confusion. I acted Belvidera, -without having ever previously seen the face of one -of the actors—for there was no time for even one -rehearsal—but the motive procured us indulgence. -Poor Mr. Digges was most materially benefited by -this most ludicrous performance, and I put my disgust -into my pocket since money passed into his. Thus -ended my Irish engagement, but not so my persecution -by the manager, at whose instance the newspapers -were filled with the most unjust and malignant reflections -on me. All the time I was on a visit of some -length to the Dowager Duchess of Leinster, unconscious<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_100"></a>[100]</span> -of the gathering storm, whilst the public mind -was imbibing poisonous prejudices against me. Alas -for those who subsist by the stability of public favour!”</p> - -<p>The above was written by Mrs. Siddons in later days, -and is eminently unsatisfactory from every point of -view. The dragging in of the Dowager Duchess of -Leinster, when we want a plain statement of facts, is -irritating, and the complaint against public favour at -the end is stilted and artificial. No doubt the manager -was unfriendly, but her first impulse was not a generous -one, and she laid herself open to ill-natured constructions -being put on her conduct. The real story we -take to be this: Digges (to whom she was not particularly -inclined to be friendly, owing to her attributing -to him the authorship of the satirical criticisms -on her acting when she first arrived in Ireland) was -struck down by illness, in a manner and under circumstances -to arouse the deep sympathy of the members of -his profession, ever charitable to one another. Daly, -the manager, before communicating with Digges, asked -Mr. Siddons if his wife would give her services for a -benefit. He, instigated of course by her, refused the -request. On this refusal, not unjustly, were based all -the charges brought against her. Daly then offered to -pay for her services; this also was refused, and nothing -further was done until Mrs. Siddons, finding the -whole affair unfavourably canvassed, sent Mr. Siddons -to inform Digges that she had arranged to play for his -benefit. This graciousness came too late; the rumour -of her refusal had already got abroad, and very unfavourable -comments were made both by the press and -the public. The annoyance also caused her by the -inefficient representation of <i>Venice Preserved</i> might -have been avoided if she had at once acceded to Daly’s<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_101"></a>[101]</span> -request. As it was, the whole company had been -obliged to leave for the opening of the Limerick -Theatre. She and Mr. Siddons, therefore, were -obliged to get together a scratch company, and give -the benefit after the season was over, which could not -have been nearly so advantageous to the object of the -charity. Money was made, but not so much as if she -had acted in the middle of the season. We can hardly -believe she was actuated in all this by love of money; -it is more likely that the proud resentment she felt -when unfavourably criticised in any way had interfered -with her kindlier impulse.</p> - -<p>In the case of Brereton, the same unfortunate sensitiveness -seems to have been at work. Brereton was -the leading actor of her troupe, always played lover -to her heroine, and, it was said, had at one time made -his love in so earnest a fashion, that the beautiful -actress had, as in the case of Daly, to check his -ardour, or, as Boaden expresses it, “in kindling his -imagination the divinity unsettled his reason, and in -clasping the goddess he became sensible of the charms -of the woman.” However this may be, Brereton was -by no means friendly, and never missed an opportunity -of covertly attacking her. When asked, therefore, -to play for his benefit, she actually deducted ten -pounds from the profits as her own emolument. Percy -Fitzgerald seems inclined to think that “all this -wretched muddle was the work of Mr. Siddons, who, -considering the charitable taxes laid on her, and the -many benefits she had to assist, found himself obliged, -like most husbands of money-getting actresses, to -bargain and chaffer for her gifts as if they were wares, -and get as much money as they could be made to -bring in.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_102"></a>[102]</span></p> - -<p>But we think that at no time of their married -life had Siddons enough influence to induce her to do -anything against her better judgment, and we doubt -very much whether he was ever allowed to complete a -bargain of any kind, although his name was frequently -used. What aroused the sympathy of the public -more warmly in the cause of Brereton was the madness -that subsequently fell upon him.</p> - -<p>The best side of her character was ever called out -by adversity. It was perhaps undignified to defend -herself as she did—or, rather, as Siddons did in her -name—by an exculpatory letter to the papers, appealing -to the two actors, Digges and Brereton, to declare -whether she had, or had not, played for them when -asked. Two letters were thus extorted from them -declaring that she had done all that was necessary to -satisfy the calls of charity, &c. Nothing could be -conceived more fatal to her cause than all this bandying -of evidence. The idol men set up to worship they -generally delight to drag down and trample under foot -if they dare. In this case, however, they might -insult and humiliate, but they could not drag their -victim from the high estate she had achieved.</p> - -<p>Her very high qualities as a wife and mother, her -decorum of conduct, so different to others of her profession, -seemed to add a zest to the acrimony with -which they assaulted her. The first part in which she -appeared on the London boards after her return from -Dublin was Mrs. Beverley in the <i>Gamester</i> to her brother’s -Stukeley. Hardly had the curtain been raised, -before a storm of hooting and hissing broke forth, and -she whom they had late proclaimed a queen, who had -seen the town enslaved at her feet, now stood “the -object of public scorn.” She did the best thing she<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_103"></a>[103]</span> -could by remaining with perfect composure facing -them, but in those few dreadful moments she discounted -all the adulation and success she had enjoyed. -How intense the suffering was we can see by the -account written years after.</p> - -<p>“I had left London,” she tells us, “the object -of universal approbation, but, on my return, only a -few weeks afterwards, I was received, on my first -night’s appearance, with universal opprobrium, accused -of hardness of heart, and total insensibility to everything -and everybody except my own interest. Unhappily, -contrary winds had for some days precluded -the possibility of receiving from Dublin such -letters as would have refuted those atrocious calumnies, -and saved me from the horrors of this dreadful -night, when I was received with hissing and hooting. -Amidst this afflicting clamour I made several -attempts to be heard, when at length a gentleman -stood forth in the middle of the front of the -pit, impelled by benevolent and gentlemanly feeling, -who, as I advanced to make my last attempt at being -heard, accosted me with these words: ‘For Heaven’s -sake, Madam, do not degrade yourself by an apology, -for there is nothing necessary to be said!’ I shall -always look back with gratitude to this gallant man’s -solitary advocacy of my cause; like Abdiel, ‘faithful -found; among the faithless, faithful only he.’ His -admonition was followed by reiterated clamour, when -my dear brother appeared, and carried me away from -this scene of insult.</p> - -<p>“The instant I quitted it I fainted in his arms; and, -on my recovery, I was thankful that my persecutors -had not had the gratification of beholding this weakness. -After I was tolerably restored to myself, I was<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_104"></a>[104]</span> -induced, by the persuasions of my husband, my -brother, and Mr. Sheridan, to present myself again -before that audience by whom I had been so savagely -treated, and before whom, but in consideration of my -children, I would have never appeared again. The -play was <i>The Gamester</i>, which commences with a scene -between Beverley and Charlotte.</p> - -<p>“Great and pleasant was my astonishment to find -myself, on the second rising of the curtain, received -with a silence so profound that I was absolutely awe-struck, -and never yet have I been able to account for -this surprising contrast; for I really think that the -falling of a pin might have been then heard upon -the stage.”</p> - -<p>On her entrance the second time, Mrs. Siddons -summoned enough courage to address the audience:—</p> - -<p>“Ladies and gentlemen, the kind and flattering -partiality which I have uniformly experienced in this -place would make the present interruption distressing -to me indeed, were I in the slightest degree conscious -of having deserved your censure. I feel no such consciousness.</p> - -<p>“The stories which have been circulated against me -are calumnies. When they shall be proved to be true, -my aspersors will be justified; but, till then, my -respect for the public leads me to be confident that I -shall be protected from unmerited insult.”</p> - -<p>These words, spoken by the Muse of Tragedy, with -her stately dignity and flaming eyes, had an instantaneous -effect. She withdrew; the curtain fell.</p> - -<p>King, the actor, came forward to beg the indulgence -of the audience for a few moments; and when she -appeared again, pale but calm, not an attempt at interruption -was heard. On several occasions after, an<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_105"></a>[105]</span> -attempt was made to renew the interruption; but the -orderly portion of the audience was strong enough to -quell it. She acknowledged the applause when she -came on, and endeavoured to appear perfectly indifferent -to the hissing; but all the triumphant confidence -of the first days of success seemed to have deserted -her for the time, and she was again the uncertain, tottering -<i>débutante</i>. Her splendid genius was, however, -but dimmed, and all her suffering but lent to serve as -a stepping-stone to a higher level than she had yet -attained. We must give here some letters she wrote -to her friends, the Whalleys, as giving an insight into -that brave heart of this wonderful woman, whose “victorious -faith upheld her” in this and many subsequent -trials. What wonder, however, that in later years she -grew hard and proud—the first bloom of trust and -belief was rubbed off in these her first encounters with -the rough judgment of the mob. From henceforth -the confiding girlish Ophelia and Juliet vanish from -the scene, and Lady Macbeth, with her fierce reliance -on intellectual power alone, and indignant scorn of -all human judgment, appears. She wrote to the -Whalleys:—</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p class="noindent">“<span class="smcap">My dearest Friends</span>,</p> - -<p>“I hardly dare hope that you will remember -me. I know I don’t deserve that you should; but -I know, also, that you are too steadfast and too -good to cast me off for a seeming negligence to -which my heart and soul are averse, and the appearance -of which I have incessantly regretted. What -can I say in my defence? I have been very unhappy; -now ’tis over I will venture to tell you so, that you -may not ‘lose the dues of rejoicing.’ ‘Envy, malice,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_106"></a>[106]</span> -detraction, all the fiends of hell have compassed me -round about to destroy me’; ‘but blessed be God who -hath given me the victory,’ &c. I have been charged -with almost everything bad, except incontinence, and -it is attributed to me as thinking a woman may be -guilty of every crime in the catalogue of crimes, provided -she retain her chastity.</p> - -<p>“God help them and forgive them, they know but -little of me. I daresay you will wonder that a favourite -should stand her ground so long; and in truth so do I. -I have been degraded; I am now again the favourite -servant of the public, and I have kept the noiseless -tenor of my temper in these extremes. My spirit has -been grieved, but my victorious faith upholds me. I -look forward to a better world for happiness, and am -placed in this in mercy to be a candidate for that. But -what makes the wound rankle deeper is that ingratitude, -hypocrisy, and perfidy have barbed the darts. -But it is over, and I am happy. Good God! what would -I give to see you both, but for an hour! How many -thousand, thousand times do I wish myself with you, -and long to unburthen my heart to you. I can’t bear -the idea of your being so long absent. I know you -will expect to hear what I have been doing; and I wish -I could do this to your satisfaction. Suffice it to say -that I have acted Lady Macbeth, Desdemona, and -several other things this season with the most unbounded -approbation; and you have no idea how the -innocence and playful simplicity of the latter have -laid hold on the hearts of the people. I am very -much flattered by this, as nobody ever has done -anything with that character before. My brother -is charming in <i>Othello</i>; indeed, I must do the public -the justice to say that they have been extremely<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_107"></a>[107]</span> -indulgent, if not partial, to every character I have -performed.</p> - -<p>“I have never seen Mr. Pratt since I heard from -you, but he discovers his unworthiness to my own -family; he abuses me, it seems, to one of my sisters -in the most complete manner. How distressing is it -to be so deceived! Our old Mary, too, whom you -must remember, has proved a very viper. She has -lately taken to drinking, has defrauded us of a great -deal of money given her to pay the tradespeople, and -in her cups has abused Mr. Siddons and me beyond all -bounds; and I believe in my soul that all the scandalous -reports of Mr. Siddons’s ill-treatment of me -originated entirely in her. One may pay for one’s experience, -and the consciousness of acting rightly is a -comfort that hell-born malice cannot rob us of. Lady -Langham has done me the honour to call with her -daughter. Her drawings are very wonderful things -for such a girl. In the compositions she has drawn -me in <i>Macbeth</i> asleep and awake; but I think she has -been unsuccessful in this effort. Next week I shall -see your daughter and the rest. Sarah is an elegant -creature, and Maria is as beautiful as a seraph. Harry -grows very awkward, sensible, and well-disposed; and, -thank God, we are all well. I can stay no longer than -to hope that you are both so, and happy (see how disinterested -I am!); that Reeves and the dear Paphy -are so too; and that you will love me, and believe me, -with the warmest and truest affection, unalterably and -gratefully yours,</p> - -<p class="right">“<span class="smcap">S. Siddons</span>.”</p> - -<p>“My whole family desire the kindest remembrances. -We have bought a house in Gower Street, Bedford<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_108"></a>[108]</span> -Square; the back of it is most effectually in the -country and delightfully pleasant.</p> - -<p>“God bless you, my dear Mrs. Whalley! How perfectly -do I see you at this moment; and you, too, my -dear friend, for it is impossible to separate your images -in my mind. Pray write to me soon, and give me -another instance of your unwearied kindness. Adieu!”</p> - -</div> - -<p>We can see how bruised and sore her heart is. For -the moment she thinks all are conspiring to betray -her.</p> - -<p>The Mr. Pratt she alludes to was a Bath bookseller -and dramatist, much admired by his townsmen. This -admiration was not shared by the managers of Drury -Lane, who would not allow Mrs. Siddons to act in his -drama the first year she appeared. She had already -sacrificed herself to a failure, <i>The Fatal Interview</i>, -which had really injured her professional reputation. -Pratt maintained, however, she might have done him -this service had she been so minded. She herself -writes kindly of the aspirant to fame, but we can see -his cause of irritation.</p> - -<p>“Your letter,” she writes in 1783 to Dr. Whalley, -“to poor Pratty is lying on the table by me, and I am -selfish enough to grudge it him from the bottom of my -heart, and yet I will not; for just now, poor soul, he -wants much comfort; therefore, let him take it, and God -bless him with it!”</p> - -<p>And again:—</p> - -<p>“<i>The Fatal Interview</i> has been played three times, -and is quite done with; it was the dullest of all representations. -Pratty’s Epilogue was vastly applauded -indeed. I shall take care how I get into such -another play; but I fancy the managers will take<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_109"></a>[109]</span> -care of that, too. <i>They won’t let me play in Pratty’s -comedy.</i>”</p> - -<p>All this shows us how often she was the victim of -undeserved resentment on the part of slighted authors, -and how, very often, the fact of doing a kindness got -her into trouble. She had accepted <i>The Fatal Interview</i>, -and now Pratt thought himself aggrieved that she -would not do the same for him. Most likely at any -other time she would have shrugged her shoulders at -Pratt’s machinations, but everything now hurt her -wounded sensibilities.</p> - -<p>“I must beg you will not mention (I believe I am -giving an unnecessary caution) anything I have told -you concerning Mr. Pratt. I would not wish him to -know, by any means, that I have been informed of his -last unkindness, because it might prevent his asking me -to do him a favour, which I shall be at all times ready -to grant, when in my power. I must tell you that after -the very unkind letter he sent me, in answer to mine -requesting the ten pounds, I never wrote to or heard -from him until about three months ago, when he wrote -to me as if he had never offered such an indignity, -recommending a work he had just finished to my -attention. He did not tell me what this work was, but -I had heard it was a tragedy. To be made a convenient -acquaintance only, did not much gratify me; but, -however, I wrote to say he knew the resolution I had -been obliged to make (having made many enemies by -reading some, and not being able to give time to read -all tragedies) to read nobody’s tragedy, and then no -one could take offence; but that if it were accepted by -the managers, and there was anything that I could be -of service to him in (doing justice to myself), that I -should be very happy to serve him. I have heard<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_110"></a>[110]</span> -nothing of him since that time till within these few -days, when he wrote to my sister Fanny, accusing me -of ingratitude, and calling himself the ladder upon -which I have mounted to fame, and which I am kicking -down.</p> - -<p>“What he means by ingratitude I am at a loss to -guess, and I fancy he would be puzzled to explain; our -obligations were always, I believe, pretty mutual. -However, in this letter to Fanny, he says he is going to -publish a poem called <i>Gratitude</i>, in which he means to -show my avarice and meanness, and all the rest of my -amiable qualities to the world, for having dropped him, -as he calls it, so injuriously, and banishing him my -house. Now, as I hope for mercy, I permitted his visits -at my house, after having discovered that he was taking -every possible method to attach my sister to him, which, -you may be sure, he took pains to conceal from us, -and I had him to my parties long after I made this -discovery.</p> - -<p>“In short, till he chose to write this letter, which I -disdained to reply to, he called as usual. He had the -modesty to desist from calling on us from that time, -and now has the goodness to throw this unmerited -obloquy on me. I am so well convinced that a very -plain tale will put him down, that his intentions give -me very little concern. I am only grieved to see such -daily instances of folly and wickedness in human -nature.</p> - -<p>“It is worth observing, too, that at the very time he -chose to write this agreeable letter, I was using my -best influences with Mr. Siddons to lend him the -money I told you of before. I find he thinks it is not -very prudent to quarrel with me, but has the effrontery -to think that I should make advances toward our reconcilement;<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_111"></a>[111]</span> -but I will die first. ‘My towering virtue, -from the assurance of my merit, scorns to stoop so -low.’ If he should come round of himself (for I have -learnt that best of knowledge to forgive) I will, out of -respect for what I believe he once was, be of what -service I can to him, for I believe he meant well at one -time, when I knew him first, and the noblest vengeance -is the most complete. Once more, your fingers on -your lips, I pray.”</p> - -<p>We should like to see less mention of benefits bestowed, -the ten pounds not mentioned; but this letter -is a good specimen of the manner in which she was -worried by applicants, and shows how impossible it -was for her to satisfy them all.</p> - -<p>The next is a regular eighteenth-century four-pager, -but is so characteristic, and so sincere and full of affection, -that we cannot help quoting it at the end of this -chapter, as the best assurance of her possession of that -heart her enemies declared she did not possess.</p> - -<p>“Mrs. Wapshawe has been so good as to bestow -half an hour upon me. She speaks of you as I should -speak of you—as if she could not find words, and as if -her sentiments could not enough honour you both. If -you could look into the hearts of people, trust me, my -beloved and ever lamented friends, you would be convinced -that mine yearns after you with increasing and -unutterable affection. See there now—how have I -expressed myself? That is always the way with me: -when I speak or write to you, it is always so inadequately, -that I don’t do justice to myself; for I thank -God that I have a soul capable of loving you, and trust -I shall find an advocate in your bosom to assist my -inability and simpleness. You know me of old for a -matter-of-fact woman.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_112"></a>[112]</span></p> - -<p>“Mrs. Wapshawe has revived my hopes. She tells -me that you will return sooner than I hoped. Now -I’ll begin my cottage again. It has been lying in heaps -a great while, and I have shed many tears over the -ruins; but we will build it up again in joy. You know -the spot that I have fixed upon, and I trust I have not -forgotten the plan!</p> - -<p>“Oh! what a reward for all that I have suffered, to -retire to the blessings of your society; for, indeed, my -dear friends, I have paid severely for my eminence, and -have smarted with the undeserved pain that should -attend the guilty only; but it is the fate of office, and -the rough brake that virtue must go through; and -sweet, ‘sweet are the uses of adversity.’ I kiss the -rod.</p> - -<p>“Mrs. Wapshawe was quite delighted with Mr. -Beach’s picture of you; but she tells me that you -wear coloured clothes and lace ruffles; and I valued -my picture more, if possible, for standing the test of -such a change as these (to me unusual) ornaments must -necessarily make in you. I think I shall long to strip -you of these trappings.</p> - -<p>“I am so attached to the garments I have been used -to see you wear, and think they harmonize so well with -your face and person, that I should wish them like their -dear wearer, who is without change. I am proud of -your chiding, though God knows how unwillingly I -would give you a moment’s pain; nay, more, He knows -that I neither go to bed, nor offer prayers for blessings -at His hands, in which your welfare does not make an -ardent petition. But why should I wound your friendly -bosoms with the relation of my vexations? I knew -you too well to suppose you could hear of my distresses -without feeling them too poignantly.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_113"></a>[113]</span></p> - -<p>“I resolved to write when I had overcome my -enemies. You shall always share my joys, but suffer -me to keep my griefs from your knowledge. Now I -am triumphant, the favourite of the public again; and -now you hear from me.</p> - -<p>“A strange capricious master is the public. However, -one consolation greater than any other, except -one’s own approbation, has been that those whose -suffrages I esteemed most have, through all my -troubles, clasped me closer to their hearts; they have -been the touchstone to prove who were really my -friends. You will believe me when I affirm that your -friendship, and my dear Mrs. Whalley’s, is an honour -and a happiness I would not forego for any earthly -consideration. Tell my dearest Mrs. Whalley that -neither avocations nor indolence would have prevented -your hearing from me long ago but for the reasons -already mentioned. I wrote to you last Sunday, when -I had not received your dear letters; so you will do -me the justice to remember that I was not reminded of -you but by my own heart, which, while it beats, will -ever love you both with the warmest and truest affection; -however, as she is so seldom mistaken, we shall -have the honour and glory of laughing at her. Would -to God I could laugh with, or cry with, or anything -with you, but for half an hour! To say the truth, -though, your tender reproaches gave me a melancholy -which I could not (and I don’t know if I wished it) -shake off. Pray let me hear from you very soon, and -very often. I shall be a better woman, and more -worthy of your invaluable friendship, the more I converse -with you. Surely the converse of good and -gentle spirits is the nearest approach to Heaven that -we can know; therefore, once more I beg that I may<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_114"></a>[114]</span> -often hear from you, and, if you do love me, do not -think so unworthily of me as to suppose my affection -can, in the nature of things, ever know the least abatement. -I conjure you both to promise me this, for I -cannot bear it—indeed, I can’t!”</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_115"></a>[115]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_VIII">CHAPTER VIII.<br /> -<span class="smaller">LADY MACBETH.</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p>Contemporaneous critics are unanimous in declaring -Lady Macbeth to be Mrs. Siddons’s finest impersonation, -and it is with this <i>rôle</i> that we always -connect the Great Actress. She made the part her -own, and identified herself with it in the memories -of all who saw her. It is essentially in Lady Macbeth -that Shakespeare proves himself so thoroughly -Anglo-Saxon; the whole conception of the person is -Teutonic. The idea of the remorse-haunted murderess, -with her despairing fatalism and unswerving -ambition, is more nearly allied to “Vala,” in the -Scandinavian mythology, than anything in the tragedies -of Sophocles or Euripides, and this it is that -rendered Mrs. Siddons so perfect an embodiment of the -character. She was essentially Teutonic in her grandeur, -her stateliness, and, at the same time, sustained -energy and vitality. Rachel had moments of superhuman -grandeur and ferocity, but they only flashed -for a moment; hers was the turning-point of passion<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_116"></a>[116]</span> -of the Latin race, but not the voluminous grandeur, -gaining strength, like a mighty river, as it rolls -along, which distinguishes the heroic emotions of the -Teuton.</p> - -<p>In studying the annals of genius, it is interesting to -observe how circumstances working from within force -it on and bring it to completion, how circumstances -working from without mould it into form, tempering -the fine metal until it is supple and adaptable, but -breaking the inferior metal by the sheer weight of their -inexorable pressure.</p> - -<p>Had Mrs. Siddons remained the brilliant, beautiful -girl, with life undimmed by clouds, without experience -of the bitterness and sorrow of life, she never -could have acted Lady Macbeth. In her impetuous -indignation at first, she herself said that never again -would “she present herself before that audience that -had treated her so savagely”; but the greater spirit -within reasserted itself, and her genius emerged from -the trial strengthened and expanded by a larger range -of emotion and experience.</p> - -<p>With her increased knowledge of life, the actress was -enabled to form a more vivid conception of the character. -She was naturally intensely masterful, determined, -and ambitious, undaunted in peril. She had -toiled, and attained the highest point of her ambition. -She had known the incentives of distinction, worldly -power, applause, yet she remained a woman, passionate -and wayward in her affections to the last; and this is -the view, seen through the medium of her own character, -that she took of Lady Macbeth, and it was -through her lofty impersonation of ambition in its -highest and most sublimated form that she moved -her audience to terror, and by this womanly tenderness<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_117"></a>[117]</span> -that she moved them to sympathy and pity for the -murderess of Banquo.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Siddons had studied the part of Lady Macbeth -when little more than a girl. She gives us a graphic -account of the first time she learnt it for the purposes -of stage representation:—</p> - -<p>“It was my custom to study my characters at night, -when all the domestic care and business were over. -On the night preceding that in which I was to appear -in this part for the first time, I shut myself up as -usual, when all the family were retired, and commenced -my study of Lady Macbeth. As the character is very -short, I thought I should soon accomplish it. Being -then only twenty years of age, I believed, as many -others do believe, that little more was necessary than -to get the words into my head; for the necessity of -discrimination, and the development of character, at -that time of my life, had scarcely entered into my -imagination. But to proceed. I went on with tolerable -composure, in the silence of the night (a night I never -can forget), till I came to the assassination scene, -when the horrors of the scene rose to a degree that -made it impossible for me to get farther. I snatched -up my candle, and hurried out of the room in a -paroxysm of terror. My dress was of silk, and the -rustling of it, as I ascended the stairs to go to bed, -seemed to my panic-struck fancy like the movement -of a spectre pursuing me. At last I reached my -chamber, where I found my husband fast asleep. I -clapt my candlestick down upon the table, without the -power of putting the candle out, and I threw myself -on my bed without daring to stay even to take off my -clothes. At peep of day I rose to resume my task; -but so little did I know of my part when I appeared<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_118"></a>[118]</span> -in it at night, that my shame and confusion cured me -of procrastinating my business for the remainder of -my life.”</p> - -<p>People afterwards were inclined to find her formal -and sententious, and even denied her sensibility off the -stage; but it is impossible to read the account of the -manner in which she entered into her parts, and how -they took hold of her in her early days of work, without -feeling that she had depths of pathos and sympathy in -her disposition undreamt of by those who met her later -when, under a dignified tragic manner, she had hidden -her youthful spontaneity of feeling. We have only -need of the evidence of the actors she acted with to -see how deeply she entered into her part.</p> - -<p>Miss Kelly said that when, as Constance, Mrs. Siddons -wept over her, her collar was wet with her tears. -Tom Davies is said to have declared that in the third -act of the <i>Fair Penitent</i> she “turned pale under her -rouge.” She tells us herself that “when called upon -to personate the character of Constance, I never, from -the beginning of the play to the end of my part in it, -once suffered my dressing-room door to be closed, in -order that my attention might be constantly fixed on -those distressing events which, by this means, I could -plainly hear going on upon the stage, the terrible -effects of which progress were to be represented by me. -Moreover, I never omitted to place myself, with Arthur -in my hand, to hear the march, when, upon the reconciliation -of England and France, they enter the gates -of Angiers to ratify the contract of marriage between -the Dauphin and the Lady Blanche, because the -sickening sounds of that march would usually cause -the bitter tears of rage, disappointment, betrayed -confidence, baffled ambition, and, above all, the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_119"></a>[119]</span> -agonizing feelings of maternal affection to gush into -my eyes.”</p> - -<p>As a set-off against the above statement, we have -Cumberland’s description of Mrs. Siddons coming off -the stage in the full flush of triumph—having harrowed -her audience with emotion—and walking up to the -mirror in the green room to survey herself with perfect -composure.</p> - -<p>We imagine there is no law to be laid down on the -subject of the amount of feeling an actor really puts -into the part he is enacting. It must vary. Conventionality -must, with the greatest of them, now and -then take the place of emotion; or, as Talma expresses -it, the “<i>Métier</i> must now and then take the place of -<i>Le vrai</i>.”</p> - -<p>We know the story of how once, when Garrick was -playing King Lear, Johnson and Murphy kept up an -animated conversation at the side-wing during one of -his most important scenes. When Garrick came over -the stage, he said, “You two talk so loud you destroy -all my feelings.” “Prithee,” replied Johnson, “do not -talk of feelings; Punch has no feeling”—a remark -which is borne out by another account of Garrick -as Lear rising from the dead body of his daughter -Cordelia, where he had been convulsing the audience -with sobs, running into the green-room gobbling like a -turkey to amuse Kitty Clive and Mrs. Abington.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Siddons is said to have made the statement that, -after playing the part of Lady Macbeth for thirty years, -she never read it over without discovering in it something -new. In her <i>Remarks</i>, however, on the character, -left amongst her memoranda, we do not find any particular -depth or originality in her conception, and we -doubt if she ever improved much on her first ideal.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_120"></a>[120]</span> -As to her notion that Lady Macbeth was a small, -fair, blue-eyed woman, delicate and fragile, it could -have been but a “caprice” of later days, originating -in her endeavour to find new readings and impressions.</p> - -<p>A short analysis of some of her opinions on the -character may be interesting.</p> - -<p>“In this astonishing creature,” she says, “one sees -a woman in whose bosom the passion of ambition has -almost obliterated all the characteristics of human -nature; in whose composition are associated all the -subjugating powers of intellect, and all the charms and -graces of personal beauty. You will probably not -agree with me as to the character of that beauty; yet, -perhaps, this difference of opinion will be entirely -attributable to the difficulty of your imagination disengaging -itself from that idea of the person of her -representative which you have been so long accustomed -to contemplate. According to my notion, it is of that -character which, I believe, is generally allowed to be -most captivating to the other sex—fair, feminine, nay, -perhaps, even fragile—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">Fair as the forms that, wove in Fancy’s loom,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Float in light visions round the poet’s head.</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>“Such a combination only—respectable in energy -and strength of mind, and captivating in feminine -loveliness—could have composed a charm of such -potency as to fascinate the mind of a hero so dauntless, -a character so amiable, so honourable as Macbeth, -to seduce him to brave all the dangers of the present -and all the terrors of a future world; and we are constrained, -even whilst we abhor his crimes, to pity the -infatuated victim of such a thraldom.</p> - -<p>“His letters, which have informed her of the predictions -of those preternatural beings who accosted<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_121"></a>[121]</span> -him on the heath, have lighted up into daring and -desperate determinations all those pernicious slumbering -fires which the enemy of man is ever watchful to -awaken in the bosoms of his unwary victims. To his -direful suggestions she is so far from offering the least -opposition, as not only to yield up her soul to them, -but, moreover, to invoke the sightless ministers of -remorseful cruelty to extinguish in her breast all those -compunctious visitings of nature which otherwise -might have been mercifully interposed to counteract, -and, perhaps, eventually to overcome, their unholy -instigations. But, having impiously delivered herself -up to the excitement of hell, the pitifulness of heaven -itself is withdrawn from her, and she is abandoned to -the guidance of the demons whom she invoked. -Lady Macbeth, thus adorned with every fascination of -mind and person, enters for the first time, reading a -part of those portentous letters from her husband.</p> - -<p>“‘They met me in the day of success; and I have -learnt by the perfectest report they have more in them -than mortal knowledge. When I burnt with desire -to question them further, they made themselves into -thin air, into which they vanished. Whilst I stood -wrapt in the wonder of it, came missives from the -King, who all-hailed me “Thane of Cawdor,” by -which title before these sisters had saluted me, and -referred me to the coming on of time with “Hail, -King that shall be!” This I have thought good to -deliver thee, my dearest partner of greatness, that -thou mightest not lose the dues of rejoicing, by -being ignorant of what greatness is promised. Lay -it to thy heart, and farewell.’