A QUARTETTE OF THEATRICAL TRIUMPHS.

Otago Witness, Issue 956, 16 May 1889, Page 31

A QUARTETTE OF THEATRICAL TRIUMPHS.

David Garrick.

Garrick made his debut in Goodman's Field Theatre, London, in October 1741. A worse time could not have been chosen, for during the previous month an aot had been passed regulating stage plays. The result of this act was that many theatres were closed, and hundreds of men and women deprived of their occupation. Many plans, however, were tried for the purpose of evading the statute, and it- was under the shelter of one of these subterfuges that Garrick commenced his professional career. On the 19th of October 1741 placards ■ announced that a concert of vocal and instrumental musio would be given in Goodman's Field Theatre. The musio was to be divided into two parts, and between the parts a representation of " King Richard III" was' to be given by a gentleman who was to act for the first time. The statement was not altogether correct, for Garrick had once acted at Coventry, An average audience was gathered when the curtain rose. Garrick acted splendidly ; and this was noted by two admirable aqtors and critics— Macklin and Smith. Next morning the Post gave the young actor a glowing criticism, which tended to raise the public curiosity. "Pope heard Garrick the second night, and pronounced him •' the first actor of the day." Crowds flocked to Goodman's Field ; the western places of amusement were neglected; and before the performance began, nobles, bishops, and legislators might, have been seen struggling with each other for the empty seats. • His first real venture was a success ; he received £30 a night, besides many benefits. But Garrick's triumphs do not end here. Pitt lauded him to the skies; and Murray, Halifax, Chesterfield, and Sandwich, thought it an honour to count Garrick amongst the number of their friends. Fortune continued to smile .upon him, and he continued acting till the year 1776. When he, pronounced his "Farewell," and trade his final bow from the stage o£ Drury Lane on the 10th of June, there was not a dry eye in the theatre. The whole audience re-echoed the word "farewell" which had fallen from the gifted actor's lips, and in this way ended a true dramatic scene— a scene only dramatic in the sense that it was touchingly real.

Six months previous to Garrick's "farewell" there appeared on the same boards another aspirant —

Sarah Sidelong.

Her part was that of Portia, in the (< Merchaat of Venice"; and she failed. Her delicate and fragile form clothed in a faded dress did not captivate the audience, Sarah was the protege of Garrick, who was greatly disappointed at his apt pupil's disoomfiture, for nervousness had entirely overpowered her. But Garrick did not despair, and another chance was given to the young actress. This time she was to appear as Lady Anne in "Richard III," but in the love scene she forgot the directions given her in the morning, and Garrick's look was so terrible at a Certain part in the play that she fainted. Failure was now her reward ; Melpomene was not propitious. »

Seven years pased ; and by the end of this time the provinces were ringing with the fame of Sarah Siddons. The proprietors of Drury Lane, on the strength of this new popularity, re-engaged her. Two weeks before the advertised date, Sarah was minus a voice and was again afflicted with her old nervousness. Isabella in " The Fatal Marriage " was her role, and when the curtain rose she soon displayed her powers. The sweet tones of her voice melted men into tears, and her tragic acting threw women into hysterics. She had at length triumphed, and the theatre-goers of London were at her feet. " When f reached my own fireside," she tbm graphically writes, "from that scene of reiterated shouts and applause, I was half dead ; and my joy and thankfulness were of too solemn and overpowering a nature to admit of words, or even tears." . The- first night: was a prelude' of what followed. Fox and Sheridan might' have been seen weeping in their seats ; and when great men weep, what of those who are ! not accounted great? The engagement brought

