She laughed and replied:
"Oh, yes; I see it's all right."
At the foot of the stairs I encountered the Eton boy with the serious face. He had stayed till the very last. I said:
"Well, weren't you bored with all the rot I've been talking?"
He replied:
"No; it was awfully jolly. I wish there had been more of it."
There was no affectation about the boy, and his simple answer gave me much satisfaction.
If I had not spoken, he would have said nothing. How very different from the lady who has been talking on the staircase at the top of her voice, who has never once listened or even glanced towards the piano, but who, on seeing you pass by, greets you with:
"What a wonderful man you are! Howcanyou think of all these things? You are quite too delightful!"
I have frequently been amused at the amount of diffidence displayed by people when handing me the honorarium. Sometimes the hostess will thank me profusely, and, in shaking hands, squeeze the little envelope into my palm.
Some ladies will say loudly, "Good-bye, and thank you so much." Then softly, "I will write you to-morrow."
Some ladies will whisper mysteriously, "You will hear from my husband to-morrow." This at first sounds rather awful; but the husband's communication is pleasant and most welcome.
ThePall Mall Gazettepublished a most amusing sketch of an elderly gentleman paying me in specie in the middle of the room, and dropping the sovereigns all over the floor.
A very wealthy gentleman drove up to my father's house, about fifteen years ago, in a carriage and pair and with gorgeous livery, for the purpose of securing my services. I was out of town at the time; so my father mentioned my fee, which was not very exorbitant in those days. The gentleman was not inclined to give more than half; so my discriminating parent "closed" with him. I do not mean in the pugilistic sense of the word, but that he accepted the terms on my behalf. I fulfilled the engagement; and when I saw the lovely mansion, with its magnificent drawing-room, I wondered a little at my host having suggested a reduction in the fee. I do not wonder now: I have experienced still more wonderful things since then. The gentleman himself was very kind, as far as I remember. I was only a beginner, and in all probability he did not even know my name perfectly. He paid me on the first landing, and a shilling slipped through his fingers and rolled down the staircase. I was about to roll down after it, when he stopped me, saying:
"Please don't trouble; here's another."
As I went out of the door I beheld my host and about four liveried servants hunting for the lost coin.
As far as my own feelings are concerned, I experience no particular delicacy as to the manner in which I am paid. I prefer the cheque to be sent on a day or two after; and I least like the medical-man custom of slipping the fee into the hand as you depart. You cannot, under such circumstances, shake hands naturally or with comfort; and there is always the chance of a sovereign falling on the oilcloth, to say nothing of the risk of banging your heads together as you both politely dive after it. Why should I be bashful, when I see members of the aristocracy selling goods over a counter, and taking the money and giving change in exactly the same manner as the ordinary tradesman?
A young gentleman once called upon me. He explained that he was acting as a sort of ambassador for a friend of his, Mrs. ——, of Mayfair, who wished me to dine at her house. I replied that I had not the honour of the lady's acquaintance, and, though appreciating her kind invitation, did not exactly see how I could very well avail myself of it. He said that Prince Somebody-orother and La Comtesse de Soandso would be dining there, and Mrs. —— would be so pleased if I would join the party, and sing a little song after dinner.
"Oh," I said, "if Mrs. —— wishes to engage me professionally, that is another matter, and, if I am at liberty, I will come with much pleasure."
"Oh," said the ambassador, "I fancy Mrs. —— is under the impression that if she includes you in her dinner-party, it is an understood thing that you sing afterwards."
"I am afraid I do not understand that," I said. "It would not pay me to do so. I only consume about ten shillings' worth of food and wine, and my terms are more than that."
Sometimes, at private houses, I am retained to take part in a concert, and not give the entire entertainment myself; and it is astonishing to what expense a hostess will sometimes go to entertain and amuse her guests.
I used to be engaged every year by a lady who lived in quite a small house, in a street turning out of Lowndes Square. Beyond a choice collection of old china, there was no outward display of wealth. Her guests at her afternoon parties I should not imagine exceeded forty in number, and these were always made to sit down. She declared she would not have her entertainments spoiled by a crowd, and she was perfectly right.
One afternoon when I was singing there she had a well-known soprano, tenor and pianist, a lady and gentleman who gave recitals in costume, and Senor Sarasate, the violinist. On another occasion she engaged several well-known singers, also Madame Norman Neruda (who, I remember, played exquisitely on that occasion), while the comic element was supplied by Miss Fanny Leslie and myself. On neither of the above afternoons could the entertainment have cost the hostess much less than £150.
Sometimes I am engaged with only one singer, who, the host will explain, will be able to effectually fill up my intervals of rest. Clifford Harrison (the most talented and most popular of drawing-room reciters) and I, have been engaged together—a combination which has been most agreeable to me. I have also been engaged on two or three occasions with Corney Grain, which was a case (as he humorously put it) of "one down, the other come on."
Once I received a letter saying, "Besides yourself, I have secured anocarina."
I do not know if I have spelt it properly, but, for the life of me, I could not tell what an ocarina was. I found it was an oval-shaped instrument, of jet black, which emitted sounds the notes of a flute with a very bad cold. The performer looked, while playing it, as if he were eating a large potato.
Perhaps the most interesting professional engagement I have ever fulfilled in private was at the residence of Mr. John Aird, M.P., Hyde Park Terrace, on the 17th June, 1887.
It was Jubilee year, and the amiable and generous host was evidently determined to treat his guests to a novel entertainment. He wanted something that had not been done before, and instructed his friend, Rutland Barrington, to look out for an original entertainment. A suggestion came eventually from Mr. Fred Leslie, the clever actor, that the screen scene fromThe School for Scandalshould be performed in a dumb show. Barrington and Leslie discussed the matter, and it was arranged that there should be no costumes, and that the silent actions of the performers should be described by a lecturer. Mr. Aird was delighted with the idea, and determined that the piece should be well cast. I feel sure the reader will be interested to know who took part in the performance; so I append the cast:
Sir Peter Teazle … … … Mr. ARTHUR CECIL.Joseph Surface … … … Mr. FRED. LESLIE.Charles Surface … … … Mr. CORNEY GRAIN.Servant … … … … Mr. DURWARD LELY.Lady Teazle … … … Mr. GEORGE GROSSMITH.Lecturer … … … … Mr. RUTLAND BARRINGTON.
At the Piano … Mr. MUNROE COWARD.
The skit had been carefully rehearsed several times, and Mr. Aird ("our manager," as we called him) attended all the rehearsals in the most business-like manner, and gave some valuable suggestions. The performance, which lasted about twenty-five minutes, went with a roar of laughter from beginning to end.