</p> - -<p>“Now vaulting ambition and intrepid daring, rekindle -in a moment all the splendours of her dark blue<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_122"></a>[122]</span> -eyes. She fatally resolves that Glamis and Cawdor -shall be also that which the mysterious agents of the -Evil One have promised.”</p> - -<p>Lady Macbeth then gives the wonderful analysis of -her husband’s character, “Yet I do fear thy nature is -too full of the milk of human kindness to catch the -nearest way”; proving him to be of a temper so -irresolute as to require “all the efforts, all the excitement, -which her uncontrollable spirit and her unbounded -influence over him can perform.”</p> - -<p>“When Macbeth appears, she seems so insensible to -everything but the horrible design which has probably -been suggested to her by his letters, as to have entirely -forgotten both the one and the other. It is very remarkable -that Macbeth is frequent in expressions of -tenderness to his wife, while she never betrays one -symptom of affection towards him, till, in the fiery -furnace of affliction, her iron heart is melted down to -softness.” This was the side by which Mrs. Siddons -had taken such a grasp of the character of Lady -Macbeth. It was by bringing into prominence this -softer side of her character that, while thrilling her -audience with horror, she at the same time brought -tears to their eyes with an immense awe-struck pity. -She always held their interest by the human touches -which she brought into as much prominence as -possible.</p> - -<p>Alluding to the lines:—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent10">I have given suck, and know</div> - <div class="verse indent0">How tender ’tis to love the babe that milks me,</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p class="noindent">she says: “Even here, horrified as she is, she shows -herself made by ambition, but not by nature, a perfectly -savage creature. The very use of such a tender -allusion in the midst of her dreadful language, persuades<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_123"></a>[123]</span> -one unequivocally that she has really felt the -maternal yearnings of a mother towards her babe, and -that she considered this action the most enormous that -ever required the strength of human nerves for its -perpetration. Her language to Macbeth is the most -potently eloquent that guilt could use. It is only in -soliloquy that she invokes the powers of hell to -unsex her. To her husband she avows, and the -naturalness of her language makes us believe her, that -she had felt the instinct of filial as well as maternal -love. But she makes her very virtues the means of a -taunt to her lord: ‘You have the milk of human -kindness in your heart,’ she says (in substance) to -him, ‘but ambition, which is my ruling passion, would -be also yours if you had courage. With a hankering -desire to suppress, if you could, all your weaknesses of -sympathy, you are too cowardly to will the deed, and -can only dare to wish it. You speak of sympathies -and feelings. I, too, have felt with a tenderness which -your sex cannot know; but I am resolute in my -ambition to trample on all that obstructs my way to a -crown. Look to me, and be ashamed of your weakness.”</p> - -<p>“In the tremendous suspense of these moments” -(when Duncan sleeps), Mrs. Siddons again tells us, -“while she recollects her habitual humanity, one trait -of tender feelings is expressed: ‘Had he not resembled -my father as he slept, I had done it.’”</p> - -<p>Through many pages Mrs. Siddons thus gives us her -views of the character of Lady Macbeth; sometimes -verging on a pomposity that is almost Johnsonese. -Her later criticisms of the parts in which she acted, -bear out the statement that hers was not an intellectual -power that strengthened or expanded after the -“middle of the road of life.” This year, 1785, saw<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_124"></a>[124]</span> -her great triumph. But we doubt if she had not -already mastered the idea of chilling and terrifying -her audience when, as she describes, she worked -herself into a paroxysm of terror on first studying -the part as a young girl. The physical power and -confidence to communicate that terror were hers now, -but the intellectual comprehension had been there -before, and certainly did not increase; on the contrary, -it deteriorated with years. The power of fresh -comprehension passed away, and with it the elasticity -and variety of her earlier effects; and from being singularly -simple and direct, she became stagey and artificial. -An artist gets certain words to utter; he gets the -skeleton sketch, as it were, of the character he has to -portray, but the emphasis and passion he puts into -them, which go direct from his heart to the heart of -his audience, must be his, and his alone, and must be -as little as possible the effect of study or deliberation. -Thus the ingredients of terror, ambition, and wifely -and maternal love, were the uncomplex emotions at -first impressed on Mrs. Siddons’s brain by the study -of the part; and those were the predominating influences -by which she swayed her audience to the -last day she acted it.</p> - -<p>Many are the records that we have of this great -performance—all the world has heard of the Lady -Macbeth of Mrs. Siddons—but, alas! how insufficient -are they to give us an idea of the wondrous reality. -The weird-like tones, that sent an involuntary shudder -through the house; the bewildered melancholy; and, -lastly, the piteous cry of the strong heart broken, -have come down to us as traditions; but the grandeur -of her majesty, the earnest accents as the demon of -the character took possession of her, must ever remain<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_125"></a>[125]</span> -an unknown sensation to us. One who saw her once -act it from the side scenes, with the disillusion of red -ochre, that was daubed on by her maid under his -eyes; her whisper, which Christopher North eloquently -termed “the escaping sighs and moans of the bared -soul”; her face, the terrible mixture of hope, apprehension, -and resolution, gave him a sickly feeling of -reality. His tongue clave to the roof of his mouth, in -spite of the evidence of his eyes that the assassination -was a piece of mechanical trickery in which the paint-pot -played a conspicuous part. If a detective had -made his appearance at the moment, he declares he -would immediately have given himself up as <i>particeps -criminis</i>, accessory before and after the event. The -whole fiction, so inimitably played and so powerfully -described, had kicked fact and reason off the throne.</p> - -<p>But we must return to the first night. It was the -2nd of February. All the intellect and fashion of the -town were present: Burke, Fox, Wyndham, Gibbon, -in the front row, and, above all, Sir Joshua Reynolds, -who took a particular interest in her performance of -the character. He had a seat in the orchestra, where -he was privileged to sit on account of his deafness. -He had constantly urged her to act Lady Macbeth -before, and had designed her dress for the sleep-walking -scene. Needless to say that her usual nervousness -was magnified tenfold. All had declared her -incapable of rendering the grander plays of Shakespeare. -She had reached, they maintained, the highest -point which she was capable of attaining, and her -straining higher was simply presumption. She knew, -therefore, that if she had been criticised before, the -observations now would be much more severe. The -representation of the other parts also did not satisfy<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_126"></a>[126]</span> -her. Smith, popularly known as “Gentleman Smith” -because he generally did the light and airy part of -lover in comedy parts, was the Macbeth, Brereton the -Macduff, and Bensley the Banquo; and the memory of -the popularity of Mrs. Pritchard in the part, seemed -to stand between her and her audience. She had -already begged Dr. Johnson to let her know his -opinion of Mrs. Pritchard, whom she had never seen, -and she tells us in her <i>Autograph Recollections</i> that he -answered:—</p> - -<p>“‘Madam, she was a vulgar idiot; she used to speak -of her “gownd,” and she never read any part in a play -in which she acted except her own. She no more -thought of the play out of which her part was taken -than a shoemaker thinks of the skin out of which the -piece of leather of which he is making a pair of shoes -is cut.’ Is it possible, thought I, that Mrs. Pritchard, -the greatest of all the Lady Macbeths, should never -have read the play? and I concluded that the Doctor -must have been misinformed; but I was afterwards -assured by a gentleman, a friend of Mrs. Pritchard, -that he had supped with her one night after she -had acted Lady Macbeth, and that she declared she -had never perused the whole tragedy. I cannot -believe it.”</p> - -<p>It would seem difficult to such a worker as Mrs. -Siddons to conceive the possibility of a woman not -mastering the whole play if she had to act the part of -Lady Macbeth, but we think Dr. Johnson must have -been too severe when he called an actress who for years -had held the stage with Garrick “a vulgar idiot.” And -there is little doubt that the tradition of her acting -in the part of Lady Macbeth still had a firm hold -on the memory of the audience. As a proof of this<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_127"></a>[127]</span> -we will here quote an incident that occurred the first -night:—</p> - -<p>“Just as I had finished my toilette, and was pondering -with fearfulness my first appearance in the -grand fiendish part, comes Mr. Sheridan knocking at -my door, and insisting, in spite of all my entreaties -not to be interrupted at this tremendous moment, to -be admitted. He would not be denied admittance, for -he protested he must speak to me on a circumstance -which so deeply concerned my own interest, that it -was of the most serious nature. Well, after much -squabbling I was compelled to admit him, that I might -dismiss him the sooner, and compose myself before the -play began.</p> - -<p>“But what was my distress and astonishment when -I found that he wanted me, even at this moment of -anxiety and terror, to adopt another mode of acting -the sleeping scene! He told me that he had heard -with the greatest surprise and concern that I meant to -act it without holding the candle in my hand; and -when I argued the impracticability of washing out that -‘damned spot’ that was certainly implied by both her -own words and those of her gentlewoman, he insisted -that if I did put the candle out of my hand it would -be thought a presumptuous innovation, as Mrs. -Pritchard had always retained it in hers. My mind, -however, was made up, and it was then too late to -make me alter it, for I was too agitated to adopt -another method. My deference for Mr. Sheridan’s -taste and judgment was, however, so great, that, had he -proposed the alteration whilst it was possible for me to -change my own plan, I should have yielded to his -suggestion; though even then it would have been -against my own opinion, and my observation of the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_128"></a>[128]</span> -accuracy with which somnambulists perform all the -acts of waking persons.</p> - -<p>“The scene, of course, was acted as I had myself -conceived it, and the innovation, as Mr. Sheridan -called it, was received with approbation. Mr. Sheridan -himself came to me after the play, and most ingenuously -congratulated me on my obstinacy.”</p> - -<p>Let us try to recall the vision of Mrs. Siddons as -she acted Lady Macbeth that night. It was in 1785. -She was thirty years of age. The “timid tottering -girl,” who had first appeared as Portia on that stage, -was now a queenly woman, in the full meridian of her -stately beauty. Success had developed her intellectually -and physically, and she walked the stage in -the plenitude of her power, almost like some superhuman -being.</p> - -<p>Her dress in the first and second acts was a heavy -black robe, with a broad border, which ran from her -shoulders down to her feet, of the most vivid crimson, -over which fell a long white veil. In the third she -changed this costume for another black dress, with -great gold bands lacing it across, and gold ornaments -round her neck and in her hair. Both of these dresses -strike us as being “stagey,” but she never had the art -of dressing herself; so great, however, was her power, -that all minor accessories of dress and scenery were -forgotten. For the sleep-walking scene Sir Joshua had -designed clouds of white drapery swathing the pale -drawn face; they lent an appalling weirdness to her -appearance, whilst the glassy stare she managed to -throw into her eyes completed the horror.</p> - -<p>The audience were spellbound; they only saw that -woe-worn face, and heard that voice, broken with -agony and remorse. It was a night of nights, for her<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_129"></a>[129]</span> -and them, and yet no applause, no success, turned her -from concentration on the purpose and issue of her -art.</p> - -<p>“While standing up before my glass,” she tells us, -“and taking off my mantle, a diverting circumstance -occurred to chase away the feelings of the anxious -night, for, <i>while I was repeating, and endeavouring -to call to mind the appropriate tone and action to the -following words</i>, ‘Here’s the smell of blood still,’ my -dresser innocently exclaimed, ‘Dear me, Ma’am, how -very hysterical you are to-night! I protest and vow, -Ma’am, it was not blood, but rose-pink and water; for -I saw the property-man mix it up with my own -eyes.’”</p> - -<p>These were, indeed, the palmy days of the English -stage. With a self-collected, courageous energy, -artists then saw and recognised the greatest, and -strained every nerve to attain it. Scenic effect was -of minor importance; the development of mental -action, the portrayal of passion, were the end and aim -of the actor’s art, to which everything else was subsidiary. -They spent years upon the evolving of one -heroic conception, not with regard to its details of -upholstery and scene-painting, but with regard to the -presentment of the poet’s imagination which they -undertook to represent.</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_130"></a>[130]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_IX">CHAPTER IX.<br /> -<span class="smaller">FRIENDS.</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p>Needless to say that in those days, when genius was -worshipped and the entrance to the most exclusive -circles of society accorded to talent of every description, -the social homage paid to Mrs. Siddons was of -the most enthusiastic description, passing sometimes -the bounds of good taste. The door of the lodgings -she occupied in the Strand the first year she acted was -soon beset by various persons quite unknown to her, -some of whom actually forced their way into her -drawing-room, in spite of remonstrance or opposition.</p> - -<p>This was as inconvenient as it was offensive; for as -she usually acted three times a week, and had, besides, -to attend the rehearsals, she had but little time to -spend unnecessarily. None were more capable, however, -than she of keeping vulgar curiosity at a respectful -distance. She gives us a comic account of -an interview that took place between her and some of -these intrusive individuals:—</p> - -<p>“One morning, though I had previously given -orders not to be interrupted, my servant entered the -room in a great hurry, saying, ‘Ma’am, I am very<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_131"></a>[131]</span> -sorry to tell you there are some ladies below who say -they must see you, and it is impossible for me to prevent -it. I have told them over and over again that -you are particularly engaged, but all in vain, and now, -Ma’am, you may actually hear them on the stairs.’ I -felt extremely indignant at such unparalleled impertinence, -and, before the servant had done speaking to -me, a tall, elegant, invalid-looking person presented -herself (whom, I am afraid, I did not receive very -graciously), and after her four more, in slow succession. -A very awkward silence took place. Presently -the first lady spoke. ‘You must think it -strange,’ she said, ‘to see a person entirely unknown -to you intrude in this manner upon your privacy; but, -you must know, I am in a very delicate state of -health, and my physician won’t let me go to the -theatre to see you, so I am come to look at you here.’ -She accordingly sat down to look, and I to be looked -at, for a few painful moments, when she arose and -apologised.” There is something awful that sends a -cold shiver through us as the Tragic Muse tells us, -“I was in no humour to overlook such insolence, -and so let her depart in silence.” We can picture -her contemptuous scorn under the circumstances. But -it was not only in her own home she had to pay the -penalty of fame; the theatre was mobbed outside -every evening by a crowd anxious to see her walk -across the pavement to her carriage; her dresses were -copied, and the dressmakers to whom she went were -importuned to make for all the fashionable ladies. -Not only in these early days, but all her life, Mrs. -Siddons kept a position unexampled for one of her -profession. The house she occupied in Gore Street -during her second season was, when she entertained,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_132"></a>[132]</span> -filled with all that was brilliant in literature and -fashion; and later at Westbourne Cottage, and when -she was in Pall Mall, Campbell tells us of rows of -“coaches and chairs” standing outside her door. Invitations -to most of the great houses in London -poured in upon her, and she herself gives a comic -account of the manner in which she was mobbed by -her fashionable devotees at an assembly at the erratic -Miss Monkton’s (afterwards Lady Cork), one of the -“Blues” who made oddity of dress, appearance, and -manner a study, and the running after “notorious -folk” a science.</p> - -<p>The young actress had steadily declined many invitations, -feeling that the moments snatched from her -profession ought to be devoted to the care of her children. -Miss Monkton, however, insisted on her coming -one Sunday evening, assuring her that there would -only be some half-a-dozen friends to meet her.</p> - -<p>“The appointed Sunday evening came. I went to -her very nearly in undress, at the early hour of eight, -on account of my little boy, whom she desired me -to bring with me, more for effect, I suspect, than for -his <i>beaux yeux</i>. I found with her, as I had been -taught to expect, three or four ladies of my acquaintance; -and the time passed in agreeable conversation, -till I had remained much longer than I had -apprehended.</p> - -<p>“I was, of course, preparing speedily to return -home, when incessantly repeated thunderings at the -door, and the sudden influx of such a throng of people -as I had never before seen collected in any private -house, counteracted every attempt that I could make -for escape. I was therefore obliged, in a state of indescribable -mortification, to sit quietly down till I know<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_133"></a>[133]</span> -not what hour in the morning; but for hours before my -departure the room I sat in was so painfully crowded -that the people absolutely stood on the chairs, round -the walls, that they might look over their neighbours’ -heads to stare at me; and if it had not been for the -benevolent politeness of Mr. Erskine, who had been -acquainted with my arrangement, I know not what -weakness I might have been surprised into, especially -being tormented, as I was, by the ridiculous interrogations -of some learned ladies who were called ‘Blues,’ -the meaning of which title I did not at that time -appreciate; much less did I comprehend the meaning -of the greater part of their learned talk. These profound -ladies, however, furnished much amusement to -the town for many weeks after—nay, I believe I might -say for the whole winter. Glad enough was I at length -to find myself at peace in my own bed-chamber.”</p> - -<p>Dr. Doran makes this scene take place at Mrs. -Montagu’s; but besides the victim’s own account of this -remarkable evening, that gives such a picture of the -times, we have those of Cumberland and of Miss -Burney. Cumberland, in the <i>Observer</i>, disguising the -people under feigned names, tells us:—</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p>I now joined a cluster of people who had crowded round an actress -who sat upon a sofa leaning on her elbow in a pensive attitude, and -seemed to be counting the sticks of her fan, whilst they were vieing -with each other in the most extravagant encomiums.</p> - -<p>“You were adorable last night in Belvidera,” says a pert young -parson with a high toupée. “I sat in Lady Blubber’s box, and I can -assure you she, and her daughters, too, wept most bitterly. But then -that charming mad scene—but, by my soul, it was a <i>chef d’œuvre</i>! -Pray, Madam, give me leave to ask you, was you really in your -senses?”</p> - -<p>“I strove to do it as well as I could,” answered the actress.</p> - -<p>“Do you intend to play comedy next season?” says a lady, stepping -up to her with great eagerness.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_134"></a>[134]</span></p> - -<p>“I shall do as the manager bids me,” she replied.</p> - -<p>“I should be curious to know,” says an elderly lady, “which part, -Madam, you yourself esteem the best you play?”</p> - -<p>“I shall always endeavour to make that which I am about the best.”</p> - -<p>An elegant and enchanting young woman of fashion now took her -turn of interrogating, and, with many apologies, begged to be informed -by her if she studied those enchanting looks and attitudes before a -glass?</p> - -<p>“I never study anything but my author.”</p> - -<p>“Then you practise them at rehearsals?” rejoined the questioner.</p> - -<p>“I seldom rehearse at all.”</p> - -<p>“She has fine eyes,” says a tragic poet to an eminent painter.</p> - -<p>Vanessa now came up, and, desiring leave to introduce a young muse -to Melpomene, presented a girl in a white frock, with a fillet of flowers -tied round her hair, which hung down her back in flowing curls. The -young muse made a low obeisance, and, with the most unembarrassed -voice and countenance, whilst the poor actress was covered in blushes, -and suffering torture from the eyes of all in the room, broke forth as -follows:—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">“O thou, whom Nature calls her own,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Pride of the stage and favourite of the town!”</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -</div> - -<p>Miss Burney, who was present, also contributes her -account of what took place:—</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p>My father and I were both engaged to Miss Monckton’s; so was -Sir Joshua, who accompanied us. We found Mrs. Siddons, the actress, -there. She is a woman of excellent character, and, therefore, I am very -glad she is thus patronised, since Mrs. Abington, and so many frail -fair ones, have been thus noticed by the great. She behaved with great -propriety, very calm, modest, quiet, and unaffected. She has a very -fine countenance, and her eyes look both intelligent and soft. She has, -however, a steadiness in her manner and deportment by no means -engaging. Mrs. Thrale, who was there, said:</p> - -<p>“Why, this is a leaden goddess we are all worshipping; however, -we shall soon gild it.”</p> - -<p>A lady who sat near me then began a dialogue with Mr. Erskine, -who had placed himself exactly opposite to Mrs. Siddons, and they -debated together upon her manner of studying her parts, disputing -upon the point with great warmth, yet not only forbearing to ask Mrs. -Siddons herself which was right, but quite overpowering her with -their loquacity when she attempted, unasked, to explain the matter. -Most vehement praise of all she did followed, and the lady turned to -me and said:</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_135"></a>[135]</span></p> - -<p>“What invitation, Miss Burney, is here for genius to display itself? -Everybody, I hear, is at work for Mrs. Siddons; but if you would -work for her, what an inducement to excel you would both of you have. -Dr. Burney⸺”</p> - -<p>“Oh, pray, Madam,” cried I, “don’t say to him⸺”</p> - -<p>“Oh, but I will. If my influence can do you any mischief you may -depend upon having it.”</p> - -<p>She then repeated what she had said to my father, and he instantly -said:</p> - -<p>“Your ladyship may be sure of my interest.”</p> - -<p>I whispered afterwards to know who she was, and heard she was -Lady Lucan.<a id="FNanchor_1" href="#Footnote_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a></p> - -</div> - -<p>It is amusing to see how conceited Fanny Burney -always must turn every incident to herself. When -she did work for Mrs. Siddons, the play was received -with roars of laughter, and acted but one night.</p> - -<p>We find a clue in the above description to Mrs. -Siddons’s unpopularity. Little Burney, with the -frizzled head, and Mrs. Thrale, who “skipped about -like a young kid, all vivacity and sprightliness,” could -not understand the “steadiness in her manner,” and -her dignified way of checking intrusive admirers. No -one appreciated admiration and love from her intimate -friends more than Mrs. Siddons, but to the adoration -of general society she was icy cold.</p> - -<p>Sir Joshua Reynolds frequently went to see her act, -and she was a welcome guest at the house in Leicester -Fields.</p> - -<p>“He approved,” she writes, “very much of my -costumes, and of my hair without powder, which at -that time was used in great profusion, with a reddish -brown tint, and a great quantity of pomatum, which,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_136"></a>[136]</span> -well kneaded together, modelled the fair ladies’ tresses -into large curls like demi-cannon. My locks were -generally braided into a small compass, so as to ascertain -the size and shape of my head, which to a -painter’s eye was, of course, an agreeable departure -from the mode. My short waist, too, was to him a -pleasing contrast to the long stiff stays and hoop -petticoats which were then the fashion, even on the -stage, and it obtained his unqualified approbation. -He always sat in the orchestra; and in that place were -to be seen—O glorious constellation!—Burke, Gibbon, -Sheridan, and Windham.”</p> - -<p>It was at Reynolds’s she first met Edmund Burke. -The story goes that she was reading Milton for the -benefit of the company, when she heard the great -orator’s deep melodious tones repeat, as she closed the -book, the lines beginning with “The angel ceased.” -That wonderful face, full of fiery power, was to be seen -amongst those surrounding her. He was afterwards -frequently present while she sat to Reynolds for her -portrait. She ever counted mercurial Sheridan as a -friend, in spite of the way in which he treated her. -She loved his beautiful, gentle wife, and some of her -happiest hours were spent in their society. She there -put off all her stateliness, and became the joyous-hearted -young girl of the old Bath days.</p> - -<p>Sir Thomas Lawrence cherished all his life a feeling -that was almost akin to adoration for Mrs. Siddons’s -genius and beauty. He painted her and John Kemble -in every dress and every pose. He was engaged subsequently -to two of her daughters, first one and then the -other. He proposed to the eldest daughter, Sarah; -was accepted; but, before long, became miserable and -dejected, and at last confessed to Mrs. Siddons that he<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_137"></a>[137]</span> -had mistaken his feelings—that her younger daughter, -and not the elder, was the object of his affection. -Fanny Kemble says:—</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p>Sarah gave up her lover, and he became engaged to the second, -Maria. Both, however, died of consumption. Maria, the youngest, -an exceedingly beautiful girl, died first, and on her death-bed made -her sister promise that she would never marry Lawrence. The death -of her daughters broke off all connection between Sir Thomas -Lawrence and my aunt, and from that time they never saw or had any -intercourse with one another. Yet not long after this Mrs. Siddons, -dining with us one day, asked my mother how the sketch Lawrence -was making of me was getting on. After my mother’s reply, my aunt -remained silent for some time, and then, laying her hand on my -father’s arm, said: “Charles, when I die, I wish to be carried to my -grave by you and Lawrence.”</p> - -<p>Lawrence reached his grave when she was yet tottering on the brink -of hers.</p> - -<p>On my twentieth birthday, which occurred soon after my first -appearance, Lawrence sent me a magnificent proof plate of my aunt as -the “Tragic Muse,” beautifully framed, and with this inscription: -“This portrait, by England’s greatest painter, of the noblest subject -of his pencil, is presented to her niece and <i>worthy successor</i> by her -most faithful humble friend and servant, Lawrence.” When my -mother saw this, she exclaimed at it, and said: “I am surprised he -ever brought himself to write those words ‘worthy successor.’”</p> - -<p>A few days after, Lawrence begged me to let him have the print -again, as he was not satisfied with the finish of the frame. It was -sent to him, and when it came back he had effaced the words in which -he had admitted any worthy successor to his “Tragic Muse”; and Mr. -H⸺, who was at that time his secretary, told me that Lawrence -had the print lying with that inscription in his drawing-room for -several days before sending it to me, and had said to him, “I cannot -bear to look at it.”</p> - -</div> - -<p>Among these artists, poets, statesmen, who were -continually present at her representations and attended -afterwards at her dressing-room door to pay their -respects, in later years Byron might frequently be seen. -He declared her to be the “<i>beau ideal</i> of acting,” -and said, “Miss O’Neill I would not see for fear of -weakening the impression made by the queen of tragedians.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_138"></a>[138]</span> -When I read Lady Macbeth’s part I have Mrs. -Siddons before me, and imagination even supplies her -voice, whose tones were superhuman and power over -the heart supernatural.” On another occasion, he is -reported to have said that of actors Cook was the most -natural, Kemble the most supernatural, and Kean the -medium between the two, but that Mrs. Siddons was -worth them all put together.</p> - -<p>The first year she acted, “the gentlemen of the bar -adorned her brows with laurel,” as she says herself. -The “laurel” took the substantial form of a hundred -guineas and a wreath presented by two barristers. -She declared it to be the most shining circumstance of -her life, and alluded modestly to her “poor abilities” -and insufficient claims. The gentlemen of Brookes’s -Club also made up a handsome present.</p> - -<p>“Mrs. Siddons continues to be the mode,” Horace -Walpole writes, “and to be modest and sensible. She -declines great dinners, and says the business and cares -of her family take her whole time. When Lord Carlisle -carried her the tribute money from Brookes’s, he -said she was not <i>maniérée</i> enough. ‘I suppose she -was grateful?’ said my niece, Lady Maria.”</p> - -<p>It is easy to imagine the difficulty she experienced -in keeping her fame untarnished amidst that hotbed -of vice, Covent Garden, and amidst all the adulation -lavished on her. It is impossible, indeed, to say how -many enemies she made by rejecting inopportune -advances, and by exciting jealousies and envy; but -the worst they could ever allege was that she was hard -and haughty. She was continually on her guard. -“One would as soon think of making love to the -Archbishop of Canterbury” was said of her later; -but in the early days of her first appearance at Drury<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_139"></a>[139]</span> -Lane she was obliged often to have recourse to an outspoken -rebuff to aspirants to her favour.</p> - -<p>As a curious instance of the insidious manner in -which attacks were sometimes made to win her regard, -John Taylor relates that one morning, on calling on -her, he found her in the act of burning some letters -that had been returned to her by the executors of the -individual to whom they were addressed. He sat -down to help her, and, in doing so, a printed copy of -some scandalous verses on her that had appeared in -the <i>St. James’s Gazette</i> dropped out. Some lines in -the handwriting of the deceased poet that were written -on the top of the page proved the author, and proved -that attacker and defender had been one and the -same person. In talking the matter over afterwards, -Mrs. Siddons recalled to mind that the same person -had once endeavoured to undermine her affection for -her husband by telling her tales of his infidelity.</p> - -<p>We cannot resist giving here a letter which Mrs. -Siddons received many years after her first appearance -on the stage, when one might have thought her age -and reputation a sufficient protection against such -addresses:—</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p>Loveliest of women! In Belvidera, Isabella, Juliet, and Calista, I -have admired you until my fancy threatened to burst, and the strings -of my imagination were ready to crack to pieces; but, as Mrs. Siddons, -I love you to madness, and until my heart and soul are overwhelmed -with fondness and desire. Say not that time has placed any -difference in years between you and me. The youths of her day saw -no wrinkles upon the brow of Ninon de l’Enclos. It is for vulgar -souls alone to grow old; but you shall flourish in eternal youth, -amidst the war of elements, and the crash of worlds.</p> - -<p>May 2nd, Barley Mow, -Salisbury Square.</p> - -</div> - -<p>So pertinacious became the persecutions of this -young Irishman, for he was an Irishman, that she was<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_140"></a>[140]</span> -obliged to seek the protection of the law. His -bursting imagination was kept in check for some -little time by the sobering effects of a term of imprisonment.</p> - -<p>Sometimes, also, her would-be adorers boasted of -favours never received.</p> - -<p>“If you should meet a Mr. Seton,” she wrote to -Dr. Whalley, “who lived in Leicester Square, you -must not be surprised to hear him talk of being very -well with my sister and myself; for, since I have been -here, I have heard the old fright has been giving it out -in town. You will find him rather an unlikely person -to be so great a favourite with women.”</p> - -<p>Amongst fashionable ladies she counted many and -constant friends. The doors of Mrs. Montagu’s house -(centre of intellect and fashion) were always open to -her; and we hear of her there on one occasion when -all the “Blues” swarmed round their “Queen Bee,” -and she wore her celebrated dress embroidered with -the “ruins of Palmyra.”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Damer (Anne Conway), daughter of General -Conway, the celebrated sculptress and woman of fashion, -was also one of her most intimate friends, and later in -life the actress spent many hours in her studio when -bitten herself with the love of modelling. Campbell -says that Mrs. Siddons’s love of modelling in clay, -began at Birmingham; and he tells a story of her -going into a shop there, seeing a bust of herself, which -the shopman, not knowing who she was, told her was -the likeness of the greatest actress in the world. Mrs. -Siddons bought it, and, thinking she could make a -better replica of her own features, set to work and -made modelling a favourite pursuit. Whether the -impetus was thus given we hardly know, but it was<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_141"></a>[141]</span> -the fashion of the time. Mrs. Damer, who was declared -by her admirers “to be as great a sculptor as Mr. -Nollekens,” and many other dainty fine ladies, put on -mob caps and canvas aprons, wielding mallet and -chisel, and kneading wax and clay with their small -white hands. Mrs. Siddons was often the guest of -Mrs. Damer at Strawberry Hill.</p> - -<p>In her circle of women friends, we must not forget, -either, the beautiful, fascinating, stuttering Mrs. Inchbald, -the dear muse of her and her brother John. It -is said that, coming off the stage one evening, she was -about to sit down by Mrs. Siddons in the green-room, -when, suddenly looking at her magnificent neighbour, -she said, “No, I won’t s-s-s-sit by you; you’re t-t-t-too -handsome!” in which respect she certainly need have -feared no competition, and less with Mrs. Siddons -than anyone, their style of beauty being so absolutely -dissimilar.</p> - -<p>Miss Seward was one of the adorers of her circle, -but, in spite of the pages of rhapsodies on the subject -“of the most glorious of her sex,” written to “her -dear Lichfieldians” and the odes poured out to “Isabella” -and “Euphrasia,” it is a significant fact that -we do not find one letter personally to Mrs. Siddons, -nor one from Mrs. Siddons addressed to her. Practical -and sincere herself, the great actress disliked -“gush” of all sorts. Miss Seward wrote, “My dear -friends, I arrived here at five. Think of my mortification! -Mrs. Siddons in Belvidera to-night, as is supposed, -for the last time before she lies in. I asked -Mrs. Barrow if it would be impossible to get into the -pit. “O heaven!” said she, “impossible in any part -of the house!” Mrs. B⸺ is, I find, in the <i>petit -souper</i> circle; so the dear plays oratorios, and will be<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_142"></a>[142]</span> -a little too much for my wishes, out of question. -Adieu! Adieu!”