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That simple little comedy looks a trifle odd wedged between the two high landmarks of Lady Windermere s Fan and The Second Mrs Tanqueray. R. C. Carton, the most modest of dramatists, was the first to acknowledge that his play was on a humble plane. He wrote to Alexander rather ruefully that he, a mere piece of earthenware, found himself continually floating down the stream with great iron pots in too close a proximity.
Modern criticism, rightly or wrongly, judges every new piece not on its merits but in direct comparison with some other or others and this is hard on earthenware.
Carton would not have lain under that disadvantage to-day when, there being few theatres with permanent managements engaged in producing plays, there are no immediate standards of comparison. Nor could he have suffered at a date later than that of this letter when he had written Lord and Lady Algy and himself set a standard difficult to reach. But the position which Liberty Hall occupied in the order of Alexander’s productions was a trifle unlucky for its author. It was a small modern fairy story. Two girls, whose father had died, find the estates entailed and themselves without a penny. The heir is a young unknown cousin supposed to
be somewhere in the Himalayas. The heir appears disguised as a traveller in soap, and hands them a letter begging them to remain at the Hall until he returns. The elder sister’s pride will not allow her to live there on sufferance. But there has been a misalliance in the family, and an old bookseller in Bloomsbury who is next door to bankruptcy offers the two girls a home on the strength of his distant relationship. In the parlour behind the shop, then, the characters gather for the rest of the play. The elder sister tries and fails to sell her amateurish paintings; Mr Owen, the supposed traveller in soap, occupies the second floor back; and Mr Todman, the bookseller, in spite of his excellent comedy lines, gets nearer and nearer to ruin. The young heir is, of course, the fairy godmother. He rescues Mr Todman from his oppression; he teaches the elder sister, who to tell the truth is a bit of a snob, that a girl, even with the traditions of “the Hall” at her back, may still find consolation in the love of a traveller in soap; and he saves the younger sister from being run away with by a young gentleman who has omitted the preliminary of a marriage certificate. It is a play, however, which can only be fairly judged when it is seen. It was meant to be acted. The lines were written to be spoken rather than read. It caught on. It ran for twenty-four weeks, earned on its London run more money than Lady Windermere s Fan, and two years later gained the cachet of Balmoral.
An extract from a letter written by Carton which refers to it may find a place here:
89 LADBROKE ROAD
NOTTING HILL GATE
Sunday
MY DEAR ALEXANDER, —
The cheque reached me in perfect safety, and my pleasure at the amount! was not entirely selfish.
May I take this opportunity of giving my personal and written adhesion to the opinion of those who ascribe a very large proportion of our joint success to the perfection of the acting and the excellence of the “tout ensemble”.
No dramatic author was ever more fortunate in his company — and his manager! One little word which I hope you will pardon. Many friends of yours and mine who have seen this play and are delighted with it — have hinted to me — that they thought some of the scenes were taken too slowly — and that most of the voices were pitched in too low a key. I mention this because I’m bound to say my own view of the matter is the same. I saw the first act on Thursday night and was impressed with the fact that the first half of it, especially, was taken too slow — and too low — ! The first scene between the girls halted I thought. My wit (exquisite as some of the papers say it is) will not bear any lingering over.
I remember Irving once told me at rehearsal to be “confidential but loud”! This perhaps was not an altogether easy “stage direction”, but you might urge them all (in the comedy scenes particularly) to be “Idyllic” — but to hurry up!!!
Once more forgive me. I am so happy and so proud about it all that it is rather a severe struggle to me to even hint at a qualification where all is so admirable.... In any case believe in the sincerity of my gratitude, and my regard!
