Читать книгу Mrs. Siddons - Nina H. Kennard - Страница 6

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As Sarah Kemble passed from childhood to early womanhood, she continued to act the round of all the company’s plays, taking more important parts as she grew older. The very atmosphere she breathed was dramatic. To walk the stage was a second nature to her. She was not, however, at the same time shut out from common-place every-day matters. She helped her mother in the household work, and went from a rehearsal to the making of a pudding or the darning of a pair of stockings. There is little doubt that this free mixing in the simple family life of her home gave a healthy balance to her mind. Like her mother, she always kept her domestic life intact in the midst of her professional occupations, and ever remained simple and womanly. Her fine friends in later days would tell how they had found her ironing a frock for one of her children, or studying a new part while she rocked the cradle of the last baby.

At the age of sixteen, Sarah’s beauty had attracted the attention of her audiences. One or two squires of the county places they visited offered her their homage; but before she was seventeen her affections were already engaged by a member of the troupe, an ex-apprentice from Birmingham.

We have already seen the name of Siddons figuring on the Kemble play-bills, when Sarah was only thirteen years of age. We can imagine, therefore, all the opportunities that the young people had of falling in love, rehearsing together, acting together, with the continual communion of interest brought about by their profession. No wonder that even Mr. Evans, a Welsh squire, with three hundred a year, who, enslaved by Sarah’s singing of Robin, Sweet Robin, offered her his hand, was ignominiously refused. Her parents, however, took a different view, and, allured by the splendour of Mr. Evans’s offer, revoked the unwilling consent they had given to their daughter’s engagement to Siddons, and summarily dismissed him from the company.

The indignant lover had recourse to a method of revenge that seems as novel as it was ungentlemanly. Being allowed a farewell benefit, he took the opportunity—it was at Brecon—of taking the audience into his confidence, and, in doggrel of the worst description, informed them of his woes:—

Ye ladies of Brecon, whose hearts ever feel

For wrongs like to this I’m about to reveal,

Excuse the first product, nor pass unregarded

The complaints of poor Colin, a lover discarded.

Yet still on his Phyllis his hopes were all placed,

That her vows were so firm they could ne’er be effaced;

But soon she convinced him ’twas all a mere joke,

For duty rose up, and her vows were all broke.

Dear ladies, avoid one indelible stain,

Excuse me, I beg, if my verse is too plain;

But a jilt is the devil, as has long been confessed,

Which a heart like poor Colin’s must ever detest.

We only give three verses of the eleven, being as much, we think, as our readers could submit to with patience.

How a girl of any spirit could forgive a lover for thus exposing their private affairs, and how a girl of any artistic appreciation could forgive a lover such bad verses, and take him back into her good graces, is more than we can understand. Mrs. Kemble, her mother, seemed to take the most correct view of the situation, for, instead of excusing “the first product” of the luckless poet, “his merits tho’ small,” she amply rewarded with a ringing box on the ears as he left the stage.

Jones, a member of Roger Kemble’s company, preserved some verses written by Sarah to her lover, which show her to be as superior to him in taste and poetic perception, as she afterwards proved herself in dramatic power:—

Say not, Strephon, I’m untrue,

When I only think of you;

If you do but think of me

As I of you, then shall you be

Without a rival in my heart,

Which ne’er can play a tyrant’s part.

Trust me, Strephon, with thy love—

I swear by Cupid’s bow above,

Nought shall make me e’er betray

Thy passion till my dying day:

If I live, or if I die,

Upon my constancy rely.

Siddons sufficiently relied on her constancy, in spite of his statements to “ye ladies of Brecon,” to suggest to his beloved an immediate elopement, which suggestion she, as Campbell quaintly puts it, “tempering amatory with filial duty,” politely declined, and her lover left.

As it was considered advisable to wean Sarah from old associations she was sent away for a time, and lived “under the protection” of Mrs. Greatheed, of Guy’s Cliff in Warwickshire. Some have maintained that she was nursemaid or housemaid; but the terms she was on with her mistress, who presented her with a copy of Milton, precludes that idea, unless, by her smartness and industry, she, within a very short period of her engagement, worked herself into a better position. Campbell also points out that there were no children to be nursed in the Greatheed family at that time. “Her station with them,” he continues, “was humble, but not servile, and her principal employment was to read to the elder Mr. Greatheed.” The secret history of the green room informs us that she was maid to Lady Mary Bertie, Samuel Greatheed’s second wife; and the Duchess of Ancaster told Mrs. Geneste she well remembered Lady Mary once bringing this attractive attendant with her on a visit.

