Stories I Have Heard and Told.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XLVIII, Issue 7, 14 August 1912, Page 52

Stories I Have Heard and Told.

By

CYRIL MAUDE

I ALWAYS think that the cream of a humorous story becomes somewhat thin when set forth in cold type. | To my mind it lacks atmosphere r-4ho merry twinkle in the eye of the teller; the facial expression, that emphasising of the peculiarities of the characters in the story which a good raconteur can always convey, and -the delight of being able to cap one story with another when in congenial company. Consequently 1 am not quite sure that my BtOries will prove so entertaining. as might be desired. Not that I consider myself a good raconteur. Any little conceit I might have had <in that direction Was knocked out of me some time ago, when, after telling stories which I thought were funny for half an hour at a children's party, I overheard one youngster contemptuously say to another: — “Bit of a silly ass, isn’t he? Heard •those kids’ tales years ago.” And I fear that the cry of “chestnut” may be repeated by some of the readers of these stories. But perhaps there may be one or two stories of merit which will lead such readers to be indulgent. Apropos of the party incident already mentioned, 1 think the precociousness of the present-day youngster is one of the most amusing features of this age of Ours. I remember on one occasion watching a clever little girl dancing during a rehearsal. Afterwards, I complimented her upon her skill, saying:—■ “I suppose you are going to be a great dancer some day?” “Oh, yes,** she replied, promptly. “’I don’t vant to go in for this talking stuff.” Speaking of children, T might mention that some time ago we wanted a boy who; in order to comply with the licensing laws regarding theatres, should be

over 11, but who should only look about eight year* of age, and wo inserted an ad verti«*4-m<*’»t to that effect. Among pther applicants w.w a little coster lad who was brought by his father —both being glorious in their multitude of **pearlies.” The youngster was quite'a

midget. I doubt if he stood much over two feet in height, and he looked a miniature edition -of Albert Chevalier. I asked his father if he had been on the stage before. “No, sir,” he said; “but he's been on an inquest!” 'Not the least of the troubles of a theatrical manager is the task of dealing with stage aspirants and budding dramatists. Oh, that terrible heap of plays •which confronts me week after week,

scarcely one in twenty worth reading. But they must be examined, otherwise one might miss a gem. One play which was submitted to me consisted of 28 acts, and I calculated that it would have taken about twelve hours to play. Another aspiring playright promised to book all the seats in the first two rows of the dress circle if 1 would produce a play he submitted to me, and probably lie still thinks me a very poor business man for not accepting his offer and the play, which he assured me would beat the record of '’Charley’s Aunt.” I am afraid, however, that my friends would have seriously considered the advisability of placing me under restraint had I produced that play.

This proffered bribe reminds me that a stage-struck country youth, learning that Mrs Maude was very fond of country life, offered to send 'her a couple of pigs if she would give him an engagement. I think, however, the following letter constitutes the most extraordinary application I have ever received for an engagement. At any rate, it is surely the worst-spelt epistle on record: —

“Sir, I think I Should Like to be on the Stcage I am young 19 1 have never Been on' the Steage yet But several Peplc Preseade me to 1 am Lady llelpe hearc whear I am Leaving My Home is not in London would you kindly right Lack and Let me now weather you have a veaeancy 1 have good voyee for singing. Yours respfully.”

In my book on the Haymarket Theatre, published some years ago, I have devoted a chapter to an effort which Frederic Harrison and myself made to produce George Bernard Shaw’s play, “You Never Can Tell”— a play which was withdrawn at the eleventh hour, owing to the amicable differences which arose between the author and myself during rehearsals. I am reminded of this episode by a story which Mr Charles llawtrey tells concerning “G. 8.5. once described as “one of

the most perverse of men." It concerns the same play, ‘You Never Can Tell." llawtrey, aocording to his own words, was seized with a mad idea to produce this play. “I wrote to Shaw,” he says, “and asked his permission. He answered that he would come and read it to me. He did, and began by saying that sometimes he thought it iwas the 'best play that was ever written, and at others he considered it the greatest trash. Any-