Always yours,
R. C. CARTON
I quote the letter for it shows that a fault about which complaints are loud to-day was as rife then; and it illustrates the relationship which used usually to exist between Alexander and the authors who wrote for his theatre. There was once an aged bookseller who said, “Nobody will meddle with authors: they create general apprehension and terror”. Disputes there will certainly be, as there have always been, between authors and managers, and sometimes the disputes have been serious. I have never doubted that the turtle which smashed in the skull of Aeschylus was not dropped by an eagle at all but was hurled by the manager who was producing the Agamemnon after a more than usually acrimonious rehearsal. But the disputes at the St. James’ Theatre, except in rare cases, ended with the conclusion of the rehearsals, and although Alexander’s correspondence with authors was very large, I can find no trace that he was ever terrified by them or apprehended their approach. Whatever quarrels he had were composed without blood, and more often than not the quarrellers were shortly working together again at the St. James’. Alexander’s letter-box, indeed, is full of such cordial phrases as those which Carton’s letter contains. An author was an honoured person in King Street. His interference in the actual conduct of the rehearsals was welcome, at all events up to the moment when it became necessary to rehearse without interruption. His wishes were consulted over the cast and the scenery and the music to be played during the intervals between the acts. I remember that towards the end of the rehearsals of The Witness for the Defence, Alexander asked me, “How do you want the programme made out? That ought to be settled now.” I was astonished, for the management had been in existence for twenty-one years and was likely to have its own methods. But Alexander answered, “No! We live here by agreeing with our authors”. I preferred that the characters should be set down in the programme in the order of their entrance upon the stage as was commonly done in the French theatres; and that system was then, I think, for the first time adopted at the St. James’. A trifling matter, but from trifling matters things of moment may be inferred. The wind was tempered to the lamb and the lamb was not shorn.
Liberty Hall was produced in December 1892. But before that date The Second Mrs Tanqueray was in Alexander’s hands and the title-role was being discussed. The play was intended for John Hare and the Garrick Theatre, but John Hare erred on the side of cautiousness. He found the play too daring and refused to produce it. Alexander quivered a little no doubt. The Second Mrs Tanqueray was the stark uncompromising tragedy of a woman whom the polite world was very willing to read about in novels but had only seen presented with the realism of the stage in the little theatres of the dramatic societies. In those corners, indeed, the New Drama, as its proud subscribers called it, might have remained, its fresh air still bottled for many years; until, indeed, the end of the war with its grand explosion of all restraints breached the walls of a million conventions. There was so much shouting in the comers, so much loud beating of little drums, that ordinary people were getting a little tired of it.
It needed more than a small amount of courage in the days when Shaw’s Mrs Warrens Profession and Ibsen’s Ghosts were forbidden audacities, for the manager of a theatre which drew its clients from the decorum of Mayfair and the respectability of the suburbs, to put up The Second Mrs Tanqueray even for a series of matinees. The “commercial” manager indeed who in his service to the art of the theatre still tried, the dreadful creature, to make both ends meet and indeed overlap at the end of the year — it was he who threw open the door. The Mrs Tanquerays up till now when they appeared upon the boards ended with pretty deaths in an atmosphere of tears and repentance and forgiveness. The public had wept too. It left its sense at home and brought only its sensibility to the stalls. It wept over its Frou-Frous and its Ladies
of the Camellia and went back comfortably with the last words of “Cigarette” upon its lips: “So best”. Pinero and the Company of the St. James’ were to send it back if not uncomfortable, at all events a trifle exalted by the rare pleasure which comes from the spectacle of high achievement.
But so far the play has not been cast and only one name has been suggested for the poignant character of the Second Mrs Tanqueray.
“I can only say”, Pinero wrote on October 28th, “that I hope we shall not be debarred from the privilege of soliciting Miss Nethersole’s services.”
Miss Olga Nethersole, who had not yet abandoned the stage to devote herself to social service in the East End of London, was Pinero’s first choice, and again and again he came back to it. But she was under an engagement to John Hare, and it became more and more doubtful whether she could be secured. So by November 17th, Pinero was nursing another idea. He had seen Miss Janet Achurch play Nora in The Doll’s House some years before at the Novelty Theatre and thought her a remarkable actress. Since then, however, she had toured in Australia, and that experience to his thinking had “accentuated certain vices of style”. He added, “Certainly a few years ago she would have been the best Paula obtainable, and I had her in my mind for the part up to the time of her reappearance at the Avenue.... Perhaps we could do something with her if not for Paula, for Ellean!”
