Footlight Flashes

Front matter

Special Collec Beis n Public

FOOTLIGHT FLASHES.

BY

Chapter I

An Autobiography and its Consequences.—The Life of an Actor.— Its Dreary Beginning and Difficult Progression.—Stage Struck Ladies and Gentlemen.—A Virulent Attack.—The late Mr. J. P. Harley on Noyices. ul

CHAPTER IL.

Iam Born.—My Father and Mother.—Music.—Fflorts at the Shrine of Apollo.—Physic as an Alterative. G

Chapter VIII

Smythson the Dramatic Agent.—Funerals of Mrs. Siddons and Edmund Kean.—First impression of Edmund Kean.—First Night of a

New Play iu London. 58 CHAPTER IX.

Benefit Making.—Burton and his Napoleon Patron.—Stage Door-

Keeper. 70 CHAPTER X.

Lecture on Charles Dickens.—Fanny Kemble and Negro Minstrelsy, 79

CHAPTER XI.

The Parson and the Player. 90

CHAPTER XII.

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The Drunken Actor.—Oxberry.—An Actor’s last Will and Testament— Stealing anothers Thunder.—Windsor Castle.—Court Theatricals.—London.—G. V. Brooke and Lysander Thompson. 99

CONTENTS. ~ Xi

CHAPTER XIII.

On the Ocean.—The Passengers.—The Virginian Politician.—Henry Clay.—Halifax and the Dog Trader. 155

CHAPTER XIV.

The Broadway Theatre.—The Star system.—Mr, Wallack’s Plan.—Negro Minstrelsy.— Candidates for Dramatic Fame. 145

CHAPTER XV.

Behind the Scenes.—The Call Boy.—The Dressing Rooms. —Musie Room.—The New Play.—Stage at Rehearsals.—Parlor Theatricals.— Colored fires.—The Manager’s Office-—The Paint Room.—Property Man.—Mr. Battledore’s favorite Story.—Classification of Actors.—- Playing policy.—Managerial Diploraacy.—The Ballet.—The Ballet Mas. ter.—Salary day.—Rules to enforce Attention.—The Soubrette.—Dramatic Mothers.—The Wardrobe.—-The Old Actor.—The Needy Actor.— End of the Season.—Adieus to the public.—Congratulations and Supper. 182

CILAPTER XVI.

Westward.—Toledo.—Projected Immolation.--Salisbury at Chicago.—The Light Comedian.—A very long Song. 199

CHAPTER XVII.

The Science of Ticket Speculation.—The Walking Gentleman.—The Dramatic Washington. 214

CHAPTER XVIII.

Mose in Canada.—The Tragedian.—The Job Actor.—Palmy days of the Drama. 207

CHAPTER XIX.

Lotteries—Lucky Number.—Defeat of the Americans at the Mimic Battle of Monterey.—The Western Enthusiast.—A convivial Audience. ayy 4 246 xil CONTENTS.

CHAPTER XX.

The Loyal Marine.—Reading a part on the Stage —Barney Williams and the Indignant Patlander. 258

CHAPTER XXI.

The Duties of an Actor.—Theatre Preaching.—Alleyne’s Charity.— Motive for this act.—Conclusion. 264

FOOTLIGHT FLASHES.

Chapter I

The web of life is of a mingled yarn, good and ill together. —All’s Well that Ends Well. Act 4, Scene 8.

Ir there be anything more detestable than writing one’s Autobiography, the individual who now essays the task, would be glad to know what it is. This assertion is made fearlessly, and without dread of contradiction; but, if one of my captious readers should consider me unworthy of credit, let him, or her, try the experiment, and allow me to sit in judgment on the document.

Everybody has doubtless heard the story of the: man who was suffering from a bad cold in his head, protesting to his friend that “ there was nothing in the world so bad as a cold in the head!” The friend protested that he was in error, and named as a greater aflliction, “two colds in the head.” The same may be said of an Autobiography. Nothing can be so bad as one, except the perpetration of two.

The life of an actor presents to the youthful and superficial observer, charms of no ordinary degree of interest ; for there is no profession that holds so much sway, or takes such firm possession of the youthful mind, as that of acting. Well do I remember loitering when a boy, for hours together at the stage doors of Covent Garden and Drury Lane Theatres, to watch the actors arrive at, or depart from, those temples of the drama, Little did I then imagine that, in after life I should be on terms of professional fellowship with many of those I regarded (in my simplicity) as something more than mortal.

