CHAPTER IX.FRIENDS.
Needless to say that in those days, when genius was worshipped and the entrance to the most exclusive circles of society accorded to talent of every description, the social homage paid to Mrs. Siddons was of the most enthusiastic description, passing sometimes the bounds of good taste. The door of the lodgings she occupied in the Strand the first year she acted was soon beset by various persons quite unknown to her, some of whom actually forced their way into her drawing-room, in spite of remonstrance or opposition.
This was as inconvenient as it was offensive; for as she usually acted three times a week, and had, besides, to attend the rehearsals, she had but little time to spend unnecessarily. None were more capable, however, than she of keeping vulgar curiosity at a respectful distance. She gives us a comic account of an interview that took place between her and some of these intrusive individuals:—
“One morning, though I had previously given orders not to be interrupted, my servant entered the room in a great hurry, saying, ‘Ma’am, I am verysorry to tell you there are some ladies below who say they must see you, and it is impossible for me to prevent it. I have told them over and over again that you are particularly engaged, but all in vain, and now, Ma’am, you may actually hear them on the stairs.’ I felt extremely indignant at such unparalleled impertinence, and, before the servant had done speaking to me, a tall, elegant, invalid-looking person presented herself (whom, I am afraid, I did not receive very graciously), and after her four more, in slow succession. A very awkward silence took place. Presently the first lady spoke. ‘You must think it strange,’ she said, ‘to see a person entirely unknown to you intrude in this manner upon your privacy; but, you must know, I am in a very delicate state of health, and my physician won’t let me go to the theatre to see you, so I am come to look at you here.’ She accordingly sat down to look, and I to be looked at, for a few painful moments, when she arose and apologised.” There is something awful that sends a cold shiver through us as the Tragic Muse tells us, “I was in no humour to overlook such insolence, and so let her depart in silence.” We can picture her contemptuous scorn under the circumstances. But it was not only in her own home she had to pay the penalty of fame; the theatre was mobbed outside every evening by a crowd anxious to see her walk across the pavement to her carriage; her dresses were copied, and the dressmakers to whom she went were importuned to make for all the fashionable ladies. Not only in these early days, but all her life, Mrs. Siddons kept a position unexampled for one of her profession. The house she occupied in Gore Street during her second season was, when she entertained,filled with all that was brilliant in literature and fashion; and later at Westbourne Cottage, and when she was in Pall Mall, Campbell tells us of rows of “coaches and chairs” standing outside her door. Invitations to most of the great houses in London poured in upon her, and she herself gives a comic account of the manner in which she was mobbed by her fashionable devotees at an assembly at the erratic Miss Monkton’s (afterwards Lady Cork), one of the “Blues” who made oddity of dress, appearance, and manner a study, and the running after “notorious folk” a science.
The young actress had steadily declined many invitations, feeling that the moments snatched from her profession ought to be devoted to the care of her children. Miss Monkton, however, insisted on her coming one Sunday evening, assuring her that there would only be some half-a-dozen friends to meet her.
“The appointed Sunday evening came. I went to her very nearly in undress, at the early hour of eight, on account of my little boy, whom she desired me to bring with me, more for effect, I suspect, than for hisbeaux yeux. I found with her, as I had been taught to expect, three or four ladies of my acquaintance; and the time passed in agreeable conversation, till I had remained much longer than I had apprehended.
“I was, of course, preparing speedily to return home, when incessantly repeated thunderings at the door, and the sudden influx of such a throng of people as I had never before seen collected in any private house, counteracted every attempt that I could make for escape. I was therefore obliged, in a state of indescribable mortification, to sit quietly down till I knownot what hour in the morning; but for hours before my departure the room I sat in was so painfully crowded that the people absolutely stood on the chairs, round the walls, that they might look over their neighbours’ heads to stare at me; and if it had not been for the benevolent politeness of Mr. Erskine, who had been acquainted with my arrangement, I know not what weakness I might have been surprised into, especially being tormented, as I was, by the ridiculous interrogations of some learned ladies who were called ‘Blues,’ the meaning of which title I did not at that time appreciate; much less did I comprehend the meaning of the greater part of their learned talk. These profound ladies, however, furnished much amusement to the town for many weeks after—nay, I believe I might say for the whole winter. Glad enough was I at length to find myself at peace in my own bed-chamber.”
