MR. SHAKESPEARE DISORDERLY
At the meeting preliminary to “Warriors’ Day” I was wending my way along the corridor of the Theatre Royal, Drury Lane, when I encountered an amphibious-looking figure with the mien of one of Mr. W. W. Jacobs’s people, but attired in the classic tunic and sandals of a Greek of the best period. Knowing that the meeting was to include all sorts and conditions of theatrical men, I taxed him with being somebody out ofOrphée aux EnfersorLa Belle Hélène. He said it was not a bad shot, but, as a matter of fact, he was a ferryman, “saving your honour’s reverence, name o’ Charon.” “A ferryman?” said I; “then you must be from the Upper River, Godstow way.” “No, sir,” he answered, “I ply my trade on the Styx, and I’ve brought over a boatful of our tip-toppers—our intelli-gents-you-are they calls ’em in the Elysian Fields—to this ’ere meetin’. Precious dry work it is, too, sir,” he added, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Where are they?” I asked in high excitement. “In this ’ere box, sir, where the management have allowed them to sit incog.” “And who, my good fellow, are they?” “Well,sir, let me see; there’s Mr. William Shakespeare, one of the most pop’lar of our gents and the neatest hand at nectar punch with a toast in it. Then there’s Mr. David Garrick, little Davy, as they calls ’im (though the other one, ’im who’s always a-slingin’ stones at the giants, isn’t no great size, neither), and there’s ’is friend Dr. Samuel Johnson, a werry harbitrary cove, and there’s Mrs. Siddons, an ’oly terror of a woman, sir, as you might say. Likewise, there’s Mr. Sheridan and Mr. Edmund Kean, both on ’em gents with a powerful thirst—just like mine this blessed mornin’, sir.” At this second reminder I gave him wherewithal to slake his thirst, directed him to the bar, and, as soon as he was out of sight, slipped noiselessly into the back of the box, where I hid behind the overcoats.
Mr. Shakespeare was beckoning Mrs. Siddons to his side. “Come hither, good mistress Sal” (this to the majestic Sarah, the Tragic Muse!), “and prythee, dearest chuck, sit close, for ’tis a nipping and an eager air, and poor Will’s a-cold.”
Mrs. S.—Sir, you are vastly obleeging, but where’s the chair?
Dr. Johnson.—Madam, you who have so often occasioned a want of seats to other people, will the more easily excuse the want of one yourself.
Mr. Shakespeare.—Marry come up! Wouldst not sit in my lap, Sal? ’Tis not so deep as a well nor so wide as a church door, but ’twill serve.
Mrs. S.(scandalized but dignified).—Sir, I amsensible of the honour, but fear my train would incommode the Immortal Bard.
Mr. Shakespeare.—Oh, Immortal Bard be——
Mr. Garrick(hastily).—I perceive, sir, a stir among the company. The gentleman who is taking the chair has notable eyebrows; he must be——
Mr. Shakespeare.—Master George Robey. I’ve heard of him and his eyebrows.
Mr. G.—No, no, ’tis Sir Arthur Pinero, an actor-dramatist like yourself, sir.
Mr. Shakespeare.—Beshrew me, but I would hear the chimes at midnight with him and drink a health unto his knighthood. (Sings.) “And let me the canakin clink, clink, and——”
The House(indignantly).—Sh-h-h!
Mr. Shakespeare.—A murrain on these gallants! They have no ear for a catch and should get them to a monastery. But I’ll sit like my grandsire, carved in alabaster. Who’s the young spark, now speaking?
Dr. J.(shocked).—The young spark, sir, is His Royal Highness the Prince of Wales.
Mr. Sheridan.—Egad! This reminds me of old times, but the young man is not a bit like my friend Prinny. And thoughImanaged Drury Lane, I never got Prinny onmystage.
Dr. J.—Sir, your Prinny never had so good a cause to be there. He onlythoughthe fought in the wars; but this Prince is a real ex-Service man,pleading for the ex-Service men, his comrades in arms. He has been a soldier, and not a man of us in this box but wishes he could say as much for himself. Every man thinks meanly of himself for not having been a soldier; but he will think less meanly if he can help those who have. That is the very purpose of this numerous assembly.
Mr. Shakespeare.—Oh, most learned doctor, a Daniel come to judgment! I’ faith I am most heartily of thy mind, and would drink a loving toast to the young Prince and another to the ex-Service fellows, and eke a third to this—how runs it?—this numerous assembly. (Sings.) “And let me the canakin clink, clink, and——”
The House(in a frenzy of indignation).—Sh-h-h! Turn him out! (Hisses.)
Mr. Shakespeare.—What! the “bird”! Well-a-day, this isn’t the first time they’ve hissed my Ghost.
Mr. Kean.—Sir, they’ve hissedme!
Mr. Shakespeare.—Ha! say’st thou, honest Ned! But thou wast a jackanapes to let thyself be caught with the Alderman’s wife and——
Mrs. S. (icily).—Mr. Shakespeare, there are ladies present.
Mr. Sheridan(whispering to Dr. J.).—But what does little Davy here, doctor? He has always been represented as very saving.
Dr. J.—No, sir. Davy is a liberal man. He has given away more money than any man in England.There may be a little vanity mixed, but he has shown that money is not his first object.
At this moment Charon popped his head in at the door, pulling his forelock, and said, “Time, gen’lemen, time!” The house was rising and I took the opportunity to step back, unperceived, into the corridor. Mr. Shakespeare led the procession out, declaring that, as he had come in a galliard, he must return in a coranto, and offering to dance it with Mrs. Siddons, who, however, excused herself, saying that she knew no touch of it, though she had of old taken great strides in her profession. Dr. Johnson turned back, when half way out, to touch the doorpost. Mr. Garrick sallied forth arm-in-arm with Mr. Kean and Mr. Sheridan. “Egad!” chuckled Mr. Sheridan, “Garrick between Tragedy and Comedy,” and subsequently caused some confusion by tumbling down the stairs and lying helpless at the bottom. When the attendants ran to his assistance and asked his name, he said he was Mr. Wilberforce. As they emerged under the portico the crowd outside raised a loud cheer, and Mr. Shakespeare doffed his plumed cap and bowed graciously to right and left until they told him that the crowd were cheering the Prince of Wales, when he looked crestfallen and called those within earshot “groundlings” and “lousy knaves.” As he jumped into a taxi, I heard him direct the driver to the “Mermaid,” when Dr. Johnson, running up and puffing loudly, cried, “A tavern chair is the throneof human felicity. But the ‘Mitre’ is the nearer. Let us go there, and I’ll have a frisk with you.” And as the taxi disappeared down Catherine Street, my ear caught the distant strain, “And let me the canakin clink, clink.”