From the dreary and unpleasant prospect that has been, and still is, held out by some historians to aspirants for theatrical honors, and from the many hardships, and unpleasantries attending the pursuit of an occupation which in the end leads merely to an uncertain glory, it has proved a source of wonder in many reflective minds, that so great a number have been found bold enough to venture upon the culture of an art so fraught with disagreeables; an art in which so few of the great mass of actors ever render themselves decidedly eminent. And yet the number of youthful candidates who so incessantly stand forward to brave every danger attending a theatrical career, is immense. That an actor’s life is one of great anxiety, cannot reasonably be doubted or disputed, when it is seen how quickly public taste and opinion veers. An actor for a time becomes the very idol of the public; he is flattered on all sides. His praise is resounded to almost every corner of the country, and his performances attended by all the beauty and fashion a gay metropolis can boast. But this lasts no longer than while his excellences are new, and possess the charm of novelty. When that is past, and public cyriosity is gratified, we find him, (save in the rarest of instances), sink into cold and silent neglect.

Peculiar circumstances tend to give zest to theatrical anecdote, and as admiration naturally stimulates curiosity, the history of those to whom the mirth, or sensibility of so many pleasant evenings are due, must interest and gratify. The heroes and heroines of the buskin in their real, as well as assumed characters, experience that vicissitude and adventure to which the unvaried tenor of mechanical industry is an entire stranger. Their life teems with incident which almost seems destined to realize the fictions they represent. The early period of their professional career is therefore generally clouded with difficulties unknown, even in imagination, to those whose pursuits have a different proclivity. «The stage ’tis said, by right should be a school To shame the guilty, and amend the fool.’?

So writes some one whose name “lives not in my memory,” but the poet is grievously in error, ifhis couplet alludes to the votaries of that enchanting of all professions, “the stage.” Forno sooner does some ambitious youth, who is perhaps partially initiated in the art and mystery of spouting, and may have, at sundry times, and in divers places, been allowed to deliver certain portions of the inspired language of the “bard of Avon,” determine (from the ill-judging applause of his own companions perhaps) to adopt theatricals as his future profession, than he plunges headlong into folly. How far a dramatic performance may be allowed to arouse the dormant feelings of benevolence, justice, penitence, or mercy, in the minds of an audience, I leave to more able pens to describe; but of this I am conscious from personal experience, that no sooner does an individual indulge in ecstatic day dreams (and night dreams too, occasionally,) of waving plumes, glittering falchions, and spangled trappings — with all the attendant additions of scenic castles, rocks, forests, &c., .&¢c., than he pants ardently as lover ever did for the moment which shall give to his arms his well-beloved, for that auspicious day which shall find him enrolled a wandering child of Thespis.

Oh! guardian angel of the respected and beloved, why wast thou slumbering when thy child quitted the paternal roof, to “strut and fret his hour upon the stage.” But suffice it, the profession hath its charms, and the love of it once engendered in the youthful mind, never can be wholly or entirely eradicated.

I have been for many years the unworthy representative of all grades of human nature, from kings to beggars, and even now, at times experience as much pleasure as ever, and anticipate the hour when I am to appear in a favorite character, as anxiously as any amateur ever did, Even such an insignificant circumstance (though by the way not so insignificant either to an actor) as a round of applause, has entirely revolutionized my sentiments. Perhaps I was disgusted with the profession, and had resolved to relinquish it for ever, and return, like a prodigal son, brimfull of penitence. “And could a few unmeaning rounds of applause thus overthrow your intentions,” I fancy I hear some sober-minded parent exclaim, with uplifted hands. ’Tis even so, and I have hastily resolved to pursue the enticing, though thorny path, which my sanguine hopes anticipated one day would lead to fame and renown. -