</p> - -<p>The Lichfieldian incense was a little too pungent -for the nostrils to which it was offered. The great -actress wrote, rather weariedly to her friend Dr. -Whalley:—</p> - -<p>“Believe me, my dear Sir, it is not want of inclination, -but opportunity, that prevents my more frequent -acknowledgments: but need I tell you this? No; -you generously judge of my heart by your own. I -fear I must have appeared very insensible, and, therefore, -unworthy the honour Miss Seward has done -me; but the perpetual round of business in which -I am engaged is incredible. Shall I trespass on -your goodness to say that I feel as I ought on that -occasion?”</p> - -<p>She then alludes to the kindness of the King and -Queen which, sometimes to an inconvenient extent, -was shown towards her all her life.</p> - -<p>“I believe I told you that the Queen had graciously -put my son down on her list for the Charterhouse; -and she has done me the honour to stamp my reputation -by her honoured approbation. They have seen -me in all my characters but Isabella, which they have -commanded for Monday next; but, having seen me in -Jane Shore last night, and, judging very humanely that -too quick repetitions of such exertions may injure my -health, the King himself most graciously sent to the -managers, and said he must deny himself the pleasure -of seeing Isabella till Tuesday. This is the second -time he has distinguished me in this manner. You -see a vast deal of me in the papers, of my appointment -at Court, and the like. All groundless; but I -have the pleasure to inform you that my success has<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_143"></a>[143]</span> -exceeded even my hopes. My sister is engaged, and -is successful. God be praised for all His mercies! -You will think me an egotist, I fear. I shall certainly -be at Bath in the Passion Week, if I am alive. I -count the hours till then.”</p> - -<p>Our readers may like to know that when their -Majesties, with the Prince of Wales, the Princess -Royal, and the Princess Augusta went in state, on -October 8th, 1783, to see Mrs. Siddons play Isabella, -the Sovereign and his wife sat under a dome covered -with crimson velvet and gold; the heir to the throne -sat under another of blue velvet and silver; and the -young Princesses under a third of blue satin and silver -fringe. George III. wore “a plain suit of Quaker-coloured -clothes, with gold buttons; the Queen, a -white satin robe, with a head-dress which was ornamented -by a great number of diamonds; the Princess -Royal was dressed in a white and blue figured silk, and -Princess Augusta in a rose-coloured and white silk of -the same pattern as her sister’s, having both their -head-dresses richly ornamented with diamonds. His -Royal Highness the Prince of Wales had a suit of -dark blue Geneva velvet, richly trimmed with gold -lace.”</p> - -<p>We are further told that on this occasion Mrs. -Siddons was much indisposed previous to her going -on the stage; and, after the curtain dropped at -the end of the fifth act, was so very ill as not to be -capable of walking to her dressing-room without support. -Notwithstanding her suffering, she went through -the part as if inspired. The Queen was so affected at -her performance, that His Majesty seemed alarmed, -and often diverted her attention from situations and -passages that were likely to distress her.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_144"></a>[144]</span></p> - -<p>The following snarl was found among Horace Walpole’s -papers:—</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p class="center">For the <i>Morning Chronicle</i>. On the King commanding the Tragedy -of <i>The Grecian Daughter</i> on Thursday the 2nd inst. Jan. 10th, 1783.</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Epigrammatic</span></p> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">Siddons to see—King, Lords, and Commons run,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Glad to forget that Britain is undone.</div> - <div class="verse indent0">The Jesuit Shelburne, the apostate Fox,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">And Bulls and Bears, together in a Box.</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Thurlow neglects his promises to friends;</div> - <div class="verse indent0">And scribbling Townsend no more letters sends.</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Cits leave their feasts, and sots desert their wine;</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Each youth cries “Charming!” and each maid, “Divine!”</div> - <div class="verse indent0">See, of false tears, a copious torrent flows,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">But not one real, for their country’s woes.</div> - <div class="verse indent0">The club of spendthrifts, the rapacious bar</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Of words, not arms, support the bloodless war.</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Let Spain Gibraltar get, our islands France,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">So Siddons acts, or Vestris leads the dance.</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Run on, mad nation! pleasure’s frantic round;</div> - <div class="verse indent0">For acting, fiddling, dancing be renown’d!</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Soon foreign fleets shall rule the Western main;</div> - <div class="verse indent0">George fill no throne but that of Drury Lane.</div> - <div class="verse right"><i>Merlin.</i></div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -</div> - -<p>George III. admired her, he said, “for her repose,” -adding, “Garrick could never stand still; he was a great -fidget.” The Queen told her, in broken English, that -the only resource was to turn away from the stage; -the acting was, indeed, too “disagreeable.” She was -frequently summoned to read at the Palace, and to -give lessons in elocution to the young Princesses.</p> - -<p>In Mrs. Siddons’s memoranda, we are given an -account of one of these readings. She felt extremely -awkward, she tells us, in the “sack” with “hoop and -treble ruffles which it was considered necessary to put -on, according to court etiquette.” On her arrival she -was led into an ante-chamber, where there were ladies<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_145"></a>[145]</span> -of rank whom she knew, while presently the King -appeared, drawing one of his little daughters in a “go-cart.” -This little princess was about three years old; -and when Mrs. Siddons remarked to the lady standing -next her that she longed to kiss the child, it held out -its tiny hand ... so early had she learnt this -lesson of royalty. Mrs. Siddons was obliged to stand -during the whole of a lengthened evening, preferring -this to their offers of refreshment in an adjoining -room, as she was terrified at the thought of retiring -backwards through “the whole length of a long apartment, -with highly-polished, slippery floor.” Her Majesty -privately expressed much astonishment at seeing -her so collected, and was pleased to say that the -actress had conducted herself as though she had been -used to a court. “I had certainly often personated -queens,” was the actress’s remark.</p> - -<p>It may be mentioned as a remarkable fact that the -first person outside the royal family who seems to have -entertained a suspicion that insanity was creeping over -the King was Mrs. Siddons. During a visit she paid to -Windsor Castle at the time, the King, without any -apparent motive, placed in her hands a sheet of paper -bearing nothing but his signature—an incident which -struck her as so unaccountable, that she immediately -carried it to the Queen, who gratefully thanked her for -her discretion.</p> - -<p>But more than all the attentions of royalty, more -than all the flattery lavished upon her by great people, -more than all the applause and worship she received -from the crowds who besieged the theatre, did she -value the sparingly awarded praises and sincere shake -of the shabby, noble, snuff-covered hand of “the Great -Bear,” before whose growl everyone trembled.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_146"></a>[146]</span></p> - -<p>In Boswell’s <i>Life of Johnson</i> he tells us the Doctor -had a singular prejudice against players, “futile -fellows” whom he rated no higher than rope-dancers -or ballad singers. This prejudice, however, -did not prevent him from hobbling off to see poor -crippled Mrs. Porter when forsaken by all the rest of -the world. The beginning of his liking for Mrs. -Siddons is thoroughly characteristic. He always talked -to his circle of lady adorers of that jade, Mrs. Siddons, -until one of the “fair females” suggested that he -must see the actress.</p> - -<p>“But, indeed, Dr. Johnson,” said Miss Monckton, -“you <i>must</i> see Mrs. Siddons. Won’t you see her in -some fine part?”</p> - -<p>“Why, if I <i>must</i>, Madam, I have no choice.”</p> - -<p>“She says, Sir, she shall be very much afraid of -you.”</p> - -<p>“Madam, that cannot be true.”</p> - -<p>“Not true?” said Miss Monckton, staring. “Yes, -it is.”</p> - -<p>“It <i>cannot</i> be, Madam.”</p> - -<p>“But she said so to me; I heard her say it myself.”</p> - -<p>“Madam, it is not <i>possible</i>; remember, therefore, -in future, that even fiction should be supported by -probability.”</p> - -<p>Miss Monckton looked all amazement, but insisted -upon the truth of what she had said.</p> - -<p>“I do not believe, Madam,” said he, warmly, “that -she knows my name.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, that is rating her too low,” said a gentleman -stranger.</p> - -<p>“By not knowing my name,” continued he, “I do -not mean literally, but that when she sees it abused<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_147"></a>[147]</span> -in a newspaper she may possibly recollect that she has -seen it abused in a newspaper before.”</p> - -<p>“Well, Sir,” said Miss Monckton, “but you must -see her for all this.”</p> - -<p>“Well, Madam, if you desire it, I will go; see her, -I shall not, nor hear her; but I’ll go, and that will -do. The last time I was at a play I was ordered there -by Mrs. Abington, or a Mrs. Somebody, I do not well -remember who, but I placed myself in the middle of -the first row of the front boxes, to show that when I -was called I came.”</p> - -<p>He kept his promise, and the huge, slovenly figure, -clad in a greasy brown coat and coarse black worsted -stockings, was several times seen taking handfuls of -snuff, and criticising the actress in his outspoken, growling -fashion. She then paid him a visit in his den at -Bolt Court, to which he alludes in one of his letters to -Mrs. Thrale:—</p> - -<p>“Mrs. Siddons, in her visit to me, behaved with great -modesty and propriety, and left nothing behind her to -be censured or despised. Neither praise nor money, -the two powerful corrupters of mankind, seemed to -have depraved her. I shall be glad to see her again. -Her brother Kemble calls on me, and pleases me very -well. Mrs. Siddons and I talked of plays, and she -told me her intention of exhibiting this winter the -character of Constance, Catherine, and Isabella, in -Shakespeare.”</p> - -<p>Boswell gives us also the account of what took -place:—</p> - -<p>“When Mrs. Siddons came into the room, there -happened to be no chair ready for her, which he -observing, said with a smile: ‘Madam, you who -so often occasion a want of seats to other people<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_148"></a>[148]</span> -will the more easily excuse the want of one yourself.’</p> - -<p>“Having placed himself by her, he with great good -humour entered upon a consideration of the English -drama; and, among other enquiries, particularly -asked her which of Shakespeare’s characters she was -most pleased with. Upon her answering that she -thought the character of Queen Catherine in <i>Henry -VIII.</i> the most natural: ‘I think so too, Madam,’ -said he; ‘and whenever you perform it I will once -more hobble out to the theatre myself.’ Mrs. Siddons -promised she would do herself the honour of acting -his favourite part for him, but was unable to do so -before grand old Samuel was laid to his last rest.”</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_149"></a>[149]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_X">CHAPTER X.<br /> -<span class="smaller">1782 TO 1798.</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p>Mrs. Siddons’s life between the years 1785 to 1798 -was passed in the professional treadmill, and her history -during this period is best told by an account of -the characters she personated.</p> - -<p>After her appearance as Lady Macbeth on February -2nd, she chose to act Desdemona to her brother’s -Othello, and, to everyone’s surprise, acted it with a -tenderness, playfulness, and simplicity hardly to be -expected of the majestic actress, who had terrified -her audience by her representation of the Thane of -Cawdor’s wife. Campbell tells us that even years after, -when he saw her play this part at Edinburgh, not -recognising at first who was acting, he was spellbound -by her “exquisite gracefulness,” and thought it impossible -“this soft, sweet creature could be the Siddons,” -until by the emotion and applause of the audience he -knew it could be no other.</p> - -<p>Unfortunately, in her first representation of this -part, she was carelessly given a damp bed to lie on in -the death scene, and caught so severe a cold as almost -to threaten rheumatic fever. From this time her delicacy<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_150"></a>[150]</span> -seems to date, for we now find her continually -complaining and incapacitated from appearing by ill-health.</p> - -<p>After Desdemona she appeared in Rosalind, which -we can dismiss with the criticism of Young, the actor: -“Her Rosalind wanted neither playfulness nor feminine -softness, but it was totally without archness—not -because she did not properly conceive it; but how -could such a countenance be arch?” Her dress, too, -excited great amusement—“mysterious nondescript -garments.” We have a letter of hers to Hamilton the -artist, asking “if he would be so good as to make her -a slight sketch for a boy’s dress to conceal the person -as much as possible.” The woman who was capable of -taking this view of the representation of Rosalind was -not capable of acting the part.</p> - -<p>Imogen, Ophelia, Catherine in the <i>Taming of the -Shrew</i>, and Cordelia, all acted with her brother, followed -in quick succession. This hard work entitled -her to a salary of twenty-four pounds ten shillings -weekly, while her brother drew ten pounds. Not contented -with this, however, she made a tour in the -provinces, Liverpool, Manchester, Birmingham, &c. -These country tours were not only fatiguing in consequence -of the amount of travelling to be done, but -also in consequence of the unsympathetic audiences to -be faced, and the discomfort of country theatres. The -system, also, of absorbing all the profits of provincial -actors made her very unpopular in the profession. -Some ridiculous stories are related of these tours.</p> - -<p>When playing the “sleeping scene” in <i>Macbeth</i>, at -Leeds, a boy who had been sent for some porter -appeared by mistake on the stage, and walking up, -presented it to her. In vain she motioned him away,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_151"></a>[151]</span> -in vain he was called off behind the scenes; the house -roared with laughter, and all illusion was dispelled for -the rest of the evening. On another occasion at Leeds, -when about to drink poison on the stage, one of the -audience in the gallery howled out “Soop it oop, -lass!” She endeavoured to frown down the interrupter, -but her own solemnity gave way. She was -also at country theatres often subjected to bearing the -brunt of a local quarrel or facetiousness directed -against a member or members of the audience. Once -at Liverpool the play of <i>Jane Shore</i>, which had -sent London audiences into fits of sobbing and -hysterics, was announced. The house was full, and -Miss Mellon, from whom we have the story, says the -actors behind the scenes expected a repetition of the -same emotion; but the people in the gallery, seeing -the principal merchants with their families present, -thought this a delightful opportunity of indulging -their wit respecting the “soldiering.” Accordingly, -they formed two bands, one on each side of the gallery, -and, from the commencement of the play to the -end, kept up a cross-dialogue of impertinence, about -“charging guns with brown sugar and cocoanuts,” and -“small arms with cinnamon powder and nutmegs.”</p> - -<p>Miss Mellon was in agony for the object of her -theatrical devotion. She cried, she ran about behind -the wings as if she were going out of her senses. Mrs. -Siddons, however, calm though deadly pale, merely said -to her, with a slight tremor in her voice, “I will go -through the <i>time</i> requisite for the scenes, but will not -utter them.”</p> - -<p>She went on the stage; said aloud, “It is useless to -act,” crossed her arms, and merely murmured the -speeches; and it is a fact that, on the first night one<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_152"></a>[152]</span> -of Mrs. Siddons’s masterpieces was acted in Liverpool, -she went through the entire performance in dumb -show.</p> - -<p>In December 1785 her second son, George, was -born. As soon as she was able to write, she communicated -the fact to her friends, the Whalleys, in -one of her lively, light-hearted letters:—</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p>“I have another son, healthy and lovely as an angel, -born the 26th Dec.; so, you see, I take the earliest -opportunity of relieving the anxiety which I know you -and my dear Mrs. Whalley will feel till you hear of -me. My sweet boy is so like a person of the Royal -Family, that I’m rather afraid he’ll bring me to -disgrace. My sister jokingly tells me she’s sure ‘my -lady his mother has played false with the prince,’ and -I must own he’s more like him than anybody else. I -will just hint to you that my father was at one time -very like the King, which a little saves my credit. I -rejoice that you are well, and have such pleasant -society, but I wish to God you would return! I have -no news for you, except that the prince is going to -devote himself entirely to a Mrs. Fitzherbert, and the -whole world is in an uproar about it. I know very -little of her history more than that it is agreed on all -hands that she is a very ambitious and clever woman, -and that ‘all good seeming by her revolt will be -thought put on for villany,’ for she was thought an -example of propriety. I hear, too, that the Duchess -of Devonshire is to take her by the hand, and to give -her the first dinner when the preliminaries are settled; -for it seems everything goes on with the utmost formality—provision -made for children, and so on. Some -people rejoice and some mourn at this event. I have -not heard what his mother says to it. The Royal<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_153"></a>[153]</span> -Family have been nearly all ill, but are now recovering, -and they graciously intend to command me to play in -<i>The Way to Keep Him</i> the first night I perform. They -are gracious to me beyond measure on all occasions, -and take all opportunities to show the world that they -are so. How good and considerate is this! They -know what a sanction their countenance is, and they -are amiable beyond description. Since my confinement -I have received the kindest messages from them; -they make me of consequence enough to desire I -won’t think of playing till I feel quite strong, and a -thousand more kind things. I perceive a little shooting -in my temples that tells me I have written enough.</p> - -<p>“I don’t take leave of you, however, without telling -you that I am very much disappointed in Sherriffe’s -picture of me, and am afraid to employ him about -your snuff-box. I don’t know what to do about it, for -that promised to be so well that I almost engaged -him in the fulness of my heart to do it. I have not -been in face these last four months; but now that I -am growing as amiable as ever, I shall sit for it as -soon as possible. God Almighty bless you both!</p> - -<p class="center">“Yours,</p> - -<p class="right">“<span class="smcap">S. Siddons</span>.”</p> - -</div> - -<p>Later she writes again to Whalley:—</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p>“I have at last, my friend, attained the <i>ten thousand -pounds</i> which I set my heart upon, and am now perfectly -at ease with respect to fortune. I thank God -who has enabled me to procure to myself so comfortable -an income. I am sure my dear Mrs. Whalley -and you will be pleased to hear this from myself. -What a thing a balloon would be! but, the deuce take -them, I do not find that they are likely to be brought<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_154"></a>[154]</span> -to any good. Good heaven! what delight it would be -to see you for a few days only! I have a nice house, -and I could contrive to make up a bed. I know you -and my dear Mrs. Whalley would accept my sincere -endeavours to accommodate you; but don’t let me be -taken by surprise, my dear friend, for were I to see -you first at the theatre, I can’t answer for what might -be the consequence.</p> - -<p>“I stand some knocks with tolerable firmness, I -suppose from habit; but those of joy being so infinitely -less frequent, I conceive must be more difficultly -sustained.</p> - -<p>“You will find I have been a niggard of my praise, -when you see your Fanny. Oh! my beloved friend, -you could not speak to one who understands those -anxieties you mention better than I do. Surely it is -needless to say no one more ardently prays that God -Almighty, in His mercy, will avert the calamity; and -surely, surely there is everything to hope for from such -dispositions, improved by such an education. My -family is well, God be praised! My two sisters are -married and happy. Mrs. Twiss will present us with -a new relation towards February. At Christmas I bring -my dear girls from Miss Eames, or rather she brings -them to me. Eliza is the most entertaining creature in -the world; Sally is vastly clever; Maria and George are -beautiful; and Harry, a boy with very good parts, but -not disposed to learning.”</p> - -</div> - -<p>In spite of her statement that once she had made -ten thousand pounds she would rest contented, we find -her for the two next years working without intermission, -going from York to Edinburgh, from Edinburgh -to Liverpool. In 1788 Kemble succeeded King -as manager of Drury Lane, and his sister returned to<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_155"></a>[155]</span> -assist, first of all in his spectacular revival of <i>Macbeth</i>, -in which, among other innovations, he brought in the -black, grey, and white spirits, as bands of little boys. -One of these imps was insubordinate, and was sent -away in disgrace; his name was “Edmund Kean.”</p> - -<p>They then acted <i>Henry VIII.</i> together, Kemble -contenting himself with “doubling” the characters of -Cromwell and Griffith, Bensley having already possession -of the part of Wolsey. The representation was -a success in every way, and Mrs. Siddons’s Queen -Katherine was henceforth ranked as equal to her Lady -Macbeth.</p> - -<p>On the 7th February following she played for the -first time Volumnia to her brother’s Coriolanus. An -eye-witness tells us:—</p> - -<p>“I remember her coming down the stage in the -triumphal entry of her son Coriolanus, when her -dumb show drew plaudits that shook the building. -She came alone, marching and beating time to the -music; rolling (if that be not too strong a term to -describe her motion) from side to side, swelling with -the triumph of her son. Such was the intoxication of -joy which flashed from her eye, and lit up her whole -face, that the effect was irresistible. She seemed to -me to reap all the glory of that procession to herself. -I could not take my eye from her. Coriolanus, banner, -and pageant, all went for nothing to me, after she had -walked to her place.”</p> - -<p>Many are the testimonies of actors and actresses that -show her extraordinary personal power. Young relates -that he was once acting Beverley with her at Edinburgh. -They had reached the fifth act, when Beverley -had swallowed the poison, and Bates comes in, and -says to the dying man, “Jarvis found you quarrelling<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_156"></a>[156]</span> -with Jewson in the streets last night.” Mrs. Beverley -says, “No, I am sure he did not!” to which Jarvis -replies, “Or if I did?” meaning, it may be supposed, -to add, “The fault was not with my master.” But the -moment he utters the words “Or if I did?” Mrs. -Beverley exclaims, “’Tis false, old man! They had -no quarrel—there was no cause for quarrel!” In -uttering this, Mrs. Siddons caught hold of Jarvis, and -gave the exclamation with such piercing grief, that -Young said his throat swelled and his utterance was -choked. He stood unable to repeat the words which, -as Beverley, he ought to have immediately delivered. -The prompter repeated the speech several times, till -Mrs. Siddons, coming up to her fellow-actor, put the -tips of her fingers on his shoulders, and said in a low -voice, “Mr. Young, recollect yourself.”</p> - -<p>Macready relates an equally remarkable instance of -her power. In the last act of Rowe’s <i>Tamerlane</i>, when, -by the order of the tyrant Moneses, Aspasia’s lover is -strangled before her face, she worked herself up to -such a pitch of agony that, as she sank a lifeless heap -before the murderer, the audience remained for several -moments awe-struck, then clamoured for the curtain -to fall, believing that she was really dead; and only -the earnest assurances of the manager to the contrary -could satisfy them. Holman and the elder Macready -were among the spectators, and looked aghast at one -another. “Macready, do I look as pale as you?” -inquired the former.</p> - -<p>On another occasion, when performing <i>Henry VIII.</i> -with a raw “supernumerary” who was playing Surveyor, -when she warned him against giving false -testimony against his master, her look was so terrific -that the unfortunate youth came off perspiring with<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_157"></a>[157]</span> -terror, and swearing that nothing would induce him to -meet that woman’s eyes again.</p> - -<p>Had Mrs. Siddons lived in our day, every shop-window -would have been crowded with photographs of -her classically beautiful face, in every pose and -every costume. Mercifully she lived in the days of -Gainsborough and Reynolds, and is, therefore, the -original of two of the most beautiful female portraits -ever painted. Sir Joshua is said to have borrowed -his conception from a figure designed by Michael -Angelo on the roof of the Sixtine Chapel. She is -seated in a chair of state, with two figures behind -holding the dagger and the bowl. The head is thrown -back in an attitude of dramatic inspiration, the right -hand thrown over an arm of the seat, the left raised, -pointing upwards. A tiara, necklace, and splendid -folds of drapery enhance the stateliness of the composition. -It is, undoubtedly, the great painter’s -masterpiece. “The picture,” Northcote says, “kept -him in a fever.” The unfavourable reception his -pictures of the year before had met with made him -resolved to show the critics that he was not past his -prime, while the grandeur and magnificence of the -sitter stimulated him to the exertion of all his genius.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Siddons was fond, in later years, of describing -her sittings. “Ascend your undisputed throne,” said -the painter, leading her to the platform. “Bestow on -me some idea of the tragic muse.” And then, when -it was ended, the great painter insisted on inscribing -his name on her robe, saying that he could not lose -the honour of going down to posterity on the hem of -her garment. We, who only know of her greatness -from hearsay, can form some idea of what she must -have been from this magnificent conception.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_158"></a>[158]</span></p> - -<p>Very nearly as noble and beautiful is the portrait by -Gainsborough. The delicacy of a refined English -complexion has never been so beautifully painted, -while the tone and colour is as exquisite as anything -Gainsborough ever did. The light transparent blue, -cool yellow, crimson, brown, and black, forms an -enchanting setting for the lovely head, which stands -out clear and delicate. It is said, that while Gainsborough -was painting her, after working in an absorbed -silence for some time, he suddenly exclaimed, “Damn -it, Madam, there is no end to your nose!” And, -indeed, it does stand out a little sharply. But the -great feature of the Kembles was the jaw-bone. The -actress herself exclaimed, laughing, “The Kemble -jaw-bone! Why, it is as notorious as Samson’s!” -Mrs. Jameson declares that she saw Mrs. Siddons -sitting near Gainsborough’s portrait two years before -her death, and, looking from one to the other, she -says, “It was like her still, at the age of seventy.”</p> - -<p>Years after, Fanny Kemble, her grand-daughter, -while walking through the streets of Baltimore, saw -an engraving of Reynolds’s “Tragic Muse” and Lawrence’s -picture of John Kemble’s “Hamlet.” “We -stopped,” she says, “before them, and my father -looked with a great deal of emotion at these beautiful -representations of his beautiful kindred. It was a sort -of sad surprise to meet them in this other world, -where we are wandering aliens and strangers.”</p> - -<p>From the numerous portraits extant of Mrs. Siddons -we can form an idea of her appearance, of which -such legendary accounts have been handed down. -She was much above middle height; as a girl she was -exceedingly thin and spare, and this remained her -characteristic until she was about twenty-two or three.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_159"></a>[159]</span> -“Sarah Kemble would be a fine-looking woman one -of these days,” a friend of her father remarked, -“provided she could but add flesh to her bones, and -provided her eyes were as small again.”</p> - -<p>This is, in fact, what did occur. Her increasing -plumpness rounded off all angles, making the eyes less -prominent; and at the age of twenty-four or twenty-five -she was in the very prime of her marvellous -beauty. She had a singular energy and elasticity of -motion. Her head was beautifully set on her shoulders. -Her features were fine and expressive, the nose a little -long, but counterbalanced by the height of the brow, -and firmly-modelled chin. The eye-brows were -marked, and ran straight across the brow; her eyes -positively flamed at times. A fixed pallor overspread -her features in later days, which was seldom tinged -with colour. It is difficult, looking at the stately fine -lady painted by Gainsborough, to imagine the bursts -of passion that convulsed her on the stage. Her voice, -as years matured its power, was capable of every inflection -of feeling; while her articulation was singularly -clear and exact. There was no undue raising of -the voice, no overdoing of action; all was moderate -and quiet until passion was demanded, and then swift -and sudden it burst forth.</p> - -<p>In Kemble’s manner at times there was a sacrifice -of energy to grace. This observation, Braden tells us, -was made by Mrs. Siddons herself, who admired her -brother, in general, as much as she loved him. She -illustrated her meaning by rising and placing herself -in the attitude of one of the old Egyptian statues; the -knees joined together, and the feet turned a little inwards. -Placing her elbows close to her sides, she -folded her hands, and held them upright, with the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_160"></a>[160]</span> -palms pressed to each other. Having made those present -observe that she had assumed one of the most -constrained, and, therefore, most ungraceful positions -possible, she proceeded to recite the curse of King -Lear on his undutiful offspring, in a manner which -made <i>hair rise and flesh creep</i>, and then called on -us to remark the additional effect which was gained -by the concentrated energy which the unusual and -ungraceful posture in itself implied.</p> - -<p>It is a characteristic trait, that by the Kemble -family John should have been considered a finer player -than Sarah. We know that he continually gave her -directions and instructions, which she accepted with -all humility, and followed, until she had made herself -<i>sure</i> of her ground. No one, however gifted, could -then shake her conscientious adherence to her own -views.</p> - -<p>The subtle difference that lies between genius and -talent separated the two. Kemble repeated beautiful -words suitably; Mrs. Siddons was magnificent before -she spoke, thrilling her audience with a silence more -significant than all else in the development of human -emotion. We can see how grand she was, independently -of her author, by the miserable plays she made -famous; when her genius was no longer present to -breathe life and passion into them they passed into -oblivion.</p> - -<p>The number of indifferent plays she was entreated -to appear in were legion. All her friends seemed to -think they could write plays, and that she was the one -and only person who could appear in them. We find -her piteously writing to a friend who had sent her a -tragedy:—</p> - -<p>“It is impossible for you to conceive how hard it is<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_161"></a>[161]</span> -to say that <i>Astarte</i> will not do as you and I would -have it do. Thank God, it is over! It has been so -bitter a sentence for me to pronounce, that it has -wrung drops of sorrow from the very bottom of my -heart. Let me entreat, if you have any idea that I -am too tenacious of your honour, that you will suffer -me to ask the opinion of others, which may be done -without naming the author. I must, however, premise -that what is charming in the closet often -ceases to be so when it comes into consideration for -the stage.”</p> - -<p>Conceited Fanny Burney must needs write a tragedy, -<i>Edwin and Elgitha</i>. Her stumbling-block was -“Bishops.” At that time there was a popular drink -called “Bishop,” composed of certain intoxicating ingredients. -When, therefore, in one of the earlier scenes -the King gave the order “Bring in the Bishop,” the -audience went into roars of laughter. The dying -scene seemed to have no effect in damping their mirth. -A passing stranger, in a tragic tone, proposed to carry -the expiring heroine to the other side of a hedge. -This hedge, though remote from any dwelling, proved -to be a commodious retreat, for, in a few minutes -afterwards, the wounded lady was brought from behind -it on an elegant couch, and, after dying in the presence -of her husband, was removed once more to the -back of the hedge. The effect proved too ridiculous -for the audience, and Mrs. Siddons was carried off -amidst renewed roars of laughter.</p> - -<p>Dr. Whalley must then needs press a tragedy of his -own upon her, <i>The Castle of Mowal</i>, which was -yawned at for three nights. It is said that when the -author went down to Mr. Peake, the treasurer, to -know what benefit might have accrued to him, it<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_162"></a>[162]</span> -amounted to nothing. “I have been,” said the doctor, -an old picquet-player, “piqued and repiqued”; and -so he retired from the scene of his discomfiture to -Bath, where he plumed himself on the fact of having -“run for three nights.”</p> - -<p>Her next essay in the cause of friendship was in -Bertie Greatheed’s tragedy of <i>The Regent</i>. She writes -in reference to it:—</p> - -<p>“The plot of the poor young man’s piece, it strikes -me, is very lame, and the characters very—very ill-sustained -in general; but more particularly the lady, -for whom the author had me in his eye. This woman -is one of those monsters (I think them) of perfection, -who is an angel before her time, and is so entirely -resigned to the will of Heaven, that (to a very mortal -like myself) she appears to be the most provoking -piece of still life one ever had the misfortune to meet. -Her struggles and conflicts are so weakly expressed, -that we conclude they do not cost her much pain, and -she is so pious that we are satisfied she looks upon her -afflictions as so many convoys to Heaven, and wish her -there, or anywhere else but in the tragedy. I have -said all this, and ten times more, to them both, with as -much delicacy as I am mistress of; but Mr. G. says -that it would give him no great trouble to alter it, -provided I will undertake the milksop lady. I am in -a very distressed situation, for, unless he makes her -a totally different character, I cannot possibly have -anything to do with her.”</p> - -<p>The piece was eventually performed for twelve -nights, and then consigned to oblivion; but the author -was so satisfied that he gave a supper, which was followed -by a drinking-bout at the “Brown Bear” in -Bow Street, at which a subordinate actor named Phillimore<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_163"></a>[163]</span> -was sufficiently tipsy to have courage enough to -fight his lord and master, John Kemble, who was -elevated enough to defend himself, and generous -enough to forget the affair next morning.</p> - -<p>Other parts were declined by her for other reasons. -Colman had written an epilogue to Mr. Jephson’s -<i>Julia</i>, which she refused to speak because she declared -it to be “coarse;” and the part of Cleopatra, she said -she never would act, because “she would hate herself -if she were to play it as she thought it should be -played.” And there she was right; the “Serpent of -Old Nile” was not within her range.</p> - -<p>One of her admirers tells us that her majestic and -imposing person, and the commanding character of her -beauty, militated against the effect she produced in the -part of Mrs. Haller. “No man alive or dead,” said -he, “would have dared to take a liberty with her; -wicked she might be, but weak she could not be, and -when she told the story of her ill-conduct in the play -nobody believed her.” Another eye-witness, speaking -of “the fair penitent,” said that it was worth sitting -out the piece for her scene with Romont alone, to see -“such a splendid animal in such a magnificent rage.”