By December 21st, nearly three weeks after the first performance of Liberty Hall, Alexander was considering whether it would not be wise to delay the production of The Second Mrs Tanqueray until he could put it into the evening bill. He made the suggestion to Mrs Pinero quite informally at a party, giving as his reason that Miss Winifred Emery might then be available. Pinero’s reaction to the suggestion, however, was not as favourable as one might have expected it to have been. He wanted his play produced, and though, as many and many a letter of his proves, he was the very last man to wish to shorten by a night the run of another man’s play, he had in the arrangement for a series of matinees a more or less immediate opportunity which could do hurt to no one.
The great drawback to my mind is the delay it would occasion me in putting into evidence such work as I have been labouring at during the present year.
His heart Vas set upon the early production of his play. He was no doubt conscious that in depth and truth and emotional range it was on a higher plane than any work he had done before. It might not be so perfectly worded a piece of work as his hilarious farce Dandy Dick. But it aimed higher. If it was successful, he could not, in Carton’s metaphor, fear collision with the biggest iron pot upon the stream. Here is a cry from the heart of any dramatic author:
The fittest time to begin rehearsing a play is, in my opinion, the day after it is finished.
On the other hand:
It strikes me, my dear Alexander, that in the enjoyment of your present success, and in the contemplation of the almost assured freedom from risk and anxiety for the rest of this season which this success gives you, you may feel The Second Mrs Tanqueray to be a little bit of an encumbrance. If you should entertain any such thought you will not, I hope, hesitate to express it. Should you even care to go so far as to discuss the advisability of entirely quashing our agreement, so that you may be relieved of what is now perhaps a burden and I given the freedom of trying my luck elsewhere, I will meet you, or see you here, at any time you appoint.
One of the dangers of waiting for Miss Emery is that one could get no absolute assurance that she would be able to act next season. Her health might be poor — a dozen chances might intervene.
Pardon this untidy scribble.
Yours sincerely, ARTHUR W. PINERO
Alexander, however, was not unduly weighed down by the burden. Nor did the possibility that Miss Winifred Emery might suddenly fall ill alarm him. So from Westgate-on-Sea, in the month of January 1893, Pinero is writing that he will be free early in Lent “to come to you and work on The Second Mrs Tanqueray”. He has returned to his first choice for Paula.
Will Hare allow Miss Nethersole to act in your theatre in the morning while she is appearing in Diplomacy in the evening?
Alexander had proposed yet another actress in Miss Nethersole’s place and the proposal seems to have tormented Pinero.
I do wish heartily I could bring myself to see her in the part but I writhe when I think of it. There are so many elements in Paula which would direct attention, I fear, to the indisputable maturity. I wish on your side you could imagine Mrs Beerbohm Tree as Ellean. This I fancy would be a good thing.
Alexander had in the course of these confabulations mooted the subject of incidental music, which was more commonly used then as an adjunct to emotion at the end of an act than it is now. The subject was dealt with briefly by Pinero and without enthusiasm:
As to incidental music, I can’t see that anything of this sort is required. Don’t you think “incidental” scraping vulgarises a piece that doesn’t belong to either “the kettle-on-the-hob” or “the Blood-on-the-Breadknife” order of play? But of course I am open to any suggestion you are kind enough to make.
Pinero knew his own mind, but of course he was open to persuasion — in fact just as open as Sir Anthony Absolute in Sheridan’s comedy of The Rivals; and no more, so far as I can find, was heard of the incidental music.
By March 16th, 1893, it had been agreed between the author and the manager that The Second Mrs Tanqueray, instead of making the halting sort of appeal which a series of matinees would mean, should take its place for better or for worse in the evening bill as soon as Liberty Hall had run its course. The letter of Pinero which establishes this agreement contains two other items which deserve a place in any record of the St. James’ Theatre. For one, Alexander was thinking of flaying a version of Rip Van Winkle.