But I am beginning to moralize, the which is not the purpose of this theme; further, what I have said applied to the state of the profession of the stage when I entered it, or rather, it might with truth be added, the condition of provincial theatres of the more minute class at that time. There was very little chance then of achieving fame or profit, without roughing it, and ascending, step by step, the round of the professional ladder. Nowa-days' ladies and gentlemen, the former most particularly, cannot devote their attention to any less than the principal characters, and they will undertake the whole weight and consequence of a five act play with a temerity perfectly appalling to any one who is conversant with the difficulties of the operation. The gallantry of the public is of course, to a great extent, to blame for these futile attempts, by treating with favor and approbation what they know to be unworthy the attention they bestow upon it. It is as impossible to make an actress without experience, as it would be for a surgeon to qualify for the duties of Ais profession, without a thorough probation in the science of anatomy. This epidemic for stepping at a bound into the position of Stars, broke out with great virulence a year or two since among the fair sex, but I have not heard that the result, in a single instance, has been such as to justify the belief the ladies erroneously entertained of their histrionic skill, or to satisfy their friends that the monies invested in charges paid to managers for first appearances, have been wisely or profitably expended.

A terrible disease burst upon Great Britain immediately after the production of the “Lady of Lyons,” and both sexes fell victims to the calamity with equal severity.

I am fully aware, while penning these lines, how impossible it will be to induce many of my readers — especially those who have fallen victims to an attack of the previously described malady — to give credence to my assertions, or place the smallest reliance upon this opinion. I desire, however, to adduce as an illustration of my views, the remarks of the late Mr. Harley, the celebrated comedian, which is pertinent to this very important question.*

“In the year 1840, I was a member of the Bristol theatre. During the season Mr. H. came from London to play an engagement. The conversation happened to turn upon the subject of “full blown artists,” as he termed them, who hadn’t patience, or industry, to wait till the “bud of their talent began to blossom.”

“When I first acted Shakspeare’s Clowns,” said he, “I was a very young man, and felt. quite satisfied that the rendition of those parts could not possibly be so well and truthfully presented by established actors of that period

* Mr. Harley died August 22, 1858, aged 68.

as by myself. I felt satisfied that I was the coming man who was to clearly define the great poet’s meaning, and remove the veil of doubt that had puzzled so many brilliant minds. When I acquired a little more experience, I began gradually to realize the difficulties, and as I fur-- ther advanced, became more involved, till after acting them constantly for twenty years, I discovered, in comparison to their extreme excellence, I knew really nothing about them.”

CHAPTER II. ‘sHow irksome is this music.’

—Second part Henry VI. Act2. Scenet.

My stern parient was a merchant, of the city of London, (and not an actor, as some biographers have written,) in which ancient city I was born, or, as it is poetically termed, “first saw the light,” on the 17th of April, 1814.

The author of my being, who had a solidarity of correcting his offspring which will not readily be forgotten, while

‘¢ Memory holds her seat in this distracted globe,’

had no dramatic proclivity. I am led, however, to the conclusion that he did not share in the antagonism for places of rational amusement indulged in by some of the “pater fami-li-asses ” of the present day, who attend the representation of Don Giovanni, in its lyrical garb with a religious enthusiasm; but could not endanger their prospects of squaring accounts with the consciences, if they were to assist at a banquet of the intellectual food provided by the genius of Shakspeare.

My mother was devoted to her home and children — of whom there were three — (children, not homes,) casting a halo of goodness around the domestic circle, performing

cheerfully, and with an unsparing amount of womanly benignity her mission of usefulness, tempered with the sweet smile of that natural instinct bequeathed by an all wise Providence, as a counter influence against the harder proportion of our common nature! For in those days the philosophy of woman’s rights and other phantasmagoria of faith had not cast their elusive nets into the ocean of domestic happiness, sapping the vitality of that peace it is its duty to promote, and by a fatal and erroneous code of teaching, embittering the lives of those it should be its first desire to propitiate, by joining heart and hand in the common cause of mutual affection, confidence, sympathy, and love.

It so happened, during the tedium incidental to a boy’s bringing up, that some one skilled in musical lore, made the startling discovery that I possessed a voice which might be attuned to harmony after the necessary probation had been gone through sufficiently to “ground us in the science,’—a favorite expression of the party in question.

Gentle reader, did you ever labor under the infantile affliction of a voice? Only those who have been attacked by that virulent disorder, can form the minutest conception of the suffering necessary to be endured. An hour’s exercise on that vocal alphabet yclept the gamut, on the clammyest of mornings incidental to a London autumn, with a walk of a mile to the Cathedral of St. Paul, and there to find yourself habited in a clerical garb before a very limited quantity of early devotionals, is not an interesting proceeding for a youthful mind, whose only thought of the eligible future of such a probation is most probably centered in the protracted breakfast a ravenous appetite is anxiously waiting to pay court to, rather than the exercise of his vocal organ for hire and reward, when he shall arrive at the dignity of man’s estate.