I thought it stood a chance of being successful, but had no idea it would succeed so well as it did. Barrington's introduction and description were very funny. He commenced by explaining that a dramatic license had at the last moment been refused us, and we were not, therefore, permitted to speak any dialogue; but he would stand at the side and explain the plot and performance as they proceeded. He also added that another disappointment had been experienced by the non-arrival of the costumes, and apologised for the screen being a glass one, but it was the only one he could get. Although our actions were at times extravagant, still we played with great seriousness. There was no ridiculous "mugging," which always spoils a burlesque performance. There was no conventional comic walk, strut, or pantaloon gait. We discarded the usual knowing grin which always seems to say, "I'm the funny man; prepare to laugh." An audience never requires to be told in this fashion that a man is funny; they are quite capable of discovering the fact for themselves. A carroty wig and a red nose can no more make a comedian than a coat can make a man. It was the extreme seriousness of the opening scene between Leslie and Cecil, as Joseph and Sir Peter, that set the audience off at the very beginning. Fred. Leslie was simply immense. His natural look of extreme horror when Sir Peter indicated he suspected Charles Surface simply convulsed the people. Arthur Cecil was excessively funny in his relation of his quarrels with her ladyship. He was as melancholy as all the Sir Peters ever played put together; and the following was the climax:
The Lecturer(Barrington): Sir Peter will now express that in their last quarrel, Lady Teazle almost hinted that she should not break her heart if he was dead.
Arthur Cecil did a little dumb-show action, then quietly rose from his chair and lay at full length on the stage, on his back.
When the servant entered, and Charles Surface was announced, Barrington said:
"Joseph Surface says, ''Sdeath, blockhead! I'm not within.'"[Suitable action by Leslie.]
Lecturer:Joseph Surface says he is "out for the day." Observe, ladies and gentlemen, how Joseph describes being out for the day.
Here Leslie put on his opera-hat, seized an imaginary partner, and began waltzing round,a laRosherville Gardens.
Charles Surface was eventually introduced.
Lecturer:Charles Surface now enters. Please observe, ladies and gentlemen, that Charles Surface is "fast."
The entrance of Corney Grain, with his hat very much on one side, and his thumbs stuck in his waistcoat, as emblems of fastness, may be imagined better than described. In fact, it is quite impossible to describe the performance. All I can say is, that it had to be repeated; and, whether it was artistic or not, Mr. Luke Fildes, R.A., and Mr. Marcus Stone, R.A., attended both performances.
It may be asked how we managed to conclude the performance. After the screen was thrown down—for which, of course, there was no necessity; for through the glass could distinctly be seen her ladyship, with a plate of sandwiches and a glass of wine—the Lecturer said:
"All having been satisfactorily explained—"
At this abrupt announcement, without any action to justify it, there was continued laughter.
"According to the present fashion which prevails in revivals of old comedies, a minueta la modewill be danced."
Munroe Coward arranged "Oh, the Jubilee!" a seasonable and popular comic song,a laminuet, in a most skilful manner; and to this we danced and made our bows, with the exception of myself, who, arrayed in an antimacassar, indulged in my very bestcourtesy.
Our host and hostess, whose reputation for kindness and hospitality cannot be surpassed, placed everything in our way to help us, and were so interested themselves that I know I can say, on the part of the players, that our labour was one of love. Our audience showed pretty plainly that they enjoyed the performance, and I know we did.
I have given entertainments at the houses of all sorts and conditions of men, and all sorts of places. Once I sang at a large christening party. I should think sixty or seventy people sat down to lunch. The health of the baby was, of course, proposed, and the baby was produced and handed round to all the guests to kiss. It stood this trying ordeal with perfect good humour; but the darling little boy was obliged to draw the line somewhere, and so he drew it at me. He set up a series of howls which alarmed the whole party—especially the nurse, who darted at me a look of unmistakable indignation. If I had surreptitiously pinched the little treasure, the look of the nurse could not have been more terrible. She departed with the baby, and soothed it with the following pleasant remark about myself:
"Was 'im frightened by an ugly man den?"
I am very fond of children, and I flatter myself that children are fond of me, as a rule. But there are exceptions, of course; and I will relate another of them.
A great friend of mine, whose country house is not a thousand miles away from Twyford, has a bonny little boy, who, at the age of about a year and a half, took a sudden dislike to mypince nez, and began to squall the moment I entered the room. From a humorous spirit of mischief, the fond mother in future held me up as a bogey to the boy. If he was fractious, the following threat was held out to him:
"If you are not good,I will call Mr. Grossmith;" or, "If you do not eat your food, I shall send you into the room whereMr. Grossmith is."
This always had the desired effect. I believe I have been useful in a variety of ways, but this is the only time I have been required as a bogey to frighten children. As a sequel to the story, I may say the boy is a little older now, and we are very good friends; in fact, the last time I saw him he, of his own accord, selected me as his companion to spend an entire afternoon in the garden collecting snails.
An amusing series of incidents was the result of an engagement which I fulfilled at the residence of a gentleman in Kent. On going to the Opera Comique one evening, I found a gentleman waiting for me at the stage-door. He introduced himself as the head clerk of Mr. A——, a distinguished manufacturer, who was desirous of obtaining my services for an evening party, to be given in honour of the coming of age of young Mr. A——, at the family mansion in Kent. I invited the head clerk to my dressing-room; for, as we were about to close the theatre for a short time, I knew there was a possibility of my being able to accept the engagement. The clerk at once commenced the conversation by saying that he did a little acting himself—"only as an amateur, of course." I had no reason to doubt his statement, seeing that he had shaved his moustache off and grown his hair to an inordinate length behind.
"Now," said he, coming to the business point of the transaction, "Mr. A—— wants to know how much you charge, first."
I enlightened him on that matter.
"Well, I dare say that'll be all right. Mr. A—— means to spare no expense. But the great thing is—what sort of entertainment do you give?"
I explained that I took my seat at the piano, and chatted, played, and sang, after the manner of John Parry.
"Is there no change of costumes? Don't you require any scenery or footlights?"
"No," I replied. "I'm simply like one of the guests, except that I do something and they don't."
"Oh," said the clerk, a little puzzled, "one of the guests? I must see Mr. A—— about that. I don't think he understands that."
"Well," I observed, "you had better see that he understands that before we proceed any further."
The head clerk said, "Good-night," and left the room, with a gait that seemed to hit the happy medium between the walk of Henry Irving and the stride of a pantomimic policeman.
The next night he returned, with profuse apologies, stating that Mr. A—— of course would receive me as a guest, and would feel honoured at making my acquaintance.
This was rather going to extremes, I thought; but the fault was on the right side. I booked the date, and eventually "attended the evening party." I shall never forget it. I was received as a guest—astheguest, in fact—and no mistake about it. My reception was enormous. Young Mr. A——, who had come of age, was, comparatively speaking, nowhere. I was introduced to nearly everybody—or, more strictly speaking, everybody waspresentedto me. My entertainments were never better received. They were given at intervals during the dancing. I danced with the most attractive dancers, whom the host compelled to dance with me.
