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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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