Dr. Doran makes this scene take place at Mrs. Montagu’s; but besides the victim’s own account of this remarkable evening, that gives such a picture of the times, we have those of Cumberland and of Miss Burney. Cumberland, in theObserver, disguising the people under feigned names, tells us:—
I now joined a cluster of people who had crowded round an actress who sat upon a sofa leaning on her elbow in a pensive attitude, and seemed to be counting the sticks of her fan, whilst they were vieing with each other in the most extravagant encomiums.“You were adorable last night in Belvidera,” says a pert young parson with a high toupée. “I sat in Lady Blubber’s box, and I can assure you she, and her daughters, too, wept most bitterly. But then that charming mad scene—but, by my soul, it was achef d’œuvre! Pray, Madam, give me leave to ask you, was you really in your senses?”“I strove to do it as well as I could,” answered the actress.“Do you intend to play comedy next season?” says a lady, stepping up to her with great eagerness.“I shall do as the manager bids me,” she replied.“I should be curious to know,” says an elderly lady, “which part, Madam, you yourself esteem the best you play?”“I shall always endeavour to make that which I am about the best.”An elegant and enchanting young woman of fashion now took her turn of interrogating, and, with many apologies, begged to be informed by her if she studied those enchanting looks and attitudes before a glass?“I never study anything but my author.”“Then you practise them at rehearsals?” rejoined the questioner.“I seldom rehearse at all.”“She has fine eyes,” says a tragic poet to an eminent painter.Vanessa now came up, and, desiring leave to introduce a young muse to Melpomene, presented a girl in a white frock, with a fillet of flowers tied round her hair, which hung down her back in flowing curls. The young muse made a low obeisance, and, with the most unembarrassed voice and countenance, whilst the poor actress was covered in blushes, and suffering torture from the eyes of all in the room, broke forth as follows:—“O thou, whom Nature calls her own,Pride of the stage and favourite of the town!”
I now joined a cluster of people who had crowded round an actress who sat upon a sofa leaning on her elbow in a pensive attitude, and seemed to be counting the sticks of her fan, whilst they were vieing with each other in the most extravagant encomiums.
“You were adorable last night in Belvidera,” says a pert young parson with a high toupée. “I sat in Lady Blubber’s box, and I can assure you she, and her daughters, too, wept most bitterly. But then that charming mad scene—but, by my soul, it was achef d’œuvre! Pray, Madam, give me leave to ask you, was you really in your senses?”
“I strove to do it as well as I could,” answered the actress.
“Do you intend to play comedy next season?” says a lady, stepping up to her with great eagerness.
“I shall do as the manager bids me,” she replied.
“I should be curious to know,” says an elderly lady, “which part, Madam, you yourself esteem the best you play?”
“I shall always endeavour to make that which I am about the best.”
An elegant and enchanting young woman of fashion now took her turn of interrogating, and, with many apologies, begged to be informed by her if she studied those enchanting looks and attitudes before a glass?
“I never study anything but my author.”
“Then you practise them at rehearsals?” rejoined the questioner.
“I seldom rehearse at all.”
“She has fine eyes,” says a tragic poet to an eminent painter.
Vanessa now came up, and, desiring leave to introduce a young muse to Melpomene, presented a girl in a white frock, with a fillet of flowers tied round her hair, which hung down her back in flowing curls. The young muse made a low obeisance, and, with the most unembarrassed voice and countenance, whilst the poor actress was covered in blushes, and suffering torture from the eyes of all in the room, broke forth as follows:—
“O thou, whom Nature calls her own,Pride of the stage and favourite of the town!”
“O thou, whom Nature calls her own,Pride of the stage and favourite of the town!”
“O thou, whom Nature calls her own,Pride of the stage and favourite of the town!”
“O thou, whom Nature calls her own,
Pride of the stage and favourite of the town!”