her £1500.' Next year she received £2000 and her two benefits each amounted to £1450. ' ■ . v Her second visit to Edinburgh was are markable one; 2557 applied for I ' seats in a theatre which could only accommodate 650 persons; and it was quite common for footmen to retake on the same night the places newly vacated by their* "masters Audiences are fickle, for when Sarah Siddone first visited Modern Athens' she was very coldly received; the only praise* she 1 got was from a man in the gallery, who called out to this actress at the end of one of her best parts, "That's no sac bad." Our readers may not be aware of the strange coincidence which marked the second visit. * While the actress was representing the heroine (Isabella) where she calls out, " My Birofc I my Biron J n a lady was seized with hysterics and had to be removed. The unfortunate lady'was Miss Gordon, of Gight, afterwards the mother of Lord Byron. , ' ! Sarah Siddons took her leaveof the public on the 29th of June 1812; in 'her great character of Lady Macbeth* I 'She never acted better ; and when the sleeti-walking scene was finished, the audience demanded that the play should terminate, this being in those days the highest form of '- showing approval. Subsequently, she < occasionally consented to reappear on the "stage for charitable ends. Another remarkable theatrical success was that of "The Boy Henry West Betty. Born' of 'Irish parents in the year 1791 at Shrewsbury, he very early displayed histrionic powers. His parents wisely resolved to cultivate these latent possibilities'; they took him first to hear Sarah Siddons,- then acting at Dublin ; thereafter, they entrusted him to the Dublin manager, and he in turn handed him to his prompter, Hough, who saw in the boy a something which he thought would yet do credit to his instructor. He^therefore set about training Betty, who madeihis debut at Belfast in the year 1803. '..The* boy was only 12 years of age, yet he played the parta of Rollo, Douglas, Borneo, and Hamlet ; and so popular did he become that although it was the days of the United Irishmen, when it behoved every one in Belfast to be within doors by 9 o'clock p.m., speoial permission given to theatre-goers returning from Betty's performance. From Belfast he crossed over to Scotland, and made his first appearance in Edinburgh. Jackson, his employer, left no plan untried to herald the youthful Roscius' fame. " Douglas" was the first play acted. Home, its* author, was present, and declared he had never before seen it done so well. - Glasgow received Betty with open arms'; and so intense was the popular regard for him that a journalist who ventured to criticise the " idol " had to flee the city. Macready, father of the great^ William, engaged Betty for his theatre in Birmingham; the sum guaranteed was £10: per night, plus his benefits. When the youthful actor made himself known t6 Maoready, the latter wa» so disappointed that he wished to cancel the engagement. Betty was agreeable, and only asked that his expenses to Edinburgh might be paid; however, Maoready repented, and promised to remunerate according to the success of the venture. The' engagement proved remunerative, for Betty received on an average £60 per night. -~ The proprietors of Drury Lane wished to engage him, but they were of opinion that £50 per night was an exorbitant demand, and so refused to employ him. What Drury Lane would not, do, Covent Garden did, and the speculation proved a literal mine of wealth. During the summer, Betty visited the provinces ; at Liverpool he cleared £1520, and so great was the demand for .seats that crowds of all sexes might have been seen standing at the box-office at 7 o'clock in the morning! In the winter, he returned to London ; and his popularity, was greater than ever. The street in which Covent. .Garden Theatre stands was lined with soldiers ; 'and so great was the crowd, that Drury Lane, ; from the overflow of its neighbour, i flrew..£3oo, and this in the afternoon. , u The play was one of Voltaire's, and Betty -to ;appear as Achmet, the boy .slave. Mrs Inchbald was one of the audience, and iniher eyes the actor made a sorry appearance ; indeed, she | regarded the whole affair as thej-offspring of | a popular whim. But hercritioism stood for little, because was not the popular fancy tickled? Publio taste is very, erratic, for while Betty was drawing crowds, Kemble and Mrs Siddons, Cooke and Mrs Gordon, t were acting to empty benche3.- But the "feeling" had never on any other occasion ran so high ; Bonaparte was entirely forgotten ; and the aristocracy vied with each other in having the company of the Irish boy. Pitt on one occasion moved the adjournment of the House of Commons in order that the members might see Betty act in a oertain part, When the, actor suddenly took ill, bulletins were issued at intervals ; and after he reached the stage of convalescence, Charles James Fox read by, his bedside. Three nights a week he waa at Covent Garden, and on tha off-nights he acted in Drury Lane. For his first three appearances he received £50 j and for the remaining five £100, besides benefits, each of which was worth £1000. The total receipts for the 28 nights at Covent Garden amounted £17,210; the average nightly - drawing waa £640 ; the largest ever reached was £752.