You would do wisely [Pinero replies], I believe, to follow the notion up. Get hold of the Boucicault play and the libretto of the more recent opera and compare them with Washington Irving’s story. I will read these things too, if you like, and, should my engagements prevent me from actually doing the work for you, you shall at least have the benefit (!?) of my advice in the matter.
Nothing ever came of this notion, but it would have been interesting to have seen what the most advanced of the dramatic authors of the day would have made of that old legend. The second item was Alexander’s decision to close his theatre and reply for the Royal General Theatrical Fund on the night when Pinero was to take the chair at the Annual Dinner. The decision was at once a tribute to the warm friendship which existed between the two men, and an act of more than common generosity. I suppose that we should call it a gesture nowadays, but since at the time when the decision was taken, Liberty Hall was playing to as much money as the old St. James’ could hold, it was a little more practical than most of those we hear about.
Still the cast of The Second Mrs Tanqueray was as far as ever from being settled. One young lady was according to Pinero “a born understudy. You know what I mean. There was everything, words, actions, business, faithfully reproduced — everything but the feeling, the emotion of the character.” This lady, therefore, did not play Ellean. Nor was he any longer thinking of Janet Achurch for Paula. “She is a little bit of a genius”, but his confidence in her, never very strong, had faded altogether. There was Miss Hanbury — yes. “The best, the most attractive would be Miss Neilson.” If Miss Emery would not bind herself for November — it looked at this date as though Liberty Hall would last the season out — they must put her out of their minds; and his hopes switched back to Olga Nethersole:
I don’t think that Miss Nethersole will be in Hare’s autumn bill unless he re-opens his theatre with a continuation of Diplomacy.
But there is just one sentence in this letter which points to the lady who in the end played the exacting part and in one night flashed to a leading place amongst the actresses of the world:
I will start my tour of the playhouses to-morrow night at the Adelphi.
For a year or two Herman Vezin had been
touring the country with a repertoire of old plays and a young tragedienne and pupil in whose future he had unbounded faith. Arriving at a town of the Eastern Counties within reasonable reach of London, he had sought the presence of the London managers and critics at a matinee of Sheridan Knowles’ play, The Love Knot. John Hare, one of the Gatti brothers, representatives of the Press, and others went down by train to the performance, and one and all came back with their mouths full of praise — not of the promised tragedienne, but of a quite unknown young actress who played the light comedy part, or a part of comedy as light as that turgid author could make it: — a Mrs Patrick Campbell. In due course she was engaged for the Adelphi Theatre, where she appeared in a melodrama and strengthened the high opinion which had already been formed of her.
Four days after his earlier letter Pinero wrote again. Miss Maude Millett, whom Alexander had suggested for Ellean “held the field.” As for Mrs Patrick Campbell, she was playing in such a poor piece that it was difficult to form an estimate of her powers. “She is, however, a very interesting actress, so much makes itself apparent.” Pinero, however, found in her “a certain artificiality of style, engendered doubtless by her present situation and surroundings”. Whether she could at the St. James’ Theatre rid herself of it was a riddle which Pinero did not pretend to solve.
I should like you to see her [he wrote]; if you have another attack of influenza you might lie up in a box at the Adelphi.
Another two days, however, and it began to look as if another play would be required at the St. James’ before the season ended. Liberty Hall was fading slowly out, and though not a character of the cast had been definitely agreed upon, Pinero was eager that The Second. Mrs Tanqueray should no longer be denied her opportunity. Leaving Paula out of consideration for the moment he was quite satisfied with the cast Alexander proposed, and as for Paula, if neither Miss Neilson nor Mrs Campbell could be secured, he was willing to consider whether the lady of undeniable maturity could not be so reverently and artistically restored as to revive a sense of her original architectural proportions. “But Mrs Patrick Campbell would be an interesting experiment.”
Complete Works of a E W Mason Page 841