I enjoyed it immensely.
I don't think they did, and am positive their displaced partners did not.
Shortly after midnight the supper-rooms were thrown open, and I was requested to take the hostess in to supper. No royal prince could have been treated better than I was. An elderly clergyman quoted from my entertainment in proposing the health of young Mr. A——, on the auspicious occasion of his coming of age. Young Mr. A—— followed the clergyman's example in returning thanks. Then, to my utter surprise, Mr. A—— sen., proposed my health, and thanked me for coming down.
I returned thanks; and as there was a risk of an anti-climax, I rose—with an amount of consummate impudence which, I am sorry to say, is a little characteristic of me—and proposed the health of the host and hostess, on the plea that I was the oldest friend of the family, and had known them all their lives. This observation was received with continued roars of laughter. I did not, and do not even now, think it funny; but please remember, after a good champagne supper, people will roar at anything.
We returned to the drawing-room. I sang again, and then came the hour for my departure, for I had to drive all the way to town.
Mr. A—— stood in the middle of the room and shouted:
"Silence for a moment. All those who have been delighted with Mr. Grossmith, please hold up their hands."
Up went all the hands with the exception of those belonging to the displaced partners. Mr. A——, with much forethought, for which I mentally thanked him, refrained from appealing to the "noes."
Continuing his thanks, Mr. A—— said:
"We are all much obliged to you, Mr. Grossmith; and"—here he fumbled in his right-hand pocket—"and if ever you want a little rest, we shall give you a hearty welcome if you like to stay here; and"—here he seized my right hand, and I felt an envelope being forced into it—"and mind you come. Good-bye. I think you'll find that right," referring to the cheque, of course.
On eventually examining the cheque, I found it was written for an amount nearly double my fee.
I daresay many will think the cordiality extended towards me by Mr. A—— was ostentatious, if not absolutely vulgar. All I can say is, it was infinitely to be preferred to the reception I once received from a lady of title who invited me to her party, who had not engaged me professionally, but who welcomed me at the top of her staircase with a vacant look and the following observation in her most aristocratic tone:
"How late you are! Will you sing now?"
I need scarcely say there was no song; but there was a supper, of which I took full advantage.
Yet another incident, which occurred in my dressing-room at the Opera Comique, and which is indelible on my memory:
A laird sent his Scotch butler to me one evening to make inquiries respecting my entertainment. The butler, an elderly, pompous, and exceedingly stupid man, produced a piece of note-paper containing a string of questions which he was instructed to ask me.
The first question was: "Can Mr. Grossmith give an entertainment at Aberdeen on Jan.——?"
I replied that my nightly engagement at the theatre would totally prevent my accepting an engagement at Aberdeen. I could only sing at afternoon parties in town, or a short distance from it.
The butler, with a broad Scotch accent, which I need not imitate here, said:
"Ye'll have the goodness to answer this question, please. 'Can Mr. Grossmith give an entertainment at Aberdeen on Jan.——?'"
"No; I cannot," I replied.
The butler continued reading:
"'What will be his terms?'"
"But I cannot go," I argued.
"Ye'll save a deal o' time if ye'll answer the questions, please. What'll be the terms?"
"Well, we will say a hundred guineas, as I can't go," I answered, endeavouring to restrain myself from bursting out laughing in his face.
The butler made a note of the terms, and continued:
"'Will the entertainment be consistent?'"
"What?" I ejaculated.
"'Will the entertainment be consistent?'"
"Consistent?" For the life of me, I could not see what he meant.
"Yes—consistent."
I thought a little, and then said:
"Would you kindly explain the question? I do not understand it in the least."
The butler said:
"Well, you must know, the laird is a strict Presbyterian, and all the guests will be strict Presbyterians, and he wants to know if your entertainment will be consistent."
"Now I understand you," I replied. "Certainly, my entertainment will be quite consistent. I am always very careful, and shall only singPresbyterian comic songs."
He made a note of my remark in the most serious way, and left, saying:
"The laird himself will write to say if he can accept the terms."
That occurred nearly ten years ago, and the laird has not written yet.
Giving entertainments in private houses is a constant source of delight to me, and I feel both pleasure and pride in my work. I take sometimes enormous pains in writing and composing the sketches, and have often devoted several hours a day for a week or so in arranging and composing a musical illustration which will only occupy a few minutes in performance, and which may pass almost unnoticed by the majority of the audience. But when the connoisseur picks that illustration out from all the rest of the entertainment as his choice, I feel am I more than rewarded for my trouble.
All sorts of stories about me appear from time to time in the cheap weekly journals of the coloured paper or wrapper type, and I suppose they are amusing to the readers. The amusemesometimes. I never mind chaff.
My entertainments in private are capital scope for the smaller journalists; and journalists, like other people, can be very small sometimes. I read accounts of my own indignation at having been told to go round to the servants' entrance; how a duchess was horrified at discovering she was dancing with me instead of Lord Adolphus; my injured feelings because a hostess did not shake hands with me; and my having called upon the butler at Marlborough House, and spreading the report that I had visited the Prince of Wales. These paragraphs, though absolutely untrue, are inoffensive, and do good, inasmuch as they do not hurt me, but supply the author with a few hard and honestly-earned shillings.
Spiteful and really offensive paragraphs are regarded by me in a different light. An offensive paragraph has the same effect upon me as an anonymous letter. I feel the same sort of pity for the writer as I do for the poor "Norfolk Howard," who can only do its work in the dark, and cuts such a terrified figure when the light is suddenly flashed upon it. The anonymous letter-writer is, perhaps, the worst of the three; for his action is nearly always dictated by a feeling of spite; whereas the "Norfolk Howard" and the "offensive paragraphist" are actuated by a feeling of hunger: andnecessitas non habet leges.
There are exceptions to every rule, and I soon ascertained that hunger was not theraison d'etreof the following exceptional notice in reference to mydebutin a weekly paper:
"* * * * * * * * * And something which was called an 'entertainment' by a beardless boy, whose tones betokened his Cockney birth, and whose sole ideas of humour seemed to be derived from an excessive abuse of vulgar gesture, and the constant employment of such slang terms as are heard in police-courts and penny gaffs. When Master Grossmith was not vulgar, he was simply stupid; for which reason his attempts at amusing an intelligent audience by a wretched imitation of the Christy Minstrels and a badly-arranged rehash of Albert Smith's 'Evening Parties' were, as they deserved to be, a dead failure. The whole exhibition was most painful, and as far beneath what we should have expected to see at the Polytechnic as a 'Penny Dreadful' is from one of Thackeray's novels. Our advice to thedebutantis, to tarry at Jericho till his beard be grown."