It was remarked that she delighted in reciting fragments of plays for the entertainment of the servants’ hall. Lord Robert Bertie was so fond of listening and admiring her declamation, that Lady Mary had to beg of him to desist, and “not encourage the girl to go on the stage.” Young Greatheed told Miss Wynn later on that he had often heard Mrs. Siddons read Macbeth when she was his mother’s maid.

Lady Mary confessed years afterwards to “Conversation” Sharp, that so queenly was the bearing of the young girl, even at that early age, that she always felt an irresistible inclination to rise from her chair when her maid came to attend her.

We can imagine the romantic girl wandering through the lonely glades, and amongst the stately elm-groves of Guy’s Cliff, or along the shores of the soft-flowing Avon, Shakespeare’s Avon, that glides at the foot of the rocks between green meadows, dreaming of her love, and reading the poet she loved so well, whose birth-place and burial-place lay so near where she was. She must have heard reminiscences told of the great Jubilee that had taken place in 1769, only three years before, when Mr. Garrick and a “brilliant company of nobility and gentry,” had come down to Stratford to celebrate the Shakesperean centenary. She little knew then that it was in a repetition of the Jubilee procession on the boards of Drury Lane she was destined to make her first bow to a London audience. There is a tradition that she met Garrick during her stay at Guy’s Cliff. It is not impossible, as, after the Jubilee, he was a constant guest of the Greatheeds. The statement hardly tallies, however, with his writing sometime later to Moody to the effect that there “was a woman Siddons” acting at Liverpool, who might suit the Drury Lane company, and asking him to go and have a look at her. He might easily, however, have failed to connect the girl Sarah Kemble with the woman Mrs. Siddons.

It redounds much to the credit both of the Greatheeds and the actress, that afterwards, in spite of the change of circumstances, Mrs. Siddons ever remained a firm friend of the family. We find Miss Berry in 1822, forty-seven years later, writing in her journal:—

“Guy’s Cliff, Tuesday, Jan. 1st.—Mrs. Siddons and her daughter arrived.

“Wednesday, 2nd.—Mrs. Siddons read Othello, the two parts of Iago and Othello, quite à merveille.”

We find Bertie Greatheed standing sponsor for her daughter Cecilia in 1794; and, greatest test of true friendship, writing a tragedy, The Regent, which failed disastrously.

In spite of stern parents and social obstacles, “Love will be ever Lord of all.” William Siddons came several times to Guy’s Cliff to see her. There, almost within sight of Shottery, where Shakespeare enacted his love story with Anne Hathaway, Sarah Kemble enacted hers. Wandering amidst the scented fields through which Shakespeare wandered, William Siddons again pleaded his cause, and was forgiven his bad verses and untimely confidences for the sake of his persistency.

The Kembles, seeing the attachment was serious, at last gave their consent, and in her nineteenth year Sarah Kemble became Mrs. Siddons.

The marriage took place at Trinity Church, Coventry, November 26th, 1773, and on the 4th of October following, the first child, Henry, was born, at Wolverhampton.

Mr. Siddons was just the man to fascinate a young and high-spirited girl. Good-looking, calm, sedate, even-tempered, not over-burdened with brain-power, and not too much will of his own. One might apply to him what Johnson said of Sheridan’s father, “He is not a bad man, no, Sir; were mankind to be divided into good and bad, he would stand considerably within the ranks of the good.” “A damned rascally player,” the Rev. Henry Bate says forcibly, “but a civil fellow.” We are told that he had not only that invention which in provincial theatres is the first of requisites, but he also possessed the second, a quick study, in almost unequalled perfection. He could make himself master of the longest dramatic character between night and night, and deliver it with the accuracy that seems to result only from long application; but so slight was the impression made, that it escaped from his memory in as few hours as he had employed to learn it. It was said later, by members of his wife’s company, that though Siddons was a bad actor himself, he was an excellent judge, always drilling his wife, and very cross at any failure. His position as husband of the “great Mrs. Siddons,” continually cast into the shade by her superiority, was an unthankful one, but we must confess that he filled it with commendable equanimity.

