WILKIE COLLINS.

Lyttelton Times, Volume LXXII, Issue 8956, 21 November 1889, Page 2

WILKIE COLLINS .

That well-known actor, Mr Wybert Eeeve, has lately given to the Argus a rather voluminous article of reminiscences, of different literary men cl propos of the death of the late novelist, Wilkie Collins. His first acquaintance with the author of “ The Moonstone " began when “ The Woman in White ’* had been dramatised. A telegram summoned Mr Eeeve to London when he had accepted the part of Heartright. “The rehearsals commenced the next day, and the second morning Mr Wilkie Collins attended—a short, moderately thick-set man, with beard, moustache, and whiskers slightly tinged with white; a bent figure, caused by suffering; a full, massive, very clever head and forehead; and bright, intellectual eyes, looking out of strong eye-glasses mounted in gold. He asked to be introduced to me, and an acquaintance then commenced, which ripened into strong friendship, only ending the other day with his death." The rehearsals were terribly severe, and the leading ladies difficult to deal with, Collins being unlike most authors who are dogmatic, determined, and self-assertive when their pieces are in question. On one occasion, through the feebleness of the stage manager, the ladies wasted two hours in a quarrel as to why they could not both keep their faces to the audience at a certain moment. Says Mr Beeve : •« Wilkie Collins looked through it all » perplexed in the extreme/ not knowing which side to take, but he was gentlemanly, patient, and good tempered, always ready for a smile if a chance offered itself, or a peaceful word, kindly suggesting when a point was to be gained, very courteous to the ladies.- I marvelled at him, for authors as a rule are the reverse of patient when their own pieces are rehearsing. The difficulties were got through, and the play was a great success. At the end of the third act there was a loud call for the author, and Collins, after a good deal of trouble, was induced to come on to the stage for the purpose of responding to it. He was suffering a good deal from nervous anxiety. To my surprise the two ladies were waiting for him at the wing, each anxious to be taken on, and determined, if possible, to allow the other no advantage. He was wise, no doubt; although the call was his, he marched them both on before the curtain.” Mr Beeve then tells the story of how he became possessed —the word is hardly too strong, considering how completely he has made the character his own—how he became possessed of the part of Count Fosco. vining broke down, Mr Beeve had understudied the part, made a great hit with it in the Provinces, and soon after Wilkie Collins gave him all future rights in the piece. COLLINS AND HIS CEITICS. “Collins was often amused, sometimes angry, at the opinions written, often expressed, as to the improbability and extravagance of his characters and his plots. * I wish/ he once said to me, ‘ before people make such assertions they would think what they are talking or writing about. I know of very few instances in which fiction exceeds the probability of reality. With regard to my novels. I'll tell yon where I got many of my plots from. 1 was in Paris, wandering about the streets and amusing ,

myself by looking into the shops. I came to an old book place—half shop and half store, and I found some dilapidated volumes of records of French crime—a sort of French Newgate Calendar. I thought here is a prize. So it turned out to be. In them I found some of my best plots—“ The Woman in White" was one. The plot of that has been called outrageous—the substitution and burial of the mad girl for Lady Qlyde, and the incarceration of Lady Glyde as the mad girl. It was true, and it was from the trial of the villain of the plot—the Count Fosco of the novel—l got my story.’ ” BHCH IB PAMS. Collins, like other celebrities, sometimes found out that the world at large is ignorant. Mr Reeve and the novelist were just about to set off on an American tout together. Mr Reeve was staying at Scarborough and went with a doctor friend to see a patient, a cottOnspinner. Two Manchester men were there. “So Mr Reeve,” said the patient, “ the doctor-tells me you are just off to America P” “ Yes, in a few weeks’ time,” I replied. “ Going by yourself ?” “ No, with a friend.” “Mr Reeve is going with Mr Wilkie Collins,” said the doctor. “Oh, indeed,” replied the patient, and the name was passed round the three merchants. “Collins,” said one, thinking; “Wilkie Collins,” said the other, evidently trying to recall the name. “ Never heard of him,” said the patient. “ Nor I.” “ Nor I,” the others replied. “Mr Reeve,” asked one of the gentlemen, “Wilkie Collins, what Manchester house does he represent P” COLLINS AND THE YANKEES. Wilkie Collins escaped* the interviewer no more than greater men. For the first, few weeks of the tour the interviews were the pest of that quiet shy man's life. Sometimes the Yankee reporter was too smart. One thing greatly amused ns. Before leaving England he found himself in want of a rough cheap suit of clothes to wear travelling, and driving through the city he turned into Moses* great emporium, and bought a cheap shoddy suit. The New York Herald, in describing Collins, gave an elaborate account of his person. He was wearing at the time the slop suit, and the description wound up with the statement that Mr Collins was evidently a connoisseur in dress. “He had on one of those stylish West Sad tailor's suits of a fashionable cut by which an Englishman of taste is known!” Another rather amusing circumstance occurred. He arrived in an up-country town in the afternoon to give a reading in the evening, and was washing himself after a long railway journey, in his bedroom, taken for the night, when a servant in the hotel opened the door without knocking, and asked—- “ Are you the Britisher as is come down’ 'ere to do a bit o’ reading?” “ Yes, I suppose I am the man.” “ Well, 'ere’s some o* the big bugs and bosses o’ this 'ere town come jist to see you.” Some of the chief men in the town had come to pay their respects and welcome him.