how, he was of opinion that it was a pretty poor play, and that if I produced it —well, I must take the consequences. ■Some time afterwards I asked Shaw if I could compress the last act. He declined to allow one line to be altered or cut out. Tn vietw of certain contingencies, I had at last to tell him that I

couldn't produce the play. His answer was: ‘Thank you so much! You have taken a great’load off ray mind.’ Now, •what are you to do with a man like that?” I think I may safely say that of all the parts I have ever played Sir Peter Teazle is, perhaps, my favourite. At any rate, it is the one in the acting of which I have had the greatest, enjoyment. Sir Peter’s peskiness and variations of

temper always strongly appeal io me. It was rather a shock, however, to learn on one occasion that a little girl about, twelve years of age, who had witnessed niy performance, remarked to her mother as she left the theatre-.'-“What an awful old man ‘lie was, maxima, iiud how glad 1 am that he is not my daddy I He's almost as bud as old

Scrooge I read about in the ‘Christmas Carol.’ ” With reference to “The Second in Command,” I might recount the following amusing experience. When we had the dress rehearsal at the Haymarket Theatre a junior officer of cavalry was present. lie watched the proceedings with much interest, and at the end of the evening was questioned as to what was liis opinion of the new play.

“My dear fellow,” lie said, “if you only tone down the yellow stripe on the orderly’s overalls, the piece will go like beans.” I am rather fond of Shetland, and have vistted that part of the kingdom for fishing. Once I imported a servant from those distant isles, whose admirable waiting ait table had much impressed me. Importation, however, did not improve him, and he had before long to return io his native land. One night I asked whether he would like to go to the Haymarket. He betrayed no enthusiasm. “But wouldnlt you like to see me act?” I asked, rather nettled. “ I will go if you want me to,” was bis only reply. I should like to mention that there are one or 'two mysteries, connected with the Haymarket which we have not yet solved. They concern articles left behind by patrons. Perhaps one of our quaintest discoveries was made under a circle seat on a very 'hot day in June. It consisted of an extremely neat pair of corsets, entirely innocent of covering of ainy kind, next to which, with rosy, blushing Checks, Jay a large ripe apple. The mystery of these corsets and that apple has never been cleared up. Nor have we yet been able 'to find out why some good lady patron of our pit was kind enough to leave us a souvenir in the shape of an extremely “fetching” pink silk petticoat and a pair of goloshes, size three. A veil of mystery we should ■also like to pierce hangs over a neat parcel which, upon opening it, was founrt io contain a f ramed photograph of an extremely pretty girl with lovely eyes, ■around, which were carefully wrapped a large pair of what hosiers technically term “gen'L’s knitted nightsocks.” Birring the run of “ The Little Minis-

ter,” the entire company became very, very Scotch, and it was decided that ab their Christmas gathering the bagpipes must figure largely on the programme. A piper from the Scots Guards was secured, and lie strutted up and down, playing for all he was worth. Everybody was hugely delighted. “Wait a mlinuito, boys,” said one member of tlie company, an ex-Army maul

“ I’ll get him to play ‘ The Cock v the North.’ ” When the piper finished what he had been playing, the ex-soldier walked up to him and patted him on 'the shoulder. “ That’s capital, my man,” he said, “ but give us a taste of * The Cock o’ the North.’ ” The piper’s face was a study as he replied: “Mon, A’ve bin playin’ lit for the last quarter o’ an oorl” I always think that this is one of the best stories about my friend Tree, lit was the run of “ A Villages Priest,” and the booking was extremely good. One night when Tree was leaving the theatre he stopped to speak a word with one of the commissionaires, an Irishman, who promptly gave expression to his joy over the success which the piece had met. ■‘Carriages roll up all day long, and the booking is tremendous,” went on the voluble Irishman. “ And Mr. Tree, sorr, if I may say so, it proves to me conclusively that you are one of the limit twenty leading actors in London, sorr, and there's no getting away from the fact, sorr!”