Miss Burney, who was present, also contributes her account of what took place:—
My father and I were both engaged to Miss Monckton’s; so was Sir Joshua, who accompanied us. We found Mrs. Siddons, the actress, there. She is a woman of excellent character, and, therefore, I am very glad she is thus patronised, since Mrs. Abington, and so many frail fair ones, have been thus noticed by the great. She behaved with great propriety, very calm, modest, quiet, and unaffected. She has a very fine countenance, and her eyes look both intelligent and soft. She has, however, a steadiness in her manner and deportment by no means engaging. Mrs. Thrale, who was there, said:“Why, this is a leaden goddess we are all worshipping; however, we shall soon gild it.”A lady who sat near me then began a dialogue with Mr. Erskine, who had placed himself exactly opposite to Mrs. Siddons, and they debated together upon her manner of studying her parts, disputing upon the point with great warmth, yet not only forbearing to ask Mrs. Siddons herself which was right, but quite overpowering her with their loquacity when she attempted, unasked, to explain the matter. Most vehement praise of all she did followed, and the lady turned to me and said:“What invitation, Miss Burney, is here for genius to display itself? Everybody, I hear, is at work for Mrs. Siddons; but if you would work for her, what an inducement to excel you would both of you have. Dr. Burney⸺”“Oh, pray, Madam,” cried I, “don’t say to him⸺”“Oh, but I will. If my influence can do you any mischief you may depend upon having it.”She then repeated what she had said to my father, and he instantly said:“Your ladyship may be sure of my interest.”I whispered afterwards to know who she was, and heard she was Lady Lucan.[1]
My father and I were both engaged to Miss Monckton’s; so was Sir Joshua, who accompanied us. We found Mrs. Siddons, the actress, there. She is a woman of excellent character, and, therefore, I am very glad she is thus patronised, since Mrs. Abington, and so many frail fair ones, have been thus noticed by the great. She behaved with great propriety, very calm, modest, quiet, and unaffected. She has a very fine countenance, and her eyes look both intelligent and soft. She has, however, a steadiness in her manner and deportment by no means engaging. Mrs. Thrale, who was there, said:
“Why, this is a leaden goddess we are all worshipping; however, we shall soon gild it.”
A lady who sat near me then began a dialogue with Mr. Erskine, who had placed himself exactly opposite to Mrs. Siddons, and they debated together upon her manner of studying her parts, disputing upon the point with great warmth, yet not only forbearing to ask Mrs. Siddons herself which was right, but quite overpowering her with their loquacity when she attempted, unasked, to explain the matter. Most vehement praise of all she did followed, and the lady turned to me and said:
“What invitation, Miss Burney, is here for genius to display itself? Everybody, I hear, is at work for Mrs. Siddons; but if you would work for her, what an inducement to excel you would both of you have. Dr. Burney⸺”
“Oh, pray, Madam,” cried I, “don’t say to him⸺”
“Oh, but I will. If my influence can do you any mischief you may depend upon having it.”
She then repeated what she had said to my father, and he instantly said:
“Your ladyship may be sure of my interest.”
I whispered afterwards to know who she was, and heard she was Lady Lucan.[1]
It is amusing to see how conceited Fanny Burney always must turn every incident to herself. When she did work for Mrs. Siddons, the play was received with roars of laughter, and acted but one night.
We find a clue in the above description to Mrs. Siddons’s unpopularity. Little Burney, with the frizzled head, and Mrs. Thrale, who “skipped about like a young kid, all vivacity and sprightliness,” could not understand the “steadiness in her manner,” and her dignified way of checking intrusive admirers. No one appreciated admiration and love from her intimate friends more than Mrs. Siddons, but to the adoration of general society she was icy cold.
Sir Joshua Reynolds frequently went to see her act, and she was a welcome guest at the house in Leicester Fields.
“He approved,” she writes, “very much of my costumes, and of my hair without powder, which at that time was used in great profusion, with a reddish brown tint, and a great quantity of pomatum, which,well kneaded together, modelled the fair ladies’ tresses into large curls like demi-cannon. My locks were generally braided into a small compass, so as to ascertain the size and shape of my head, which to a painter’s eye was, of course, an agreeable departure from the mode. My short waist, too, was to him a pleasing contrast to the long stiff stays and hoop petticoats which were then the fashion, even on the stage, and it obtained his unqualified approbation. He always sat in the orchestra; and in that place were to be seen—O glorious constellation!—Burke, Gibbon, Sheridan, and Windham.”
It was at Reynolds’s she first met Edmund Burke. The story goes that she was reading Milton for the benefit of the company, when she heard the great orator’s deep melodious tones repeat, as she closed the book, the lines beginning with “The angel ceased.” That wonderful face, full of fiery power, was to be seen amongst those surrounding her. He was afterwards frequently present while she sat to Reynolds for her portrait. She ever counted mercurial Sheridan as a friend, in spite of the way in which he treated her. She loved his beautiful, gentle wife, and some of her happiest hours were spent in their society. She there put off all her stateliness, and became the joyous-hearted young girl of the old Bath days.