</p> - -<p>And yet, what a kind heart it was to an erring -sister! “Charming and beautiful Mrs. Robinson,” she -writes, referring to Perdita Robinson, “I pity her from -the bottom of my soul.” And what a generous helping -hand she stretched out to her younger colleagues. -When Miss Mellon, twenty years her junior, was acting -with her at Liverpool, Mrs. Siddons one morning at -rehearsal turned to an actor, a friend of hers, who had -known her for years, and said:</p> - -<p>“There is a young woman here whom I am sure I -have seen at Drury Lane.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_164"></a>[164]</span></p> - -<p>He told her it was Miss Mellon, who had just come -out.</p> - -<p>“She seems a nice, pretty young woman,” returned -the great actress, “and I pity her situation in that -hotbed of iniquity, Drury Lane; it is almost impossible -for a young, pretty, and unprotected female to -escape. How has she conducted herself?”</p> - -<p>The person she addressed, who relates the story, -replied:</p> - -<p>“With the greatest propriety.”</p> - -<p>“Then please present her to me.”</p> - -<p>The young lady, colouring highly and looking very -handsome, came forward. The Queen of Tragedy took -her by the hand, and, after a few kind encouraging -words, led her forward among the company and said:</p> - -<p>“Ladies and Gentlemen, I am told by one I know -very well that this young lady has always conducted -herself with the utmost propriety. I, therefore, introduce -her as my young friend.”</p> - -<p>This electrified the parties in the green-room, who -had not looked for such a flattering distinction for the -young actress; but, of course, they were all too glad -to follow Mrs. Siddons in anything, and Miss Mellon -was overwhelmed with attention. Afterwards, on the -return of Mrs. Siddons and Miss Mellon to their -duties in London for the succeeding season, the former -repeated the compliment she had paid her at Liverpool, -making the same statement regarding her excellent -conduct; and by thus bringing her forward under -such advantageous circumstances, procured her admission -to the first green-room, where her inferior salary -did not entitle her to be, except on such a recommendation -as that of Mrs. Siddons.</p> - -<p>In the summer of 1790, being in delicate health,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_165"></a>[165]</span> -and disgusted at Sheridan’s treatment of her, she -went with her husband to France, accompanied by -Miss Wynn. They first stopped at Calais, where -their daughters, Sarah and Maria, were at a boarding-school, -and then went on to Lisle. The letter she -wrote to Lady Harcourt on her return is so characteristic -in its energetic, outspoken sincerity, that it -seems unjust not to quote every word of it:—</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p class="right">“Sandgate, near Folkestone, Kent. August 2nd.</p> - -<p class="noindent">“<span class="smcap">My dear Lady Harcourt</span>,</p> - -<p>“After so long a silence, your good nature -will exalt itself to hear a long letter full of egotism, -and I will begin with Streatham, where you may -remember to have heard me talk of going with no -great degree of pleasurable expectation, supposing it -impossible that I should ever feel much more for -Mrs. P.<a id="FNanchor_2" href="#Footnote_2" class="fnanchor">[2]</a> than admiration of her talents; but, after -having very unexpectedly stayed there more than three -weeks, during which time every moment gave me -fresh instances of unremitting kindness and attention -to me, and, indeed, a very extraordinary degree of -benevolence and forbearance towards those who have -not deserved much lenity at her hands (and it is wonderful -how many there are of that description), I left -them with great regret; and between their very great -kindness, their wit, and their music, they made me -love, esteem, and admire them very much. In a few -days I set out with Mr. S., Miss Wynn, and her -brother, for Calais, and, after a very rough passage, -arrived at Calais, and found my dear girls quite well<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_166"></a>[166]</span> -and improved in their persons, and (I am told) in their -French. I was very much struck with the difference -of objects and customs when I reflected how small -a space divides one nation from the other, like true -English. We saw all we could, and I thought <i>of</i> -my dear Lord Harcourt, though not <i>with</i> him, in -their churches. I own (though I blame myself at -the same time for it) I was disgusted with all the -pomp and magnificence of them, when I saw the -priests ‘playing such fantastic tricks before high Heaven -as (I think) must make the angels weep’; and -the people gabbling over their prayers, even in the -<i>act of gaping</i>, to have it over as quick as might be. -Alas! said I to myself, in the pitifulness, and perhaps -vanity, of my heart, how sorry I am for these poor -deluded people, and how much more worthy the Deity -(‘who does prefer before all temples the upright -heart and pure’) are the sublime and simple forms of -<i>our</i> religion. Indeed, my dear Madam, I am better -satisfied with the ideas and feelings that have been -excited in my heart in <i>your</i> garden at <i>Nuneham</i>, than -ever I have been in those fine gewgaw places, and -believe Mr. Haggitt, by his plain and sensible sermons, -has done more good than a legion of these priests -would do if they were to live to the age of Methusalem. -I am willing to own that all this may be prejudice, and -that <i>we</i> may not <i>mean</i> better than our <i>neighbours</i>; but -<i>fire</i> shall not burn my opinion out of me, and so <i>God -mend all</i>. Now, to turn to our <i>great selves</i>. We took -our little folks to Lisle; it is a very fine town, and, -though I know nothing of the language, the acting was -so really good that it gave me very great pleasure. -The language of true genius, like that of Nature, is -intelligible to all. We stayed there a few days, and<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_167"></a>[167]</span> -you would have laughed to have seen my amazement -at the valet of the inn assisting the <i>femme de chambre</i> -in the making of our beds. The <i>beds</i> are the best I -ever slept upon; but the valet’s kind offices I could -always, I think, dispense with, good heavens! Well, -we returned to Calais, where I would have stayed a -few months, and have employed myself in acquiring a -few French phrases with the dear children, if Mrs. -Temple would have taken me in; but she said she had -not room to accommodate me, and I unwillingly gave -up the point. In a day or two we set sail, after seeing -the civic oath administered on the fourteenth. It was -a fine thing even at Calais. I was extremely delighted -and affected, not, indeed, at the <i>sensible objects</i>, though -a great multitude is often a grand thing, but the idea -of so many millions throughout that great nation, -with one consent, at one moment (as it were by Divine -Inspiration), breaking their bonds asunder, filled one -with sympathetic exultation, good-will, and tenderness. -I rejoiced with them from my heart, and most sincerely -hope they will not abuse the glorious freedom -they have obtained. We were nearly twenty hours on -the sea on our return, and arrived at Dover fatigued -and sick to death. Dr. Wynn was obliged to make the -best of his way to London on account of a sermon he -was engaged to preach, and took his charming sister -with him. <i>We</i> made haste here, and it is the most -agreeable sea-place, excepting those on the Devonshire -coast, I ever saw. Perhaps <i>agreeable</i> is a bad word, -for the country is much more sublime than beautiful. -We have tremendous cliffs overhanging and frowning -on the foaming sea, which is very often so saucy and -tempestuous as to <i>deserve</i> frowning on; from whence, -when the weather is clear, we see the land of France,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_168"></a>[168]</span> -and the vessels cross from the Downs to Calais. -Sometimes, while you <i>stand</i> there, it is amazing with -what velocity they skim along. Here are little neat -lodgings, and good wholesome provisions. Perhaps -they would not suit a great <i>countess</i>, as our friend Mr. -Mason has it, but a little great actress is more easily -accommodated. I’m afraid it will grow larger, -though, and then adieu to the comforts of retirement. -At present the place cannot contain above twenty or -thirty strangers, I should think. I have bathed four -times, and believe I shall persevere, for Sir Lucas -Pepys says my disease is entirely nervous. I believe -I am better, but I get on so slowly that I cannot speak -as yet with much certainty. I still suffer a good deal. -Mr. Siddons leaves me here for a fortnight while he -goes to town upon business, and my spirits are so bad -that I live in terror of being left alone so long. We -have been here nearly three weeks, and I propose -staying here, if possible, till September, when I shall -go to town to my brother’s for some days, and then -set off for Mr. Whalley’s at Bath. I shall hope to see -you at Nuneham, though, before you leave it.</p> - -<p>“Now, my dear Lady Harcourt, let me congratulate -you upon having almost got to the end of this interesting -epistle and <i>myself</i>, in the honour of your friendship, -which has flattered me into the comfort of -believing that you will not be tired of your prosing, -but always very affectionate and faithful servant,</p> - -<p class="right">“<span class="smcap">S. Siddons</span>.</p> - -<p>“Pray offer my love, and our united compliments, -to all.”</p> - -</div> - -<p>Michael Kelly gives an account of the landlady’s -opinion of <i>La grande actrice Anglaise</i> at the hotel<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_169"></a>[169]</span> -at St. Omer, where he stopped shortly after Mrs. Siddons -had been there. She considered her handsome, -declared she was trying to imitate French women, but -fell very far short of them.</p> - -<p>She was induced to return to Drury Lane about -the end of 1790, and in April we find Horace Walpole -writing to tell Miss Berry that he had supped -with Kemble and Mrs. Siddons “t’other night at -Miss Farren’s, at the bow-window house in Green -Street, Grosvenor Square.” He pronounces the actress -to be “leaner.” We can see the party: cynical, -sneering Walpole; beautiful Miss Farren, afterwards -Countess of Derby, the hostess; Mrs. Siddons, -“august” and matronly; and solemn John, who had -just made a hit as Othello.</p> - -<p>It was the last year of old Drury’s existence, and, -for her brother’s sake, she bore her part bravely, acting -when called upon; but she soon flagged, and could -only act a few nights. Her reappearance was welcomed -with wild enthusiasm; she seemed as popular -as ever. One night over four hundred pounds was -paid by the public to see her in Mrs. Beverley.</p> - -<p>About 1792 or 3 she seems to have taken a house -at Nuneham, near the Harcourts—the Rectory, we -presume, for we find her writing to Lord Harcourt, -devising little comforts for their summer residence at -Nuneham, thanking him for his “neighbourly” attention; -and one or two letters she writes to John Taylor -are dated Nuneham Rectory. One is on the subject -of a Life of herself which he wished to undertake; the -other refers to her modelling, and an accident which -happened to her husband and children.</p> - -<p>“I am in no danger of being too much occupied by -my ‘favorite clay,’ for it is not arriv’d—how provoking<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_170"></a>[170]</span> -and vexatious! particularly as I am dying to -attempt a Bust of my sweet little George, and his -Holidays will be over, I fear, before I am able to finish -it. Apropos to George, the dear little Soul has -escapd being dangerously hurt, if not kill’d (my blood -runs cold at the thought), by almost a miracle. Mr. -Siddons and Maria have not been so fortunate, they -are both cripples at present with each a wounded Leg, -but I hope they are in a fair way to get better. The -accident (so these things are called, but not by <i>me</i>; -I know you’ll deride my <i>Superstition</i>, but this kind of -Superstition has not unfrequently afforded me great -aid and consolation, and I hate to discard an old -friend because she happens to be a little out of Fashion, -so Laugh on, I dont care) happen’d from their being -forcd to jump out of a little Market Cart which Mr. -Siddons had orderd to indulge the children in a drive. -Thank God I did not see it and that they have escapd -so well!!! This is the Sweetest Situation in England, -I believe. I wish you would come and see it. If I -had a Bed to offer you I should be more pressing, but -I could get you one at the Inn in the Village, if you -should be disposd to go to those fine doings at Oxford, -where all the world will be, except such Stupid Souls -as myself. Mr. Combe is at Lord Harcourt’s; I understand -he is writing a History of the Thames, and his -Lordships House is the present Seat of his observations. -I have not the pleasure to know him, but am -to Dine with him at Lord H⸺’s to-morrow. [This -is the Combe of Wolverhampton memory, whom Mrs. -Kemble had refused as instructor for her daughter. The -stately “I have not the pleasure to know him” is -so like Mrs. Siddons.] Give my kind love to Betsey -when you See her, and I earnestly entreat you (if it be<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_171"></a>[171]</span> -not too much vanity to Suppose you wᵈ <i>wish</i> to preserve -them a moment beyond reading them) that you -will burn all my Letters; tell me Seriously you will do -so! for there is nothing I dread like having all one’s -nonsense appear in print by some untoward accident—not -accident neither, but wicked or <i>interested -design</i>, pray do me the favʳ to ask at our House why -my precious Clay has not been Sent, and tell me -Something about it when you write again. Adieu.”</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_172"></a>[172]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XI">CHAPTER XI.<br /> -<span class="smaller">SHERIDAN.</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p>The apparition of Sheridan, meteor-like, in the -laborious, active, well-regulated lives of Mrs. Siddons -and her brother, and the history of his professional -intercourse with them, is one of the greatest proofs -of the extraordinary glamour exercised by the specious -Irishman on all who came under his personal -influence. After Garrick’s retirement from the management -of Drury Lane, the overwhelming success -of the <i>School for Scandal</i>, and the engagement of -Mrs. Siddons, staved off financial difficulties for a -time; but no amount of receipts were sufficient to -withstand Sheridan’s reckless private expenditure and -unbusiness-like habits. The brilliant Brinsley did not -recognise that other qualities besides the power to -write a good play, or make a great speech, were necessary -for the management of such a concern as Garrick’s -Drury Lane. The truth, however, was borne -home to him by the utter chaos that ultimately ensued: -actors unpaid, and the treasury repeatedly emptied by -the proprietor himself before the money had been -diverted into its legitimate channels. Yet the receipts -at the doors amounted to nearly sixty thousand<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_173"></a>[173]</span> -pounds a year. Things would have gone better could he -have been persuaded entirely to abstain from management, -but he persistently interfered with his subordinates. -When a dramatist was employed in reading -his tragedy to the performers, Brinsley would saunter -in, yawning, at the fifth act, with no other apology than, -having sat up late two nights running, he was unable -to appear in time; or he would arrive drunk, go into -the green-room, ask the name of a well-known actor -who was on the stage, and bid them never to allow -him to play again. He was once told, with some -spirit, by one of the company, that he rarely came -there, and then never but to find fault.</p> - -<p>Things grew worse and worse. It was piteous to -hear the complaints of the actors and staff of the -theatre, who found it impossible to obtain payment of -their weekly salaries. The shifts and devices which -he employed to escape from their importunity was a -constant subject of jest.</p> - -<p>At last he was obliged to let the reins of management -fall from his incapable hands. They were taken -up by King; but he in turn soon found the position -intolerable, and the stern and businesslike Kemble -was called in to restore discipline among unruly players -whose salaries were overdue, and amongst upholsterers -and decorators who had never been paid for the pieces -they had mounted.</p> - -<p>It required the courage and determination of a -Kemble to undertake the clearing out of such an -Augean stable. “The public approbation of my -humble endeavours in the discharge of my duties will -be the constant object of my ambition,” he said, in -his modest declaration on the acceptance of the appointment; -“and as far as diligence and assiduity<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_174"></a>[174]</span> -are claims to merit, I trust I shall not be found -deficient.” Nor was he found deficient. Bringing -extraordinary determination to the task, he soon got -the theatre into order, with an efficient working company, -of which he and his sister, Mrs. Siddons, were -the ruling spirits.</p> - -<p>Sheridan had not even the good sense in this critical -juncture in his affairs to propitiate the great actress -on whom the fortunes of the house rested. There is -something comic, indeed, in his relations with the -Tragedy Queen. They rather remind us of an incorrigible -schoolboy continually offending those in authority, -and yet confident in their affection and his own -powers of persuasion to obtain indulgence and forgiveness.</p> - -<p>Once Mrs. Siddons had declared that she would not -act until her salary was paid, she resisted inflexibly -the earnest appeals of her colleagues and the commands -of the manager, and was quietly sewing at home -after the curtain had risen for the piece in which -she was expected to perform. Sheridan appeared, -like the magician in a pantomime, courteous, irresistible; -she yielded helplessly, “and suffered herself -to be driven to the theatre like a lamb.”</p> - -<p>One night, Mr. Rogers tells us, having heard the -story from her own lips, when she was about to drive -away from the theatre, Mr. Sheridan jumped into the -carriage. “Mr. Sheridan,” said the dignified Muse of -Tragedy, “<i>I trust that you will behave with propriety</i>; -if not, I shall have to call the footman to show you -out of the carriage.” She owned that he <i>did</i> behave -himself. But as soon as the carriage stopped, he -leaped out, and hurried away, as though wishing not -to be seen with her. “Provoking wretch!” she said,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_175"></a>[175]</span> -with an indulgent smile, which even she, encased -in all her panoply of prudish decorum, could not -suppress.</p> - -<p>At last even her patience was worn out, and at the -close of her brother’s first year of management she -retired from the theatre. Sheridan dared to boast -they could do without her. A scheme was then hatching -in the ever-fertile Irish brain of the proprietor -that was destined to revolutionise the dramatic world -of London. He discovered that the taste of the day, -and the requirements of his own pocket, demanded a -larger and more luxurious building than Old Drury; -the walls that had re-echoed to the grand tones of -Betterton, the musical love-making of Barry, and the -passionate declamation of Garrick, was to be pulled -down to satisfy the greed and the ambition of Sheridan. -Immediate proposals for debentures amounting -to £160,000 were issued, and, wonderful to relate, -taken up in a very short time. But, alas! to cover -the interest of this enormous sum, it was determined -to build a house nearly double the size. Neither Mrs. -Siddons nor her brother seems to have considered the -disastrous consequence this would exercise on their art. -The perfect acoustics and compact stage of the old -house were to be swept away to give place to an immense -dome-shaped space, and an expanse requiring -undignified energy of motion to traverse. The immediate -consequence was evident; recourse had to be -taken to stage artifice to manage the entrance and -the exit, while gesture had to be more violent, expression -more exaggerated, and voice unduly raised to -produce an effect.</p> - -<p>In Garrick’s Drury, also, the front row of boxes was -open like a gallery, and everyone who occupied them<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_176"></a>[176]</span> -was obliged to appear in full dress. The row of boxes -above these again were given up to the <i>bourgeoisie</i>, -while the lattices at the top were the portion destined -to those whose reputation was doubtful, and who by their -unseemly behaviour might disturb the decorum of the -audience. Garrick was master of his art, and knew -how to value the criticism and sympathy of the crowd. -Under his management the two-shilling gallery was -brought down to a level with the second row of boxes. -By that arrangement a player had the mass of the -audience under his immediate control; and that mass, -uninfluenced by fashion or prejudice, unerring in its -judgment, is the dread of an inferior actor, the delight -of a great one.</p> - -<p>While the theatre was still in process of erection, the -company performed at the Opera House in the Haymarket, -or, as it was called, the King’s Theatre. The -new house was opened on April 21st, 1794, with -<i>Macbeth</i>.</p> - -<p>“I am told,” Mrs. Siddons writes to Lady Harcourt, -“that the banquet is a thing to go and see of -itself. The scenes and dresses all new, and as superb -and characteristic as it is possible to make them. You -cannot conceive what I feel at the prospect of playing -there. I daresay I shall be so nervous as scarcely to -be able to make myself heard in the first scene.”</p> - -<p>This banquetting scene in <i>Macbeth</i> was made the -subject of sarcastic hints in the daily press on the old -score of her avarice:—</p> - -<p>“The soul of Mrs. Siddons (Mrs. Siddons whose -dinners and suppers are proverbially numerous) expanded -on this occasion. She speaks her joy on -seeing so many guests with an earnestness little short -of rapture. Her address appeared so like reality,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_177"></a>[177]</span> -that all her hearers about her seized the wooden -fowls”....</p> - -<p>The great actress soon felt a great mistake had been -made. “I am glad to see you at Drury Lane,” she -said to a colleague, “but you are come to act in a -wilderness of a place, and, God knows, if I had not -made my reputation in a small theatre, I never should -have done it.”</p> - -<p>It was indeed “a wilderness of a place.” The -mere opening for the curtain was forty-three feet wide, -and thirty-eight feet high, or nearly seven times the -height of the performers. Miss Mellon laughingly -said she “felt a mere shrimp” when acting in it. The -result might be foreseen. Had not the great actress -indeed made her reputation on a small theatre, never -would she have made it here. We, who only know -of Mrs. Siddons by immediate tradition, are inclined -to think that she ranted, and destroyed her effects by -exaggeration of gesture and expression. There is little -doubt we are justified in so thinking, and that the -increased size of the theatre and audience were to -blame.</p> - -<p>What a world of significance lies also in her words: -“The banquet is a thing to go and see of itself.” A -new era had begun; the stage, and everything belonging -to it, ought to be taken out of the domain of -every-day life, and, by appealing to the intellectual -comprehension of the audience, raise them to an understanding -of the grandeur of conception and passion of -a Shakespeare. Garrick acted Othello in a cocked hat -and scarlet uniform, and yet impressed his audience -with a pathetic and intense reality. Mrs. Siddons -acted Lady Macbeth in black velvet and point lace, -and yet imparted a majesty and grace to the impersonation<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_178"></a>[178]</span> -never before seen on the English stage. -Now we see the Mephistopheles, Sheridan, inducing -her to barter away her reputation and ideal of great -art for the substantial benefits of increased gains and -larger audiences.</p> - -<p>A different class of entertainment now invaded the -classic boards. We can see <i>Timour the Tartar</i>, <i>Tekeli, -or the Siege of Montgatz</i>, <i>The Miller and His Men</i>, -<i>Pizarro</i>, and a host of spectacular pieces, mounted to -draw numerous and uncritical audiences. This first -season was a fatiguing and anxious one for the great -actress, more especially also that she was in delicate -health. Her daughter Cecilia was born this year, -1794, on 25th July. Her husband wrote to a friend:—</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p>I have the pleasure to tell you your little god-daughter (for such -she is, myself being your proxy a few days back) is very well, and as -fine a girl as if her father was not more than one-and-twenty. She is -named after Mrs. Piozzi’s youngest daughter, Cecilia; her sponsors -are yourself and Mr. Greatheed, Mrs. Piozzi and Lady Percival (<i>ci -devant</i> Miss B. Wynn); and, what is better, the mother is well, too, -and is just going to the theatre to perform Mrs. Beverley for the -benefit of her brother’s wife, Mrs. Stephen Kemble.</p> - -</div> - -<p>She never all through life gave herself the rest -requisite to re-establish her health; always before -the public, what wonder that languor and weakness -attacked her physically, and despondency and dissatisfaction -mentally.</p> - -<p>“My whole family are gone to Margate,” she wrote -in September, “whither I am going also, and nothing -would make it tolerable to me, but that my husband -and daughters are delighted with the prospect before -them. I wish they could go and enjoy themselves -there, and leave me the comfort and pleasure of -remaining in my own convenient house, and taking -care of my baby. But I am every day more and more<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_179"></a>[179]</span> -convinced that half the world live for themselves, and -the other half for the comfort of the former. At least -this I am sure of, that I have had no will of my own -since I remember; and, indeed, to be just, I fancy I -should have little delight in such an existence.”</p> - -<p>She told her friend Mr. Whalley, on the eve of -setting out for Edinburgh to play at her son Henry’s -theatre:—“I intend, if it please God, to be at home -again for Passion week. I leave my sweet girl behind -me, not daring to take her so far north this inclement -season, and could well wish that the interests of the -best of sons, and most amiable of men, did not so -imperiously call me out of this softer climate just -now. But I shall pack myself up as warmly as I can, -trusting that while I run a little risk, I shall do -a great deal of good to my dear Harry, who tells -me all my friends are more eager to see me than -ever. It is not impossible that I may stop a night -or two here before I go, which, as I have long been -engaged to act this season after Easter, and cannot in -honour or honesty be off, I think will not be impolitic, -lest my enemies, if their malignity be worth a thought, -may think their impotent attempts have frightened me -away. They have done all their malignant treachery -could devise, and have they robbed me of one friend? -No, God be praised! But, on the contrary, have knit -them all closer to me. Glad enough should I be never -to appear again, but, while the interests of those so -dear and near as those of son and brother are concerned, -one must not let selfish consideration stand in -the way of Christian duties and natural affection.”</p> - -<p>The public are inclined to think that the life of -an artist spent continually before the footlights is one -eminently conducive to hardening the sensibilities<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_180"></a>[180]</span> -against calumny; but it is a curious fact that actors -are like children in their craving for applause and -praise, and in their fear of criticism and blame. Garrick -wrote a year before his death to the scoundrel -who persecuted him, “Will Curtius take the word of -the accused for his innocence?” and Mrs. Siddons, -through her husband, offered one thousand pounds for -the libeller to whom she refers in the following -letter:—</p> - -<p>“One would think I had already furnished conjectures -and lies sufficient for public gossip; but -now the people here begin again with me. They say -that I am mad, and that <i>that</i> is the reason of my -confinement. I should laugh at this rumour were -it not for the sake of my children, to whom it may -not be very advantageous to be supposed to inherit -so dreadful a malady; and this consideration, -I am almost ashamed to own, has made me seriously -unhappy. However, I really believe I am in my sober -senses, and most heartily do I now wish myself with -you at dear Streatham, where I could, as usual, forget -all the pains and torments of illness and the world. -But I fear I have now no chance for such happiness.”</p> - -<p>“Kotzebue and German sausages are the order of -the day,” Sheridan said when he brought out the -English adaptation of <i>The Stranger</i>. Mrs. Haller, in -Mrs. Siddons’s hands, became pathetic, almost grand; -but to us now-a-days, uninfluenced by the glamour of -her presence, the sickly sentiment and impossible -situations of the play make it an untempting meal for -our practical and realistic mental digestions.</p> - -<p>Its success was so great as to induce the author -of the <i>School for Scandal</i>—who had lost all power of -original conception, yet was obliged to fill his pockets—to<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_181"></a>[181]</span> -adapt another play, <i>Pizarro</i>, also by Kotzebue. -Did we not know the history of the celebrated first -night of his play, on unimpeachable evidence, we -should be inclined to look upon it as one of those -exaggerated tales that, related by one of the many -gossips of the time, had grown out of all possibility of -credence. Sheridan was up-stairs in the prompter’s -room, stimulating his jaded brain by sips of port, -and writing out the last act of the play, while the -earlier parts were acting; every ten minutes he brought -down as much of the dialogue as he had done piecemeal -into the green-room, abusing himself and his -negligence, and making a thousand winning and soothing -apologies for having kept the performers so long -in such painful suspense. What, under these circumstances, -became of the thorough and elaborate study -declared by the Kembles to be necessary for the perfection -of the dramatic art, we know not. Rolla and -Mrs. Siddons’s Elvira must have been extemporaneous -acting. Perhaps the performances gained in vivid -power and effect what they lost in finish from the -nervous strain and excitement of such a mental effort -as they were called upon to make. It is difficult to -account for the success of the play unless the acting -was superlatively good. It is overlaid with bombast -and claptrap, and, as Pitt said, was but a second-rate -re-echo of his speeches on the Hastings trial. -For no one but the “hapless genius” would the -brother and sister have thus thrown to the winds -all their artistic traditions. We hear of the inflexible -John saying, when irritated past bearing: “I know -him thoroughly, all his paltry tricks and artifices”; -yet immediately after we find both him and the great -actress submitting to all his whims and eccentricities.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_182"></a>[182]</span> -There is an amusing story told by Boaden of a supper -at beautiful Mrs. Crouch’s, when Kemble arrived -charged with his grievances, and full of threats, expecting -to meet Sheridan. Presently in came the culprit, -light and airy as usual. The great actor looked unutterable -things, occasionally emitting a humming sound -like that of a bee, and groaning inwardly in spirit. -Some little time elapsed, when at last, like a “pillar -of state,” slowly uprose Kemble, and thus addressed -the proprietor:</p> - -<p>“I am an eagle whose wings have been bound down -by frosts and snows, but now I shake my pinions and -cleave into the genial air into which I am born.”</p> - -<p>After having thus offered his resignation, he solemnly -resumed his seat. Sheridan, however, undaunted, used -all his arts of fascination to mitigate his wrath, and at -an early hour of the morning both went away in -perfect harmony.</p> - -<p>Then we have Mrs. Siddons’s opinion of him:—</p> - -<p>“Here I am,” she writes, “sitting close in a little -dark room in a little wretched inn, in a little poking -village called Newport Pagnell. I am on my way to -Manchester, where I am to act for a fortnight, from -whence I am to be whirled to Liverpool, there to do -the same. From thence I skim away to York and -Leeds; and then, when Drury Lane opens—who can -tell? For it depends upon Mr. Sheridan, who is -uncertainty personified. I have got no money from -him yet, and all my last benefit, a very great one, was -swept into his treasury, nor have I seen a shilling of it. -Mr. Siddons has made an appointment to meet him -to-day at Hammersley’s. As I came away very early, -I don’t know the result of the conference; but unless -things are settled to Mr. Siddons’s satisfaction,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_183"></a>[183]</span> -he is determined to put the affair into his lawyer’s -hands.”</p> - -<p>The affair was never put into any lawyer’s hands; -she allowed herself to be mollified, and might well -write of Sheridan in 1796:—</p> - -<p>“Sheridan is certainly the greatest phenomenon -that nature has produced for centuries. Our theatre is -going on, to the astonishment of everybody. Very -few of the actors are paid, and all are vowing to withdraw -themselves; yet still we go on. Sheridan is -certainly omnipotent. I can get no money from the -theatre; my precious two thousand pounds are swallowed -up in that drowning gulf, from which no plea of -right or justice can save its victims.”</p> - -<p>John Kemble remained manager of Drury Lane -for some years, sometimes withdrawing for a time -and refusing to manage the affairs any longer, and -again wheedled back by Sheridan’s powers of persuasion. -At last, wearied out, both brother and sister -finally withdrew from Drury Lane in 1802, and took -shares with Harris in Covent Garden Theatre. Harris -was the direct opposite of Sheridan, punctual in his -payments and honourable in his dealings. Mrs. Inchbald -arranged all the monetary portion of the affair. -The concern was valued at £138,000, of which Harris -represented one half; the remainder being divided -among four proprietors, of whom Lewis, the actor, -was one. Lewis after a time became anxious to dispose -of his share, and Kemble purchased it for the -sum of £23,000; a friend of his, a Mr. Heathcote, -advancing him a large amount to enable him to do so. -The Kemble family all joined him in this venture. -The company included Mrs. Siddons, Charles Kemble, -Mr. and Mrs. Henry Siddons, and Cooke, the well-known<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_184"></a>[184]</span> -actor. As soon as Kemble had completed his -arrangements, he went abroad for some months, visiting -Spain and France. On his return a dinner was -given by the managers of Covent Garden to their -Drury Lane rival, Sheridan, who made a sarcastic -speech on the friendship of fellows who had hated -each other all their lives. John Kemble then went -abroad again, for a time, to recruit his strength after -the anxiety and worry of his years of management.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Kemble, in a letter written to her husband -during his absence, describes a very smart party at -the “Abercorn,” at which the Prince of Wales, -and the Devonshire, Melbourne, Castlereagh, and Westmoreland -families were present, and says significantly -at the end: “Mrs. Sheridan came in a very elegant -chariot, four beautiful black horses and two footmen. -The Duchess had only one. Mrs. Sheridan had a fine -shawl on, that he, Sheridan, said he gave forty-five -guineas for, a diamond necklace, ear-rings, cross, -cestus, and clasps to her shoulders, and a double row -of fine pearls round her neck.” This was shortly -after Mrs. Siddons’s last benefit, when the brilliant -Brinsley had swept the proceeds into his own pocket.</p> - -<p>The very “ravages of fire,” however, which they -“scouted” by the help of “ample reservoirs” that were -exhibited on the stage the night of the inauguration, -by a “lake of real water,” and a “cascade tumbling -down,” were the ravages that were destined to destroy -the splendours of the new building. The misfortune -of fire that ruined Kemble was destined, also, to ruin -Sheridan, who had staked his all on this one enterprise. -Drury Lane was destroyed as Covent Garden was -rising from its ashes. The glare of the burning building -lit up the Houses of Parliament during a late<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_185"></a>[185]</span> -sitting. One of the members suggested an adjournment -of the House. With a spice of the highly-flavoured -bombast he had lately so frequently offered -his theatrical audiences, Sheridan opposed the idea:—“Whatever -may be the extent of the calamity to me -personally, I hope it will not interfere with the public -business of the country,” he said; and quitting the -assembly, he betook himself to one of the coffee-houses -in Covent Garden, where he was found swallowing -port by the tumblerful a few hours later. One -of the actors expressed his surprise and disgust at -seeing him there. “Surely a man may be allowed -to take a glass of wine by his own fireside?” was -Sheridan’s ready answer.</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_186"></a>[186]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XII">CHAPTER XII.<br /> -<span class="smaller">HERMIONE.