At the age of fourteen, the voice above alluded to, after the perpetual grinding process to which it had been so unremittingly and audaciously subjected, became so exquisitely tempered, that it either was ground down altogether, or, not finding the wear and tear upon its constitution likely to promote its ultimate usefulness, departed from its proprietary without the slightest intimation of its desire to peregrinate, or signifying its intention that it ever designed returning to its original location.

Physic was the next experiment proposed, as holding out great inducements for a youth to get well up in the world, and become a person of substance, (in pocket, not flesh,) but during a month’s probationary servitude, I was very nearly qualifying myself for a landed proprietorship in the neighboring burial-place, by swallowing a copious draught of what I in the innocence of my knowledge of pharmacy, believed to be a mild decoction of peppermint, but which, from certain unmistikable internal misgivings, proved to be something of a less innoxious nature, requiring the aid of a stomach-pump to dislodge it. This ingenious device, assisted by gentle emetics, restored me to a state of convalescence.

Eccentricities of purpose, too numerous to particularize, beset me on every side, till, burning with dramatic ardor, I determined to shake the dust of London from my feet, and seek the provincial road to histrionic fame. A congenial spirit, with the same end in view, accompanied me on my probationary adventure. His proclivities were of a comic nature — mine, darkly, deeply tragic.

My store of worldly riches amounted to ten shillings ‘and six pence sterling ; my wardrobe did not much retard locomotion, and with hearts swelling with expectations of future greatness, we wended our way towards Brighton, fifty-one miles from the great metropolis.

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CHAPTER ILI.

‘< T do wander everywhere.”’

—Midsummer Night?s Dream. Act 2. Scene 1.

Ir was the middle of the month of June, when nature was attired in her most gorgeous garb, we left Kennington Common behind us with a merry and elastic step. The delightful villas, and cosy dwellings, garnished with the choice perfume of rare exotics, and fashioned to meet. the requirements of the man of wealth, who quits the bustle and din of business in the over-heated city, (that hive of commercial drudgery,) to luxuriate in domestic pleasure and social ease, meet us at every turn. In other spots, with their wants more economically considered, stand the homes of the less fortunate laborers in the world’s vineyard, their youthful branches bearing ample testimony (if any were needed) by their buoyant spirits and ruddy looks, of the invigorating influence of their ample breathing-place. The cows by the wayside, and who are surveying the road from their pasture grounds, evidently believe that their natures have never been degraded, or their personal pride affected by any admixture of their lacteal fluid at the hands of the metropolitan milkman. They chew their cud of satisfaction as we pass, without exhibiting a fear for the presence of strangers, so common among their species who suffer the ignominy of a residence in the midst of a crowded populace. ‘They wink, as their eyes follow us, till in looking back, we see them retreat to their pasture, leaving the frothy essence from their mouths upon the tops of the hedges, like hoar frost on an early winter morning.

We plodded on to Reigate, where the chalky cliffs and extensive fields of limestone, impart a sensation of partial blindness as you abruptly encounter the sight from the brow of the hill, with the meridian sun seething them after a heavy shower of rain. The town presented nothing to impress you with the belief that its residents had ever visited the great city.

We were nearly wet through, and by the time we reached the most business part of the town, the shades of night were creeping with a delicions twilight, gradually obscuring the spire of the Episcopal church, the only one of that form of worship the place could then boast. A couple of agricultural horses were enjoying their evening meal in front of the Green Dragon, and at the portal of that hostelry, assuming the character of a goodly pair of compasses, was the host, without his hat and coat. Probably an unnecessary piece of information, it being conceded as an established fact that that fabulous personage, ¢. e. “the oldest inhabitant,” has not furnished the world with a solitary instance of an English boniface ever having been seen habited in outer garments of that nature.

Two sturdy fellows were superintending the ablution of the nether extremities of a splendid chesnut mare, whose expressive eye was turned winking an approval at - the operation, while three or four of the juvenile population, paused in their conversation respecting the number of bushels of wheat to the acre Providence had in its bounty bestowed upon Farmer Stubble, to take a survey of the jaded travellers.

