THE ROMANCE OF THE STAGE

Evening Star, Issue 12397, 10 January 1905, Page 8

THE ROMANCE OF THE STAGE

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I BOTH SIDES OF THE SHIELD. 1 By Lewis Melthxk » (Author of ' In the World of Mimes: A f Theatrical Novel,' etc.) There is no profession or calling which, i in the eyes of those who look on, is so , surrounded by the glamor of romance as the stage; as, indeed, there is no profesi sion or calling which has the same ati traction for the multitude. Tho little boy, returning from his first visit to the i pantomime, expresses his determination to ' be a clown or a harlequin; while his sister 1 announces her intention to be a columbine • in the days to come. Both subsequently ! rehearse these parts in the nursery. As : the years pass, however, the fascinations s of harlequin and columbine fade, and after ! later visits to the theatre the girl and the ■ lad would be actress and actor. These desires are, as a rule, sternly repressed by • unsympathetic parents, and so come to nought. But when a young man or a young woman is thrown resourceless upon 1 the world, the thoughts of the impecunious adventurer almost invariably turn to the 1 stage. Everything they know about it attracts them. As a matter of fact, of • •course, they know just nothing. They ; go to the theatre, where every artifice is ' employed to cheat the sense and to foster the imagination. They see the leading f lady, gowned by Worth or Paquin, being I made love to by a handsome jeune premier, irreproachably dTessed, in a drawing room '• furnished by Gillow, or in a woodland I glade designed by a capable artist. [ —The Stage-struck Youth.— i The lad dwells on the delight of being t brought into contact with such a lovely . creature; the girl on the pleasure it would [ be to wear magnificent dresses, to be made love to by such a handsome man, to live . in the midst of such beautiful scenes. Both . are sure it must be charming to take the . centre of the stage, to have the limelight , upon them, and to be called and recalled . at the conclusion of each act amidst salvoes , of applause. At homo they read of the r divinity which surrounds the great actor , and the great actress, at whose beck and . call apparently the whole world stands; ; and they realise that the fierce light which , beats upon the stage means the glorification . of the exponents of the art. They take , up one of the many weekly papers or [ monthly magazines which find it profitable to devote themselves, more or less exclu- , sively, to the actor and actress. Therein . they study the photographs of these famous , folk, and read what they eat and drink , and think and say. Therein they learn f how fortune is kind and the gates of Society (the Society with the capital 8) j open to those who make a name on the stage. And behind all this ia a deep- . seabed, _ though vague, idea of an exquisite , Bohemianism. Indeed, everything sug- . gests pleasure and affluence and all the joys , that flesh delights in, and the mind natu- [ rally conjures up the picture of a delightj ful, free-and-easy life, where the cares that ( agitate the ordinary mortal cease from I troubling, and worries are at rest. What wonder, when everything concernj ing the theatrical calling is painted in such , glowing terms, that the number of the , stage-struck does not duninish. What ( wonder that the insistence upon the diffir culties, though uttered by those who know, ' does not deter. "Of course there must ; be failures," says the aspirant, in nowise | troubled; "but I intend to succeed, and [ there is always room at the top of the ( tree." So does every man and woman , who goes on the stage intend to succeed. I So doe 3 every man. and woman in every I other sphere of life intend to succeed. And there is room at the top of the tree. Yet ( how many failures are tkere to each success? On the stage the proportion of . failures to successes is greater than in almost any other calling, if only because ' it is so terribly overcrowded. Those who , know what is the chance of success on the stage preach their discouraging gospel with \ just as much result as if they cried it aloud ; in the wilderness. Wilful folk will have I their way, and of all these those touched by "the romance of the stage" are the least tractable. i —The Tragedy of the Minor Part.— ► The truth is the world does not see the i actor's life as it is—the seeking for engagements, _ the unsettled and unsettling j nfe, the excitement and the constant strain, ! undermining health. Those who visit a > theatre during a performance devote their I ! attention almost entirely to the two or r three leading characters. They care little ' about the minor parts, diminishing in importance until they reach the footman who [ hands round coffee, and the lady's maid - who brings her mistress's cloak. Yetr i probably the exponents of the last two f silent roles have been years upon tie stage, i Remembering this, you derive the satisfac- , tion of learning how loyal these, people are • to their ideals. - '-v^