</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p>It sends a pang through our heart as we hear Mrs. -Siddons say in later life, with a sigh, to Rogers the -poet: “After I became famous, none of my sisters -loved me so well.” What a price to pay for fame! -“Conversation” Sharp was frequently consulted by -her upon private affairs. She wept to him over the -ingratitude her sisters showed her. Money was lent -and never repaid; the prestige of her name was borrowed -to obtain theatrical engagements, but she never -was thanked; every obligation seemed only to cause a -feeling of bitterness. Perhaps the fault lay a little on -her side as well as on theirs. Tact and graciousness -were not her strong points. She was absent-minded, -all her attention being concentrated on the study and -comprehension of her profession, which gave her a -proud, self-contained manner, alienating unconsciously -those who surrounded her and were dependent on her. -Her children adored her, but her brothers and sisters -stood, to a certain extent, in awe of her. All of them, -stimulated by the examples of the two eldest, went on -the stage, but none possessed her genius, or John -Kemble’s talent and industry. The affectionate comradeship<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_187"></a>[187]</span> -in art that existed between Mrs. Siddons and -John Kemble is one of the pleasantest features in both -their lives.</p> - -<p>He was educated, as we have seen, principally at -the Roman Catholic College at Douay, where he -became remarkable for his elocution, every now and -then astonishing his masters and schoolfellows by -delivering speeches in scholastic Latin, and learning -with the greatest facility books of Homer and odes of -Horace. We are told that his noble cast of countenance, -his deep melodious voice, and the dignity of his -delivery, impressed his comrades considerably; especially -in the scene between Brutus and Cassius, which -he got up for their benefit. It is a curious proof of his -want of facility that, although he was extremely fond -of the study of language, grammar being all his life -his favourite <i>light reading</i>, he never was able to master -any language but his own. He read Italian, Spanish, -and French, but spoke none of them, in spite of his -education in France and his long residence later at -Lausanne. He had no ear, and it never could have -been an easy task to him to learn the rhythm of -Shakespeare. We know the story of old Shaw, conductor -of the Covent Garden orchestra, who vainly -endeavoured to teach him the song in the piece of -<i>Richard Cœur de Lion</i>, “O Richard—O mon roi!” -“Mr. Kemble, Mr. Kemble, you are murdering the -time, Sir!” cried the exasperated musician; on which -Kemble made one of the few jokes ever perpetrated by -him: “Very well, Sir, and you are for ever beating it.”</p> - -<p>After six years’ residence at Douay he made up his -mind that he was not suited to the church, and left -for England, determined to follow his father’s profession. -He landed at Bristol in that very December,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_188"></a>[188]</span> -1775, that his sister made her unfortunate “first -appearance” before the London public. Dreading -his parents’ wrath, he made his way to Wolverhampton, -and there joined a company under the -direction of a Mr. Crump and a Mr. Chamberlain. -After going through all the humiliations and privations -of a penniless actor, but also after enjoying -the valuable hours of study and stern discipline of a -stroller’s life, we find the future Hamlet, by the aid -of his sister, Mrs. Siddons, enabled to get his foot on -the first round of the ladder. Mr. Younger, manager -of the Liverpool Theatre, gave him an engagement -in 1778. We find him afterwards playing at Wakefield -with Tate Wilkinson’s York company, and actually -permitted to act Macbeth at Hull. By the aid of -quiet industry and determination he was working his -way to the goal he had in view. He perpetrated -a tragedy, <i>Belisarius</i>, that was given on the same -occasion at Hull, wrote poetry which he burnt, gave -lectures on oratory, and, in fact, passed through the -curriculum necessary to the full completion of his -powers.</p> - -<p>On the 30th September 1783, John Kemble first -appeared in London, at Drury Lane, as Hamlet. The -fiery criticisms launched against this performance by -the press, show that at least it was distinguished by -originality. Whatever its faults might be, they were -unanimous in declaring his reading to be scholarly and -refined. He is said, in studying the part of Hamlet, -to have written it out no less than forty times. Some -time elapsed before he appeared in the same piece as -his sister; other actors had possession of the parts, and -he had to bide his time. That patient waiting on -opportunity, however, was one of the great Kemble<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_189"></a>[189]</span> -gifts; there was no impatience, no complaining, but a -steady, dogged power of perseverance, with the profound -conviction of their own capabilities to make use -of fortune when it came. At last he appeared as -Stukeley to his sister’s Mrs. Beverley, in <i>The Gamester</i>. -Finely as the part was played, the sister, not the -brother, carried away the honours of the performance.</p> - -<p>After this, on several benefit nights they were able -to appear together, Kemble replacing Smith in the -character of Macbeth to Mrs. Siddons’s Lady Macbeth, -and both of them acting later in <i>Othello</i>, he as the -Moor, she as Desdemona. This was not a distinct -success. At last, however, his power found its legitimate -development. On the occasion of his sister’s -benefit in January 1788, he acted Lear to her Cordelia. -The town was electrified, and declared him equal to -Garrick. Boaden tells us “that he never played it so -grandly or so touchingly as on that night.”</p> - -<p>His really great gift was his large and cultivated -understanding, that enabled him to grasp the spirit of -the author he sought to interpret, giving a new -emphasis and truth to scenes that were hackneyed and -stale by a conventional method of rendering. This -was particularly the case with Shakespeare, whose -beauties he and his sister first revealed to their generation. -The difference, however, between them was that -he possessed superlative talent, she possessed genius. -In speaking to Reynolds the dramatist, she defined -completely the difference between them, “My brother -John, in his most impetuous bursts, is always careful to -avoid any discomposure of his dress or deportment, -but in the whirlwind of passion I lose all thoughts of -such matters.”</p> - -<p>He is said to have nourished a tender affection for<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_190"></a>[190]</span> -the “Muse”—beautiful, clever, fascinating, stuttering -Mrs. Inchbald. When her husband died, it was -universally said he would marry her. Fanny Kemble -tells an incident that occurred long after Kemble was -married. Mrs. Inchbald and Miss Mellon were sitting -by the fire-place in the green-room, waiting to be -called upon the stage. The two were laughingly discussing -their male friends and acquaintances from the -matrimonial point of view. John Kemble, who was -standing near, at length jestingly said to Mrs. Inchbald, -who had been comically energetic in her declarations -of whom she could or would or never could -or would have married, “Well, Mrs. Inchbald, would -you have had me?” “Dear heart,” said the stammering -beauty, turning her sweet sunny face up to him, -“I’d have j-j-j-jumped at you!”</p> - -<p>The lady he did eventually marry was no beauty -and no “Muse,” but, much to the indignation of Mrs. -Siddons, as people said at the time, a very ordinary -young woman, daughter of a Mr. and Mrs. Hopkins, -prompter and actress at Drury Lane. Priscilla, however, -made him a good wife, and he never had cause to -regret his choice.</p> - -<p>The next brother to John, Stephen, although almost -born on the stage, had none of the requisites either -of talent or facility to make him a good actor. Only -a few days before John’s first appearance in London, -Stephen appeared before the public as Othello. It -was said that the manager had made a mistake, and -had engaged the “big” instead of the “great” Mr. -Kemble. Stephen’s great boast all his life was that -he was the only actor who could play Falstaff “without -stuffing.” His qualifications were those of a boon -companion rather than of an actor. He very soon<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_191"></a>[191]</span> -quitted the London stage and became manager of a -provincial theatre.</p> - -<p>Frances, the great actress’s second sister, inherited -a considerable portion of the family beauty, but little -dramatic power, and what she had was rendered -inoperative by her unconquerable shyness. Mrs. Siddons -first brought her out at Bath. The papers vented -their spleen against the elder sister on the younger. -It was natural, they said, that she should wish to bring -her forward, but they hoped she had learned, by the -utter failure of her attempt, not to “cram incapable -actresses down the throats of the public.” One of the -theatrical critics, Steevens, fell in love with her; but -his proposals being rejected, he became her bitterest -enemy.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Siddons writes to tell Dr. Whalley of this love -affair:—“My sister Frances is not married, and, I -believe, there is very little reason to suppose she will -be soon. In point of circumstances, I believe, the -gentleman you mention would be a desirable husband; -but I hear so much of his ill-temper, and know so -much of his caprice, that, though my sister, I believe, -likes him, I cannot wish her gentle spirit linked with -his.”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Siddons had judged her sister’s suitor exactly. -The engagement was soon broken off, and the girl -married Mr. Twiss, another dramatic critic, whom -Fanny Kemble, in her <i>Records of a Girlhood</i>, describes -as a grim-visaged, gaunt-figured, kind-hearted gentleman -and profound scholar, who, it was said, at one -time nourished a hopeless passion for Mrs. Siddons. -The Twisses later set up a genteel seminary at Bath, -where fashionable young ladies were sent “to be -bettered.” Mrs. Twiss died in October 1822, and Mr.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_192"></a>[192]</span> -Twiss in 1827. Mrs. Siddons ever kept up the most -affectionate intercourse with them, and their son -Horace Twiss was her favourite nephew.</p> - -<p>Her next sister, Elizabeth, though apprenticed to a -mantua-maker, was soon bitten with the dramatic -enthusiasm of the family. She obtained an engagement -through the influence of her famous sister, but -made no way in London; and after her marriage with -Mr. Whitelock, one of the managers of the Chester -company, in 1785, she went with him to America, -where she seems to have had some success.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Whitelock, we are told, was a taller and fairer -woman than Mrs. Siddons. When she returned to -England years later, she wore an auburn wig, which, -like the tall cap that surmounted it, was always on -one side. She was a simple-hearted, sweet-tempered -woman, but very imperfectly educated. Her Kemble -name, face, figure, and voice helped her in the United -States, but her own qualifications were but meagre. -Nothing could be droller, we are told, than to see her -with Mrs. Siddons, of whom she looked like a clumsy, -badly-finished imitation. Her vehement gestures and -violent objurgations contrasted comically with her sister’s -majestic stillness of manner; and when occasionally -Mrs. Siddons would interrupt her with “Elizabeth, -your wig is on one side,” and the other replied, -“Oh, is it?” and, giving the offending head-gear a -shove, put it quite as crooked in the other direction, -and proceeded with her discourse, Melpomene herself -used to have recourse to her snuff-box to hide the -dawning smile on her face.</p> - -<p>Another sister, Jane, appeared in Lady Randolph -at Newcastle when she was nineteen. She had all the -Kemble faults in acting carried to excess. She was,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_193"></a>[193]</span> -besides, short and fat; and when a character in the -play, describing her death, said, “She ran, she flew, -like lightning up the hill,” the audience roared with -laughter. Shortly after this discouraging attempt she -married a Mr. Mason, of Edinburgh, and retired from -the profession. She died in 1834, leaving a husband, -five sons, and a daughter, who almost all went on the -stage. With one unfortunate exception, the Kemble -family were remarkable for their decorous, well-regulated -lives. Although all the brothers married actresses, -their children were admirably brought up, and their -households models of propriety. The unfortunate -exception we mentioned was Ann Curtis, the fourth -sister. To a woman of Mrs. Siddons’s proud, sensitive -temper, the vagaries of this wretched woman must -have been painful beyond expression. She was said to -be lame, which prevented her going on the stage. In -1783, the year of her great triumph in London, the -young actress had the pleasure of reading in all the -papers the following advertisement. Under the guise -of charity it is easy to see the motive that prompted it, -and shows the envy and malignity that pursued her -during her career.</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Donations in favour of Mrs. Curtis, -youngest Sister of Mrs. Siddons.</span></p> - -<p>A <i>private</i> individual, whose humanity is far more extensive than -her means, having taken the case of the unfortunate <span class="smcap">Mrs. Curtis</span> into -consideration, pitying her youth, respecting her talents for the stage, -which, unhappily, misfortune has rendered useless, and desirous to -restore a useful member to Society, earnestly entreats the interference -of a generous public in her behalf, that she may be enabled by the -efforts of humanity to procure such necessaries as may be requisite -to relieve her immediate distress, and for her getting her bread by -needlework, artificial flowers, &c., in which she is well skilled, and in -which she will be happy to be well employed. Mrs. Curtis is the -youngest sister of <i>Messrs. Kemble</i> and <i>Mrs. Siddons</i>, whom she has<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_194"></a>[194]</span> -repeatedly solicited for relief, which they have flatly refused her; it -therefore becomes necessary to solicit, in her behalf, the benevolent -generosity of that public who have so liberally supported <i>them</i>.</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">Deny not to Affliction Pity’s tear,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">For Virtue’s fairest when she aids Distress!</div> - <div class="verse right">Mrs. Curtis’s <i>Search After Happiness</i>.</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>Donations will be thankfully received at Mr. Ayre’s, Printer of the -Sunday <i>London Gazette</i> and <i>Weekly Monitor</i>, &c., No. 5 Bridges -Street, opposite Drury Lane Theatre; and at No. 21 King Street, -Covent Garden.</p> - -</div> - -<p>All efforts to reclaim her being unavailing, she -gradually descended lower and lower in the social scale. -Rumours were circulated of her having attempted to -poison herself, and again her brother and sister were -accused of undue harshness; but almost everything -connected with the case points to their having done all -they could, though she proved perfectly irreclaimable.</p> - -<p>During the latter part of her life she was allowed a -small annuity of twenty pounds a year, which was -continued to her in Mrs. Siddons’s will. She lived -until 1838.</p> - -<p>Charles, who approached more nearly in intellectual -powers to his celebrated sister and brother than any of -the others, was nearly twenty years younger than Mrs. -Siddons. When thirteen years of age, he was sent -by John Kemble to Douay College, where he remained -three years. He appeared at Drury Lane in 1794. -He was a gentlemanly, refined actor; there were -certain characters which he made entirely his own. -Charles married, in 1806, an actress of the name of -De Camp. Like Mrs. Garrick, she had been a ballet-dancer, -and had come over from Vienna, brought by -Garrick with the rest of the troupe. In consequence -of a riot directed against the employment of foreigners, -the greater part of the troupe was obliged to return to<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_195"></a>[195]</span> -Vienna. Miss De Camp, however, remained, learnt -English, and, by dint of perseverance, achieved a good -position at Drury Lane. They had three children—Adelaide, -who sang professionally, but soon left the -stage to marry Mr. Sartoris; Fanny, authoress of the -<i>Record of a Girlhood</i>, who became Mrs. Butler; and a -son, John Mitchell Kemble. Charles Kemble suffered -much from deafness during the latter years of his -life, and was entirely ruined by his gift of the share -in Covent Garden valued at £50,000. Mrs. Siddons -reappeared for his benefit on the 9th June 1819.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Siddons had five children who lived to grow -up—Henry, who was born at Wolverhampton on the -4th October 1774; Sarah Martha, born at Gloucester, -November 5th, 1775; Maria, born at Bath, July 1st, -1779; George, born in London, December 27th, 1785; -and Cecilia, born July 25th, 1794. She sent her son -Henry to France to study under Le Kain. He went -on the stage, but had none of the qualifications of a -good actor.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Siddons, with her usual sensible acceptance -of things as they were, tried to make the best of his -powers. On the occasion of his first appearance, she -writes to Mrs. Inchbald from Bannister’s, where she -was stopping with her friend Mrs. Fitzhugh:—</p> - -<p>“I received your kind letter, and thank you very -much for the interest you have taken in my dear -Harry’s success. It gives me great pleasure to find -that Mr. Harris appreciates his talents, which I think -highly of, and which, I believe, will grow to great -perfection by fostering, on the one hand, and care and -industry on the other. I have little doubt of Mr. -Harris’s liberality, and none of the laudable ambition of -my son to obtain it. It is so long since I have felt anything<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_196"></a>[196]</span> -like joy, that it appears like a dream to me, and -I believe I shall not be able quite to convince myself -that this is real till I am present ‘to attend the -triumph and partake the gale.’ I am all anxiety and -impatience to hear the effect of Hamlet. It is a tremendous -undertaking for so young a creature, and -where so perfect a model has been so long contemplated. -I was frightened when I yesterday received -information of it. Oh! I hope to God he will get well -through it. Adieu, dear Muse.”</p> - -<p>Henry Siddons soon quitted the stage, married a -Miss Murray, daughter of an actor, and herself an -actress, and in 1808 became manager of the Edinburgh -Theatre.</p> - -<p>The death of her daughter Maria was the first -serious grief Mrs. Siddons had known. We have -touched on Lawrence the painter’s proposal to her, -and the transference of his affection, after a short -engagement, to her sister Sarah. Mrs. Siddons did -everything she could to soften the blow to the poor -deserted girl. We find her writing in desperation to -her old friend Tate Wilkinson:—</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p>“My plans for the summer are so arranged that I -have no chance of the pleasure of seeing you. The -illness of my second daughter has deranged all -schemes of pleasure as well as profit. I thank God -she is better; but the nature of her constitution is -such that it will be long ere we can reasonably banish -the fear of an approaching consumption. It is dreadful -to see an innocent, lovely young creature daily -sinking under the languor of illness, which may terminate -in death at last, in spite of the most vigilant -tenderness. A parent’s misery under this distress you -can more easily imagine than I can describe; but if<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_197"></a>[197]</span> -you are the man I take you for, you will not refuse -me a favour. It would, <i>indeed</i>, be a great comfort to -us all, if you would allow our dear Patty to come to -us on our return to town in the autumn, to stay with -us a few months. I am sure it would do my poor -Maria so much good, for the physician tells me she -will require the same confinement and the same care -the next winter; and let it not offend the pride of -my good friend when I beg it to be understood that I -wish to defray the expense of her journey. Do, dear -soul, grant my request. Give my kind compliments -to your family, my love to my own dear Patty, and -accept yourself the best and most cordial wishes of</p> - -<p class="right">“<span class="smcap">S. Siddons</span>.”</p> - -</div> - -<p>From this time until Mrs. Siddons’s death, Patty -Wilkinson never left her house, and remained ever the -intimate and beloved friend of her and her daughters.</p> - -<p>Maria was taken to Clifton at the doctor’s suggestion, -while Mrs. Siddons went a provincial tour to -make money enough to meet the heavy demands upon -her purse. At last even the poor mother saw all -efforts were unavailing, and when, on the 6th October -1798, the blow at last came, she met it with resignation -and courage. To Mrs. Fitzhugh she wrote:—</p> - -<p>“Although my mind is not yet sufficiently tranquillised -to talk much, yet the conviction of your undeviating -affection impels me to quiet your anxiety so -far as to tell you that I am tolerably well. This sad -event I have been long prepared for, and bow with -humble resignation to the decree of that merciful God -who has taken to Himself the dear angel I must ever -tenderly lament. I dare not trust myself further. -Oh! that you were here, that I might talk to you of<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_198"></a>[198]</span> -her death-bed—in dignity of mind and pious resignation -far surpassing the imagination of Rousseau and -Richardson in their Heloïse and Clarissa Harlowe; for -hers was, I believe, from the immediate inspiration of -the Divinity.”</p> - -<p>Troubles now began to fall thick and heavy. Mr. -Siddons, actuated by a morbid jealousy of his wife’s -energy and success, entered into a connection with -Sadler’s Wells Theatre without consulting her, or -even taking her into his confidence. A considerable -amount of her savings were sacrificed to save him from -his ill-advised venture. In spite of ill-health and lassitude, -however, we find her unmurmuringly taking up -her burden to make good the loss. On the 14th of -July 1801 she writes again to Mrs. Fitzhugh:—</p> - -<p>“In about a fortnight I expect to commence my -journey to Bath. Mr. Siddons is there, for he finds no -relief from his rheumatism elsewhere. His accounts -of himself are less favourable than those of anyone -who writes to me about him; but I hope and trust -that we shall find him better than he himself thinks; -for I know by sad experience with what difficulty a -mind, weakened by long and uninterrupted suffering, -admits hope, much less assurance. I shall be here till -next Saturday, and after that time at Lancaster till -Tuesday, the 28th; thence I shall go immediately to -Bath, where I shall have about a month’s quiet, and -then begin to play at Bristol for a few nights. ‘Such -resting finds the sole of unblest feet!’ <i>When</i> we -shall come to London is uncertain, for nothing is -settled by Mr. Sheridan, and I think it not impossible -that <i>my</i> winter may be spent in Dublin; for I must go -on <i>making</i> to secure the few comforts that I have been -able to attain for myself and my family. It is providential<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_199"></a>[199]</span> -for us all that I can do so much; but I hope -it is not wrong to say that I am tired, and should be -glad to be at rest indeed. I hope yet to see the day -when I can be quiet. My mouth is not yet well [she -had had an attack of erysipelas, the disease that was -ultimately to kill her], though somewhat less exquisitely -painful. I have become a frightful object with -it for some time, and, I believe, this complaint has -robbed me of those poor remains of beauty once -admired—at least, which, in your partial eyes, I once -possessed.”</p> - -<p>She did not go to Dublin, but returned early in the -following year to Drury Lane, where she performed -above forty times.</p> - -<p>On the 25th March 1802 she performed for the first -time Hermione in the <i>Winter’s Tale</i>. The enacting -of this part is to be counted amongst her great successes. -It was more suitable to her age and appearance -than others that she undertook in later life. On -the second or third night she had a narrow escape of -being burned to death. We can give the incident as -related in a letter to Mrs. Fitzhugh:—</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p class="right">“London, April 1802.</p> - -<p>“... Except for a day or two, the weather has -been very favourable to me hitherto. I trust it may -continue so, for the <i>Winter’s Tale</i> promises to be very -attractive; and, whilst it continues so, I am bound in -honour and conscience to put my shoulder to the -wheel, for it has been attended with great expense to -the managers, and, if I can keep warm, I trust I shall -continue tolerably well. As to my plans, they are, as -usual, all uncertain, and I am precisely in the situation -of poor Lady Percy, to whom Hotspur comically says:<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_200"></a>[200]</span> -‘I trust thou wilt not utter what thou dost not know.’ -This must continue to be the case, in a great measure, -whilst I continue to be the servant of the public, for -whom (and let it not be thought vain) I can never -sufficiently exert myself. I really think they receive -me every night with greater and greater testimonies -of approbation. I know it will give you pleasure to -hear this, my dear Friend, and you will not suspect -me of deceiving myself in this particular. The other -night had very nearly terminated <i>all</i> my exertion, for -whilst I was standing for the statue in the <i>Winter’s -Tale</i>, my drapery flew over the lamps that were placed -behind the pedestal. It caught fire, and had it not -been for one of the scene-men, who most humanely -crept on his knees and extinguished it without my -knowing anything of the matter, I might have been -burnt to death, or, at all events, I should have been -frightened out of my senses. Surrounded as I was -with muslin, the flame would have run like wildfire. -The bottom of the train was entirely burned. But for -the man’s promptitude, it would seem as if my fate -would have been inevitable. I have well rewarded the -good man, and I regard my deliverance as a most -gracious interposition of Providence. There is a -special providence in the fall of a sparrow. Here I -am safe and well, God be praised! and may His goodness -make me profit, as I ought, by the time that is -vouchsafed me.”</p> - -</div> - -<p>We later find her making every exertion to rescue -the son of the man who had saved her, from punishment -for desertion.</p> - -<p>“I have written myself almost blind for the last -three days, worrying everybody to get a poor young<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_201"></a>[201]</span> -man, who otherwise bears a most excellent character, -saved from the disgrace and hideous torture of the -lash, to which he has exposed himself. I hope to God -I shall succeed. He is the son of the man—by me -ever to be blest—who preserved me from being burned -to death in the <i>Winter’s Tale</i>. The business has cost -me a great deal of time, but if I attain my purpose I -shall be richly paid. It is twelve o’clock at night; I am -tired very much. To-morrow is my last appearance. -In a few days I shall go to see my dear girl, -Cecilia. How I long to see the darling! Oh! how -you would have enjoyed my <i>entrée</i> in Constance last -night. I was received really as if it had been my first -appearance in the season. I have gone about to breakfasts -and dinners for this unfortunate young man, till -I am quite worn out with them. You know how pleasure, -as it is called, fatigues.”</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_202"></a>[202]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XIII">CHAPTER XIII.<br /> -<span class="smaller">SORROWS.</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p>Though still suffering from enfeebled health, Mrs. -Siddons again made up her mind to visit Dublin in -the spring of 1802. A strange depression, partly the -result of physical weakness, and partly the result of -mental anxiety, came over her courageous spirit, -paralysing all energy, and breaking down her usual -calm composure. We find this woman, who to the -outside public presented a cold and hard exterior, -weeping hysterically on taking leave of her friends. -She told Mr. Greatheed she felt that before they met -again a great affliction would have fallen on them both. -They never did meet till after the death of his son -Bertie and her daughter Sarah. To Mrs. Piozzi she -wrote:—</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p class="right">“May 1802.</p> - -<p>“Farewell, my beloved friend—a long, long farewell! -Oh, such a day as this has been! To leave all -that is dear to me. I have been surrounded by my -family, and my eyes have dwelt with a foreboding -tenderness, too painful, on the venerable face of my -dear father, that tells me I shall look on it no more.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_203"></a>[203]</span> -I commit my children to your friendly protection, with -a full and perfect reliance on the goodness you have -always manifested towards me.</p> - -<p class="center">“Your ever faithful and affectionate</p> - -<p class="right">“<span class="smcap">S. Siddons</span>.”</p> - -</div> - -<p>The mother’s heart could have hardly had a foreboding -of the second affliction about to fall on her -then. A few weeks after she had taken her departure -from Marlborough Street, Sally describes to Patty -Wilkinson, who had accompanied Mrs. Siddons, picnics -and parties she and her friend Dorothy Place had -attended, much to their amusement and delight. The -girl gives an account also of her brother Henry’s -marriage with Miss Murray, who, she says, “looked -very beautiful in a white chip hat, with a lace cap -under it, her long dark pelisse tied together with -purple bows ready for travelling,” and mentions how -she and Dorothy “laughed uproariously” at a play -they had “attended.” Yet death had already laid his -hand on this bright young life.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Siddons proceeded on her melancholy journey, -stopping to pay a visit to Shakespeare’s house at Stratford, -and thence to North Wales, where, at Conway -Castle and Penman Mawr, they did the tourist business -of gazing at sunsets through ruined windows, -and listening to Welsh harpers harping below. “In -that romantic time and place,” Campbell tells us in -his ambiguous way, Mrs. Siddons “honoured the -humblest poet of her acquaintance by remembering -him; and, let the reader blame or pardon my egotism -as he may think fit, I cannot help transcribing what -the Diarist adds: Mrs. Siddons said: ‘I wish that -Campbell were here.’”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_204"></a>[204]</span></p> - -<p>The bathos is complete when, the poet tells us, on -Miss Wilkinson’s authority, that while looking at a -magnificent landscape of rocks and water, a lady within -hearing of them exclaimed in ecstasy: “This awful -scenery makes me feel as if I were only a worm, or -a grain of dust, on the face of the earth.” Mrs. Siddons -turned round and said, “I feel very differently!”</p> - -<p>She spent two months acting successfully in Dublin; -then she went to Cork, and then to Belfast. On her -return to Dublin she received the news of the death of -her father at the ripe age of eighty-two. Although -not unexpected, the severance of this life-long affection, -coming, as it did, at a time when other sorrows and -anxieties weighed on her, was a trying blow, and we -find her writing to Dr. Whalley with a certain irritation -that betrays her state of mind, and also betrays -her attitude towards her husband at this time on -money matters.</p> - -<p>“I thank you for your kind condolence. My dear -father died the death of the righteous; may my last -end be like his, without a groan. With respect to my -dear Mrs. Pennington, my heart is too much alive to -her unhappy situation, and my affection for her too -lively, to have induced the necessity of opening a -wound which is of itself too apt to bleed. Indeed, -indeed, my dear Sir, there was no occasion to recall -those sad and tender scenes to soften my nature; but -let it pass. You need not be informed, I imagine, that -such a sum as £80 is too considerable to be immediately -produced out of a woman’s quarterly allowance; -but, as I have not the least doubt of Mr. Siddons -being ready and willing to offer this testimony of -regard and gratitude, I beg you will arrange the business -with him immediately. I will write to him this<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_205"></a>[205]</span> -day, if I can find a moment’s time. If you can devise -any quicker mode of accomplishing your amiable -purpose, rely upon my paying the £80 within the next -six months. For God’s sake do not let it slip through. -If I knew how to send the money from here, I would -do it this instant; but, considering the delay of -distance, and the caprice of wind and sea, it will be -more expeditiously done by Mr. Siddons. God bless -and restore you to perfect health and tranquillity.”</p> - -<p>We can read between the lines of this letter, as we -know that about this time she received a pressing -request from her husband for money to fit out their -son George for India, and to pay debts incurred on the -decoration of the house in Great Marlborough Street, -suggesting that in consequence she had better accept -an engagement in Liverpool. She preferred, however, -though harassed by disagreements with Jones the -manager, to remain in Dublin. A report was circulated, -as on the occasion of her first visit to Ireland, -that she had refused to play for the benefit of the -Lying-in Hospital, a charity much patronised by the -Dublin ladies. She indignantly refuted this accusation, -ending with words that show her state of mental -suffering:—</p> - -<p>“It is hard to bear at one and the same time the -pressure of domestic sorrow, the anxiety of business, -and the necessity of healing a wounded reputation; -but such is the rude enforcement of the time, and I -must sustain it as I am enabled by that Power who -tempers the wind to the shorn lamb.”</p> - -<p>Her son George came and spent a fortnight with -her before his departure for India, and the news from -home concerning her daughter still seemed good. -Like a thunderbolt, therefore, from a summer sky,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_206"></a>[206]</span> -came a letter from Mr. Siddons addressed to Miss Wilkinson, -saying that Sally was very ill, but begging her -not to make Mrs. Siddons anxious by telling her. Miss -Wilkinson, however, felt it to be her duty to show the -letter. The mother’s heart divined all that was not -said. She declared her intention of starting for England -without delay. A violent gale had blown for -some days, and no vessel would leave the harbour. -Two days later a reassuring letter came from Siddons -addressed to his wife, telling her all was well again, -and advising her to go to Cork. She went, but her -miserable state of mind may be guessed from a letter -addressed to Mrs. Fitzhugh:—</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p class="right">“Cork, March 21st, 1803.</p> - -<p class="noindent">“<span class="smcap">My Dear Friend</span>,</p> - -<p>“How shall I sufficiently thank you for all -your kindness to me? You know my heart, and I may -spare my words, for, God knows, my mind is in so -distracted a state, that I can hardly write or speak -rationally. Oh! why did not Mr. Siddons tell me -when she was first taken so ill? I should then have -got clear of this engagement, and what a world of -wretchedness and anxiety would have been spared to -me! And yet—good God! how should I have crossed -the sea? For a fortnight past it has been so dangerous, -that nothing but wherries have ventured to -the Holy Head; but yet I think I should have put -myself into one of them if I could have known that -my poor dear girl was so ill. Oh! tell me all about her. -I am almost broken-hearted, though the last accounts -tell me that she has been mending for several days. -Has she wished for me? But I know—I feel that she -has. The dear creature used to think it weakness in<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_207"></a>[207]</span> -me when I told her of the possibility of what might -be endured from illness when that tremendous element -divides one from one’s family. Would to God I were -at her bedside! It would be for me then to suffer -with resignation what I cannot now support with any -fortitude. If anything could relieve the misery I feel, -it would be that my dear and inestimable Sir Lucas -Pepys had her under his care. Pray tell him this, -and ask him to write me a word of comfort. Will -you believe that I must play to-night, and can you -imagine any wretchedness like it in this terrible state -of mind? For a moment I comfort myself by reflecting -on the strength of the dear creature’s constitution, -which has so often rallied, to the astonishment of us -all, under similar serious attacks. Then, again, when -I think of the frail tenure of human existence, my -heart fails and sinks into dejection. God bless you! -The suspense that distance keeps me in, you may -imagine, but it cannot be described.”</p> - -</div> - -<p>Meantime, no letters came. The winds raged without, -and no vessel could cross. At the end of the -week the news that arrived was not satisfactory. She -made up her mind to throw up her engagement at any -cost, and return. She and Patty Wilkinson set out -for Dublin; there they were again detained, and -received no news. Nearly beside herself with anxiety, -she again appealed to Mrs. Fitzhugh:—</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p class="right">“Dublin, April 2nd, 1803.