The pleasure derivable from certain scenes or incidents, in our career, affect us in proportion to the conclusions we can arrive at after forming a diagnosis of their usefulness, or adaptability for the several purposes of life, and if the minds of those youthful rustics could have been for an instant relieved of the bewilderment they had evidently fallen into-by the sudden appearance of my friend and myself, it would not be difficult to believe that they entertained the most vague notions of our purpose and design. Petty larceny would have found few opportunities to exercise its prowess, if we had felt disposed to indulge in that fashionable weakness; for after we entered the Inn, and were enjoying our supper of bread, cheese, and ale, these inquisitive natives made numerous forays of enquiry, beguiling the early part of the evening with this congenial provincial habit, at times, in the most playful manner, landing one of their brigade in the most confused condition in the middle of the sanded floor.

Agricultural disquisitions are not particularly edifying to those whom fate destined to be ushered into life and reared towards man’s estate within the precincts of great cities, it may, therefore, be readily supposed that when the usual occupants of the room began to assemble, that the quota of information we could impart on the subject, was not very extensive. It was somewhat of a relief when the landlord, for the purpose of drawing us out. went headlong into politics, in which my fellow-traveller happened to be so well skilled that we were soon perfectly at ease, and, after the roughest portion of the visitors had departed, we, in company with two congenial spirits, were invited by the boniface to a friendly glass in his private sanctwm behind the bar.

What a cosy delightful place the bar of a country inn used to be to the tired traveller. The well polished pewter mugs depending from the brass nails garnishing the shelves, relieved here and there with bright tumblers, their thick circular pediments turned upwards, and sur mounted with large juicy lemons. The round of corned

FOOTLIGHT FLASHES. 1S beef, what a size the ox must have been, you think, as you contemplate the huge platter of metal that seems almost to groan beneath the weight of a single joint! The buek-horned handled carver and fork, protruding from its sides, the parsley so plentifully displayed in its refreshing green to impart a zest, if any were needed, to the appetite. The home-made bread, not sparingly paraded, but of fitting dimensions to suit the most voracious desire, the pickles, also of domestic preparation; the whole surmounted by those infallible punch bowls of various sizes, from the quiet little revelry of a friend or two, to the annual Christmas cheer, when all available nature gives thanks to God for favors past, and invokes a blessing for the future.

It was midnight when the guests departed, and we ascended and descended several tortuous stairs and passages, to where we were to pass the night. The morning broke with nature’s concert of feathered performers, cheerily carolling a welcome to the rising sun, each in ecstacy for the day-light, pouring forth a bright example to mellifluous mortals, who in operatic conjunction are seldom as harmonious as nature’s choristers.

What a breakfast we eat too! The round of beef was a prominent performer at the feast. The smiles of the good. natured landlady and her husband, who presided, had much to do with the comfort of the meal. We pre-

_pared to pursue our journey. We had serious misgivings that we had committed an act of impropriety by banqueting so lavishly at the commencement of our journey, with our limited exchequer, nevertheless proceeded to disburse. There is a rough delicacy amongst the unlettered, of conferring favors, which we not unfrequently look for in vain from those who are skilled in all the artificial refinements of luxury, education, and ease. This stalwart free-hearted boniface had listened the previous night to our descriptions of the haunts and by-ways of London. He had read with wonder how persons from the country had been decoyed into the purchase of articles of apparently great value, the retailers having only been induced to part with them from intuitive affection they couldn’t possibly repress for the purchaser, the favored ones discovering when too late, that they had invested about two hundred per cent. above their actual cost. He had a boy who early in life displayed evidences of a roving disposition which he had felt it impossible to check, and from whom, during an absence of six years, he had heard but once. He pitied us that we, so young, were starting to seek, perhaps, a visionary glory — we were welcome — very happy to see us; if ever we came that way again, we must not forget to call, and many more things in that delightfully awkward way in which modesty so universally bestows a compliment. I met this generous spirit some years afterwards. He had settled at Brighton. My professional position was very satisfactory, and I passed many pleasant hours with himself and wife, including the smart son who had been to Australia, and amassed considerable money by the culture of sheep.