I was extremely hurt at this, but the direct allusion to the police-court aroused my suspicions. I became a sort of amateur detective; and the result was, I "received information" that the article had been written by a gentle of position, who had just beforehand been charged at Bow Street with a very serious offence, and whose friends had not been successful in persuading me to "keep the case out of the paper," or in "altering his name" beyond recognition.
I owe very much to the Press, not merely for the favour extended towards me, but also for improvements gathered from their adverse criticism. But whenever I read a notice like the above, I am consoled by the thought that its author, at some time or other, without consent or consultation, has put in an appearance at Bow Street Police Court during my reign as reporter.
In the foregoing chapter, I have dealt entirely with visits into Society professionally. In the next, and last, I shall speak of the non-professional invitations: for, strange as it may appear to the uninitiated, I amnotalways expected "to oblige with a song;" nor is it asine qua nonthat if I accept an invitation to dinner, it is on the distinct understanding that I should be funny. I can be a very rational being when I choose; and any hostess who asked me to her residence in the expectation that I should gratuitously amuse her guests, would find me particularly prosaic.
Happily for all professional men and women, such hostesses are very rare; and, fortunately, their reputations precede them. Still, therearepeople who cannot understand why I should appearin propria personain a drawing-room; and a wealthy hatter of slight acquaintance, meeting me at a "Mansion House" ball, said:
"Hulloa! Mr. Grossmith, what are you doing here? Are you going to give us any of your little funniments—eh?"
"No," I replied. "Are you going to sell any of your hats?"
A Very Snobbish Chapter.
"I've got a little list."—The Mikado.
Captain Hawley Smart, at the Garrick one day, at lunch, gave me a valuable friendly warning.
"In your book," said he, "do not fall into that diary mistake, characteristic of most autobiographers; and some autobiographers indulge in it very badly. I mean writing: 'May 14th.—Dined at the Duke of A——'s: present, Lord and Lady B——, Count C——, Marquis of D——, &c.' Much better write down a list of all the people youhavemet, and say: 'Dined with, or met, this lot some time or other.'"
Unfortunately, I do not keep a diary, and have no list of "people I have known;" but I can truthfully say that during the last twelve or fourteen years I have had the privilege of meeting what the Society papers repeatedly call "everybody, who is anybody." What! everybody? Well, nearly everybody! I have met Royal Princes in their palaces, and Republicans in their republic houses. I am personally acquainted with Bishops and Bradlaugh. I have shaken hands with Sarah Bernhardt and Miss Bessie Bellwood. I have been visited by millionaires who are nobodies, and by beggars who are somebodies. I have exchanged courtesies with Gustave Dore, and another celebrated painter has exchanged umbrellas with me. I know Sims Reeves and "Squash." I manage to get on with peers and peasants; I talk a little about the weather to the former, and a little (very little) about the crops to the latter.
I believe I am a Conservative, but I own to a great admiration for Gladstone. I am not alone in that respect, except that I "own up" to my admiration, and other Conservatives do not. I regret exceedingly that I never met Lord Beaconsfield; but when I commenced to "go out," he had almost ceased doing so. I met Mr. Gladstone at a garden party as recently as the autumn of 1887, and was asked to meet him in June, 1888. It is a pleasure to converse with him, or, rather, to hear him converse with you. At the former party, a lady said to me, "If that horrid man comes here, I shall walk through that window on to the lawn. I would not stay under the same roof with him." She evidently thought there was no chance of his coming; in point of fact, she afterwards admitted as much to me. When hedidarrive, she followed him about, curtsied as he passed, as if he were the Queen, repeatedly offered him her chair, and indulged in that particular kind of adoration in thepresencewhich is usually indulged in by people who are ultra-bitter during theabsence.
But though I have not kept a list of the notable people I have met, I have kept the letters of those who have written to me as a friend or acquaintance. I cannot count myself as one of the "pestilential nuisances who apply for autographs," as Gilbert describes them inThe Mikado; still, I must plead guilty to pasting in a book, or keeping in my desk, every letter addressed to me personally that has a good name attached. When I say every letter, I do not include letters addressed to me professionally or purely on business matters: those are merely of passing value to me. I simply treasure the letters of those with whom I have become actually acquainted. This collection is the collection of a Snob, no doubt; and I can only beg of those of my readers who sensitive to Snobbish actions to pass this chapter over, for my sake as well as theirs.
I would add that my wife and I do not possess a card-basket, where the only countess's card will keep shifting to the top, of its own accord, in the most remarkable fashion; nor do we advertise our evening parties in theMorning Post, nor publicly announce that we have removed to a hired cottage at Datchet during the fixture of a telephone pole to the roof of our family mansion in Dorset (pronounced Dossit) Square.
I will take the letters as they come, simply calling attention to the contents or the writers as I imagine they may interest or amuse the readers. The first—the most interesting to me, perhaps, as it turned the tide of my professional life—is the letter from Arthur Sullivan, asking me to go on the stage, which has already appeared in a former chapter. The next is from J. R. Planche, whom I shall always remember with the greatest pleasure, and whose little parties were delightful.
The following is characteristic of J. R. Planche's well-known courtesy:
6 Royal Avenue,Chelsea, S.W.,5th August, 1875.
Dear Mr. Grossmith,—Nothing could give me more pleasure than doing anything which is agreeable to you. I estimate highly your talent, and am flattered by your friendship. With kindest regards from all of us to you and your amiable and gifted wife,
Believe me,Very sincerely yours,J. R. PLANCHE.
The above is very flattering, and so is the following from Frederic Clay; and if I were a truly modest man, I should publish neither:
64 Seymour Street,Portman Square.
Dear Grossmith,—Miss Kate Santley has asked me to write her a light song for the piece she is now playing. Since Miss Santley immortalised "Nobody knows as I know" for me, my humble pen has always been at her disposal—in fact, I have composed a couple of operas for her—but just now I am night and day at work on this Brighton Cantata; nor can I dream where to find words without being vulgar.
As you were good enough to give me more real amusement and enjoyment at Arthur Blunt's than I have known for many a long day, I could not help suggesting your name to Miss Santley, telling her that, if you can find time for the purpose, she could not be in safer or more accomplished hands than yours. . . .
Yours very sincerely,FREDERIC CLAY.