</p> - -<p>“I am perfectly astonished, my dear Friend, that I -have not heard from you after begging it so earnestly. -Good God! what can be the reason that intelligence -must be extorted, as it were, in circumstances like<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_208"></a>[208]</span> -mine? One would think common benevolence, setting -affection quite aside, might have induced some of you -to alleviate as much as possible such distress as you -know I must feel. The last letter from Mr. Siddons -stated that she was better. Another letter from Mr. -Montgomery, at Oxford, says that George gave him the -same account. Why—why am I to hear this only -from a person at that distance from her, and so ill-informed -as the writer must be of the state of her -health? Why should not you or Mr. Siddons have -told me this? I cannot account for your silence at -all, for you know how to feel. I hope to sail to-night, -and to reach London the third day. God knows when -that will be. Oh God! what a home to return to, -after all I have been doing! and what a prospect to -the end of my days.”</p> - -</div> - -<p>At last she was able to cross to Holyhead. At -Shrewsbury she received a letter from Mr. Siddons -confirming the worst accounts of Sally’s illness, but -begging her to “remember the preciousness of her -own life, and not to endanger it by over-rapid travelling.” -As she read, Miss Wilkinson was called from -the room; a messenger had arrived with the news of -the girl’s death. Mrs. Siddons guessed what had -happened by the expression of Miss Wilkinson’s face -when she returned, and, sinking back speechless, lay -for a day “cold and torpid as a stone, with scarcely -a sign of life.”</p> - -<p>Her own family came forward with consolation and -help. Her brother John wrote a letter, which she -received at Oxford; her brother Charles came to meet -her, and conducted her on her first visit to her -widowed mother. Every other grief had sunk into -insignificance by the side of the death of her daughter.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_209"></a>[209]</span> -So worn out was she with misery and overwork, that -the doctors recommended the quiet and bracing air of -Cheltenham. We get a glimpse of her frame of mind -in a letter addressed thence to her friend Mrs. Fitzhugh -in June 1803:—</p> - -<p>“The serenity of the place, the sweet air and -scenery of my cottage, and the medicinal effect of the -waters, have done some good to my shattered constitution. -I am unable at times to reconcile myself to my -fate. The darling being for whom I mourn is -assuredly released from a life of suffering, and numbered -among the blessed spirits made perfect. But to -be separated for ever, in spite of reason, and in spite -of religion, is at times too much for me. Give my -love to dear Charles Moore, if you chance to see him. -Have you read his beautiful account of my sweet -Sally? It is done with a truth and modesty which -has given me the sincerest of all pleasures that I am -now allowed to feel, and assures me still more than -ever that he who could feel and taste such excellence -was worthy of the particular regard she had for -him.”</p> - -<p>The life out of doors at Birch Farm, reading “under -the haystack in the farm-yard,” rambling in the fields, -and “musing in the orchard,” gradually soothed the -poignancy of her grief. “Rising at six and going to -bed at ten, has brought me to my comfortable sleep -once more,” she writes. “The bitterness and anguish -of selfish grief begins to subside, and the -tender recollections of excellence and virtues gone -to the blessed place of their eternal reward, are -now the sad though sweet companions of my lonely -walks.”</p> - -<p>In spite of all her stoicism and resolve, however, the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_210"></a>[210]</span> -sense of her loss would come back, carrying away all -artificial barriers of restraint.</p> - -<p>“If he thinks himself unfortunate,” she wrote of a -friend, “let him look on <i>me</i> and be silent—‘the -inscrutable ways of Providence.’ Two lovely creatures -gone, and another is just arrived from school with all -the dazzling frightful sort of beauty that irradiated the -countenance of Maria, and makes me shudder when I -look at her. I feel myself like poor Niobe grasping to -her bosom the last and youngest of her children; and, -like her, look every moment for the vengeful arrow of -destruction. Alas! my dear Friend, can it be wondered -at that I long for the land where they are gone -to prepare their mother’s place? What have I here? -Yet here, even here, I could be content to linger still in -peace and calmness—content is all I wish. But I must -again enter into the bustle of the world; for though -fame and fortune have given me all I wish, yet while -my presence and my exertions here may be useful to -others, I do not think myself at liberty to give myself -up to my own selfish gratification. The second great -commandment is ‘Love thy neighbour as thyself,’ and -in this way I shall most probably best make my way -to Heaven.”</p> - -<p>How inscrutable, indeed, are the ways of Providence. -Sally was her eldest daughter and her dearest -child. She had been born two months before that -terrible period of probation and failure at Drury Lane. -Hers were the baby fingers, hers the baby voice, that -had coaxed the poor young mother back to resignation -and courage. She was twenty-seven when she was -taken, and had ever been the sunshine of the home. -Yes, she was the dearest. Strange that, deaf to our -anguish and suffering, those are so often they who are<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_211"></a>[211]</span> -taken. If a heart in such a trial can still believe and -trust and love, then it is faith indeed—heaven-born, -sublime. And such, we see, was the broken-hearted -mother’s.</p> - -<p>During her stay at Birch Farm, John Kemble, -Charles Moore, and Miss Dorothy Place, her daughter -Sally’s particular friend, came to stay with her. In -July they all of them made an excursion along the -Wye, after which she paid a visit to her friend Mr. -Fitzhugh at Bannister’s, and then returned to London, -where she made an engagement to act the following -winter at Covent Garden.</p> - -<p>Other trials awaited Mrs. Siddons, trials that, to -a woman of her proud and sensitive temper, must -have been torture in the extreme. Whatever her -sufferings had been in the course of her professional -career, from scandal and misrepresentation, her character -as a wife and mother had been untouched. -Now, when no longer young, and anxious to escape -from the harassing turmoil of the stage into the -dignity and calm of a domestic life, surrounded by her -children and friends, a blow fell on her under which, -for the time, she almost sank. The circumstance is -not alluded to either by Campbell or Boaden, but is -so interwoven with Mrs. Siddons’s existence, and so -colours her mode of thought at the time, that it can -hardly be passed over.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Siddons met Katherine Galindo, author of -the libel, at the theatre in Dublin. She was a -subordinate actress, and her husband a fencing-master. -It is difficult to understand how she can have -become so intimate, except that her own perfect sincerity -and openness led her to bestow confidence on a -variety of persons, many of them not in any way<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_212"></a>[212]</span> -worthy of it. Her daughter, Cecilia, who later wrote -<i>Recollections</i> of her mother, says that, instead of being -hard and calculating, as the outside public imagined, -her mother was, on the contrary, too easy—too much -disposed to be ruled by people inferior in every way to -herself, credulous to an extraordinary extent, always -trusting to appearances, and never willing to suspect -anyone. Perhaps, also, the great actress’s weakness -was a wish to “make use” of people, and a love of -flattery—both dangerous qualities for a woman in her -position, laying her open, as they did, to the machinations -of adventurers. Be it as it may, we are astounded -at the girlish sentimentality of the letters she -wrote to the Galindos. Allowing even for the Laura -Matilda style of expression of the period, they show -the substratum of romanticism that underlies her character. -The Galindos accompanied her to Cork, and -then to Killarney. Mrs. Siddons used all her influence -to induce Harris, of Covent Garden, to give Mrs. -Galindo an engagement; but Kemble, when he arrived -from abroad, refused to ratify it. A letter from -Mrs. Inchbald says:—</p> - -<p>“When Kemble returned from Spain in 1803, -he came to me like a madman, said Mrs. Siddons -had been imposed upon by persons whom it was -a disgrace to her to <i>know</i>, and he begged me to -explain it so to her. He requested Harris to withdraw -his promise of his engaging Mrs. G. at Mrs. -Siddons’s request. Yet such was his tenderness to his -sister’s sensibility, that he would not undeceive her -himself. Mr. Kemble blamed me, and I blamed him -for his reserve, and I have never been so cordial since. -Nor,” ends Mrs. Inchbald, with the prim self-sufficiency -quite consistent with what we know of the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_213"></a>[213]</span> -“dear Muse,” “have I ever admired Mrs. Siddons -so much since; for, though I can pity a dupe, I -must also despise one. Even to be familiar with -such people was a lack of virtue, though not of -chastity.”</p> - -<p>We read later in Rogers’s <i>Table Talk</i> that, not -long before Mrs. Inchbald’s death he met her walking -near Charing Cross, and we are not astonished to -be told that she had been calling on several old -friends, but had seen none of them—some being really -not at home, and others denying themselves to her. -“I called,” she said, “on Mrs. Siddons. I knew <i>she</i> -was at home, yet I was not admitted.”</p> - -<p>To return, however, to the Galindos. The wretched -woman was stung to the quick by the withdrawal of -her engagement at Covent Garden, and although Mrs. -Siddons advanced a thousand pounds to the husband -to buy a share in a provincial theatre, and -showed them much kindness, the jealous and infuriated -wife published in pamphlet form a wild and libellous -attack on the great actress, to which she added the -letters that had passed between them in their days -of intimacy. By artfully turning and suppressing -sentences here and there, she succeeded in giving a -significance never intended in the originals. Although -she said she had advanced nothing but what she could -substantiate by the most certain evidence, if called -upon to do so, she gave no proof whatever except of -her own wild jealousy and unreasoning disappointment -at being refused an engagement at Covent Garden.</p> - -<p>It seems incredible that a woman of Mrs. Siddons’s -social knowledge can have been so imprudent -as to enter into such an intimacy, and to write in -such a strain of deep affection to people she had<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_214"></a>[214]</span> -known only so short a time. The following is a specimen:—</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p class="right">“Holyhead, Sunday, 12 o’clock.</p> - -<p>“For some hours we had scarce a breath of wind, -and the vessel seemed to leave your coast as unwillingly -as your poor friend. About six o’clock this morning -the snowy tops of the mountains appeared; they -chilled my heart, for I felt that they were emblematic -of the cold and dreary prospect before me. Mr. ⸺ -has been very obliging; he has just left us, but it is -probable we shall meet again upon the road. I -thought you would be glad to know we were safely -landed. I will hope, my beloved friends, for a renewal -of the days we have known, and in the meantime -endeavour to amuse and cheer my melancholy with -the recollection of <i>past joys</i>, though they be ‘sweet -and mournful to the soul.’</p> - -<p>“God bless you all, and do not forget</p> - -<p class="center">“Your faithful, affectionate,</p> - -<p class="right">“<span class="smcap">S. Siddons</span>.”</p> - -</div> - -<p>A little later she writes:—</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p>“Pray ask Mr. G⸺ to send me those sweet lines -‘To Hope’—that which he gave me is almost effaced -by my tears—and let it be written by the same hand. -I could never describe what I have lost in you, my -beloved friends, and the sweet angel that is gone for -ever! Good God! what a deprivation in a few days. -Adieu! Adieu!”</p> - -</div> - -<p>Needless to say, this “screeching” friendship ended -as one might expect. As we have said, she failed to -obtain an engagement for Mrs. Galindo at Covent -Garden, and lent Galindo a thousand pounds to help<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_215"></a>[215]</span> -him to take shares in a theatrical company at Manchester. -He never repaid the thousand pounds, and -became abusive when she asked for it. She accused -him, in a letter addressed to Miss Wilkinson, of “hypocrisy -and ingratitude,” and the wife accused her of -having nourished an affection passing the bounds of -propriety for her husband. All her real friends mustered -round her, but she suffered terribly.</p> - -<p>She wrote to Dr. Whalley:—</p> - -<p>“Among all the kind attentions I have received, -none has comforted me more, my dear friend, than -your invaluable letter. I thank God all my friends -are exactly of your opinion with respect to the manner -of treating this diabolical business. To a delicate -mind publicity is in itself painful, and I trust that a -life of tolerable rectitude will justify my conduct to -my friends. I have been dreadfully shaken, but I -trust that the natural disposition to be well will shortly -restore me. My dear Cecilia is, indeed, all a fond -mother can wish.”</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_216"></a>[216]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XIV">CHAPTER XIV.<br /> -<span class="smaller">WESTBOURNE FARM.</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p>John Kemble was now both actor and manager at -Covent Garden, and the results were much more satisfactory -in every way to Mrs. Siddons. Harris the -proprietor was strictly punctual in his payments, and -the Kemble family, who numbered Charles Kemble -in their ranks, were sufficient to make the performances -attractive enough to the public. Mrs. Siddons appeared -in several of her old parts; amongst others in Elvira, -when the actor Cooke came on so drunk as to be -unable to act his part. He did not improve matters -by attempting to excuse himself. He could only -articulate, “Ladies and Gentlemen, my old complaint,” -when he was removed, and Henry Siddons had to read -his part. Fit pendant to the night when he appeared -as Sir Archy Macsarcasm with Johnstone, who -was playing Sir Calaghan. There was a dead pause. -At last Johnstone, advancing to the footlights, said -with a strong brogue, “Ladies and Gentlemen, Mr. -Cooke <i>says</i> he can’t spake,” which bull was received -with roars of laughter and hisses.</p> - -<p>The great actress performed sixty times that season.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_217"></a>[217]</span> -At its conclusion she went on a visit to Mrs. Damer -at Strawberry Hill, where she met Louis Philippe, -afterwards King of France, and the Prince Regent. -The two ladies, whenever they were together, indulged -their passion for sculpture. As winter approached she -suffered much from rheumatism, and, for the sake of -country air, removed from Great Marlborough Street -to a cottage at Hampstead for a few weeks. Mr. -Siddons, who was also a martyr to rheumatism, had -advocated the change, and the old gentleman was -much delighted with his new abode. He ate his -dinner, and, looking out at the beautiful view that -stretched before the windows, observed, “Sally, this -will cure all our ailments.” In spite of his hopes, -however, Mrs. Siddons was confined to bed for weeks -with acute rheumatism. She tried electricity with -some beneficial effect, but suffered anguish while -undergoing the treatment.</p> - -<p>As the winter advanced they returned to town; -but Mr. Siddons grew so much worse that he resolved -to try the waters of Bath. Mrs. Siddons -parted, therefore, with her house in Marlborough -Street, and took lodgings for herself and Miss Wilkinson -in Princes Street, Hanover Square. Her -landlord there was an upholsterer of the name of -Nixon. He and his wife always talked afterwards with -the deepest affection of Mrs. Siddons. One day, looking -at Nixon’s card, she found that he was also an -undertaker, and said laughingly, “I engage your services -to bury me, Mr. Nixon.” Twenty-seven years -afterwards Nixon did so.</p> - -<p>During the winter and spring of 1804 and 1805 -Mrs. Siddons only performed twice at Covent Garden, -partly in consequence of delicate health, partly in<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_218"></a>[218]</span> -consequence of the appearance of Master Betty, the -“young Roscius,” a prodigy whom the public ran after -with an enthusiasm that seems inexplicable. Managers -gave him sums that a Garrick or a Siddons were unable -to obtain; his bust was done by the best sculptors; his -portrait painted by the best artists, and verses written -in a style of idolatrous adulation were poured upon -this boy of thirteen. Actors and actresses were -obliged to appear on the stage with him to avoid giving -offence. Mrs. Siddons and Kemble, with praiseworthy -dignity, retired while the infatuation lasted. She went -to see him, however, and gave him what praise she -thought his due. Lord Abercorn came into her box, -declaring it was the finest acting he had ever seen. -“My lord,” she answered, “he is a very clever, pretty -boy, but nothing more.”</p> - -<p>Independently of the boy Betty, or any other trials -in her profession, Mrs. Siddons now began to long for -rest. We have seen how years before, when in Dublin, -she had expressed herself to Dr. Whalley: “I don’t -build any castles, but cottages without end. May the -great Disposer of all events but permit me to spend -the evening of my toilsome, bustling day in a cottage -where I may sometimes have the converse and society -which will make me more worthy those imperishable -habitations which are prepared for the spirits of just -men made perfect!”</p> - -<p>In the April of 1805 she satisfied this wish by taking -a cottage at Westbourne, near Paddington. With the -help of Nixon she fitted it up luxuriously, built an -additional room behind for a studio, and laid out the -shrubbery and garden. Westbourne was then, we -are told, one of those delightful rural spots for which -Paddington was distinguished. It occupied a rising<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_219"></a>[219]</span> -ground, and commanded a lovely view of Hampstead, -Highgate and the distant city. Mrs. Siddons’s was -a small retired house, in a garden screened with poplars -and evergreens, resembling a modest rural vicarage, -standing, it is said, on the site now levelled for -the Great Western Railway Station. She loved, she -said, to escape from “the noise and din of London” -to the green fields surrounding her new home.</p> - -<p>Here her friends congregated round her also. Miss -Berry and Madame D’Arblay both mention, in their -diaries, having spent an afternoon and met many -people at Mrs. Siddons’s country retreat.</p> - -<p>“I spoke in terms of rapture of Mrs. Siddons to -Incledon,” Crabb Robinson tells us. “He replied, -‘Ah! Sally’s a fine creature. She has a charming -place on the Edgware Road. I dined with her last -year, and she paid me one of the finest compliments I -ever received. I sang <i>The Storm</i> after dinner. She -cried and sobbed like a child. Taking both of my -hands she said, “All that I and my brother ever did is -nothing compared with the effect you produce.”’”</p> - -<p>The following lines were written by Mr. Siddons, -describing his wife’s country retreat, during the last -visit he ever paid to it:—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse center">1.</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Would you I’d Westbourne Farm describe;</div> - <div class="verse indent2">I’ll do it then, and free from gall,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">For sure it would be sin to gibe</div> - <div class="verse indent2">A thing so pretty and so small.</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse center">2.</div> - <div class="verse indent0">The poplar walk, if you have strength,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Will take a minute’s time to step it;</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Nay, certes, ’tis of such a length,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">’Twould almost tire a frog to leap it.</div><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_220"></a>[220]</span> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse center">3.</div> - <div class="verse indent0">But when the pleasure-ground is seen,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Then what a burst comes on the view;</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Its level walk, its shaven green,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">For which a razor’s stroke would do.</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse center">4.</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Now, pray be cautious when you enter,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">And curb your strides from much expansion;</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Three paces take you to the centre,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Three more, you’re close against the mansion.</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse center">5.</div> - <div class="verse indent0">The mansion, cottage, house, or hut,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Call’t what you will, has room within</div> - <div class="verse indent0">To lodge the King of Lilliput,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">But not his court, nor yet his queen.</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse center">6.</div> - <div class="verse indent0">The kitchen-garden, true to keeping,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Has length and breadth and width so plenty;</div> - <div class="verse indent0">A snail, if fairly set a-creeping,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Could scarce go round while you told twenty.</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse center">7.</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Perhaps you’ll cry, on hearing this,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">What! everything so very small?</div> - <div class="verse indent0">No; she that made it what it is</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Has greatness that makes up for all.</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>Mr. Siddons passed some weeks at Westbourne, but, -finding the rheumatism from which he suffered only -relieved at Bath, he was obliged to reside there almost -permanently. Bath did not agree with Mrs. Siddons, -and the exigencies of her profession obliged her to live -in London. This difference in their place of abode -caused a rumour to get abroad that a formal separation -had taken place. Mr. Boaden, indeed, states -explicitly that Siddons became at this time somewhat -impatient of the “crown matrimonial,” while Campbell -declares the report to be “absolutely unfounded.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_221"></a>[221]</span></p> - -<p>In judging the case we think, perhaps, a medium -course would be the best to take. We can imagine a -decided incompatibility in the husband’s and wife’s -mode of seeing things. She was ever impatient towards -want of energy and practical capacity, while he, all his -life having to play second to her, was jealous of the -disposal of her earnings, and rushed into ill-judged -investments and speculations.</p> - -<p>The following letter of good-humoured banter, -written to him on the 16th December 1804, reveals -the manner in which she turned off his weak ebullitions -of temper:—</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p class="noindent">“<span class="smcap">My dear Sid.</span>,</p> - -<p>“I am really sorry that my little flash of -merriment should have been taken so seriously, for I -am sure, however we may differ in trifles, <i>we can never -cease to love each other</i>. You wish me to say what I -expect to have done. I can expect nothing more than -you yourself have designed me in your will. Be (as -you ought to be) the master of all while God permits; -but, in case of your death, only let me be put out of -the power of any person living. This is all that I -desire; and I think that you cannot but be convinced -that it is reasonable and proper.</p> - -<p class="center">“Your ever affectionate and faithful,</p> - -<p class="right">“S. S.”</p> - -</div> - -<p>The wife’s was the stronger, more powerful mind, and -with her sincerity and openness of disposition which -impelled her to show everything she thought or felt, -we have no doubt she often offended the irritable -vanity of a man who, in small things, had a painful -sense of his own dignity. Hers was too big a nature<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_222"></a>[222]</span> -to nag and fight about trifles, and at the same time -often too self-absorbed to remember how she offended -the susceptibilities of others.</p> - -<p>“To live in a state of contention,” she writes, “with -a brother I so tenderly love, and with a husband with -whom I am to spend what remains of life, would be -more than my subdued spirit and almost broken heart -would be able to endure. In answer to the second, I -can only say that the testimony of the wisdom of all -ages, from the foundation of the world to this day, is -childishness and folly, if happiness be anything more -than a <i>name</i>; and, I am assured, our own experience -will not allow us to refute the opinion. No, no, it is -the inhabitant of a better world. Content, the offspring -of Moderation, is all we ought to aspire to <i>here</i>, and -Moderation will be our best and surest guide to that -happiness to which she will most assuredly conduct -us.”</p> - -<p>In the season of 1806-7, at Covent Garden, she -played Queen Katherine seven times, Lady Macbeth -(to Cooke’s Macbeth) five times, Isabella (<i>Fatal Marriage</i>) -twice, Elvira twice, Lady Randolph once, Mrs. -Beverley once, Euphrasia once, and Volumnia fifteen -times. We see by this enumeration of her parts how -she, and she alone, achieved popularity for Shakespeare.</p> - -<p>The subsequent season at Covent Garden was uncommonly -short, and extended only to the 11th of -December 1807, when the <i>Winter’s Tale</i> was announced -for her last appearance before Easter. As -events turned out, it proved to be her last for the -season. Immediately after the performance she went -to Bath, where she spent six weeks with Mr. Siddons. -He was so much improved in health as to make plans<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_223"></a>[223]</span> -for the future, and declared his intention of spending a -part of the summer at Westbourne. She left him, -therefore, comparatively free from anxiety in February -1808. Within a month of her departure, however, he -was seized with a violent attack of illness, and on the -11th of March expired. She immediately threw up -her engagement in Edinburgh, and left for her London -home. Thence, on the 29th March 1808, she wrote to -Mrs. Piozzi:—</p> - -<p>“How unwearied is your goodness to me, my dear -friend. There is something so awful in this sudden -dissolution of so long a connexion, that I shall feel it -longer than I shall speak of it. May I die the death -of my honest, worthy husband; and may those to -whom I am dear remember me when I am gone, as I -remember him, forgetting and forgiving all my errors, -and recollecting only my quietness of spirit and singleness -of heart. Remember me to your dear Mr. Piozzi. -My head is still so dull with this stunning surprise -that I cannot see what I write. Adieu! dear soul; -do not cease to love your friend.—S. S.”</p> - -<p>So ended the love story begun thirty-three years -before.</p> - -<p>Before the end of the year she resumed her cap and -bells again, but had only acted on one or two nights at -Covent Garden before it was burnt to the ground. -How the fire originated is a mystery. Some said that -the wadding of a gun, in the performance of <i>Pizarro</i>, -must have lodged unperceived in the crevice of the -scenery. Miss Wilkinson declared afterwards, that -before the audience left the house she perceived a -strong smell of fire while sitting in Mr. Kemble’s -box, and on her way to Mrs. Siddons’s dressing-room -mentioned it to some of the servants; they declared<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_224"></a>[224]</span> -it to be the smell of the footlights. How complete -and rapid the destruction was we learn by the following -letter written by Mrs. Siddons to her friend James -Ballantyne.</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p class="noindent">“<span class="smcap">My dear and estimable Friend</span>,</p> - -<p>“You have by this time, I am confident, felt -many a humane pang, for the wretched sufferers in the -dreadful calamity which has been visited on me and -those most dear to me. The losses to the Proprietors -are incalculable, irreparable, and of all the precious -and curious dresses and lace and jewels which <i>I</i> have -been collecting for these thirty years—not one, no, not -one article has escap’d! The most grievous of these <i>my</i> -losses is a piece of Lace which had been a Toilette of -the poor Queen of France; it was upwards of four -yards long, and more than a yard wide. It never could -have been bought for a thousand pounds, but that’s the -least regret. It was <i>so</i> interesting!! But oh! let me -not suffer myself in the ingratitude of <i>repining</i>, while -there are so many reasons for thankful acknowledgment. -My Brothers, God be praised! did not hear of -the fire till ev’ry personal exertion would have been -utterly useless. It is as true as it is strange and -awful, that everything appear’d to be in perfect Security -at <i>Two</i> o’clock, and that at <i>six</i> (the time my poor -brother saw it) the whole structure was as completely -swept from the face of the earth as if such a thing -had never existed. Thank God that it <i>was</i> so, since -had it been otherwise, he wou’d probably have perished -in exertions to preserve something from the terrible -wreck of his property. This is comfort. And you, -my noble-minded friend, wou’d, I am confident, participate -the joy I feel, in beholding this ador’d brother,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_225"></a>[225]</span> -Stemming this torrent of adversity with a manly -fortitude, Serenity, and even <i>hope</i>, that almost bursts -my heart with an admiration too big to bear, and -blinds my eyes with the most delicious tears that -ever fell from my eyes. Oh! he is a glorious creature! -did not I always <i>tell</i> you so? Yes, yes, and -all will go well with him again! <i>She</i> bears it like -an Angel too. Lord Guilford and Lord Mountjoy -have nobly offer’d to raise him any sum of money—and -a thousand instances of generous feeling have -already offer’d that evince the goodness of human -nature, and its Sense of his worth. All this is so -honorable to him, that I shall soon feel little regret -except for the poor beings who perished in the devouring -fire.</p> - -<p>“James Ballantyne—God bless and prosper all the -desires and designs of a heart so amiable, a head so -sound! prays most fervently his truly affectionate -friend,</p> - -<p class="right">“<span class="smcap">S. Siddons</span>.”</p> - -<p>“My head is so confused I scarce know what I have -written; but you wish’d me to answer your kind letter -immediately, therefore excuse all defects.”</p> - -</div> - -<p>The result of John Kemble’s thirty years of hard -service was swept away in the flames that destroyed -Covent Garden. Mr. Heathcote’s loan was still -unpaid. Boaden gives us a tragi-comic account of a -visit he paid at the Kembles’ house the morning after -the fire. Mrs. Kemble loudly expressing her sorrow. -Charles Kemble sitting listening, a tragic expression -on his naturally melancholy face; John shaving himself -before the glass. “Yes,” he said to his visitor<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_226"></a>[226]</span> -in the intervals of this operation, “it has perished—that -magnificent theatre! It is gone, with all its -treasures of every description; that library, which -contained all those immortal productions of our -countrymen; that wardrobe; the scenery. Of all -this vast treasure, nothing now remains but the -arms of England over the entrance of the theatre, -and the Roman eagle standing solitary in the market-place.”</p> - -<p>All differences which were said to have arisen -between brother and sister were sunk and forgotten in -this crisis. Though she may have smiled at his sententiousness, -and snubbed Mrs. Kemble’s loud-voiced -expressions of grief, she now gave him efficient help -in reconstituting the theatre. The performances -of the company were transferred first to the Opera -House, and afterwards to the Haymarket Theatre. -Between September 12th, 1808, and May 6th, 1809, -she acted forty times. The wear and tear of this on a -woman of her years—she was now over fifty—must -have been great indeed. All seemed to turn to her, -to depend on her masculine strength of will and -energy.</p> - -<p>Beside the anxiety of her profession, we find her -occupied with the future of her children. Letter after -letter could be quoted, showing the affectionate and -practical interest she took in their welfare, in spite of -the statement circulated, and believed in, that she bargained -and haggled with her son Henry as though he -were some manager with whom she was doing business. -She wrote on November 26th, 1808, to Mr. -Ingles on the subject of an expedition to Edinburgh, -to help her son in his theatrical venture there:—</p> - -<p>“Independently of any other consideration, it is a<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_227"></a>[227]</span> -great object to me to have a reasonable excuse for -spending much of my remaining life in the admired -and beloved society of Scotland; I am therefore, on my -<i>own</i> account as <i>well</i> as his, naturally anxious for the -Success of my Son in the Theatre, and I think I may -without arrogance aver that you cou’d not chuse better. -He has great qualifications and wou’d not be the -worse, I apprehend, for my advice in respect to Dramatic -business, or for the pecuniary aid which I should be -proud to afford in order to amplify the costume of The -Stage. His abilities as an Actor need not my eulogium, -and his private respectability is so universally -acknowledged as to spare his mother the pain of boasting. -I have done my part, and trust the rest to -heaven! I have written to all you advis’d me to write -to, and now in one word let me thank you for -your good counsel and assure you that whatever be -the result I shall for ever consider myself exceedingly -oblig’d to you. So much ambiguity and darkness -seems to envelop the business (the Galindo embroglio), -however, that I know not what to wish—but that there -was an <i>end</i> of both hopes and fears; since nothing is -so insupportable as Suspense.”</p> - -<p>Those who serve the public have much to suffer from -the caprices of the crowd, but they also experience -many proofs of the appreciation of their genius by -individuals. The Kembles met with instances of kindness -and friendliness at the moment of their need -that strike one as almost fabulous in their generosity. -The Duke of Northumberland offered Kemble a loan -of ten thousand pounds on his simple bond. He -hesitated to accept, fearing his inability to pay the -interest. The Duke promised he should never be -pressed for it, and on the day of the laying the first<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_228"></a>[228]</span> -stone he cancelled the bond, and made him a present -of the whole sum.</p> - -<p>Aided by the munificence of patrons, fifty thousand -pounds was soon subscribed; nearly the same -amount was received from the insurance companies, -and on December 30th, 1808, the first stone was laid -with Masonic honours. John Kemble was not a person -to do away with the pomp of a ceremonial. All the -actors and actresses were assembled; Mrs. Siddons, -wearing a nodding plume of ominous black feathers, -while her brother, who had risen from his sick bed, -stood under the torrents of rain in white silk stockings -and pumps.</p> - -<p>In less than a twelvemonth from the time of its -destruction the new theatre arose from the ashes of its -predecessor. While it was building, Drury Lane, the -opposition house, under Sheridan’s management, was -also burnt to the ground, bringing down Sheridan -with it in its ruin.</p> - -<p>The new Covent Garden was a much more magnificent -building than its predecessor; but the system of -private boxes, which had been introduced first of -all in Drury Lane, was now carried to an extreme -extent, and the third circle of the theatre was entirely -given over to them. This invasion of the privileges -of the people by the aristocracy was not to be borne. -The “liberty of the subject” had been talked into -fashion by Fox and Burke, and the populace were determined -to put their doctrines into practice in every -department of life. They would not submit, because -the new house had the monopoly of catering for their -amusement, to be slighted and thrust away in a dark -gallery where they could neither see nor hear, while a -“bloated aristocracy” lounged in commodious boxes<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_229"></a>[229]</span> -with ante-rooms behind. We who deplore the radicalism -of the age, and the licence permitted to free -speech, should read the account of the outrageous -O. P. (old prices) riots, and congratulate ourselves on -the improved decorum that reigns now-a-days.