Sir Thomas Lawrence cherished all his life a feeling that was almost akin to adoration for Mrs. Siddons’s genius and beauty. He painted her and John Kemble in every dress and every pose. He was engaged subsequently to two of her daughters, first one and then the other. He proposed to the eldest daughter, Sarah; was accepted; but, before long, became miserable and dejected, and at last confessed to Mrs. Siddons that hehad mistaken his feelings—that her younger daughter, and not the elder, was the object of his affection. Fanny Kemble says:—
Sarah gave up her lover, and he became engaged to the second, Maria. Both, however, died of consumption. Maria, the youngest, an exceedingly beautiful girl, died first, and on her death-bed made her sister promise that she would never marry Lawrence. The death of her daughters broke off all connection between Sir Thomas Lawrence and my aunt, and from that time they never saw or had any intercourse with one another. Yet not long after this Mrs. Siddons, dining with us one day, asked my mother how the sketch Lawrence was making of me was getting on. After my mother’s reply, my aunt remained silent for some time, and then, laying her hand on my father’s arm, said: “Charles, when I die, I wish to be carried to my grave by you and Lawrence.”Lawrence reached his grave when she was yet tottering on the brink of hers.On my twentieth birthday, which occurred soon after my first appearance, Lawrence sent me a magnificent proof plate of my aunt as the “Tragic Muse,” beautifully framed, and with this inscription: “This portrait, by England’s greatest painter, of the noblest subject of his pencil, is presented to her niece andworthy successorby her most faithful humble friend and servant, Lawrence.” When my mother saw this, she exclaimed at it, and said: “I am surprised he ever brought himself to write those words ‘worthy successor.’”A few days after, Lawrence begged me to let him have the print again, as he was not satisfied with the finish of the frame. It was sent to him, and when it came back he had effaced the words in which he had admitted any worthy successor to his “Tragic Muse”; and Mr. H⸺, who was at that time his secretary, told me that Lawrence had the print lying with that inscription in his drawing-room for several days before sending it to me, and had said to him, “I cannot bear to look at it.”
Sarah gave up her lover, and he became engaged to the second, Maria. Both, however, died of consumption. Maria, the youngest, an exceedingly beautiful girl, died first, and on her death-bed made her sister promise that she would never marry Lawrence. The death of her daughters broke off all connection between Sir Thomas Lawrence and my aunt, and from that time they never saw or had any intercourse with one another. Yet not long after this Mrs. Siddons, dining with us one day, asked my mother how the sketch Lawrence was making of me was getting on. After my mother’s reply, my aunt remained silent for some time, and then, laying her hand on my father’s arm, said: “Charles, when I die, I wish to be carried to my grave by you and Lawrence.”
Lawrence reached his grave when she was yet tottering on the brink of hers.
On my twentieth birthday, which occurred soon after my first appearance, Lawrence sent me a magnificent proof plate of my aunt as the “Tragic Muse,” beautifully framed, and with this inscription: “This portrait, by England’s greatest painter, of the noblest subject of his pencil, is presented to her niece andworthy successorby her most faithful humble friend and servant, Lawrence.” When my mother saw this, she exclaimed at it, and said: “I am surprised he ever brought himself to write those words ‘worthy successor.’”
A few days after, Lawrence begged me to let him have the print again, as he was not satisfied with the finish of the frame. It was sent to him, and when it came back he had effaced the words in which he had admitted any worthy successor to his “Tragic Muse”; and Mr. H⸺, who was at that time his secretary, told me that Lawrence had the print lying with that inscription in his drawing-room for several days before sending it to me, and had said to him, “I cannot bear to look at it.”
Among these artists, poets, statesmen, who were continually present at her representations and attended afterwards at her dressing-room door to pay their respects, in later years Byron might frequently be seen. He declared her to be the “beau idealof acting,” and said, “Miss O’Neill I would not see for fear of weakening the impression made by the queen of tragedians.When I read Lady Macbeth’s part I have Mrs. Siddons before me, and imagination even supplies her voice, whose tones were superhuman and power over the heart supernatural.” On another occasion, he is reported to have said that of actors Cook was the most natural, Kemble the most supernatural, and Kean the medium between the two, but that Mrs. Siddons was worth them all put together.
The first year she acted, “the gentlemen of the bar adorned her brows with laurel,” as she says herself. The “laurel” took the substantial form of a hundred guineas and a wreath presented by two barristers. She declared it to be the most shining circumstance of her life, and alluded modestly to her “poor abilities” and insufficient claims. The gentlemen of Brookes’s Club also made up a handsome present.
“Mrs. Siddons continues to be the mode,” Horace Walpole writes, “and to be modest and sensible. She declines great dinners, and says the business and cares of her family take her whole time. When Lord Carlisle carried her the tribute money from Brookes’s, he said she was notmaniéréeenough. ‘I suppose she was grateful?’ said my niece, Lady Maria.”