I afterwards became very intimate with Frederic Clay; and a great portion of one of his subsequent works (theBlack Crook, I think) composed while he was staying with my wife and myself at a tiny cottage which we rented during the autumn each year at Datchet. His last work of all he chiefly did at Datchet. It was called, I think,The Golden Ring, and the book was by G. R. Sims. He hired a cottage a few doors from mine, and as I passed to and fro of a morning I used to see him writing hard at his desk in front of the open window, and invariably greeted him with "Good-morning, Freddy; do you want any of your harmonies corrected?"—"Shall I score the drum parts for you?"—or some such nonsense. It will be remembered that he was seized with a serious illness after the production of the piece at the Alhambra. I grieve to say I seldom see him now, as he lives away in the country very quietly. He wrote a charming letter in pencil some months ago respecting a favourable notice he had seen of the pianoforte-playing of my little girl Sylvia at a "pupils'" concert. I have kept many of his letters, and value them. I wanted to see him about something, and suggested we should meet at the Beefsteak Club. This was his reply:
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At the old Gallery of Illustration, in 1875, Corney Grain was suddenly indisposed, and I sang for him; and I was very pleased at the thought of giving a sketch at the very piano on which John Parry had played. Subsequently I received the following letter from Mrs. German Reed:
. . . Please accept my best thanks, and with them a handkerchief which Mr. John Parry used in his song, "Mrs. Roseleaf's Evening Party." You said you would be pleased to have it. The little piece of cotton in the middle he always had tied to prevent confusion in folding while singing.
With kind compliments to your wife,
Sincerely yours,PRISCILLA REED.
I sang and acted at the Gallery of Illustrations on another occasion. Corney Grain was required to give his "Sketches at a Country House," where he was to meet the Prince of Wales; and I undertook, besides giving my sketch "Theatricals at Thespis Lodge," to act the part of the young lover (Grain's part) inVery Catching, an excellent little piece by F. C. Burnand, and music by Molloy. In this, both Mrs. German Reed and Arthur Cecil played. I had to sing a sentimental duet with Miss Fanny Holland, "O'er the stones go tripping," during which she had to rest on my shoulder as I led her from stone to stone. But there happened to be a great difference in the height of Grain and myself; and when Miss Holland found that she could not stoop low enough to reach my shoulders, and that the strip of artificial water, which was arranged to well cover Grain's ankles, was up to my knees, she fairly burst out laughing on the stage.
Next come rather amusing letters from the late Duchess of Westminster and Lady Diana Huddleston. The former concludes her letter thus:
If you have any of the Philtre to spare, there is nothing I can think of I should like much better!
Believe me, dear Mr. J. W. W.,Yours sincerely,CONSTANCE WESTMINSTER.
The initials had reference to John Wellington Wells, the part inThe SorcererI was playing at the time.
I had sent Lady Diana the name of a professional spiritualist, and here is an extract from her reply:
Thank you so much for writing to E——. I am all for a medium who stands no nonsense with the spirits, but has them up there and then. I fear W—— lets his ghosties give themselves airs, as both "Petre" and also "John King" have always thrown me over. Who was John King? . . .
Yours very sincerely,DI. HUDDLESTON.
Letters of invitation follow from Frank Holl, R.A., George du Maurier, Nita Gaetana (Mrs. Moncrieff), Kate Field, and Earls of Fife and Wharncliffe. Then comes a letter from F. C. Burnand, respecting my proposer for the Beefsteak Club. He suggested Sir Arthur Sullivan; but eventually Corney Grain proposed me. I think Frank Burnand is the most amusing man to meet. He is brimful of good humour. He will fire off joke after joke, and chaff you out of your life if he gets a chance. His chaff is always good-tempered. No one minds being chaffed by Burnand. I will not sing a song when he is in the room if I can possibly help it. He will sit in front of me at the piano, and either stare with a pained and puzzled look during my comic song, or he will laugh in the wrong places, or, what is worse still, take out his pocket-handkerchief and weep.
A short time ago we were dining at Mrs. Lovett Cameron's, and were seated on either side of her. Throughout the dinner I had purposely been making some rude observations respecting the dishes, with which Mrs. Cameron was immensely amused. Eventually a "sweet" was handed round, consisting of little hard cakes of something resembling dark-brown toffee or hardbake, with cream piled on. Mrs. Cameron said to me, "You must not pass this dish—dohave some." I replied, "Well, I won't have any of the cream—only some of theglue," which the sweet certainly resembled. Burnand promptly replied, "Oh, are you going tostickhere all night?"
Burnand's parties are to be envied, and not forgotten. At one of his evening entertainments in Russell Square, he suggested we should get up a "bogus" band. I fell in with his idea at once, and it was left to me to arrange. I decided upon the overture toZampa;and, to give a semblance of reality to the performance, arranged with Mr. Charles Reddie to preside at the piano; and, chaos or no chaos, he was to go steadily on. Frederic H. Cowen was the violoncello; the first violins were played by Mr. Samuel Heilbut, a capital amateur violinist, and by my brother, who was nearly as good. I played second violin, and was simply awful. Rutland Barrington played the piccolo; but as he could only play in one key, which, unfortunately, wasnotthe one we were playing, the effect can be imagined. Last, but not least, Corney Grain conducted.
The time arrived for the performance, and the music-stands were placed in a circle in the crowded drawing-room; and, in order that there should be no jumble at the commencement, we decided to take the overture at exactly half its proper time.
I shall never forget the surprised look on the faces of Sir Julius Benedict and Mr. W. G. Cusins when we began. There was no idea, at first, it was a joke. We played the nextandantemovement with sublime expression and perfectly correctly, with the exception of Barrington's piccolo, which was here more terribly conspicuous than before. This was rendered all the more ridiculous by the sweet, satisfied smile which Grain was assuming, after the fashion of an affected conductor.
The audience began to suspect something was up; but their suspicions were soon set at rest when the subsequent quick movement arrived. Reddie played on, and Heilbut stuck to it. Fred. Cowen, Weedon Grossmith, and myself put down our instruments and stared up at the ceiling, as if we had a few bars' rest. Barrington played a tune of his own; and Grain, in an excited manner and in the German tongue, demanded him to desist. Barrington, who also speaks German, retaliated.
This German row was most natural and funny, and created roars of laughter. J. L. Toole, who was in the audience, and who did not see why he should not join in, forced his way through the people and seized hold of Weedon's old Italian violin, and was about to bang it on the back of a chair. Weedon had a genuine fight to recover his fiddle, and had to remind Toole that it was not one of his own "properties." Reddie and Heilbut still seriously stuck to the piano and violin. Grain then bullied me for not playing. A general altercation ensued; and as the final chords of the shortened overture were played, Grain seized me up under his arm, as if I had been a brown-paper parcel, and marched out of the room with me.
After supper there was an extemporised Christmas Pantomime, in which Grain, Arthur Cecil, Fred. Leslie, Chas. Colnaghi, William Yardley, the brothers Grossmith, and Mrs. Cecil Clay (Miss Rosina Vokes) took part. It was great fun for audience and performers, and Miss Vokes was excellent. At the final tableau, Fred. Leslie and myself struck two matches to represent coloured fire. I daresay all this seems silly; but I have seen many very serious people silly after a jolly supper with jolly people, so I hope some allowance will be made for the Society Clown.