Their love wore better than the tinsel finery amidst which it began. The happy domestic life that succeeded was undoubtedly a great safe-guard amidst the dangers and difficulties of her life, saving her from much that is the ruin of her less protected sisters. We are told that in the days of her success, when her would-be admirers and lovers were legion, her husband’s ear was the one to which she confided all the incidents of attempted gallantry, invariably attending an actress’s life; and many were the hearty laughs they indulged in together over them. Perhaps now and then there was too great an inclination to make use of him. We find the poor man writing to managers as their obedient humble servant, making piteous appeals to Garrick, and put forward to dun Sheridan for the amount due to his wife; but at first they seem to have shared all the trials and struggles of their profession together.

Wolverhampton was their first stage after their marriage. The reigning Mayor seems to have nourished a prejudice against all actors. He had closed the King’s Head Yard, and declared contemptuously that “neither player, puppy, nor monkey,” should perform in the town. After a popular demonstration, he was induced to rescind this harsh interdict; and by the Christmas of 1773, Roger Kemble was giving two stock dramas, The West Indian and The Padlock. Sarah appeared for the first time as Mrs. Siddons, at a farewell “Bespeak.” An address, written by herself, and spoken on this occasion, has been found and published by an inhabitant of Wolverhampton:—

Ladies and Gentlemen,—my spouse and I

Have had a squabble, and I’ll tell you why.

He said I must appear; nay, vowed ’twas right

To give you thanks for favours shown to-night.

...

He still insisted, and, to win consent,

Strove to o’ercome me with a compliment;

Told me that I the favourite here had reigned,

While he but small or no applause had gained.

“Pen me some lines where I may talk and swagger,

Of poisons, murders, done by bowl or dagger;

Or let me, with my brogue and action ready,

Give them a brush, my dear, of Widow Brady.”

...

First, for a father, who on this fair ground,

Has met with friendship seldom to be found,

May th’ All-Good Power your every virtue nourish,

Health, wealth, and trade in Wolverhampton flourish!

This doggrel is almost on a par with Mr. Siddons’s effusion to the Ladies of Brecon.

In the year following Mr. and Mrs. Siddons made their way to Cheltenham, then a town consisting of but one street, “through the middle of which ran a clear stream of water, with stepping-stones that served as a bridge.” Already, however, its merits as a watering place had been noised abroad, and some of the “people of quality” had begun to find their way there. Seeing the play of Venice Preserved announced for representation at the theatre, some of the fashionables took tickets, hoping to be highly diverted with the badness of the rustic performance. The man at the box-office, who had listened to their thoughtless remarks, reported them to Mrs. Siddons, who was to act the part of Belvidera. The young actress felt oppressed at the idea of the ordeal she was to be subjected to. Ridicule was all her life the one thing the tragic muse could not face; and from the moment of first coming on she was conscious of the antagonistic influence in one of the boxes, and imagined she heard sounds of suppressed laughter. She left the theatre after the play, deeply mortified. Next day, Mr. Siddons met Lord Aylesbury in the street, who inquired after Mrs. Siddons’s health. He then expressed his admiration of her acting the night before, and declared that the ladies of his party had wept so excessively that they were laid up with headaches. Mr. Siddons rushed home to gladden his wife’s heart with the news. The actress owed one of the truest friendships of her life to this incident, for Miss Boyle, Lord Aylesbury’s step-daughter, came to call on her the same day to express her delight in person, and from that time never allowed the intimacy to drop. This lady seems to have possessed considerable artistic gifts in several ways, having, as Campbell tells us with much emphasis, written An Ode to a Poppy, which was thought full of merit in her day. What was of more importance to the young actress, however, than her new friend’s qualifications for writing “odes” was her power of making costumes for different parts with her own hands, and her generosity in supplying “properties” from her own wardrobe. There were some, however, that even the Honourable Miss Boyle did not possess. For the male habiliments of the Widow Brady, the young actress found on the night of the performance that no provision had been made. The story goes that a gentleman politely left the box where he was seated, lent her his coat, and stood in the side-scenes with a petticoat over his shoulders until his property was restored to him. Whether this courteous individual was Lord Aylesbury we are not told, but we know that he was one of Miss Boyle’s party.

The particular fascination of Mrs. Siddons’s acting in those early days was its simplicity and pathos, which, united with remarkable beauty and power of expression, gained the hearts of all rustic audiences. Her talent, however, seems to have been singularly immature, considering the continual practice she had enjoyed, almost from her cradle, in stage affairs. Rachel reached the summit of her power at seventeen, Mrs. Siddons not until she was thirty. She herself confesses later, in the account she gives of her first reading of Macbeth: “Being then only twenty years of age, I believed, as many others do believe, that little more was necessary than to get the words into my head; for the necessity of discrimination, and the development of character, at that time of my life, had scarcely entered into my imagination.”