“That’s awkward," replied Collins; “I am just dressing.” " I guess they'll wait till you're scrubbed your skin and put on your pants. Jist say when you’re ready.” With that he coolly walked to thewindow, opened it—it was a very cold day—and, leaning out, commenced leisurely spitting into the yard below. He was cuewing tobacco.

"My friend," said Collins, "when you have done spitting, would you mind closing that window P ” "Well, I don’t see the harm it’s a-doing

you.” A “ Perhaps not; but if you will shufclfer. and tell the gentlemen below I will be with them directly, it will do me more good.” “ You’d better tell them yerself, I guess. If you objects to my spitting out o’ this winder, I objects to yer trying to boss this establishment; so jist yon tell ’em yerself.” And putting his hands in his pockets, he leisurely lounged out of the room, and left Wilkie Collins standing in amazement at the fellow’s impudence. FEEBLE HEALTH AND GENEROUS NATURE, The lecturing tour which was the object of the novelist’s visit to America did not succeed—he was by no means fitted for such an undertaking. He had not the necessary power:—" His health was continually bad ; his letters always refer to it. "1 am only just recoving from a severe attack of gout in the eyes.” " I am away in France so as to get the completest possible change of air and scene. God knows I want it.” Another time he is in Venice, trying to shake off this continuous or " I am cruising in the Channel, and getting back my strength after a long attack.” From my first knowledge of him in 1871 he had been in the habit of taking opium in considerable doses, and had frequent injections of morphia to relieve the neuralgic pains he suffered from besides the gout. His diet was singular. At dinner he would sometimes take some bread soaked in meat gravy only. In the night he was fond cf cold soup and champagne. For exercise he often walked up and down stairs so many times by the aid of the banisters. Frequent suffering made his habits a little eccentric, perhaps. And I am quite certain the frequent use of opium had its effect upon his writing in later years. At Christmas, 1883,1 received a Christmas card from him, a picture of English oaks, on which he had written,"A little bit of English landscape, my dear Reeve, to remindyou of the old country, and the old friend."

In America, after long talks and consultations, he gave Mr Beeve proof of his good nature in allowing him to condense three scenes of The Woman in White into one.

Also he had dramatised “No Name/* and, in wishing to provide me with another character than Fqsoo, suggested Captain Wragge, but he was most dissatisfied with his work, and asked me if I would write another, and then we would compare the two. I did so. The only fault he found was I had in the last act kept, too closely to his novel, which 1 had of course done purposely, so as not to hurt his pride in his work. To my surprise he gave me a carte blanche to do as I liked with the characters. The result so pleased him that he never allowed his own version to be played, and mine was the only one acted afterwards. Very few authors—in fact, I cannot name one—would have done the same. THE END. In 1886 he wrote to Mr Beeve regarding the splendid price he had obtained from the English and Colonial rights of the novel he was then publishing, and that gentleman says : “I cannot better close these random memories of one whose friendship I valued and whose death I lament than by quoting the lost words of this letter: *As for mf health, considering that I was sixty-two years old last birthday, that I have worked hard as a writer (perhaps few literary men harder), and that gout has tried to blind me first and kill me afterwards on more than one occasion, I must not complain. Neuralgia aud nervous exhaustion generally have sent me to the sea to be patched up, and the sea is justifying my confidence in it. I must try, old friend, and live long enough to welcome you back when you return to be with us once more."'