A little pencil sketch, by W. S. Gilbert, comes next in my book; "Bab" is an excellent draughtsman, as everyone knows. Next on the list are Annie Thomas (Mrs. Pender Cudlip) and Florence Marryat. The latter often signed herself "The Ship," because one of the Birmingham papers, speaking of the "Entre Nous" entertainment, described her as "of pleasant appearance, with bright, frank features, somewhat massively moulded, unaffected manners, and with a carriage reminding one of the stately motion of one of those noble vessels of which the glorious old Captain loved to write." The same paper, continuing, observes: "In the second costume recital of 'Joan of Arc in prison,' she appeared in the usual grey tunic and with massive manacles on her waist; Mr. Grossmith, sitting at the piano as a sort of mute but comical gaoler, ready to accompany her in a musical scena at the end."
I have before said that Arthur Cecil took a kind interest in me, and favoured me with many a valuable hint. I therefore print a letter of his (dated 1878, when I knew him only slightly) in full, with the assurance, from experience, that jealousy in the theatrical profession is the exception and not the rule:
Beefsteak Club,King William Street,Strand, W.C.
My dear Grossmith,—I am so delighted to hear you "obliged again" on Wednesday, at Grosvenor House, after I left.
I was most anxious that you should be at your best before the Prince and Princess, and only regretted I could not stop to suggest the things that I consider your happiest efforts. I am sure "The Muddle Puddle Porter" must have been all right.
Yours ever,ARTHUR C. BLUNT.
It was a charity concert, and I may incidentally remark that I had to appear early in the programme, and when my turn came their Royal Highnesses had not arrived. Arthur Cecil, who was announced later on, said: "The Prince and Princess have heard my song, so you take my place."
The above voluntary suggestion on his part needs no comment.
This letter is followed by ordinary letters from Irving, Toole, A. W. Pinero, Countess of Charlemont (the late), Viscountess Combermere, Herbert Herkomer, A.R.A., Earls of Londesborough and Dunraven, Mrs. Charlie Mathews, Mrs. Kendal, the Hon. Lewis Wingfield, Emily Faithful, and Kate Terry (Mrs. Arthur Lewis). Then comes a letter from Thomas Thorne, which is interesting because it is an invitation to dine with him to celebrate the thousandth night ofOur Boys. Then follow Robert Reece (he persuaded me to set to music one of his songs, "A Peculiar Man," which he need not have done, for he is a most excellent musician himself), John Oxenford (dated 1868—a birthday congratulation), J. Ashby Sterry (who always addresses me, "dear young Jaarge"), R. Corney Grain, Herman Vezin, Lord Otho Fitzgerald, and Viscountess Mandeville. The letter from Lady Mandeville, referring to some of my songs, is amusing—an extract from which I give:
Thanks a thousand times for the songs, which were delightful. We tried them all last night and I am sure some of the neighbours wished us at the North Pole. . . . I have sent to America for a charming pathetic song for you; the last line is "Let me hit my little brother before I die."
A letter from J. B. Buckstone, giving me permission to play Paul Pry (en amateur); a most amusing letter from Howard Paul, describing his futile attempt to learn "The Muddle Puddle Porter" while "going up and down the Lake of Lucerne, under the shadow of the Rigi, and within sight of the historical Tell's Platte;" a most flattering letter from Sir Julius Benedict, which modesty, &c., will not permit of my reproducing; Jacques Blumenthal (he simply had "a message to send me" inviting me to dine) and Henry J. Byron. I knew Byron when I was a boy, and I loved him because he was not above playing cricket with me on the sands at the seaside, when I was in trousers, or rather knickerbockers, which they resembled through my having outgrown them. In 1878 I wanted to purchase some clever words of his with a refrain, "Yeo, heave ho." He wrote back from the Haymarket Theatre:
Dear George,—I wrote to you, saying you might have the song gratis, and posted the letter to J. S. Clarke instead of you.
Yours ever sincerely,H. J. BYRON.
Everybody knows Byron was about the best punster existing. He was also the worst. I heard him make this observation at Margate: "I don't likecockroaches because they 'encroaches."
Then come Arthur a Beckett, Countesses of Wharnecliffe and Bantry, S. B. Bancroft, Lionel Brough, Viscounts Hardinge and Baring; a charming letter from Clement Scott, asking me for a contribution to a collection of theatrical stories; Sir Algernon Borthwick, Duke of Beaufort, Earl of Hardwicke, and Mrs. Keeley. The letter (dated 1882) from the latter lady, I value most highly, of course:
10 Pelham Crescent, S.W.
Dear Mr. Grossmith,—I was at the Savoy on Thursday evening with Miss Swanborough, and delighted we were with the performance. Trusting yourself and Madame are well, and with kind regards,
Ever yours sincerely,MARY ANNE KEELEY.
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17 Finchley New Road,Thursday.
Dear Mr. Grossmith,—I am not going to use any flourishing phrases, but simply ask you if you would be so extremely good as to appear in the concert I arrange for the poor exiles at Walmer. It is to be on the 15th or 18th of this month, in the house of Lord Denbigh. I am going to play a little French piece with M. Berton, and I asked some artists to play and sing. I hope you will frankly tell me if you can do it or not, as I certainly should not like you to put yourself to any inconvenience for my sake. I know how busy you are, and it is a great impudence on my part to give you some more work. With many kind regards,
I remain, always sincerely yours,HELENA MODJESKA.
"Next, please," as Mr. T. Thorne would say, as Partridge.
H.S.H. the Duke of Teck, Countess of Kenmare, James Albery (author ofThe Two Roses), Henry Labouchere, Miss E. Braddon, Joseph Hatton (a very old and esteemed friend of mine) and Professor Pepper.
The following is interesting to me, coming, as it does, from the most successful entertainer of his day. His songs, "A Life on the Ocean Wave," "Cheer, Boys, Cheer," "The Ivy Green," "The Ship on Fire," etc., will be ever remembered:
Hanover Square Club,Nov. 22nd, 1883.
My dear Grossmith,—Many thanks for your kind letter. I leave for Boulogne to-morrow (Friday), or I should be only too glad to avail myself of your generous offer. I have been for years one of the warmest admirers of the great talent you possess; and all I can say is, that if you want to confer a favour on me, you will, without hesitation, jump on board the Boulogne boat, and, after two hours of "a life on the ocean wave," come direct to the Hotel du Nord, where I reside, and where you shall have a good dinner, a glorious weed, a first-class bottle of Chateau Margaux, a shake-down, and a sincere warm welcome from your old friend,
———
Grand Hotel, Stockholm,June 13th, 1882.