We had calculated our chances of something turning up, (like Micawber, though Mr. Dickens had not then introduced that celebrated individual to an admiring world,) from the fact that if that fashionable watering place failed to offer us half, or the entire receipts of each evening’s performance for an unlimited period, there were other temples of Thespis at various points along the sea coast that would surely not be indifferent to their own interests, nor insensible to our great dramatic skill.

Oh, delusive hope! We reached Brighton, that seat of salt water, folly, and flirtation, two days from the time we set out, weary, and footsore, with three shillings and ninepence in our pockets, and two bad cases of influenza equally divided.

We were, however, full of hope. We sought the manager next morning, and found he was full too, not only of hope — for he had been hoping on, and expected to “hope ever ” — but~ he had, as he expressed himself, “too many bad actors already in his company, and had no desire, with bad business staring him in the face, to augment the number.”

We took a stroll on the beach, where we held a counceil of war in relation to our future prospects. Our companion suggested that, as we were nearly financially exhausted, or “stumped,” as he poetically expressed it, the most desirable’ plan would be to shape our course towards London. I felt inwardly of the like opinion; but my spirit was not so readily subdued, for I had determined to succeed, or perish in the attempt. We turned our steps, however, toward the point from whence we started, and enjoyed nine miles of cogitation, till we approached the delightful little town of Lewes. Here we learned, by an accident that sometimes did occur in those days of stage coaches, (we got sight of a newspaper,) that a small company, at a little town near Hastings, had been made smaller by the withdrawal of two of its members for a more extensive arena for the development of their powers. We determined to make a trial of our fortunes with _the Mogul who exerted his managerial sway over the company’s destiny, and when we had succeeded in delighting the inhabitants of that district, and our fame and attractiveness should reach the ears of the Brighton magnate, what ecstacy we should experience as we beheld him entering the town as rapidly as post horses could bring him, entreating and beseeching us to favor his patrons with a glimpse of our excellence, at terms to be named by ourselves.

Having settled this matter perfectly to our own satisaction, we invested a small amount of our worldly riches, in refreshments of as corpulent and nutritious a nature as we could afford, and after wandering about the neighboring fields, took up our quarters on the outskirts of the town, at a small inn, the like of which existed before the iron monster of the rail-road closed ’em up by bis absurdly expeditious habit of never giving people time to sleep on a journey.

The sun was waning, and its lurid glare fast travelling out towards the sea with a diversified grandeur of color when we came upon a rural resting place, lying in picturesque beauty within the embraces of a cluster of large elm trees. The dwelling had no pretensions to architectural propriety, being entirely independent of any known order, past or present, but there was a solid somnolent satisfaction about it as if it would say, “ Here friend, you have good cheer, sweetened with a hearty welcome,” which at once ingratiated itself into your good opinion. A picture of the venerable uncle Toby, armed with his pipe and foaming pitcher of ale, most boldly rendered by the artist, swung upon the summit of a post, the lower portion of which had suffered considerably by the impatience of the equine customers who had broken and devoured its splinters, doubtless for the purpose of assisting digestion while waiting for their further allowance of fodder.

A drowsy looking pony, profusely supplied with hair about the legs, but lamentably deficient of that hirsute luxury as regards the tail, was thus busily engaged as we approached the spot. ‘Two or three teamsters were smoking, and gaily preparing their cattle in order to their departure, while the landlady —brilliant in cap trimmings — was within the porch to bid them an adieu. The large black dog, who lay beside the horse trough,

FOOTLIGHT FLASHES. Ta

~ casually glanced at us, as if he would say, “If you are in search of a first-class place for comfort, you’ve hit it this time,” and the thrush hanging in his wicker-work tenement, poured forth his evening song with true content and happiness. The latticed windows of the sleeping rooms peeped out in various forms through the thickly clustered ivy in which the house seemed imbedded, and the smoke from the wood fire in the kitchen curled in fantastic designs, diffusing itself upwards amongst its native element, the trees.

If a man may be known by the company he keeps, the resources of his exchequer may, with quite as good a reason, philosophically, be fathomed, by the aspect of his exterior. It will be willingly conceded by the writer that the appearance of himself and friend was not such as to inspire the beholder with the conviction that we possessed a superfiuity of the circulating medium at whose shrine all nature are, more or less, willing to bow.