BRAVE LILIAN BAYLIS

Evening Star, Issue 22882, 14 February 1938, Page 16

BRAVE LILIAN BAYLIS

GAVE HER LIFE TO THE THEATRE [By Harcoukt Williams, in ‘ John o’ London’s Weekly.’] Lilian Baylis even in her lifetime had become a legend, and someone has already called her a saint. Certainly for the last 40 years sh" kept a steady flame of faith burning before the altar of her God. Tho' saints of old l were wont to be uncomfortable, difficult people for fjdl their holiness and divine love and undoubtedly Lilian Baylis, though neither uncomfortable nor essentially difficult, was unusual. She did not fit at all into the correct mould of a successful theatre manager, or even of a woman of great affairs but she was both par excellence. It has been hinted that her knowledge of music had little more value than that acquired by any youngster who learns to play the violin, that her powers as a director of plays had even less. Of the first I am not in a position to judge, but of tho second, although she had little understanding of the technique of acting, she was absolutely sound on the final result. She knew when the spirit of the play was beino- expressed and when it was being exploited without consideration for its author’s true intention. She understood the manifold difficulties that beset and try a working actor, the stern responsibilities of a producer, and as far as was humanly possible she “ cleared all lines ” for them. She knew, too, the essential broad qualities that would in the case of Shakespearean drama carry its message to the back row of her beloved gallery. NEVER INTERFERED. During the four years that I worked for her as a producer she never once interfered with my direction. She saw that criticism came to me, sometimes most surprisingly and often in ways that seemed crude andi ungenerous, until the deep affection for herself which she aroused in me taught me to understand that rough graining which a carpenter may feel when he handles a piece of untrimmed solid oak. She cultivated no personal prestige, no -pride of office, and so gathered about her a permanent staff that worked for years with unflagging zeal. She held on to them because they did the work she wanted them to do loyally and well, and they have stood by her because they believed in her and, above all, loved her. It will be largely owing to the quiet, unseen strength of this band of workers that the Old Vic and Sadler’s Wells will weather the tragic storm through which they are now passing, and be guided to future service under whatever captain takes the helm. FUNDAMENTALLY RELIGIOUS. All those who have worked for Lilian Baylis must know that the secret of her power was her faith, and to avoid misunderstanding let me say at once that by faith I mean absolute trust in the love and power of God. By such faith, which was never absent from her mind, miracles may be worked by the spiritually great. She was fundamentally a religious woman, but it was never (to my knowledge) exhibited in texts and psalm singing. It appeared! in her everyday life "to a remarkable degrGe. It shone supremely in the house she built upon the rock of her work-in the Old Vic and Sadler’s Wells. They were part of her religion, and were never separated from it for one moment. They became alive because of it, because of the affection with which she imbued them and the sense of humour that'she claimed for her idea of the eternal. ** X must find some money, she said to me once. “ I keep praying for money, but the Almighty only sends me penny collections.” She “ cared ” for her work with every particle of her mind and body. Nothing mattered except its well-being. She rightly believed that was the most important thing in life that she had to do, and she did it. Daily she would be at her office, directing, planning, coping with immediate difficulties, and "nightly she would he either at Sadler’s Wells or at the Old Vic, screened from the public and' actors behind a little dark curtain at tho back of her box, coping with unending correspondence, but keeping her hand, at the same time, on the pulse of the theatre. PAWNS IN THE GAME. When she went over the river to see a player some player who later might be lured to act for her, she would always look in at Islington on the way there, and at the Waterloo road before she went home. And although she loved us all without a doubt, we were pawns in the game of giving Shakespeare, opera, and ballet to the “ people ” ; and when we had done our job we must make room for others so that the game might go on unhindered. No one who had worked for her and shared her vision could wish for better treatment. If she could give everything in her life, surely we could give our little pride. , , Moreover, she never lied to us, ana although the naked truth is often more acceptable when slightly veiled yet starkness has a quality that will indubitably win the respect of children, and to her we were her children. THE TWO PORTRAITS. There is a story told which is an example of her quick integrity of repartee. I am not certain of the actual facts, but the essentials are true. In the vestibule of the Old Vic hang a largo portrait of Emma Cons, the founder of the theatre, and a smaller one of King George the Fifth. On an occasion Queen Mary humorously drew attention to the smallness of her husband’s picture in comparison. “ Oh,” retorted Lilian Baylis, “ Emma Cons did more for the Old Vic than he has.” What monarch could desire a happier example of clear truth from a subject P For the first 20 years of my life I lived under the sovereignty of Queen Victoria. I had never thought that anyone else could wear the crown. Edward, as Prince of Wales, seemed as permanent an institution as his mother, and I knew nothing of death except from what I had seen portrayed in the theatre as an exciting but unreal experience. So when the news came from Osborne that a reign of over 60 years had come to an end I felt as though tho bottom had fallen out of my -world. HER INDOMITABLE SPIRIT. To-day, in a lesser degree, tho death of Lilian Baylis the impression that the laws of Nature have been violated. For so many years, and during four particularly, she has seemed to me so inevitable. She has been ill from time to time, but seldom seriously enough to be absent from her ■qfiice in the Waterloo road, or not to be able to go over, swathed to the eyes iu shawls and a battered fur cape, to Sadler’s Wells after she had seen the curtain up at the Old Vic. Such was her indomitable spirit that one hugged

the belief that she would overcome tho weakness of tho flesh .as she had_ the dilemmas and pitfalls that the intricate management of two theatres presenting opera° ballet, and drama must inevitably involve. One day five years ago, when she was driving me over from tho Old Vic to the Wells, she talked to me very intimately about her health —she was then recovering from a serious operation, and not very surely. She said that she felt the time had come for her to lay down her heavy burden ; and how gladly she would do it now if only she knew who could take it up. The thought of her successor must have troubled her mind of late, though I feel certain that her ‘faith would assure her that ultimately the right person for the job would be found. A HOMELY WOMAN. The Victorian age called forth many noble, public-spirited women, and if Lilian Baylis is perhaps the last, by no means is she the least. She belongs to that age particularly because she was a homely woman. There was no obvious brilliance, no toadying to “smart sets” either in the theatre or society. The meaning of the word snob was unknown to her. Prince or road sweeper, film star or university professor, all must join her in a cup of tea—figuratively speaking—if they were going to help the Old Vic, and few, if any, denied her invitation. As recently as this summer, when the Old Vic company took their production of ‘ Hamlet ’ to Elsinore, she sat up all night in the open air during a long, strenuous rehearsal, sending flasks of hot coffee and drinks of a less temperate nature to cheer and comfort her actors., Fortunately friends about her, realising that she would presently feel the cold, which grew no less nipping than Hamlet’s eager air as the night advanced, kept laying cloaks and rugs upon her until, when the grey light of dawn crept over those historic battlements, it illumined a hill of wraps from whose midst those faithful mother-eyes still notched. HER LEGACY. When death comes, not only does the spirit leaye the body, but the intimate objects with which the loved one wos closely associated appear to lose their, essence. As the eye wanders pitifully from pen to hook or ornament they are now hut shapes -without the essential‘quality—dumb, inanimate. Butin the case of Lilian Baylis there is a saving grace from this customary human regret. The bricks and mortar that she sanctified, the glorious work that she has achieved for the theatre in three separate branches will be redolent of her personality for many decades, and the impetus that she has given to this colossal undertaking -will carry it onwards if we, both public and artisans of the theatre, prove ourselves worthy of the legacy, and surely no legatees could be charged with a more sacred duty.