The power of drawing tears, however, was already hers, and rumours of the charm and beauty of the young actress had been wafted to London, reaching even the ears of the great Garrick himself. Mrs. Siddons tells us, in her Autograph Recollections: “Mr. King, by order of Mr. Garrick, who had heard some account of me from the Aylesbury family, came to Cheltenham to see me in the Fair Penitent. I knew neither Mr. King nor his purpose at the time.” Neither did she know of the second emissary whom Garrick sent, the Rev. Henry Bate, who in 1781 took the name of Dudley, and was afterwards made a canon and a baronet; a bruising, muscular clergyman of the old school, who fought duels one moment and wrote “slashing” articles on every subject, “human and divine,” the next. He was well known as a theatrical censor and critic of considerable acumen. We know him by Gainsborough’s portrait, standing in a garden with his dog. It is said that a political opponent remarked that the man wanted “execution” and the dog “hanging.” We find Garrick continually sending him on theatrical errands. We give the letters he wrote about Mrs. Siddons very nearly in their entirety, on account of their characteristic quaint humour and shrewd power of observation; and also because they to a certain degree exonerate Garrick from some of the charges brought against him by Mrs. Siddons:—

My Dear Friend,

After combatting the various difficulties of one of the cussidest cross-roads in this kingdom, we arrived safe at Cheltenham on Thursday last, and saw the theatrical heroine of that place in the character of Rosalind. Though I beheld her from the side wing of the stage (a barn about three yards over), and consequently under almost every disadvantage, I own she made so strong an impression upon me, that I think she cannot fail to be a valuable acquisition to Drury Lane. Her figure must be remarkably fine, although marred for the present. Her face (if I could judge from where I saw it) is one of the most strikingly beautiful for stage effect that I ever beheld, but I shall surprise you more when I assure you that these are nothing to her action and general stage deportment, which are remarkably pleasing and characteristic; in short, I know no woman who marks the different passages and transitions with so much variety, and at the same time propriety of expression. In the latter humbug scene with Orlando previous to her revealing herself, she did more with it than anyone I ever saw, not even your divine Mrs. Barry excepted. It is necessary after this panegyric, however, to inform you that her voice struck me at first as rather dissonant, and I fancy, from the private conversation I had with her, that in impassioned scenes it must be somewhat grating; however, as I found it wear away as the business became more interesting, I am inclined to think it only an error of affectation, which may be corrected, if not totally removed. She informed me she has been upon the stage from her cradle. This, though it surprised me, gave me the highest opinion of her judgment, to find she had contracted no strolling habits, which have so often been the bane of many a theatrical genius. She will most certainly be of great use to you, at all events, on account of the great number of characters she plays, all of which, I will venture to assert, she fills with propriety, though I have yet seen her but in one. She is, as you have been informed, a very good breeches figure, and plays in Widow Brady, I am informed, admirably. I should not wonder, from her ease, figure, and manner, if she made the proudest she of either house tremble in genteel comedy—nay, beware yourself, Great Little Man, for she plays Hamlet to the satisfaction of the Worcestershire critics.

The moment the play was over I wrote a note to her husband (who is a damned rascally player, though seemingly a very civil fellow) requesting an interview with him and his wife, intimating at the same time the nature of my business. You will not blame me for making this forced march in your favour, as I learnt that some of the Covent Garden Mohawks were intrenched near the place and intended carrying her by surprise. At the conclusion of the farce they waited upon me, and, after I had opened my commission, she expressed herself happy at the opportunity of being brought out under your eye, but declined proposing any terms, leaving it entirely with you to reward her as you thought proper.

You will perceive that at present she has all that diffidence usually the first attendant on merit; how soon the force of Drury Lane examples, added to the rising vanity of a stage heroine, may transform her, I cannot say. It happens very luckily that the company comes to Worcester for the race week, when I shall take every opportunity of seeing her, and if I find the least reason to alter my opinion (perhaps too hastily formed), you shall immediately have my recantation. My wife, whose judgment in theatrical matters I have a high opinion of, joins with me in these sentiments respecting her merit. I should have wrote to you before, but no post went out from anywhere near here but this night’s.

I shall expect to hear from you by return of the post, as Siddons will call upon me to know whether you look upon her as engaged. My wife joins me in respects to Mrs. Garrick and yourself. I remain, my dear Sir (after writing a damned jargon, I suppose, of unintelligible stuff in haste),

Ever yours most truly,

H. Bate.

Worcester, 12th August, 1775.