J What sustains the straggler is the know- [ ledge that the life of the successful actor and actress is a never-ending triumph. They are petted and spoilt on all sides, are s welcomed in society, and easily amass a competence. For them it is all the sweets and no bitters. But they are the few. The reverse side of the shiell is far from bright. It way be asserted without fear of contradiction that the stage does not offer the adv;uitages of an ample income even to j the most successful. A girl certainly may ■ earn more money in that calling than in any other, for there are not many branches I of money-making open to her even in these I days of unrestricted competition between the sexes. A mau has th« right to expect that, when thousands have been expended vpon his living and education during the years before the wage-making period, having adopted a calling, that calling, when he is proficient, if he w successful, shall provide him with a suitable revenue. ■ The barrister who earns four or five hundred a year is regarded as a comparative failure. The successful lawyer or doctor, < even the successful author or artist, can make an income of thousands.. It is otherwise- with the actor who is not also theatrical manager. If he obtains a salary of £lO a week —and to command this a man must have a certain standing—he cannot, on an average, even if in constant employ, be afsured of more than thirty weeks' engagement in the year—that is to say, an income of £3OO. —An Actor's Income.— Even if he rises very high in the calling, and can demand a weekly salary of £25, he may only reckon his yearly earnings at seven hundred and fifty; and even this total may often be too High, if one remembers that it is not unusual in London to give six weeks' rehearsals for a play which runs a month. The number of actors who make a thousand a year can be easily counted by anyone familiar with the world behind the scenes. Those whose income exceeds this figure may almost be counted on the fingers of one hand. One reason for this unsatisfactory state of affairs is, as it has been already stated, that the calling is overcrowded, and that the competition between the actors brings down prices. It is the law of supply and demand. Then, again, the manager is naturally anxious to have his expenses as low as possible, for the production of'a new play is more or less of a gamble. It may succeed, it may fail. 'No management can bo sure of the public, whose taste changes with the most remarkable rapidity. On the other hand, if the earnings are inconsiderable, except for the few, it must be remembered that the stage is a calling and not a profession—that is to say, there is no examination to pass; yon learn yonr work whilst in actual employment. The novice will be paid, at the lowest, a guinea a week—that is, if he goes to a reputabl9 manager—and a guinea is a big weekly wage for an apprentice. Then it cannot be denied—indetd, it i 3 not denied, save of actors—that the work is light, "years ago, when stock seasons were the rule, things were different. Then the "bfll" was changed several times a week, sometimes every night. The performances began earlier and ended later. Often two long pieces were performed during the evenings—generally a comedy or farce and a tragedy; and an actor, with little time to study the " lines," might be called upon to play, say, Jeremy Diddkr in 'Raising the Wind' and the eponymous hero in ' Hamlet.' We have changed all that. The evening's entertainment now begins at. eight o'clock—often, in London, at nolf-pret eight—and the stage manager is able to " ring down " at eleven ; while the actor who has an important role to sustain in the piece of the evening is not called upon to take part in the curtainraiser. Indeed, curtain-raisers are not in favor to-day. The manager objects to them as. a source of expense—not very heavy, it is true,' because as a rule those who aro understudying the performers in the piece make up the cast —and the author objects because he likes to have the stage for his own production for the whole evening. Many theatres, therefore, do not present a first piece. —Enforced Holidays.