The following autumn saw Betty again in London ; but the spell Was broken. Worth once more became an element in shaping public opinion ; and it was needed. A picture of that period represents Kemble and Betty riding on the same horae; the latter, of course, is first, and the following words are put into his mouth M I dont mean to affront you ; but when two persons ride on a horse, one must ride behind." • When the craze passed away» J^emble resumed bis rightful place in the public mind. The provinces clang to Betty for a time; but they, too, tired of novelty. He was 'soon neglected ; and in consequence he quitted the stage, and £t the age of 15 enrolled himself as a student at Cambridge with a view to. the Church. But his first love was too strong, and he returned to the stage, continuing to act with indifferent success until his death at Southport in the year 1824, > ..,..; .The last of the quartette is , .'< ;Edmiw6 'Keaih >

The miseries hg endured! in th& early part o! hia profewionaJi career seem almost tog

great for any man to have weathered. He married rashly, and the step did not 'lighten , his sorrows. In the midst of such adverse circumstances, Kean always believed he was - a born genius, and' destined to receive the adulation of his fellows. His first engagement was at a theatre in Teignmouth, but - the pittance he received was barely in- * , 6ufficient to procure for himself, wife, , .and child' the necessaries of life. But while fulfilling this engagement, he attracted the , attention of Dr Drury, who strongly recommended Kean to the proprietors of Drury Lane. One of their number was despatched to Teignmouth to witness , Kean's acting, and report upon the result. In consequence of this, visit the ambitious actor was engaged for three years at £9 per week— a large sum for one who before could hardly keep starvation from his door. Kean repaired to London ; but three months had to elapse before he could get into harness ; during this time he had only £8 to keep himself and family. The privations they ,£pdured ,jnust have been terrible. For 130 , »ights Drury Lane had been far below its average drawings, and the directors resolved - to infuse new spirit into their company. • They turned to Kean, and proposed that he should play the part of Eichard III; this Kean refused to do, saying, "Shylock or nothing." Expostulation was useless, and the directors submitted ; success, they thought, was now hopeless. On- the 26th of January 1814 Kean made his first appearance at Drury Lane ; for him it was ananxious time, for he was as yet an unknown man. His fellow-actors treated him with studied coolness; and until the morning of that eventful night no rehearsal was given him. When the rehearsal was finished, the general talk was regarding the certainty of Kean's failure, and even the manager, in petulant disguslj,,said it would never do. That day he resolved to dine ! By some means his wife obtained for him steak and a pint of porter, To him this was indeed a feast. He felt conscious of his near triumph ; and when he left home with a wig and a pair of black silk stockings in his hand, he eaid to hie wife : " My God, I shallgo mad I" The night was unfavourable, for the London streets were covered with two feet of snow. The play went on, and Kean displayed his great abilities, " Hath not a Jew, eyes ?" was received with rounds of applause-; and "My principal 1" was well rendered. But it was in the withering look of scorn with which he received ibhe taunts of Gratiano that the audience saw the might of a genius.. The motion <jf eye, lip, and muscle which Kean displayed had never been seen since the days of Oarrick. And Fanny Kenjble wrote thatshe would never forget his dying eyes in Richard JII. .Blrom that night JCean's triumph was .complete. ' But his nature was passionate $ he could dine with Byronand the beßt of London ' society, and thereafter be the chairman at a pugilistic . supper. Excess told upon his frame ; and whea the time for bidding farer well to the stage o&me, he was unequal to it. ■, He 'last acted asOtheito to the la£o of his son Charles ; and when became to the words, ** Farewell 1 Othello's occupation's, gone 1" he sank back into his son's arms, saying, •' J am dying; speak to the audience for me." ,$o -ended this brilliant career, its noonday was very bright and fair-; But the clouds of sunset hid the beauty we wo.uW. haye .desired to see.