It is easy to imagine the difficulty she experienced in keeping her fame untarnished amidst that hotbed of vice, Covent Garden, and amidst all the adulation lavished on her. It is impossible, indeed, to say how many enemies she made by rejecting inopportune advances, and by exciting jealousies and envy; but the worst they could ever allege was that she was hard and haughty. She was continually on her guard. “One would as soon think of making love to the Archbishop of Canterbury” was said of her later; but in the early days of her first appearance at DruryLane she was obliged often to have recourse to an outspoken rebuff to aspirants to her favour.
As a curious instance of the insidious manner in which attacks were sometimes made to win her regard, John Taylor relates that one morning, on calling on her, he found her in the act of burning some letters that had been returned to her by the executors of the individual to whom they were addressed. He sat down to help her, and, in doing so, a printed copy of some scandalous verses on her that had appeared in theSt. James’s Gazettedropped out. Some lines in the handwriting of the deceased poet that were written on the top of the page proved the author, and proved that attacker and defender had been one and the same person. In talking the matter over afterwards, Mrs. Siddons recalled to mind that the same person had once endeavoured to undermine her affection for her husband by telling her tales of his infidelity.
We cannot resist giving here a letter which Mrs. Siddons received many years after her first appearance on the stage, when one might have thought her age and reputation a sufficient protection against such addresses:—
Loveliest of women! In Belvidera, Isabella, Juliet, and Calista, I have admired you until my fancy threatened to burst, and the strings of my imagination were ready to crack to pieces; but, as Mrs. Siddons, I love you to madness, and until my heart and soul are overwhelmed with fondness and desire. Say not that time has placed any difference in years between you and me. The youths of her day saw no wrinkles upon the brow of Ninon de l’Enclos. It is for vulgar souls alone to grow old; but you shall flourish in eternal youth, amidst the war of elements, and the crash of worlds.May 2nd, Barley Mow, Salisbury Square.
Loveliest of women! In Belvidera, Isabella, Juliet, and Calista, I have admired you until my fancy threatened to burst, and the strings of my imagination were ready to crack to pieces; but, as Mrs. Siddons, I love you to madness, and until my heart and soul are overwhelmed with fondness and desire. Say not that time has placed any difference in years between you and me. The youths of her day saw no wrinkles upon the brow of Ninon de l’Enclos. It is for vulgar souls alone to grow old; but you shall flourish in eternal youth, amidst the war of elements, and the crash of worlds.
May 2nd, Barley Mow, Salisbury Square.
So pertinacious became the persecutions of this young Irishman, for he was an Irishman, that she wasobliged to seek the protection of the law. His bursting imagination was kept in check for some little time by the sobering effects of a term of imprisonment.
Sometimes, also, her would-be adorers boasted of favours never received.
“If you should meet a Mr. Seton,” she wrote to Dr. Whalley, “who lived in Leicester Square, you must not be surprised to hear him talk of being very well with my sister and myself; for, since I have been here, I have heard the old fright has been giving it out in town. You will find him rather an unlikely person to be so great a favourite with women.”
Amongst fashionable ladies she counted many and constant friends. The doors of Mrs. Montagu’s house (centre of intellect and fashion) were always open to her; and we hear of her there on one occasion when all the “Blues” swarmed round their “Queen Bee,” and she wore her celebrated dress embroidered with the “ruins of Palmyra.”
Mrs. Damer (Anne Conway), daughter of General Conway, the celebrated sculptress and woman of fashion, was also one of her most intimate friends, and later in life the actress spent many hours in her studio when bitten herself with the love of modelling. Campbell says that Mrs. Siddons’s love of modelling in clay, began at Birmingham; and he tells a story of her going into a shop there, seeing a bust of herself, which the shopman, not knowing who she was, told her was the likeness of the greatest actress in the world. Mrs. Siddons bought it, and, thinking she could make a better replica of her own features, set to work and made modelling a favourite pursuit. Whether the impetus was thus given we hardly know, but it wasthe fashion of the time. Mrs. Damer, who was declared by her admirers “to be as great a sculptor as Mr. Nollekens,” and many other dainty fine ladies, put on mob caps and canvas aprons, wielding mallet and chisel, and kneading wax and clay with their small white hands. Mrs. Siddons was often the guest of Mrs. Damer at Strawberry Hill.