</p> - -<p>The New House was opened on the 18th September -1809. Crowded to the roof with a resplendent audience, -on whom shone the light shed by thousands of -wax candles, with Kemble and Mrs. Siddons to act -the parts of Macbeth and Lady Macbeth, a brilliant -inauguration might have been expected.</p> - -<p>The National Anthem was sung, and then Kemble -was to speak a poetical address. But the moment he -made his appearance, dressed for Macbeth, a yell of -defiance greeted him, while the mob in the pit stood -up with their hats on and their backs to the stage. -Kemble begged a hearing in vain. His sister then -appeared, pale but determined, and both of them went -through their parts to the end. Whenever for an -instant there was a lull in the yelling and hissing, the -musical voice of the great actress was heard steadily -going through her part.</p> - -<p>Two magistrates appeared on the stage and read the -Riot Act; soldiers rushed in to capture the rioters, -who let themselves down by the pillars into the lower -gallery. The sight of the soldiery, indeed, only increased -the Babel. “Why were prices raised,” the mob -vociferated, “while exorbitant salaries were paid to the -actors and actresses? The money received by the -Kembles and Madame Catalani amounted for the -season to £25,575. There was Mrs. Siddons with £50 -a night! The Lord Chief Justice sat every day in -Westminster Hall from 9 to 4 for half the sum!” -“She and her brother also appeared frequently on the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_230"></a>[230]</span> -stage with clothes worth £500.<a id="FNanchor_3" href="#Footnote_3" class="fnanchor">[3]</a> All this was to be -screwed out of the pockets of the public.”</p> - -<p>The whole state of the popular mind at the time -was suffering from the reflux of the revolutionary -tide that had swept over France some years before. -The way, indeed, in which the authorities behaved -during the seventy nights the riots lasted, leads us -to think that they were aware of the undercurrent -of political excitement, and were glad to see it -diverted into a channel that did not menace Church -and State. In no other country in the world would -such a state of things have been allowed to go on -night after night. A magistrate now and then feebly -appeared on the stage, and read inaudibly the Riot Act. -On one occasion the public climbed the stage, and -were only deterred from personally attacking the actors -by the sudden opening of all the traps. A lady -received an ovation for lending a pin to fasten a -manifesto to one of the boxes, and the whole house -was placarded with offensive mottoes. The proprietors -had recourse to giving away orders to admit -their own partisans. This led to furious fighting and -scuffling. Pigeons were let loose, as symbols that -the public were pigeoned; aspersions were cast on -the morality of the private boxes; the leaders of the -riot incited the crowd to further excesses by inflammatory -speeches. On the sixth night Kemble came -forward to announce that Catalani’s engagement, one -of the great grievances, was cancelled, and that the -business books of the proprietors would be examined<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_231"></a>[231]</span> -by competent gentlemen to prove that the theatre was -not a paying concern. The report appeared, proving -that if any reduction were made in prices, the proprietors -would lose three-fourths per cent. on their -capital. This statement had no effect on the unreasoning -mob. On the reopening of the house on the -4th October, the riot began more furiously than ever. -Cooke, unfortunately, in a prologue alluded to the late -“hostile rage.” The expression was like throwing a -match into gunpowder. The people lashed themselves -into a frenzy; they assailed the boxes, and ran up and -down the pit benches during the play. Then, too, was -introduced, we are told, the famous O. P. war-dance in -the pit, which seems to have resembled the French -<i>Carmagnole</i>, “with its calm beginning, its swelling -into noise and rapidity, and its finale of demoniacal -uproar and confusion.” Princes of the Blood visited -the boxes, and having beheld the spectacle, and heard -the Babel of roaring throats, laughed and went home! -Afterwards the crowd marched to Kemble’s house, -89 Great Russell Street, Bloomsbury, and continued the -riot there. At last arrests were made of the leaders, but -they were acquitted, and Kemble consented to appear -at the dinner given in their honour. This was a hauling -down of the flag, but in reality the proprietors -came off victors. The rate of admission to the pit was -reduced by sixpence, but the half-price remained at two -shillings. The private boxes were diminished, but the -new price of admission was maintained. It must have -been a bitter probation for proud tempers like the -Kembles to go through.</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p>“My appearance of illness was occasioned entirely,” -Mrs. Siddons writes about this time to a friend, “by -an agitating visit that morning from poor Mr. John<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_232"></a>[232]</span> -Kemble, on account of the giving up of the private -boxes, which, I fear, must be at last complied with. -Surely nothing ever equalled the domineering of the -mob in these days. It is to me inconceivable how -the public at large submits to be thus dictated to, -against their better judgment, by a handful of imperious -and intoxicated men. In the meantime, what -can the poor proprietors do but yield to overwhelming -necessity? Could I once feel that my poor brother’s -anxiety about the theatre was at an end, I should be, -marvellous to say, as well as I ever was in my life. -But only conceive what a state he must have been in, -however good a face he might put upon the business, -for upwards of three months; and think what his poor -wife and I must have suffered, when, for weeks together, -such were the outrages committed on his house -and otherwise, that I trembled for even his personal -safety; she, poor soul! living with ladders at her -windows in order to make her escape through the -garden in case of an attack. Mr. Kemble tells me his -nerves are much shaken. What a time it has been with -us all—beginning with fire and continued with fury! -Yet sweet sometimes are the uses of adversity. They -not only strengthen family affection, but teach us all -to walk humbly with our God,</p> - -<p class="center">“Yours,</p> - -<p class="right">“S. S.”</p> - -</div> - -<p>The fury of the rioters was principally directed -against John Kemble, “Black Jack,” as he was called. -They never lost a certain respect for the great actress -who had served them so long and so faithfully. We -know the story of her appealing through the windows -of her sedan-chair to the riotous crowds assembled<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_233"></a>[233]</span> -round the theatre, “Good people, let me pass; I am -Sarah Siddons,” and of the mob immediately falling -back to make way for the dignified Queen of Tragedy. -The whole business disheartened and saddened her, -however. “I have not always met gratitude in a play-house,” -Garrick said, and she but repeated his words -with a sigh. She wrote to her daughter-in-law, Mrs. -Henry Siddons:—</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p class="right">“Octr. Jubilee Day, Westbourne Farm, Paddington.</p> - -<p class="noindent">“<span class="smcap">My Dear Harriet</span>,</p> - -<p>“Mrs. Sterling has kindly undertaken to deliver -a parcel to you, which consists of a Book directed to -you at Westbourne, and a little Toy apiece for my dear -little Girls. I would give you an account of our -Theatrical Situation if my right hand were not so weak -that it is with difficulty that I hold my pen—I believe -you saw it blistered at Liverpool, and I am sorry to -say it is but little better for everything I have try’d to -strengthen it. However, the papers give, as I understand, -a tolerably accurate account of this barbarous -outrage to decency and reason, which is a National disgrace: -where it will end, Heaven knows, and it is now -generally thought, I believe, that it <i>will not</i> end without -the interference of Government, and, if they have -any recollection of the riots of the year ’80, it is -wonderful they have let it go thus far. I think it very -likely that I shall not appear any more this season, for -nothing shall induce me to place myself again in so -painful and so degrading a situation. Oh, how glad -am I that you and my dear Harry are out of it all! I -long to hear how you are going on; tell me very soon -that you are all well and prosperous, and happy. I -find Mr. Harris is going to leave his house in Marlbro’<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_234"></a>[234]</span> -Street, and you will have to let it to some other -tenant at the end of his term—I forget how long he -took it for. There is a Print of Mrs. Fitzhugh’s Picture -coming out very soon; I am told it will be the -finest thing that has been seen for many years. The -Picture is more really like me than anything that has -been done, and I shall get one for you and send it by -the first opportunity. I have been amusing myself -with making a model of Mrs. Fitzhugh, which everybody -says is liker than anything that ever yet was seen -of that kind. I hope there is modelling Clay to be -had in Edinburgh, for, if it be possible, I will model -a head of my dear Harry when I go there. Give him -my love and my blessing. Accept the same for yourself -and the darling children. Remember me kindly -to all our friends, but most afftly. to dear Miss Dallas -and the family of Hume. Patty will write to you -by Mrs. Sterling; <i>her</i> letter will, I hope, be better -written and more entertaining than mine. God bless -you my dearest Harriet.</p> - -<p>“Comps. whether it was his <i>Waft</i>, or himself.</p> - -<p>“To <span class="smcap">Mrs. H. Siddons</span>.”</p> - -</div> - -<p>The riots were renewed on various occasions again, -and though the frightened managers, by the aid of -apologies and humiliations of all sorts, staved off a -repetition of violence, the fate of the new house as -a paying concern was sealed; it had been a mistake -artistically and financially from the first, and soon -ceased to be used as a theatre. A poodle drove Goethe’s -and Schiller’s plays from the stage of the Weimar -Theatre, the “dog Carlo” and Master Betty drove -<i>Macbeth</i> and <i>Coriolanus</i> from Covent Garden; in both -instances, the public was justified in its conclusions, -but not in the manner in which it expressed them.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_235"></a>[235]</span> -By their suppression of all applause and the restrictions -they laid on their audience, the potentates of -Weimar stopped all dramatic spontaneity; by the size -and unwieldiness of the theatre they built, and the -banishment of the lower part of the audience to a -distance from the stage, the proprietors of Covent -Garden deprived their art of the indispensable verdict -of the ordinary public. The Kembles’ school of dramatic -art also was passing away. They had substituted -for the naturalness and variety of Garrick’s style a -measured and stately dignity. This stateliness was -now destined to be succeeded by the impetuosity and -spontaneous passion of Kean.</p> - -<p>We have seen that one of the boys introduced by John -Kemble into the Witches’ Scene in <i>Macbeth</i>, and subsequently -turned away for disobedience, was named -Edmund Kean. This little imp, undeterred by hardship, -degradation, and misery, had developed into one of -the greatest geniuses that ever trod the English stage. -Many are the stories given of Mrs. Siddons’s first -meeting with Kean, but all are unanimous that it -was by no means a creditable performance so far -as the young actor was concerned. It was in Ireland, -either at Belfast or Cork. Kean had been -engaged to act with her. As usual, instead of learning -his part, he employed the interim between her -arrival and the play in drinking with some friends, -with such success that when he came upon the stage -the whole of his part had vanished from his memory; -he was, therefore, obliged to improvise as he went on. -Needless to say, his performance was a tissue of nonsense, -sentences without meaning, drunken absurdities -of all sorts. The audience was not a critical one, but -Mrs. Siddons’s disgust may be imagined. The next<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_236"></a>[236]</span> -play to be performed was <i>Douglas</i>, and in this Kean -played Young Norval. Whether he was ashamed, and -wished to show the great actress that he, too, was an -actor, it is impossible to say, but he imparted such -pathos and spirit to the part, that she was surprised -into admiration. After the play (Kean himself tells us) -she came to him, and patting him on the head, said: -“You have played well, Sir. It’s a pity, but there’s -too little of you to do anything.”</p> - -<p>When the “little man” arrived in London, Kemble -and Mrs. Siddons announced their intention of honouring -with their presence the new actor’s performance -of Othello. A relative of Kean, who was very anxious -about the result of the Kemble decision, placed herself -in a box opposite, to observe the effect the performance -produced on them. The Queen of Tragedy sat erect -and looked cold; Mr. Kemble gave a grave attention. -But as the young actor warmed to his part, Mrs. -Siddons showed a pleased surprise, and at last leaned -forward, her fine head on her arm, quite engrossed -in the scene, while Kemble expressed continual approbation, -turning to his sister as each point told. At -the triumphant close of the performance, Kean’s friend -approached the Kembles’ box. Mrs. Siddons would -not allow that this extraordinary genius was the lad that -had acted with her before. “Perhaps,” she said, “he -had assumed the name of Kean.” “Then the present -one has every right to drop it,” said Kemble; “he is -not Kean, but the real Othello.” Yet Kemble must -have known that night that a greater than he had arisen. -It must have been a noteworthy scene, those two -remarkable figures of a by-gone age, sitting in judgment -on “the little gentleman who,” as Kemble said, -“was always so terribly in earnest,” while he fretted<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_237"></a>[237]</span> -and fumed on that stage, where he was destined to -initiate a new ideal of dramatic art.</p> - -<p>Macready gives an interesting account of his first -meeting the great actress whom every young aspirant -looked up to with such awe. It was at Newcastle; the -<i>Gamester</i> and <i>Douglas</i> were the plays selected, and the -young actor received the appalling information that he -was to act with her. With doubt, anxiety, and trepidation -he set about his work, the thought of standing -by the side of the great mistress of her Art hanging -over him <i>in terrorem</i>. At last she arrived, and he received -orders to go to the Queen’s Head Hotel to -rehearse. The impression, he says, the first sight of -her made on him recalled the page’s description of -the effect of Jane de Montfort’s appearance on him in -Joanna Baillie’s tragedy. It was</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">So queenly, so commanding, and so noble.</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p class="noindent">In her grand, but good-natured manner, having seen -his nervousness, she said, “I hope, Mr. Macready, -you have brought some hartshorn and water with you, -as I am told you are terribly frightened at me,” and -she made some remarks about his being a very young -husband. Her daughter Cecilia went smiling out of -the room, and left them to the business of the morning.</p> - -<p>Her instructions were vividly impressed on the -young actor’s memory, and he took his leave with fear -and trembling. The audience were, as usual, encouraging, -and the first scene passed with applause; but in -the next—his first with Mrs. Beverley—his fear overcame -him to that degree, that for a minute his presence -of mind forsook him; his memory seemed to -have gone, and he stood bewildered. She kindly -whispered the word to him, and the scene proceeded.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_238"></a>[238]</span></p> - -<p>The enthusiastic young actor goes on:—</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p>She stood alone on her height of excellence. Her acting was perfect, -and, as I recall it, I do not wonder, novice as I was, at my perturbation -when on the stage with her. But in the progress of the play I -gradually regained more and more my self-possession, and in the last -scene, as she stood by the side wing, waiting for the cue of her -entrance, on my utterance of the words, “My wife and sister! Well, -well! there is but one pang more, and then farewell world!” she -raised her hands, clapping loudly and calling out: “Bravo, Sir, -bravo!” in sight of part of the audience, who joined in her applause.</p> - -<p>On that evening I was engaged to a ball, “where all the beauties”—not -of Verona, but of Newcastle—were to meet. Mrs. Siddons, -after the play, sent to me to say, when I was dressed, she would be -glad to see me in her room. On going in, she “wished,” she said, -“to give me a few words of advice before taking leave of me. You -are in the right way,” she said, “but remember what I say—study, -study, study, and do not marry till you are thirty. I remember -what it was to be obliged to study at nearly your age with a young -family about me. Beware of that: keep your mind on your art, do -not remit your study, and you are certain to succeed. I know you -are expected at a ball to-night, so I will not detain you, but do not -forget my words—study well, and God bless you.” Her words lived -with me, and often in moments of despondency have come to cheer me. -Her acting was a revelation to me, which ever after had its influence -on me in the study of my art. Ease, grace, untiring energy through -all the variations of human passion, blended into that grand and -massive style, had been with her the result of patient application. On -first witnessing her wonderful impersonations I may say with the poet:</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">“Then felt I like some watcher of the skies</div> - <div class="verse indent0">When a new planet swims into his ken.”</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p class="noindent">And I can only liken the effect they produced on me, in developing -new trains of thought, to the awakening power that Michael -Angelo’s sketch of the Colossal head in the Farnesina is said to have -had on the mind of Raphael.</p> - -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_239"></a>[239]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XV">CHAPTER XV.<br /> -<span class="smaller">RETIREMENT.</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p>What wonder that Mrs. Siddons now seriously began -to think of retirement. Already, in 1805, she had -written to a friend: “It is better to work hard and -have done with it. If I can but add three hundred a -year to my present income, I shall be perfectly well -provided for; and I am resolved when that is accomplished -to make no more positive engagements in -summer. I trust that God in His great mercy will -enable me to do it; and then, oh, how lazy, and saucy, -and happy will I be! You will have something to do, -I can tell you, my dear, to keep me in order.” This -longing now became a distinct determination.</p> - -<p>In two letters written some time before, one to -James Ballantyne and one to Lady Harcourt, she gave -expression to this determination. To Lady Harcourt -she wrote:—</p> - -<p>“You see where I am, and must know the place by -representations as well as reports, I daresay, at least -my lord does, yea, ‘every coigne and vantage’ of this -venerable pile, and envies me the view of it just before -me where I am writing. This is an inn. I set myself -down here for the advantage of pure air and perfect -quiet, rather than lodge in Leeds, most disagreeable<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_240"></a>[240]</span> -town in His Majesty’s dominions, God bless him. -This day my task finishes. I have played there four -nights, and am very tired of Kirkstall Abbey. It is -too sombre for a person of my age, and I am no -antiquarian. It is, however, extremely beautiful. I -am going to York for a week, and I hope while I -am there to hear from you, my ever dear Lady Harcourt. -I must work a little while longer to realise -the blessed prospect (almost, I thank God, within -my view) of sitting down in peace and quiet for the -remainder of my life. About £250 more a year will -secure to me the comfort of a carriage, and, believe -me, it is one of the favourite objects in that prospect -that I shall have the happiness of seeing you and -my dear Lord Harcourt often, very often; for though -time and circumstances, and that proud barrier of -high birth, have all combined to separate our persons, -yet allow me the modest ambition to think our minds -are kindred ones, and, on my part, united ever since I -had the honour and good fortune to be known to -you. How could it be otherwise, since to know you -both is to esteem and love you? And now, my dear -Lady Harcourt, I must leave you to dress for Belvidera. -It is very sulky weather, and I am not i’ the -mood for acting, but I must play yet a little while -longer, and then! how peaceful, how comfortable shall -I be, after the storms, the tempests, and afflictions of -my laborious life! God bless and preserve you, who -are to make a large share of my happiness in that hour -of peace.”</p> - -<p>To James Ballantyne she expresses herself in the -same tenor:—</p> - -<p>“I am wandering about the world to get a little more -money. I am trying to Secure to myself the comfort<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_241"></a>[241]</span> -of a Carriage, which is now an absolute necessary to -me, and then—then will I sit down in quiet to the end -of my days. You will perhaps be surprised to hear -that I am not abundantly rich, but you know not the -expences I have incurred in times past and the losses -I have Sustain’d; they drain ones purse beyond imagination. -I shall be at York till the 15th inst., from -thence I go to Birmingham where I shall remain till -the 4th of August, from the 25th of August till the -1st of Septr. I shall be at Manchester and then return -‘to that dear Hut my home.’ You would scarcely -know that Sweet little Spot it is so improv’d Since you -Saw it. I believe tho’ I wrote you about my new -dining Room and the pretty Bedchamber at the end -of it, where you are to sleep unannoyd by your former -neighbours in their mangers, Stalls, I <i>shou’d</i> say, I -believe. All the Lawrells are green and flourishing, -all the wooden garden pales, hidden by Sweet Shrubs -and flow’rs that form a verdant wall all round me: oh! -it is the prettiest little nook in all the world, and I -do hope you will Soon come and Say you <i>think</i> so. -Your letter Surpris’d me in my <i>Garden of Eden</i>, where -it found me, ‘chewing the Cud of Sweet and bitter -fancy,’ you making that very moment the principal -person in the Drama of my musings—and ‘I said in -my haste all men are liars.’ It was more than probable -that business, pleasure, illness and persons -perhaps less deserving your regard, might have diverted -recollection from one So distant So incapable of -heightening the joys, alleviating the Sorrows of this -‘working day world’ and our hearts naturally yearn -to those who Share our weal and woe. Yes, said I, -his taste and feelings are alive to my talents; but he -does not know me well enough to value me for Some<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_242"></a>[242]</span> -qualities of greater worth, which in the honest pride -of my heart I will not blush to say I possess—he -admires me for my Celebrity which is all he knows -of me. No blame therefore attaches to him: he is -ignorant of my real character, which if he knew he -would also approve; at least if I am not much mistaken -in myself and him—in myself I’m sure I am -not mistaken. It is a vulgar error to say we are -ignorant of ourselves, for I am quite Sure that those -who think at all Seriously <i>must know themselves</i> better -than any other individual <i>can</i>.”</p> - -<p>She had served the public for over thirty-five years, -and was now in her fifty-sixth year. Long since the -ten thousand pounds, which was the original sum with -which in the heyday of her prosperity she said she -would rest content, had been doubled. Some of this -had been unfortunately invested by Mr. Siddons, and -some had been lost in Sheridan’s bankruptcy; but -still, for a person who had no very expensive personal -tastes, whose children were all provided for, it was a -handsome provision.</p> - -<p>Physical disabilities also began now to interfere with -her dramatic effects. Alas! for the days when an -“exquisite, fragile, creature” acted Venus in Garrick’s -procession, and with her rosy lips whispered -promises of sweetmeats into little Tommy Dibdin’s -ear. The actress had grown stout and unwieldy in -person. When she acted Isabella, and knelt to the -Duke, imploring mercy for her brother, two attendants -had to come forward to help her to rise; and to make -this appear correct, the same ceremony was gone -through with a young actress who performed the same -part and did not need any assistance whatever. By -caricatures and portraits done of her at the time we<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_243"></a>[243]</span> -can see how unshapely she had become. Conventionality -and hardness replaced the old spontaneity and -pathos; the action of the arms was more pronounced, -the voice was unduly raised, and the deficiency in beauty -and charm was supplied by energy and rant. Mrs. -Siddons was only two years older than her brother, -but her physical and mental gifts had deteriorated -much more rapidly. The fact of the sister’s dramatic -power having been a natural gift, and his the -result of industry and hard work, made hers fail more -completely with waning strength. Besides all the disabilities -of advancing age, that terrible fear of being -supplanted was ever before her eyes. Mrs. Jordan -had some years before snatched the laurels from her -brow in Rosalind; now rumours were wafted across -the Channel of a young and lovely actress, Miss -O’Neill, who had taken all hearts captive as Juliet (a -part Mrs. Siddons could never personate satisfactorily); -the matchless beauty of form of the young aspirant, -her sensibility and tenderness were the theme of every -tongue. “To hear these people talk, one would think -<i>I</i> had never drawn a tear,” she said sadly.</p> - -<p>The old sensitiveness and pride remained. She -accused the public of taking pleasure in mortifying -their old favourites by setting up new idols; “I have -been three times threatened with eclipse, first by -means of Miss Brunton (afterwards Lady Craven), -next by means of Miss Smith, and lastly by means -of Miss O’Neill; nevertheless,” she added, “I am -not yet extinguished.” Mrs. Siddons had no right -to complain. She had drunk fully the draught of -success and appreciation, and had been singularly -exempt from rivalry in her own particular walk. -No public, however indulgent, can save an actress<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_244"></a>[244]</span> -from the penalties of old age. She herself had supplanted -Mrs. Crawford, and not very gently. The -transition point—the last in her life—had been reached, -the chapter of active professional life was closed for -ever, yet she could not resign herself to accept the -decrepitude and inactivity of old age. “I feel as if I -were mounting the first steps of a ladder conducting -me to another world,” she sighed. Moore mentions -meeting her at the house of Rogers:</p> - -<p>“Mrs. Siddons came in the evening; had a good deal -of conversation with her, and was, for the first time in -my life, interested by her off the stage. She talked -of the loss of friends, and mentioned herself as having -lost twenty-six friends in the course of the last six years. -It is something to <i>have had</i> so many. Among other -reasons for her regret at leaving the stage was, that -she always found in it a vent for her private sorrows, -which enabled her to bear them better; and often she -has got credit for the truth and feeling of her acting -when she was doing nothing more than relieving her -own heart of its grief.”</p> - -<p>She took her professional farewell of the stage on -the 29th of June 1812. As early as three o’clock in -the afternoon people began to assemble about the pit -and gallery doors, and at half-past four the mob was -so great, that those who had come early, in the hope of -getting a good place, were carried away by the rush of -the increasing crowd under the arches. So great was the -concourse of people, that not more than twenty of the -weaker sex obtained places in the pit, and the house was -crammed in every part. The play was <i>Lady Macbeth</i>. -When the great actress made her appearance, she was -received with thunders of applause; for a moment -emotion overcame her, but, collecting herself, she went<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_245"></a>[245]</span> -through her part as magnificently as in the early -days. Often have old play-goers described the scene -on that night. The grand pale face; the pathetic -voice on the stage, speaking its last to those whom it -had delighted and thrilled for so many years. While -among the audience, the heart-felt sorrow, the deep -silence, only broken by smothered sobs; then the -irrepressible burst of feeling when the scene, in which -she appears for the last time in <i>Lady Macbeth</i> was -over, for the audience could bear it no longer. The -applause continued from the time of her going off till -she again appeared, to speak her address. When -silence was restored, she began the following farewell, -written by her nephew Horace Twiss:—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">Who has not felt how growing use endears</div> - <div class="verse indent0">The fond remembrance of our former years?</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Who has not sigh’d, when doom’d to leave at last</div> - <div class="verse indent0">The hopes of youth, the habits of the past,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Ten thousand ties and interests, that impart</div> - <div class="verse indent0">A second nature to the human heart,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">And wreathing round it close, like tendrils, climb,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Blooming in age, and sanctified by time!</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">Yes! at this moment crowd upon my mind</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Scenes of bright days for ever left behind,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Bewildering visions of enraptured youth,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">When hope and fancy wore the hues of truth,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">And long forgotten years, that almost seem</div> - <div class="verse indent0">The faded traces of a morning dream!</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Sweet are those mournful thoughts: for they renew</div> - <div class="verse indent0">The pleasing sense of all I owe to you,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">For each inspiring smile, and soothing tear—</div> - <div class="verse indent0">For those full honours of my long career,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">That cheer’d my earliest hope and chased my latest fear.</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">And though for me those tears shall flow no more,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">And the warm sunshine of your smile is o’er;</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Though the bright beams are fading fast away</div> - <div class="verse indent0">That shone unclouded through my summer day;</div><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_246"></a>[246]</span> - <div class="verse indent0">Yet grateful memory shall reflect their light</div> - <div class="verse indent0">O’er the dim shadows of the coming night,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">And lend to later life a softer tone,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">A moonlight tint—a lustre of her own.</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">Judges and Friends! to whom the magic strain</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Of nature’s feeling never spoke in vain,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Perhaps your hearts, when years have glided by,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">And past emotions wake a fleeting sigh,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">May think on her whose lips have poured so long</div> - <div class="verse indent0">The charm’d sorrows of your Shakespeare’s song:</div> - <div class="verse indent0">On her, who, parting to return no more,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Is now the mourner she but seemed before;</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Herself subdued, resigns the melting spell,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">And breathes, with swelling heart, her long,</div> - <div class="verse indent6">Her last Farewell.</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>As she reached the end, all stage exigency and -restraint was forgotten, her voice was broken by real -sobs. As soon as the hush of emotion had passed, -the audience seemed suddenly to awake to the fact -that it really was the last time they would ever see -the marvellous actress, whom at one time they had -almost idolised. Not satisfied with their usual method -of expressing their feelings, they stood upon the seats, -and cheered her, waving their hats for several -minutes. It appeared to be the wish of the majority -of the audience that the play should conclude with -this scene, the curtain was therefore dropped; but -Kemble came forward, and announced that, if it was -the wish of the house, the play should proceed. The -audience was divided, and the farce of <i>The Spoilt -Child</i> began, amidst loud acclamation from one side -and disappointment from the other. This continued -during the whole of the first act, with constant cries of -“The fifth act! the fifth act!” It was found impossible -to allay popular excitement; the house was all -noise and confusion, and the voices on the stage were<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_247"></a>[247]</span> -totally inaudible. The curtain was, therefore, again -dropped; and the audience, shortly after, quietly dispersed.</p> - -<p>So vanished from her sight that world over which, -for the space of thirty-five years, she had reigned -supreme, that world that made her joy and sorrow; -before which, in spite of the many temptations that -had beset her, she could feel with pride she had -never degraded the supreme gift of genius. Amidst -her poignant regrets, at least she had nothing tragic, -nothing irremediable, to mourn, like so many of her -sisters in the same profession. Differences of opinion -had come between her and them, but all that was forgotten -now in the anguish of “Farewell.” She only -remembered that first night of triumph, its terrors, -and its delicious ecstasy; the weeks, months, and years -of appreciated happy work, dreams fulfilled; parts she -had studied and conned as a young girl, unconscious of -the future in store for her, acted with overwhelming -success. No Arabian Night’s Dream of good fortune -could have been more brilliant or more complete; -but, as in all things human, the reaction had set in. -She had touched such heights, that there must necessarily -be a reflux.</p> - -<p>She had loved her profession, not only for the -measure of applause, but for the daily bustle and -work, which, to a woman of her energetic temperament, -was enjoyable in itself.</p> - -<p>Rogers tells us that, sitting with her of an afternoon, -years after the curtain had dropped on her -farewell performance, she would vividly recall every -moment of her stage life. “This is the time I used -to be thinking of going to the theatre: first came the -pleasure of dressing for my part; and then, the pleasure<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_248"></a>[248]</span> -of acting it; but that is all over now.” In her -early days even, she always confessed that her spirits -were not equal, and her internal resources were too -few for a life of solitude.</p> - -<p>After long years spent amidst the intoxication of -applause, to withdraw into the twilight of private life -must always be a great trial. The nightly stimulus, -the mental habit of studying for a certain object, the -production of evanescent emotions and transitory -effects, must have a deteriorating effect on the noblest -disposition. Shrewd Miss Berry, in her Journal, -dated February 24th, 1811, mentions a visit she paid -at Westbourne. “Mrs. Siddons received me, as she -always does, in a manner that flattered my internal -vanity, for she has the germ of a superior nature in -her, though burnt up by the long-continued brand of -popular applause”; and Fanny Kemble writes: “What -a price my Aunt Siddons has paid for her great celebrity! -Weariness, vacuity, and utter deadness of spirit. -The cup has been so highly flavoured, that life is -absolutely without sorrow or sweetness to her now, -nothing but tasteless insipidity. She has stood on a -pinnacle till all things have come to look flat and -dreary; mere shapeless, colourless, level monotony to -her. Poor woman! What a fate to be condemned -to! and yet how she has been envied as well as -admired!”