P.S.—Direct to me at the “Hop Pole.”

To David Garrick, Esq., Adelphi, London.

Worcester, Aug. 19th, 1775.

My Dear Friend,

I received your very friendly letter, and take the first post from hence to answer it. I found it unnecessary to make the intimation you desired to the husband, since he requires only to be employed in any manner you shall think proper; and as he is much more tolerable than I thought him at first, it may be no very difficult matter to station him so as to satisfy the man, without burdening the property. I saw him the other evening in Young Marlow in Goldsmith’s Comedy, and then he was far from despicable; neither his figure nor face contemptible. A jealousy prevailing through the theatre, upon a suspicion of their leaving them, the acting manager seems determined that I shall not see her again in any character wherein she might give me a second display of her theatrical powers. I am resolved, however, to continue the siege till they give her something capital, knowing that must speedily be the case, or the garrison must fall by famine.

She has already gone six months, so that pretty early in December she will be fit for service; as you certainly mean to open the ensuing campaign, by charging in person at the head of your lines, I conceive she will come at a very favourable crisis to take a second command, when the retreat from the field may be politically necessary. I am strongly for her first appearance in Rosalind; but you may judge better, perhaps, after a perusal of the list on the other side; the characters marked under [in italics] are those which she prefers to others:—

 Jane Shore.

 Alicia.

 Roxana.

 Grecian Daughter.

 Matilda.

 Belvidera.

 Calista.

 Monimia.

 Juliet.

 Cordelia.

 Horatia.

 Imogen.

 Marianne.

 Lady Townley.

 Portia.

 Mrs. Belville.

 Violante.

 Rosalind.

 Mrs. Strickland.

 Clarinda.

 Miss Aubrey.

 Charlotte.

 Widow Brady.

You are certainly right respecting a memorandum between you; the moment, therefore, I receive one from you, it shall be conveyed to them at Cheltenham, where they return next week, and they have promised to return me an answer immediately at Birmingham, for which place I shall set off the instant I have received your letter in any way to town, in order to conclude this business finally, and to the satisfaction of all parties. I am desired to request your answer to the three following particulars:—

1st. As they are ready to attend your summons at any time, Whether they are not to be allowed something to subsist upon when they come to town previous to her appearance?

2nd. Whether you have any objection to employ him in any situation in which you may think him likely “to be useful”?

3rd. When you chuse they should attend you?

As to the first, without you are inclined to have them at the opening of the house, perhaps her remaining in the country, in their own company, where they do very well, may ease you of some expense; but of this you must be the best judge. With respect to him, I think you can have no objection to take him upon the terms he proposes himself. I forgot to tell you that Mrs. Siddons is about twenty years of age. It would be unjust not to remark one circumstance in favour of them both; I mean the universal good character they have preserved here for many years, on account of their public as well as private conduct in life. I beg you to be very particular in your answer to the three queries, and likewise expressly to mention the time you wish to see them, that they may arrange their little matters accordingly.

In a postscript he adds:—

She is the most extraordinary quick study I ever heard of. This cannot be amiss, for, if I recollect right, we have a sufficient number of the leaden-headed ones at D. Lane already.

Then come letters from Siddons, in answer to some from Bate, concluding an engagement. We can see the trembling anxiety of the young couple. “They were in much concern,” he says, “at not hearing sooner,” as from the line he had shown him in Mr. Garrick’s handwriting, he had been sure of Mrs. Siddons’s engagement. They had, in consequence, given his partners in management at Cheltenham notice of his intention to go; if anything had happened, therefore, to prevent their engagement, it would have “proved a very unlucky circumstance.” He then touches on a very necessary point—their pressing need of money to tide them over Mrs. Siddons’s expected confinement. “Mr. Garrick,” he says, “has conferred an eternal obligation by his kind offer of the cash.”

In his next letter, dated Gloucester, November 9th, 1775, he writes:—“From my former accounts of Mrs. Siddons’s time, you’ll be surprised when I tell you she is brought to bed; she was unexpectedly taken ill when performing on the stage, and early the next morning produc’d me a fine girl. They are both, thank Heaven, likely to do well; but I am afraid, Sir, notwithstanding this, I shan’t be able to leave this much sooner than the time I last mentioned.” He then alludes to twenty pounds borrowed in Garrick’s name to meet pressing demands.

This “fine girl” was Mrs. Siddons’ daughter Sarah, whose premature death later nearly broke her mother’s heart.