In her circle of women friends, we must not forget, either, the beautiful, fascinating, stuttering Mrs. Inchbald, the dear muse of her and her brother John. It is said that, coming off the stage one evening, she was about to sit down by Mrs. Siddons in the green-room, when, suddenly looking at her magnificent neighbour, she said, “No, I won’t s-s-s-sit by you; you’re t-t-t-too handsome!” in which respect she certainly need have feared no competition, and less with Mrs. Siddons than anyone, their style of beauty being so absolutely dissimilar.
Miss Seward was one of the adorers of her circle, but, in spite of the pages of rhapsodies on the subject “of the most glorious of her sex,” written to “her dear Lichfieldians” and the odes poured out to “Isabella” and “Euphrasia,” it is a significant fact that we do not find one letter personally to Mrs. Siddons, nor one from Mrs. Siddons addressed to her. Practical and sincere herself, the great actress disliked “gush” of all sorts. Miss Seward wrote, “My dear friends, I arrived here at five. Think of my mortification! Mrs. Siddons in Belvidera to-night, as is supposed, for the last time before she lies in. I asked Mrs. Barrow if it would be impossible to get into the pit. “O heaven!” said she, “impossible in any part of the house!” Mrs. B⸺ is, I find, in thepetit soupercircle; so the dear plays oratorios, and will bea little too much for my wishes, out of question. Adieu! Adieu!”
The Lichfieldian incense was a little too pungent for the nostrils to which it was offered. The great actress wrote, rather weariedly to her friend Dr. Whalley:—
“Believe me, my dear Sir, it is not want of inclination, but opportunity, that prevents my more frequent acknowledgments: but need I tell you this? No; you generously judge of my heart by your own. I fear I must have appeared very insensible, and, therefore, unworthy the honour Miss Seward has done me; but the perpetual round of business in which I am engaged is incredible. Shall I trespass on your goodness to say that I feel as I ought on that occasion?”
She then alludes to the kindness of the King and Queen which, sometimes to an inconvenient extent, was shown towards her all her life.
“I believe I told you that the Queen had graciously put my son down on her list for the Charterhouse; and she has done me the honour to stamp my reputation by her honoured approbation. They have seen me in all my characters but Isabella, which they have commanded for Monday next; but, having seen me in Jane Shore last night, and, judging very humanely that too quick repetitions of such exertions may injure my health, the King himself most graciously sent to the managers, and said he must deny himself the pleasure of seeing Isabella till Tuesday. This is the second time he has distinguished me in this manner. You see a vast deal of me in the papers, of my appointment at Court, and the like. All groundless; but I have the pleasure to inform you that my success hasexceeded even my hopes. My sister is engaged, and is successful. God be praised for all His mercies! You will think me an egotist, I fear. I shall certainly be at Bath in the Passion Week, if I am alive. I count the hours till then.”
Our readers may like to know that when their Majesties, with the Prince of Wales, the Princess Royal, and the Princess Augusta went in state, on October 8th, 1783, to see Mrs. Siddons play Isabella, the Sovereign and his wife sat under a dome covered with crimson velvet and gold; the heir to the throne sat under another of blue velvet and silver; and the young Princesses under a third of blue satin and silver fringe. George III. wore “a plain suit of Quaker-coloured clothes, with gold buttons; the Queen, a white satin robe, with a head-dress which was ornamented by a great number of diamonds; the Princess Royal was dressed in a white and blue figured silk, and Princess Augusta in a rose-coloured and white silk of the same pattern as her sister’s, having both their head-dresses richly ornamented with diamonds. His Royal Highness the Prince of Wales had a suit of dark blue Geneva velvet, richly trimmed with gold lace.”
We are further told that on this occasion Mrs. Siddons was much indisposed previous to her going on the stage; and, after the curtain dropped at the end of the fifth act, was so very ill as not to be capable of walking to her dressing-room without support. Notwithstanding her suffering, she went through the part as if inspired. The Queen was so affected at her performance, that His Majesty seemed alarmed, and often diverted her attention from situations and passages that were likely to distress her.
The following snarl was found among Horace Walpole’s papers:—
For theMorning Chronicle. On the King commanding the Tragedy ofThe Grecian Daughteron Thursday the 2nd inst. Jan. 10th, 1783.EpigrammaticSiddons to see—King, Lords, and Commons run,Glad to forget that Britain is undone.The Jesuit Shelburne, the apostate Fox,And Bulls and Bears, together in a Box.Thurlow neglects his promises to friends;And scribbling Townsend no more letters sends.Cits leave their feasts, and sots desert their wine;Each youth cries “Charming!” and each maid, “Divine!”See, of false tears, a copious torrent flows,But not one real, for their country’s woes.The club of spendthrifts, the rapacious barOf words, not arms, support the bloodless war.Let Spain Gibraltar get, our islands France,So Siddons acts, or Vestris leads the dance.Run on, mad nation! pleasure’s frantic round;For acting, fiddling, dancing be renown’d!Soon foreign fleets shall rule the Western main;George fill no throne but that of Drury Lane.Merlin.