Dear Grossmith,—I have just remembered you have received no reply to your invite for the "small and early." . . . We left London on the 6th, and since then have visited Hamburg and Copenhagen. To-night we start for Christiania on our way to the North Cape. Should any friends ask my address, tell them for the next three weeks, "Arctic Ocean."
Kind regards from Mrs. and self to Mrs. G. and self.
Yours sincerely,EDWARD TERRY.
The following is from Nellie Farren:
Gaiety Theatre, Strand,Friday.
Dear George,—Will you repeat yesterday's performance on the 23rd of this month for your old friend,
Alfred Scott Gatty, Hamilton Aide, Duke of Abercorn, Earl of Onslow, William J. Florence (the popular American comedian), John Hare, W. Kuhe, W. Maybrick (his "Nancy Lee" still haunts me), Chas. Wyndham, W. J. Hill, Oscar Wilde, and J. McNiel Whistler, from whose epistle I give an extract:
"Je tu savois brave—mais je ne tu savois pas plus brave que moy!"
Ton roy, HENRI.
Which means, my dear Bunthorne, that "I knew you amazing!—but I did not know you more amazing than I"!
Thine
Then appears the well-known "butterfly" signature.
Madam Dolby, Madam Liebhart, Viscountess Folkestone, Lady Coutts Lindsay (whose charming collections of people at the Grosvenor Gallery some years ago will not be easily forgotten), Beatty Kingston, Frederick Boyle, Manville Fenn, Lady Chas. Beresford, Marchioness of Ormond, Lady Chesham, G. H. Boughton, A.R.A., Pro. Ray Lankester, Sir Coutts Lindsay, Earl and Countess of Donoughmore. Her ladyship writes:
. . I am afraid we cannot go to London this season. There is an idea that digging turnips at Knocklofty would be a pleasing change. I should not mind the turnips if kind friends would come and help dig them. Have you and Mrs. Grossmith any sharp spuds, and would you like to race me in a drill? (I don't know if turnips are planted in drills—potatoes are.) Are you afraid of the sea? It's not very rough, and your chicks could play and fight with mine all day, and we would have a good time somehow.
Mrs. Alfred Wigan, Carlotta Leclercq, Viscountess Pollington, Harry Furniss, E. Willard, Sir Morell Mackenzie, Duchess of Abercorn (a kind letter referring to my severe illness in Jan., 1887), Harry Payne (certainly the best clown in my time), Rutland Barrington, Fred. Leslie, Meyer Lutz, Earl of Clarendon.
Pro. Hubert Herkomer, A.R.A., writes, in reply to my enquiry whether he was busy:
I am now at work on my thirty-first portrait this year—which does not count water-colour subjects. Can't you spend a Sunday with me?
Milton Wellings, Lord Hay of Kinfauns, Arthur Stirling.
July 15th, 1887.
Dear Grossmith,—We are looking forward with great pleasure to lunching with you next Monday.
My duty to your wife.
Yours ever,DOUGLAS STRAIGHT.
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11 Melbury Road, W.20th April, 1887.
My dear Grossmith,—No congratulations I have received have given me more pleasure than those coming from old friends, and among them I was gratified to have yours; for we have known each other a long time, and I believe with corresponding regard. Accept my very best thanks for your nice letter; and with best wishes for yourself and your wife,
I am, sincerely yours,LUKE FILDES.
Sir Edward Sieveking, Baroness Burdett Coutts (a kind invitation for my wife and myself to see the Jubilee procession), Paul Rajon (the French etcher), E. Gibert (whom theDaily Telegraphflattered me by designating the French Grossmith).
The following, from Hamilton Clarke, had reference to a small theatre work of mine which I had to score for an exceedingly limited orchestra:
Dear George,—Yardley tells me to send you a list of the band at —— theatre.
I regret to say that, owing to the fact that the accommodation for the musicians is about the dimensions of a third-class railway compartment (I believe the trombone-player has to play lying down), the "orchestra" is limited to the following list: . . . No chance of the slightest delicacy or fancy! Only plain, straightforward English slogging.
Long live the cornet and side-drum—Briton's boast!
Yours sincerely,HAMILTON CLARKE.
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33 Longridge Road,Earl's Court,December 20th.
Dear George,—£3, if you don't mind; and I am so sorry for the poor lady. I've just come back from Paris, and your letter had been sent there and back here after me, or you would have heard from me before. Hope you are very well. With love to you both,
Yours ever,ELLEN TERRY.
I'm having a lovely Christmas holiday.
Percy Fitzgerald (I shall naturally look forward to hisChronicles of Bow Streetwith special interest), Emily Lovett Cameron, Joseph Hollman, Duchess of Westminster (the present), H. S. Marks, R.A., Arthur Roberts, C. D. Marius, Wilford Morgan, George Giddens, Dr. Anderson Critchett, Bottesini, H.S.H. Prince Leiningen, Sir Frederick Leighton, P.R.A.
White Lodge,Richmond Park,January 7th.
Dear Mr. Grossmith,—I thank you for sending me your photos; it was a very kind thought of you. I trust Ko-Ko and yourself to be in the best of spirits. I must go to the Savoy again, and I hope you will from thence proceed with me to the Bachelor's and have some supper.
Yours sincerely,TECK.
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33 Untere Promenade,Homburg,Saturday.
Dear Grossmith,—The Prince of Wales hopes that Mrs. Grossmith and you will dine with him at the Kinsaal on Monday evening, at 7.15.
Yours truly,H. TYRWHITT-WILSON.
I had promised to write David James a song forLittle Jack Sheppard, at the Gaiety,—a promise which I failed to keep. U had a good "intention," but not an "idea." The reward for my failure was this amusing letter:
14 Buckingham Street,Adelphi,May 2nd, 1886.
Dear Grossmith,—Thesongyou wrote for me for Blueskin goes IMMENSELY every night, and everybody is asking who is theauthorandcomposer. Now, as you cannot come and bow your acknowledgments atnight, you might as well come and do so in themorning; and what better morning than Thursday, the 20th of May, at mymatineebenefit at the Gaiety? I want all my old pals to be there. . . . Like a good boy, come and sing and play, and very much oblige
Your old "partic.,"DAVID JAMES.
A. Goring Thomas, Percy Reeve, Sir Percy Shelley, Fred. Barnard (with humorous sketch), John T. Bedford (author of "Robert," in Punch).
Lyceum Theatre,16th February, 1887.
Dear Grossmith,—Greeting! Right hearty congratulations on your recovery and reappearance this evening.
Sincerely yours,H. IRVING.
A letter from Lady Freake reminds me of (to me) a memorable performance at Cromwell House. The musical triumviretta,Cox and Box, formed part of the programme:
Box … … … … … … Mr. ARTHUR CECIL.Cox … … … … … … Mr. GEORGE GROSSMITH.Serjeant Bouncer… … … Mr. CORNEY GRAIN.