Talking of Tree reminds me that when he first revived “ The Merry Wives of V\ indsor ” at His Majesty’s w e wore drawing large audiences at the Haymarket with the revival of “ Caste.” One night, after the first act, two burly countrymen descended from the gallery, and demanded an audience of our business manager. He was sent for, and on arrival politely asked the nature of their grievance. “ Well, look here, mister,” said the' ■spokesman of the two, “we want our money back. Tree ain’t been on yet, and as for merry wives, why those two giris won’t Ire married in their natural lives!” Hie pet averson, however, of the business manager of a theatre is th© gentleman who has looked upon the wine when it is Ted. Obviously it would be dangerous to the good reputation of the house to admit the unwise diner; at the samp time the greatest care must be taken not to offend him. Besides, your wine biljber is not invariably easy of conviction. The usual plan Is to inform him politely that there has been some mistake over his ticket, and return him his money. Buit even this admirable plan does not invariably succeed. One night a gentleman, who had certainly not been sparing the wine turned up at the theatre, and upon th© usual excuse about a mistake having been made as to his seat, promptly produced two tickets bought at two different places. “I (hie) thought you’d shay that,” he chuckled amiably, “so I bought another 1” Perhaps one of the most amusing Incidents which occurred at the He vmarket was that in which the late King Edward and poor William Terriss figured. His tMa.jeety King Edward— then, of course, Prince of Wales—was in the Royal Box one night with Princess Maud of Wales. 11 was during the run of “ The Marriage of Convenience,” in which poor Terriss played so splendidly; it was his last engagement but one, by the way. Between the acts His Majesty sent for my wife, poor Terriss, and myself, being desirous of expressing his gracious approval of our efforts ito amuse. I must confess that I was not a little nervous, and my conversational powers were at tlieir very WOl’St. Things were going distinctly stiffly when Terriss said, in his cheery, sailorlike manner:—• “We all hope Persimmon will win the Gold Cup to-morrow, sir.” “ Thank you, Mr. Terriss,” replied His Majesty; “ it is most kind of you to say that. 80 you are interested iu my horse!” “ Oh, yes, sir,” was Terriw>’s reply; “we’ve all got our shirts on him!” Needless to s«iy, the King was enormously amused, and all signs of stiffness disappeared after that. Thinking of horse-racing remiimla me of my company some years ago at tlhe Haymarket, a dear old lady, who was persistently “greened” by another member of the company. One day, for instance, site was intensely interested to learn that English rwcehorssa were invariably trained with express trains running beside them. “ Where is the boat.race rowed!” tdio asked oime on the eve of the ’Varsity bowtnace. “Ob, it’s nob always in the some place,” was the ealm reply. " One year they row from Oxford to Cambridge, and the next from Cambridge to Oxford; amt so on, alternately." I am afraid I cannot vouch for the truth of the following rtoriea of Harvey

mid Hourcliior. I give them. however. a« I heard them related. On one occasion Mr. Martin Harvey, nhen on tour, paid a visit to a •travelling waxwork show wliiCh happened at that time to l»o in the same town. In giving a d< script km of the various exhibits, ,t he proprietor of tire show pointed to a very lean, attenuated figure with an order on it. breast, ond said: — •■‘ls Majesty King Georgethe I'ourlli.” W ho?" ilnquircd Mr. Harvey, in surmise. “Why.' 1 thought ttvorge the Fourth was a’fat man.” • ’ ■ ” Bid yer. then?" sneered tire showman. • Well, yer wouldn’t he very fat il roll'd been without wittlcs as long <is

Waxworks also figure in the story told by Mr. Boiirchitw. who, though of French Ifugueaot cxtraulion. pronounces his name “ Uowcher.’.’ On one occasion he happened t o be passing A'group "of labourers who were examining a playbill whereon his name loomed large. “Wor be the use o' bringing these for.rin luictov blokes up "ere, I wauter know?” “’E heint a fiirriner. I heard at thcaytcr they' call him ‘Bowchair.'” “Then wot do ’e want to spell it wrong on the bill fur? I reckon -t be all a ketch-penny 'biz, so I’ll spend my sixpence to see the new talkin' donkey at 'the waxworks: there be no (lies on ’im, anyhow.”