For theMorning Chronicle. On the King commanding the Tragedy ofThe Grecian Daughteron Thursday the 2nd inst. Jan. 10th, 1783.
EpigrammaticSiddons to see—King, Lords, and Commons run,Glad to forget that Britain is undone.The Jesuit Shelburne, the apostate Fox,And Bulls and Bears, together in a Box.Thurlow neglects his promises to friends;And scribbling Townsend no more letters sends.Cits leave their feasts, and sots desert their wine;Each youth cries “Charming!” and each maid, “Divine!”See, of false tears, a copious torrent flows,But not one real, for their country’s woes.The club of spendthrifts, the rapacious barOf words, not arms, support the bloodless war.Let Spain Gibraltar get, our islands France,So Siddons acts, or Vestris leads the dance.Run on, mad nation! pleasure’s frantic round;For acting, fiddling, dancing be renown’d!Soon foreign fleets shall rule the Western main;George fill no throne but that of Drury Lane.Merlin.
EpigrammaticSiddons to see—King, Lords, and Commons run,Glad to forget that Britain is undone.The Jesuit Shelburne, the apostate Fox,And Bulls and Bears, together in a Box.Thurlow neglects his promises to friends;And scribbling Townsend no more letters sends.Cits leave their feasts, and sots desert their wine;Each youth cries “Charming!” and each maid, “Divine!”See, of false tears, a copious torrent flows,But not one real, for their country’s woes.The club of spendthrifts, the rapacious barOf words, not arms, support the bloodless war.Let Spain Gibraltar get, our islands France,So Siddons acts, or Vestris leads the dance.Run on, mad nation! pleasure’s frantic round;For acting, fiddling, dancing be renown’d!Soon foreign fleets shall rule the Western main;George fill no throne but that of Drury Lane.Merlin.
Epigrammatic
Siddons to see—King, Lords, and Commons run,Glad to forget that Britain is undone.The Jesuit Shelburne, the apostate Fox,And Bulls and Bears, together in a Box.Thurlow neglects his promises to friends;And scribbling Townsend no more letters sends.Cits leave their feasts, and sots desert their wine;Each youth cries “Charming!” and each maid, “Divine!”See, of false tears, a copious torrent flows,But not one real, for their country’s woes.The club of spendthrifts, the rapacious barOf words, not arms, support the bloodless war.Let Spain Gibraltar get, our islands France,So Siddons acts, or Vestris leads the dance.Run on, mad nation! pleasure’s frantic round;For acting, fiddling, dancing be renown’d!Soon foreign fleets shall rule the Western main;George fill no throne but that of Drury Lane.Merlin.
Siddons to see—King, Lords, and Commons run,
Glad to forget that Britain is undone.
The Jesuit Shelburne, the apostate Fox,
And Bulls and Bears, together in a Box.
Thurlow neglects his promises to friends;
And scribbling Townsend no more letters sends.
Cits leave their feasts, and sots desert their wine;
Each youth cries “Charming!” and each maid, “Divine!”
See, of false tears, a copious torrent flows,
But not one real, for their country’s woes.
The club of spendthrifts, the rapacious bar
Of words, not arms, support the bloodless war.
Let Spain Gibraltar get, our islands France,
So Siddons acts, or Vestris leads the dance.
Run on, mad nation! pleasure’s frantic round;
For acting, fiddling, dancing be renown’d!
Soon foreign fleets shall rule the Western main;
George fill no throne but that of Drury Lane.
Merlin.
George III. admired her, he said, “for her repose,” adding, “Garrick could never stand still; he was a great fidget.” The Queen told her, in broken English, that the only resource was to turn away from the stage; the acting was, indeed, too “disagreeable.” She was frequently summoned to read at the Palace, and to give lessons in elocution to the young Princesses.