Piano … … … Mr. ALFRED CELLIER.Harmonium … … Sir ARTHUR SULLIVAN.
I remember seeing at this entertainment the Dowager Countess of Waldegrave, who was the daughter of John Braham, the celebrated singer. But what most impressed me was an incident at the first rehearsal. Cecil, Grain, and I were under the impression that we had the well-fitted little theatre to ourselves; but suddenly two elderly and very prim ladies came and sat in the front row and watched us. There is nothing so disconcerting to actors as to watched at the preliminary rehearsal. I cannot bear it even at the dress rehearsal. In the present instance we grumbled to ourselves and delayed commencing, hoping the two ladies would take the hint and depart. No such luck. One of them, the mother of an exceedingly clever amateur who has playedCox and Boxall his life (I believe he was born playing it), suddenly said in a loud voice:
"Why don't they begin? Don't they know what to do? I wish Johnnie were here; he could show them at once."
Royal Princess's Theatre,March 23rd, 1886.
Dear Grossmith,—I know one "little piece" only, "Gone with a handsomer man." If that will do, I am ready to help you; unless it should be the date on whichClitois produced. I expect to play it earlier than that. Kind regards.
Faithfully yours,WILSON BARRETT.
Miss Hope Glen, Isidore de Lara, Wilhelm Ganz, Linley Sambourne, Charles Warner, Fred. H. Cowen, E. W. Royce, Miss Fortescue (informing me of the breaking off of the engagement between herself and Lord Garmoyle, now Earl Cairns), John Clayton, Lady Mildred Denison, Lady William Lennox, Lady Ventry, Lady Ardilaun, M. Riviere, Sir John Bennett, Madame Lemmens-Sherrington.
I am frequently asked, when singing professionally in private houses, if I am friendly with Mr. Corney Grain. Here is an extract from one of his letters. I had been suffering from sore throat, and could not fulfil a certain engagement, and he kindly sang in my stead. In return, I sent him a small souvenir in the shape of a "Tantalus."
Dear George,—Thank you very much for your very handsome—and, moreover, very useful—present. It shall be entirely at your service from March 21st till the 6th April, when I hope, barring accidents, to be at The Willows, Datchet, where you have, not a general, but a particular invitation during that period.
Another of his letters terminates thus:
Then farewell my trim-built wherry.
From that sheer hulk,R. CORNEY GRAIN.
Countess of Bective, Marshall P. Wilder (the American humorist), Gordon Thomson, Sir John Millais, John Hollingshead, Earl of Hopetoun.
At a party at Sir Arthur Sullivan's one evening, I was asked to sing the Lord Chancellor's enormous patter song. I could not remember it; so Lord Hopetoun, himself a most excellent humorous singer, volunteered to prompt me. The effect was most ludicrous; for Lord Hopetoun had really to sing quickly the whole of the song about one bar ahead of me. After this, Arthur sat at the piano, and Lord Hopetoun and myself arrayed ourselves in a few antimacassars and performed a graceful ballet; that is to say, as graceful as the circumstances would permit.
A kind letter from my old friend, Alfred Cellier, respecting the death of my father, reminds me of another evening at Sir Arthur Sullivan's. We had been previously to a dinner-party and subsequent reception at Lady Sebright's, where I was introduced to Mrs. Langtry—it being, I believe, her first introduction to London Society.
Subsequently, Sullivan persuaded Cellier, Arthur Cecil, and myself, and I fancy a few others, including Archibald Stuart Wortley, to return to his rooms at 9 Albert Mansions, where the gifted composer was then residing. We stayed very late—much later than I would dare stay up now. I left with Alfred Cellier, and he asked me if I could drop him in Park Lane, as he had another party to go to. There was every excuse for my being astonished, considering it was half-past four in the morning and the beautiful daylight had long since appeared. I acquiesced, and the next day asked Cellier if he did not find that everybody had gone.
"No, indeed," replied Cellier; "in fact, I was thefirst arrival."
Rather an early card party!
Speaking of Mrs. Langtry, recalls to my mind a curious incident affecting both of us. I was asked to a musical party in Prince's Gardens, and proceeded there after my work at the theatre. On arriving in the locality, and seeing the awning out, and the usual line of footmen, and the will-o'-the-wisp linkman, I shouted to the cabman, who was passing the door, to stop. I gave up my coat and walked into the drawing-room, being announced in the usual way. I found, however, that a ball was in full swing. I could not discover my host or hostess, although I met many people I knew. I soon ascertained that I had come to the wrong house, and, instead of being at Mrs. G——'s musical party, was at Sir William D——'s ball. I slipped downstairs—having ex-explained the matter to a friend of Sir William's—got my coat, and went to Mrs. G——'s, which was a few doors off. As I was proceeding upstairs I met Mrs. Langtry coming down, and she said:
"Oh, Mr. Grossmith, I've madesucha mistake! I've come to the wrong house. I ought to be at the ball at Sir William D——'s. I couldn't understand how it was there was singing and no dancing upstairs, and have only just discovered my mistake."
I replied, "You maybe comforted; I have been to Sir William D——'s by mistake, when I ought to have been here.
Lady Greville, Madame de Fonblanque, Brindley Richards, Henry S. Neville (asking me to play "Paul Pry" at the Crystal Palace), Earl of Desart, who, in kindly sending me an invitation, described the whereabouts of his house thus:
"There's a place called Victoria Lodge,It lies in Victoria Street;To find it, I'll tell you the dodge—Ask ev'ry policeman you meet."
H. Beerbohm Tree, Countess of Wilton, Miss Millward, Dr. LouisEngel, H. Bracy, Kate Vaughan.
Marlborough House,Pall Mall, S.W.,June 30th, 1885.
Dear Mr. Grossmith,—By direction of the Prince and Princess of Wales, I send you the accompanying pin, which their Royal Highnesses hope you will accept as a small souvenir of your visit to Marlborough House on the evening of the 14th inst.
Believe me, yours truly,D. M. PROBYN.
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Court Theatre,Sloane Square, S.W.,March 30th.
My dear George,—Many thanks for your kind letter. The play, so far, promises to exceedThe Magistrate.
Yours truly,JOHN CLAYTON.
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145 Harley Street, W.,
Dear Mr. Grossmith,—I have been asked by people right and left; but put my name down, and if I can recite—I will.
Yours faithfully,MADGE KENDAL.
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156 Cambridge Street, Warwick Square, S.W.
My dear Grossmith,—One line to say "Thank you;" another from my mother to repeat the "Thank you." The two joined make the words bear their fullest measure of truth, and your kindness is very pleasant to
Yours sincerely,CLIFFORD HARRISON.
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Dear Mr. Grossmith,—I will (D.V.) be there on the 4th. Many thanks.