</p> - -<p>We doubt if the weariness and vacuity was as great -as her niece was inclined to think. Advanced age and -impaired powers always bring a certain deadness and -indifference; but she had mental resources the young -girl did not take into consideration. She kept a large -circle of firm and attached friends. She was not -without intellectual pursuits. Although showing no<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_249"></a>[249]</span> -particular genius in any other department of life but -the stage, she had a fine cultivated taste for artistic -and beautiful things. She employed much of her -time in modelling, and executed many respectable -pieces of work. Her childish love of Milton revived -again now, and after her retirement she published a -small volume of extracts from his poems. Above all, -she had the support and consolation of a pure unswerving -religious faith; through her chequered life -of triumph and bereavement, joy and sorrow, Sarah -Siddons had ever kept that alive in her heart. It saved -her in many a crisis, and illumined the darkened road -that lay before her.</p> - -<p>The following verses, written by her at this time, -are a truer indication of her frame of mind than any -conclusions drawn from external observation by outsiders:—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">Say, what’s the brightest wreath of fame,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">But canker’d buds, that opening close;</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Ah! what’s the world’s most pleasing dream,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">But broken fragments of repose?</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">Lead me where peace with steady hand</div> - <div class="verse indent2">The mingled cup of life shall hold;</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Where Time shall smoothly pour his sand,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">And Wisdom turn that sand to gold.</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">Then haply at Religion’s shrine</div> - <div class="verse indent2">This weary heart its load shall lay,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Each <i>wish</i> my fatal love resign,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">And passion melt in tears away.</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>She had now leisure for journeys abroad and the -enjoyment of intellectual pleasure outside her profession -which she had never had before. In the autumn -of 1814 she made an excursion to Paris in company<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_250"></a>[250]</span> -with her brother John, her youngest daughter, Cecilia, -and Miss Wilkinson. A short interval of peace then -reigned, and all interested in art flocked from England -to see the treasures that Napoleon had plundered from -every European capital. The Apollo Belvidere, -amongst others, had been set up in the statuary hall -of the Louvre; and Campbell tells us how, giving his -arm to Mrs. Siddons, they walked down the hall -towards it, and stood gazing rapt in its divine beauty. -“I could not forget the honour,” Campbell tells us, -quaintly, “of being before him in the company of <i>so -august a worshipper</i>; and it certainly increased my -enjoyment to see the first interview between the -paragon of Art and that of Nature.”</p> - -<p>The “paragon of Nature” was evidently much -struck, and remained standing silently gazing for some -time; then she said, solemnly, “What a great idea it -gives us of God, to think that He has made a human -being capable of fashioning so divine a form!”</p> - -<p>As they walked round the hall, Campbell tells us, -he saw every eye fixed upon her. Her stately bearing, -her noble expression, made a sensation, though the -crowd evidently did not know who she was, as he -heard whispers of “Who is she? Is she not an -Englishwoman?”</p> - -<p>Crabb Robinson, in his <i>Memoirs</i>, also tells us that -he heard someone say in the Louvre, “Mrs. Siddons -is below.” He instantly left the Raphaels and Titians -and went in search of her. She was walking with her -sister, Mrs. Twiss. He noticed her grand air and -fascinating smile, but he was disturbed that so glorious -a head should have been covered with a small chip -hat. She knit her brows, also, to look at the pictures, -as if her sight were not good; and he remarked a<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_251"></a>[251]</span> -line or two about her mouth, and a little coarseness of -expression. She remained two months in Paris, and -we hear of her going to a review held by the King. -She was seen toiling along towards the Champs de -Mars, heated and flushed, and in clouds of dust; and -a joke is made on the subject of her “saving.”</p> - -<p>Further suffering was in store for her in the death -of her son Henry. He died of consumption, like his -sisters. Manager of the Edinburgh Theatre, and in -the prime of life, his loss was a great one both to his -family and the Edinburgh public. His poor mother -wrote:—</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p class="right">“Westbourne, 1815.</p> - -<p>“This third shock has, indeed, sadly shaken me, -and, although in the very depths of affliction, I agree -with you that consolation may be found, yet the voice -of nature will for a time overpower that of reason; -and I cannot but remember ‘that such things were, -and were most dear to me.’</p> - -<p>“I am tolerably well, but have no voice. This is -entirely nervousness, and fine weather will bring it back -to me. Write to me, and let me receive consolation in a -better account of your precious health. My brother -and Mrs. Kemble have been very kind and attentive, -as indeed they always were in all events of sickness or -of sorrow. The little that was left of my poor sight -is almost washed away by tears, so that I fear I write -scarce legibly. God’s will be done!”</p> - -</div> - -<p>Later, she complained:—</p> - -<p>“I don’t know why, unless that I am older and -feebler, or that I am now without a profession, which -forced me out of myself in my former afflictions, but -the loss of my poor dear Henry seems to have laid a<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_252"></a>[252]</span> -heavier hand upon my mind than any I have sustained. -I drive out to recover my voice and my -spirits, and am better while abroad; but I come home -and lose them both in an hour. I cannot read or -do anything else but puddle with my clay. I have -begun a full-length figure of Cecilia; and this is a -resource which fortunately never fails me. Mr. Fitzhugh -approves of it, and that is good encouragement. -I have little to complain of, except a low voice and -lower spirits.”</p> - -<p>All these letters do not look like the proud, hard, -self-sufficient woman so often described. We see her -sorrowing sincerely, but not giving way to unreasoning, -despairing grief; recognising that all the brightness and -elasticity of life had gone, but doing, nobly and practically, -what she could to help those that were left.</p> - -<p>Before the end of the year she had arranged with -Mr. James Ballantyne to act ten nights for the benefit -of her son’s family:—</p> - -<p>“A thousand thousand thanks to you my kind and -good friend for your most delightful and gratifying -letter. You do me justice in believing that whatever -conduces to your happiness, or that operates against -it, must ever be interesting to me; and as the happiness -and health of your excellent and most respectable -mother is, I know, the first object of Satisfaction -which this world contains for your duteous mind, I -am, indeed, most truly happy, for both your sakes, to -receive so comfortable an account of her. I can conceive -no blessing comparable to that of having such a -Son, and such a one was my own dear and lamented -Henry. This last blow lay, indeed, for some time -most heavily upon me; but when I recollect that his -pure Spirit has exchang’d a Sphere of painful and<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_253"></a>[253]</span> -anxious existence, with which he was ill-calculated to -Struggle, for the regions of everlasting peace and joy, I -feel the Selfishness of my Sorrow, and repeat those -words, which as often as repeated seem to tranquilize -my mind, ‘The Lord gave, and the Lord taketh away; -blessed be the name of the Lord.’ I hope my visit -to Edinborough will be beneficial to my dear Son’s -family; at least, it will evince the greatest proof of -respect for that Public on whom they depend, which it -is in my power to give. I have some doubts whether -the motives which induce me to return to the Public -after So long an absence, will Shield me from the darts -of malignity; and when I think of what I have undertaken, -altho’ I feel courageous as to my intentions, I -own myself doubtful and weak with respect to the -performance of the Task which I have undertaken. It -is a great disadvantage to have been so long disused to -the exertions I am call’d on to make, but I will not -Suffer myself to think of it any longer. As to the -arrangement of the Plays, it must be left entirely to -Mrs. H. Siddons, whose judgment I have always found -to be as Strong as her disposition is amiable, and I -can give her no higher praise. She is indeed ‘wisest, -virtuousest, discreetest, best, &c.,’ but I fear I shall -never be able to present myself in Mrs. Beverley, who -Should be not only handsome, but <i>young</i> also. Believe -me, my truly estimable friend, I look forward with -the greatest satisfaction to the moment of Seeing you -again; in the meantime do not exalt me too much! -You Seem to be in an error, on the Subject of my -engagement, which I must rectify. The necessary -expenses of Clothes, Ornaments, Travelling, &c., are -more than my limited Income wou’d afford, without a -chance, <i>at least</i>, of being able to <i>cover</i> these expenses,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_254"></a>[254]</span> -which is all I desire! and therefore I am to fulfil my -Engagement on my brother’s Terms.”</p> - -<p>In November, therefore, we find her making her -way by slow stages to Edinburgh. She stopped for -several days at Kirby Moorside, with Sir Ralph and -Lady Noel, and Lady Byron. In spite of nervousness -and fatigue, she delighted her Edinburgh audiences. -She had no reason to make a charge against her -northern friends of unfaithfulness.</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_255"></a>[255]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XVI">CHAPTER XVI.<br /> -<span class="smaller">OLD AGE.</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p>In 1817 Mrs. Siddons, anxious, for the sake of her -daughter Cecilia, to see more society, left her Country -retreat, Westbourne Farm, where so many hours of -repose snatched from the turmoil of her professional -life had been passed, and took a house in Upper Baker -Street. It is the last house on the east side overlooking -the Regent’s Park, and has a small lawn and -garden behind.</p> - -<p>On the front, over the doorway, is a medallion -stating that “Here Mrs. Siddons, the actress, lived -from 1817 to 1831.” When the houses in Cornwall -Terrace were about to be brought close to the gate of -the park, Mrs. Siddons appealed to the Prince Regent, -who had ever remained her firm and courteous friend. -He immediately gave orders that her view over the -Park should not be shut off. The house, which is still -unchanged in its internal arrangements, is now used -as the estate office of the Portman property. The -room she built out as a studio for modelling is -screened off into compartments with desks for the -transaction of business. That is really the only -change that has been made. It is an old-fashioned,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_256"></a>[256]</span> -comfortable house, panelled in dark oak. The approach -to the staircase has steps ascending and descending, -and the stairs themselves twist round corners, off -which branch unexpected passages, until they reach the -first floor, where to the right opens the dining-room, -looking on the little garden, and beyond to the Park. -There, between the Grecian pillars with their honey-suckle -pediment, once hung the portrait of her brother -John as Hotspur; now the space looks desolate and -bare.</p> - -<p>Here she lived with her daughter Cecilia and Patty -Wilkinson, her attached friend and companion. Some -among us are old enough to remember having heard -of her pleasant parties where all that was intellectual -and delightful in the London of her day was assembled. -There she would sometimes, to her intimate friends, -give recitations of her favourite parts, having by this -time relinquished doing so in public. Miss Edgeworth -describes one of these readings:—</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p>I heard Mrs. Siddons read at her town-house a portion of -<i>Henry VIII</i>. I was more struck and delighted than I ever was with -any reading in my life. This is feebly expressing what I felt. I felt -that I had never before fully understood, or sufficiently admired, -Shakespeare, or known the full powers of the human voice and the -English language. Queen Katherine was a character peculiarly suited -to her time of life and to reading. There was nothing that required -gesture or vehemence incompatible with the sitting attitude. The -composure and dignity, and the sort of suppressed feeling, and touches, -not bursts of tenderness, of matronly, not youthful tenderness, were -all favourable to the general effect. I quite forgot to applaud—I -thought she was what she appeared. The illusion was perfect, till it -was interrupted by a hint from her daughter or niece, I forget which, -that Mrs. Siddons would be encouraged by having some demonstration -given of our feelings. I then expressed my admiration, but the -charm was broken.</p> - -</div> - -<p>Maria Edgeworth seems to have remained friends -with Mrs. Siddons, but her father, Richard Lovell<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_257"></a>[257]</span> -Edgeworth, hopelessly offended her the first time he -met her:—</p> - -<p>“Madam,” he said, “I think I saw you perform -Millamant five-and-thirty years ago.”</p> - -<p>“Pardon me, Sir.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, then it was forty years ago. I recollect it.”</p> - -<p>“You will excuse me, Sir, I never played Millamant.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, but I recollect it.”’</p> - -<p>“I think,” she said, stiffly turning to Rogers, “it is -time for me to change my place,” and rising with -much haughtiness she moved away.</p> - -<p>Many amusing stories were current of the dramatic -manner which she imported into daily life. Her question, -in the tragic tones of Lady Macbeth, to the over-awed -draper as she bought a piece of coloured print, -“Will it wash?” The solemn reply to the Scotch -provost, “Beef cannot be too salt for me, my Lord”; -and “I asked for water, Boy; you’ve brought me beer.” -Lord Beaconsfield told a story of his father, Isaac -Disraeli, returning home after a visit to London, and -declaring that the event that had made most impression -on him was hearing Mrs. Siddons say, “The Ripstone -Pippin is the finest apple in the world.” Moore -says he remembered how proud he was of going -to Lady Mount Edgcumbe’s suppers after the opera. -It was at one of these, sitting between Mrs. Siddons -and Lady Castlereagh, he heard for the first time the -voice of the former (never having met her before) -transferred to the ordinary things of the world, and the -solemn words in her most tragic tone, “I do love ale -dearly.” Sidney Smith also describes her as “stabbing -the potatoes”; and it is said that on hearing of the -sudden death of an acquaintance, who had been “found<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_258"></a>[258]</span> -dead in his bureau,” she understood the latter word to -mean a piece of furniture, and exclaimed, “Poor -man! How gat he there?”</p> - -<p>She was, as a rule, perfectly impervious to external -influences, ignoring them in her self-abstraction. -She lived through the most marvellous period of -English and European history, yet no incident seems -to have made an impression on her mode of thought or -life. She never entered into political interests, though -the friend of Fox, Burke, and Sheridan. Her dramatic -world of romance was all-sufficient for her. -Hers was not a ready intelligence; she required time -for everything, time to comprehend, time to speak; -there was nothing superficial about her, no vivacity -of manner. To petty gossip she could not condescend, -and evil-speaking she abhorred. She cared -not to shine in general conversation. Ask her her -opinion, she could not give it until she had studied -every side of the subject; then you might trust to it -without appeal. This slowness of mental action led -to a regal, stately, and majestic bearing, that gradually -overlaid her genius to its detriment. As early -as 1817, Fanny Burney describes her as—</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p>The heroine of a tragedy, sublime, elevated and solemn, in face and -person truly noble and commanding, in manners quiet and stiff, in -voice deep and dragging, and in conversation formal, sententious, -calm, and dry. I expected her to have been all that is interesting; -the delicacy and sweetness with which she seizes every opportunity -to strike and to captivate upon the stage had persuaded me that -her mind was formed with that peculiar susceptibility which, in -different modes, must give equal powers to attract and delight in -common life. But I was very much mistaken. As a stranger I must -have admired her noble appearance and beautiful countenance, and -have regretted that nothing in her conversation kept pace with their -promise.</p> - -</div> - -<p>We read in 1801 of Campbell meeting her walking<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_259"></a>[259]</span> -on the banks of Paddington Canal when she was -living at Westbourne, and in a perfect agony of fear -“whipping on his great-coat,” and preparing himself -for an interview with the “great woman.”</p> - -<p>Washington Irving gives a characteristic sketch of -her:—</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p>It was a rare gratification to see the Queen of Tragedy thus out -of her robes. Yet her manner, even at the social board, still partakes -of the state and gravity of tragedy. Not that there is an unwillingness -to unbend, but that there is a difficulty in throwing aside -the solemnity of long-acquired habit. She reminded me of Walter -Scott’s knights, “who carved the meat with their gloves of steel, and -drank the red wine through their helmets barred.” There was, however, -entirely the disposition to be gracious, and to play her part like -herself in conversation. She, therefore, exchanged anecdote and -incident, in the course of which she detailed her feelings and reflections -while wandering among the sublime and romantic scenery of -North Wales, and on the summit of Penmaennmawr. As she did this -her eye kindled and her features beamed, and in her countenance, -which is indeed a volume where one may read strange matters, you -might trace the varying emotions of her soul. I was surprised to -find her face, even at the near approach of sitting by her side, absolutely -handsome, and unmarked with any of those wrinkles which -generally attend advanced life. Her form is at present becoming -unwieldy, but not shapeless, and is full of dignity. Her gestures and -movements are eminently graceful. Mr. and Mrs. Campbell say that -I was quite fortunate, and might flatter myself on her being so conversible, -for that she is very apt to be on the reserve towards -strangers.</p> - -</div> - -<p>Mr. and Mrs. Campbell had every reason to say so, -for only that very year she proposed dining with them -one day, requesting, as she always did, that it was -only to be a family party. About noon Washington -Irving’s brother and a friend, who had brought letters -of introduction from Sir Walter Scott, arrived. -During their visit a servant unfortunately came into -the room and disclosed the fact that Mrs. Siddons was -dining there. Immediately the Americans made up<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_260"></a>[260]</span> -their minds to stay and see her. Campbell told them -how annoyed Mrs. Siddons would be at meeting -strangers; they were not to be gainsaid:—</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p>When the carriage approached the house, Campbell goes on, I -went out to conduct her over a short pathway on the common, as well -as to prepare her for a sight of the strangers. It was the only time, -during a friendly acquaintance of so many years, that I ever saw a -cloud upon her brow. She received my apology very coldly, and -walked into my house with tragic dignity. At first she kept the -gentlemen of the New World at a transatlantic distance; and they -made the matter worse, as I thought, for a time, by the most extravagant -flattery. But my Columbian friends had more address than I -supposed, and they told her so many interesting anecdotes about their -native stage and the enthusiasm of their countrymen respecting herself -that she grew frank and agreeable, and shook hands with both of -them at parting.</p> - -</div> - -<p>Many were the honours heaped on her during these -last years. She received a formal invitation to visit -the Universities of Oxford and Cambridge. Her -daughter writes to Miss Wilkinson, expressing their -delight with the visit:—</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p>I over and over wished for you, who would have enjoyed as much -as I did the attention and admiration shown to our Darling. We had -sights to see, colleges and libraries to examine, and at every one of -them there was a principal inhabitant, eager to show and proud to -entertain Mrs. Siddons. In the public library, my mother received -the honour of an address from Professor Clarke, who presented her -with a handsome Bible from the Stereotype press. After which she -read to almost all the members of the University at present there the -trial scene in the <i>Merchant of Venice</i>, and more finely she never did it -in her life. Everyone was, or seemed to be, enchanted and enthusiastic.</p> - -</div> - -<p>After her retirement from the stage, she gave public -readings at the Argyll Rooms in London. The -arrangements were most simple. A reading-desk with -lights, on which lay her book, a quarto volume, -printed in large letters. When her memory failed -her, she assisted her sight by spectacles, which in the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_261"></a>[261]</span> -intervals she handled and used so gracefully, that it -was impossible to wish her without them. A large -red screen formed an harmonious background to her -white dress, and classically-shaped head, round which -her dark hair was rolled in loose coils. All her former -dignity and grace seemed to return in these readings. -The effect she produced was marvellous, considering it -was without the aid of stage illusion or scenery.</p> - -<p>The attention shown her by the Royal Family was a -source of much gratification. Her letters written, after -a visit to Windsor, in January 1813, are almost girlish -in their emphasis and expressions of delight.</p> - -<p>She was in the middle of dressing to go and dine -at Mrs. Damer’s, when an especial messenger arrived -in the dusk, from Lady Stewart, intimating the Queen’s -desires. Everything was rose colour. “The charming -accomplished Princesses, so <i>sweetly</i> and <i>graciously</i> -acknowledge the amusement I was so happy as to -afford them. To have been able to amuse a little a -few of the heavy mournful hours, the weight of which -those royal amiable sufferers must so often feel, has -been to me the <i>greatest</i>, the <i>proudest gratification</i>.”</p> - -<p>A magnificent gold chain, with a cross of many -coloured jewels, was presented to her by the Queen, -and a “silken quilt for my bed, which she sewed with -her own hands.”</p> - -<p>On the 9th of June 1819, when past sixty, Mrs. -Siddons was induced to appear for the benefit of her -brother, Charles Kemble, at Covent Garden. She had -done so before, at the command of the Princess Charlotte, -who at the last moment had been unable to -come. All the best critics were of opinion it was a -mistake. The part chosen, too, Lady Randolph, was -injudicious, with its lengthy speeches and continual<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_262"></a>[262]</span> -movement. The audience certainly gave three rounds -of applause, in recognition of her personal character, -when Young Norval asked:</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">But did my sire surpass the rest of men</div> - <div class="verse indent0">As thou excellest all of woman kind?</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p class="noindent">But this was a poor substitute for the breathless -thrill, the agony of emotion, with which she shook -her audience in the old days.</p> - -<p>Unfortunately for us and them, players are not immortal. -Health, strength, beauty, voice, fail them, -and without these adventitious aids genius is of no -avail on the stage. Any loss of reputation to an -actress like Mrs. Siddons was a loss to the world; these -reappearances, when age and infirmity had weakened -her powers, were much to be deplored. Let us, however, -turn from this subject to more pleasant ones; -and there were so many pleasant incidents and so few -mistakes in Mrs. Siddons’s dignified and decorous life, -that we can afford to be lenient.</p> - -<p>In Fanny Kemble’s <i>Record of a Girlhood</i>, we get -glimpses of Aunt Siddons, stately and gentle, surrounded -by children and grandchildren.</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p>You know we were to spend Christmas Eve at my Aunt Siddons’s; -we had a delightful evening, and I was very happy. My aunt came -down from the drawing-room (for we danced in the dining-room on -the ground-floor) and sat among us, and you cannot think how nice -and pretty it was to see her surrounded by her clan, more than three -dozen strong; some of them so handsome, and many with a striking -likeness to herself, either in feature or expression. Mrs. Harry and -Cecy danced with us, and we enjoyed ourselves very much.</p> - -</div> - -<p>The younger sons of her son George Siddons (who -had obtained a Government post at Calcutta), were -being educated with their sisters in England, and -always spent their holidays with their grandmother, -Mrs. Siddons. The youngest of these three school-boys<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_263"></a>[263]</span> -was the father of the beautiful Mrs. Scott Siddons -of the present day.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Siddons was very fond of children. Campbell -tells a story of his once leaving his little boy, aged six, -with her, when she was stopping in Paris. When he -returned, he found them both in animated conversation. -She had been amusing him with all sorts of -stories, which she told admirably. The evening before -she had been to a fashionable party and offended -everyone by the austerity of her manners.</p> - -<p>Her letters about her grandchildren are full of -simple grandmotherly love, naturally expressed. She -wrote from Broadstairs in 1806:—</p> - -<p>“My dear Harry, I have very great pleasure in -telling you that your dear little ones are quite well. -The bathing agrees with them perfectly. They are -exceedingly improved in looks and appetite, though -their stomachs turn a little, poor dears, at the sight of -the machines; but, indeed, upon the whole, the dipping -is pretty well got over, and they look so beautiful -after it, it would do your heart good to see them. I -assure you they are the belles of Broadstairs. Their -nurse is very good-humoured to them. She is certainly -not a beauty, but they like her as well as if she were a -Venus. Never were little souls so easily managed, or -so little troublesome.”</p> - -<p>The great actress would boast with more pride of -the effect she produced on a little girl during the performance -of <i>Jane Shore</i>, than of her greatest triumphs. -In the last scenes of the play, when the unfortunate -heroine, destitute and starving, exclaims in an agony -of suffering, “I have not tasted bread for three days,” -a little voice was heard, broken by sobs, exclaiming, -“Madam, madam! do take my orange, if you please,”<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_264"></a>[264]</span> -and the audience and the actress beheld, in one of the -stage boxes, a little girl holding her out an orange.</p> - -<p>A lady, now alive, recalls to mind, when she was very -young, being taken to pay a visit to “the great Mrs. -Siddons.” She long after remembered those wonderful -eyes, and particularly the long silky eye-lashes, which -she noticed were of extraordinary length, and curled -upwards in a beautiful curve. On being told that the -child was obliged to go away to the country, and -would have no opportunity of hearing her on the -stage, she kindly said she would recite for her, and -did so there and then.</p> - -<p>One of her grandchildren has described the interest -of her visits to her. Frequently her grandmother -would read to them, giving them the choice of the -play. One evening in particular she recalled the -reading of <i>Othello</i>. “It was a stormy night, and -the thunder was heard occasionally, and she so grand -and impressive; her look! her voice, her magnificent -eyes, still clear and brilliant. It was real reading, not -declamation, and yet the effect,” she says, “was -beyond anything I could conceive of the finest acting.” -This was only the winter before her death.</p> - -<p>We find her now suffering all the fluctuations in -spirits old age is subject to, sometimes complaining of -feebleness and suffering, at others returning to all the -girlish playfulness of her younger days. On July 12th, -1819, she writes to her friend Mrs. Fitzhugh:—</p> - -<p>“Well, my dear friend, though I am not of rank and -condition to be myself at the Prince’s ball, my fine -clothes, at any rate, will have that honour. Lady -B⸺ has borrowed my Lady Macbeth’s finest banquet -dress, and I wish her ladyship joy in wearing it, -for I found the weight of it almost too much for endurance<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_265"></a>[265]</span> -for half an hour. How will she be able to -carry it for such a length of time? But young and -old are expected to appear, upon that ‘high solemnity’ -in splendid and fanciful apparel, and many of these -beauties will appear in my stage finery. Lady C⸺ -at first intended to present herself (as she said very -drolly) as a vestal virgin, but has now decided upon -the dress of a fair Circassian. I should like to see -this gorgeous assembly, and I have some thoughts of -walking in in the last dress of Lady Macbeth, and -swear I came there in my sleep. But enough of this -nonsense.”</p> - -<p>Her brother John, sharer of most of her trials and -triumphs, settled at Lausanne towards the end of his -life. The loss of his society was a sad deprivation, -and in 1821 she paid him a visit. Her daughter -Cecilia, in a letter home, described the delights of the -villa the Kembles lived in, and the beauty of the surrounding -scenery.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Siddons meditated an expedition to Chamounix -but for some reason it was given up, and they went to -Berne; the weather was wet, however, and they were -obliged to return sooner than they expected. They -ate chamois, crossed a lake, mounted a glacier with -two men, cutting steps in the ice with a hatchet, and -did all that was required of them as travellers. “My -mother bore all the fatigues much more wonderfully -than any of us,” the letter ends.</p> - -<p>In spite of her wonderful energy, old age was -creeping on her apace. Erysipelas, which was ultimately -fatal, frequently attacked her with a burning -soreness in her mouth, or with headaches that were -equally painful. She had to submit to that worst -penalty of advancing years, the death of friends; those<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_266"></a>[266]</span> -of Mrs. Damer and of Mrs. Piozzi were a great loss. -In February 1823, John Kemble died at Lausanne. -On the 9th he dined out, and it was remarked that he -was in very good spirits; the next evening a few -friends dropped in for a rubber of whist. The following -Sunday he was out in his garden; but while he -was sitting reading the paper, it fell from his hands. -His wife rushed to him; he only faltered a few words, -begging her not to be alarmed. The doctor was -sent for, but one stroke after another seized him, and -he died on the 20th. This was a sad blow to Mrs. -Siddons.</p> - -<p>In her seventy-third year she wrote to Mrs. Fitzhugh -from Cobham Hall, the seat of Lord Darnley:—</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p>“I have brought myself to see whether change of -scene, and the cordial kindness of my noble host and -hostess, will not at least do something to divert my -torment. But real evils will not give way to such -applications, gratifying though they may be. I have -had the honour, however, of conversing with Prince -Leopold; he is a very agreeable and sensible converser, -and Her Royal Highness the Duchess of Kent -seems to justify all the opinions of her amiability. I -have begun to recover the loss of my dear little girls, -George’s daughters. How I long to hear they are -safe in the arms of their anxious parents. In this -magnificent place, I assure you, my seventy-second -birthday was celebrated with the most gratifying and -flattering cordiality. We had music and Shakespeare, -which Lord Darnley has at his finger’s ends. I should -have enjoyed the party more if it had not been so -large; but twenty-three people at dinner is rather too -much of a good thing.... Talking of the arts, I -cannot help thinking with sorrow of the statue of my<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_267"></a>[267]</span> -poor brother. It is an absolute libel on his noble -person and air. I should like to pound it into dust, -and scatter it to the winds.</p> - -<p class="center">“Yours,</p> - -<p class="right">“S. S.”</p> - -</div> - -<p>A statue of the great actress, by Chantry, was put -up later, by Macready, beside her brother’s in Westminster -Abbey.</p> - -<p>In April 1831 she was attacked with the illness that -was to prove fatal. The appearance of the erysipelas -in one of her ancles alarmed the doctor, but she got -better, and before the end of the month felt so far -recovered, that she laughingly told him that he need -not come to see her any more, for “she had health -to sell.”</p> - -<p>Unfortunately, she ventured out driving soon afterwards, -the day was cold, and a chill seemed to have -developed the erysipelas internally. On the 31st May -she was seized with sickness and ague, and in the -course of the evening both her legs were attacked -with erysipelas inflammation. This increased during -the night, and was accompanied by much fever. In -the course of the following day there was a consultation -of doctors. They pronounced the case hopeless, -mortification supervened, and about nine on the morning -of the 8th June she expired, after a week of acute -suffering.</p> - -<p>On the 15th June she was buried in the New -Ground of Paddington Church, followed to the grave -by her brother Charles Kemble, two sons of Henry Siddons, -and many others. Alas! of her own immediate -family few were left, and her eldest son was in India. -In the procession were eleven mourning coaches, with<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_268"></a>[268]</span> -the performers of the Theatre Royal Drury Lane and -Covent Garden. When the burial service had been -read, a young woman, Campbell tells us, knelt down -beside the coffin with demonstrations of the wildest -grief. She came veiled, and her name was never -discovered.</p> - -<p>Why go into the items of the will Mrs. Siddons left, -and the articles she assigned to her heirs? To us she -has bequeathed the memory of one of the greatest dramatic -artists that ever graced our stage, and of one of -the noblest of the long list of noble women enrolled -in the annals of our country. Time goes on whirling -away all memories in its relentless rush. A new generation -is ever ready to depreciate the enthusiasms of -their grandfathers, and ours is incredulous when told -of the powers of a Garrick or a Siddons.</p> - -<p>It was with a feeling of pain that, while standing -the other day by the great actress’s grave where it lies -lonely and untended in Paddington churchyard, we -heard that our cousins across the Atlantic set more -store on the memory of Sarah Siddons than we do. -Miss Mary Anderson, the custodian told us, whenever -she is in London, comes up on Sunday afternoons, with -parties of her countrymen, to lay fresh flowers on the -grave, and has undertaken, at her own expense, to -execute all necessary repairs to the railings and tombstone. -Let us, before it is too late, anticipate this -high-minded and generous offer.</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="footnotes"> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="nobreak">FOOTNOTES</h2> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_1" href="#FNanchor_1" class="label">[1]</a> It was the same Lady Lucan who was said once to have asked -the actress: “Pray, Madam, when you are to prepare yourself in a -character, what is your <i>primary object</i> of attention, the <i>superstructure</i>, -as it may be called, or the ‘foundation’ of the part?”</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_2" href="#FNanchor_2" class="label">[2]</a> Mrs. Piozzi, who, after Mr. Thrale’s death, had married again, -much to the disgust of the Johnsonian band.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_3" href="#FNanchor_3" class="label">[3]</a> On the first night of the O. P. riots, we are told the actress wore -a costume fashioned after the bridal suit of the unfortunate Queen of -Scots, and was a perfect blaze with the jewels in the stomacher of -the dress, as well as upon her hair and around her neck.</p> - -</div> - -</div> - -<p class="titlepage">London: Printed by W. H. Allen & Co., 13 Waterloo Place. S.W.</p> - -<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MRS. SIDDONS ***</div> -<div style='text-align:left'> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will -be renamed. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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