In Mrs. Siddons’s memoranda, we are given an account of one of these readings. She felt extremely awkward, she tells us, in the “sack” with “hoop and treble ruffles which it was considered necessary to put on, according to court etiquette.” On her arrival she was led into an ante-chamber, where there were ladiesof rank whom she knew, while presently the King appeared, drawing one of his little daughters in a “go-cart.” This little princess was about three years old; and when Mrs. Siddons remarked to the lady standing next her that she longed to kiss the child, it held out its tiny hand ... so early had she learnt this lesson of royalty. Mrs. Siddons was obliged to stand during the whole of a lengthened evening, preferring this to their offers of refreshment in an adjoining room, as she was terrified at the thought of retiring backwards through “the whole length of a long apartment, with highly-polished, slippery floor.” Her Majesty privately expressed much astonishment at seeing her so collected, and was pleased to say that the actress had conducted herself as though she had been used to a court. “I had certainly often personated queens,” was the actress’s remark.
It may be mentioned as a remarkable fact that the first person outside the royal family who seems to have entertained a suspicion that insanity was creeping over the King was Mrs. Siddons. During a visit she paid to Windsor Castle at the time, the King, without any apparent motive, placed in her hands a sheet of paper bearing nothing but his signature—an incident which struck her as so unaccountable, that she immediately carried it to the Queen, who gratefully thanked her for her discretion.
But more than all the attentions of royalty, more than all the flattery lavished upon her by great people, more than all the applause and worship she received from the crowds who besieged the theatre, did she value the sparingly awarded praises and sincere shake of the shabby, noble, snuff-covered hand of “the Great Bear,” before whose growl everyone trembled.
In Boswell’sLife of Johnsonhe tells us the Doctor had a singular prejudice against players, “futile fellows” whom he rated no higher than rope-dancers or ballad singers. This prejudice, however, did not prevent him from hobbling off to see poor crippled Mrs. Porter when forsaken by all the rest of the world. The beginning of his liking for Mrs. Siddons is thoroughly characteristic. He always talked to his circle of lady adorers of that jade, Mrs. Siddons, until one of the “fair females” suggested that he must see the actress.
“But, indeed, Dr. Johnson,” said Miss Monckton, “youmustsee Mrs. Siddons. Won’t you see her in some fine part?”
“Why, if Imust, Madam, I have no choice.”
“She says, Sir, she shall be very much afraid of you.”
“Madam, that cannot be true.”
“Not true?” said Miss Monckton, staring. “Yes, it is.”
“Itcannotbe, Madam.”
“But she said so to me; I heard her say it myself.”
“Madam, it is notpossible; remember, therefore, in future, that even fiction should be supported by probability.”
Miss Monckton looked all amazement, but insisted upon the truth of what she had said.
“I do not believe, Madam,” said he, warmly, “that she knows my name.”
“Oh, that is rating her too low,” said a gentleman stranger.
“By not knowing my name,” continued he, “I do not mean literally, but that when she sees it abusedin a newspaper she may possibly recollect that she has seen it abused in a newspaper before.”
“Well, Sir,” said Miss Monckton, “but you must see her for all this.”
“Well, Madam, if you desire it, I will go; see her, I shall not, nor hear her; but I’ll go, and that will do. The last time I was at a play I was ordered there by Mrs. Abington, or a Mrs. Somebody, I do not well remember who, but I placed myself in the middle of the first row of the front boxes, to show that when I was called I came.”
He kept his promise, and the huge, slovenly figure, clad in a greasy brown coat and coarse black worsted stockings, was several times seen taking handfuls of snuff, and criticising the actress in his outspoken, growling fashion. She then paid him a visit in his den at Bolt Court, to which he alludes in one of his letters to Mrs. Thrale:—
“Mrs. Siddons, in her visit to me, behaved with great modesty and propriety, and left nothing behind her to be censured or despised. Neither praise nor money, the two powerful corrupters of mankind, seemed to have depraved her. I shall be glad to see her again. Her brother Kemble calls on me, and pleases me very well. Mrs. Siddons and I talked of plays, and she told me her intention of exhibiting this winter the character of Constance, Catherine, and Isabella, in Shakespeare.”
Boswell gives us also the account of what took place:—
“When Mrs. Siddons came into the room, there happened to be no chair ready for her, which he observing, said with a smile: ‘Madam, you who so often occasion a want of seats to other peoplewill the more easily excuse the want of one yourself.’
“Having placed himself by her, he with great good humour entered upon a consideration of the English drama; and, among other enquiries, particularly asked her which of Shakespeare’s characters she was most pleased with. Upon her answering that she thought the character of Queen Catherine inHenry VIII.the most natural: ‘I think so too, Madam,’ said he; ‘and whenever you perform it I will once more hobble out to the theatre myself.’ Mrs. Siddons promised she would do herself the honour of acting his favourite part for him, but was unable to do so before grand old Samuel was laid to his last rest.”