— The work of the actor, then, once the rehearsals are over and the play is fairly started, is limited to the three-hours' traffic of the stage. The strain in the actor's life is the searching for engagements and the uncertainty of earning a. livelihood. There are, roughly speaking, a score of London actora >vho are always wanted, and who flit from theatre to theatre without an interval, for all the world as if managers begrudged them a holiday. IJnt there are hundreds of others who, though capable, can rarely secure one engagement to follow another, save after lengthy intervals. Sometimes this is because most actors in London are engaged for "the run" of the piece, and this agreement consequently does not leave them free to make arrangements for the future, as no one can foresee how long a piece will run—a week, a month, a year, it may be. More often, however, this is because there are not enough "parts" to go round. It is somewhat different with provincial actors, who are engaged either for the tour, which will conclude on a given date, or for an indefinite period, subject to a fortnight's notice on either side. It happens, therefore, that a provincial actor of repute need never "rest"—save during the months of June and July, when theatrical business is dull. He can make his engagements a year ahead, or, if lie will and can, two years ahead. Consequently, being-em-ployed some ten months in the year, even with a considerably smaller salary, he can earn more money than his London confrere, who is in receipt of a larger amount for perhaps four months in the year. But it does not follow that the London man is better paid, unless, of course, he is at the top of the tree, for nowadays touring is very remunerative, and managers compete to secure talent, which tells in the actor's favor. Still, the big salaries are only to be obtained in the metropolis, which is certainly the actor's Mecca. There only can he secure the great prizes of the calling —a certain reputation can be achieved in the provinces, Dut the hall-mark of London makes it a really valuable pecuniary asset. Naturally, therefore, when a provincial actor is offered a London engagement he jump 3 at the chance. Astute metropolitan managers are, of course, aware of this, and offer comparatively small terms. —The Chance of a Lifetime.— The salary is often less—rarely more than they are receiving on tour, but the chance is too valuable to be lost at any price. Now and then an actor does not regard the matter in this light, and fixes a price for his services, but this is not always wise, as the following story shows. The management of a well-known London theatre devoted to melodTama decided to reduce its expenses. The first step was to notify A, he sage villain at £3O a week, that his services would not be required for the new piece j the second to summon B, a provincial actor of some standing. When the latter arrived he was offered an important part and £l2 a week. " But I .am getting £ls on tour," B expostulated, "and I expect better terms in London." "But consider the chance we are holding out to you. If you make a hit you are at once in a position to command your own terms in future." B remarked that A'b salary must have been larger, and the management retorted that if they wanted to pay so mnch money they would want a man with a name familiar to playgoers. Well, in the end, B left the theatre in a huff, and returned to the country. He left the management in a tight place. There was no other actor suitable for the part who was at that moment available. They had to invite A to return. But A, who knew what had happened, did not respond to the invitation with alacrity. The first result of the new economy was an increase of A's salary of £5 a week. The point of the story is not that managements should not endeavor to economise, but that B missed the chance of a lifetime by not coming to London on any terms. B is still in the provinces, but (owing to the depressing state of business, his manager says) hia salary has been reduced to £lO. A, on the other hand, is now "starring" in. America. —An Over-rated, Calling.— To sum up, there is no artistio calling ' which, while offering great prizes to- the few, offers eo little prospeotto the many. A man or woman embarking upon, this carter should nave at least a small private income. No one ever heard of a lawyer or doctor who pay-for bja

training. On the stage the first" five years i« training, and the novice should be able to support himself during the periods of enforced leisure If in the days when engagements are. plentiful he earns two or three hundred pounds, he may thank his lucky star." The truth is "the romance of the stage" exists only in the eye of the onlooker. The theatre, especially in London, looms too large in the public eye. It has taken up a position out of all proportion to its merits, and one- from which ultimately it must be deposed. But for the actor and actress there is an easy life, a freedom from restraints, and, above all, the pleasure of good company. For there is no better company, no more good-humored,-amusing, tender men and women than those who play in tho theatres, and who, whether they be successful or whether failure be their lot, are unspoiled by the glamor which is over their calling.