Photograph by Elliott & Fry, London, W. To face p. [24]
Harry
November 19th. 1891
At the end of the run of The Middleman, I wrote to Mr. (now Sir) A. W. Pinero, and asked for an interview. His play, The Cabinet Minister, was shortly to be produced at the Court Theatre, and I hoped he might give me a part. He granted me the interview, and I remember how frightened I was. I met him some time ago, and he reminded me of it. He told me I struck him as being “such a little thing”. Anyway, he gave me a part. This was the first production in which I had played where the dresses were provided by the management, and very wonderful dresses they were.
It was a great cast—Mrs. John Wood (whose daughter and granddaughter were both with us in Canada in 1920), Allen Aynesworth (a very typical young “man about town”), Rosina Philippi, Weedon Grossmith, and Arthur Cecil.
Mrs. John Wood was a wonderful actress; she got the last ounce out of every part she played. Fred Grove says: “When she had finished with a part, it was like a well-sucked orange; not a bit of good left in it for anyone else.” The first act of The Cabinet Minister was a reception after a drawing-room. We all wore trains of “regulation” length; at rehearsals Mrs. Wood insisted that we should all have long curtains pinned round us, to accustom us to the trains.
Arthur Cecil, who had been in partnership with Mrs. Wood, was a kindly old gentleman who always carried a small black bag; it contained a supply of sandwiches, in case he should suddenly feel the pangs of hunger. “Spy,” of Vanity Fair, did a wonderful drawing of him, complete with bag.
I remember Rosina Philippi, then as thin as a lamp-post, having a terrific row one day with Weedon Grossmith—what about, I cannot remember. He was playing “Mr. Lebanon”, a Jew, and “built up” his nose to meet the requirements of the part. In the heat of the argument, Rosina knocked off his nose; he was so angry. The more angry he got, the more she laughed!
I think it was before the run of The Cabinet Minister that I became engaged to Harry. I know that during the run Harry was playing at the Royalty in Sweet Nancy, and was apparently rather vague and casual about the duties of an engaged young man. I remember he used often to send his best friend to call for me and bring me home from the theatre. If he had not been such a very attractive young man himself, one might have thought this habit showed a lack of wisdom. He was very attractive, but very thin; I found out, to my horror, that he wore nothing under his stiff white shirts! Imagine how cold, riding on the top of ’buses—anyway, it struck me as dreadful, and my first gift to him was a complete set of underwear. He protested that it would “tickle”, but I know he wore them, with apparently no grave discomfort.
I went to Terry’s to play in Culprits—a tragic play so far as I was concerned. I really, for the first time, “let myself go” over my dresses. I spent £40. (Imagine the months of savings represented by that sum!) We rehearsed for five weeks, and the play ran three.
By this time my sister Jessie had gone on tour, first with Dr. Dee, by Cotsford Dick, later with D’Oyley Carte’s Company. Decima and I were sharing rooms which Jessie had taken with me. Decima had been at Blackheath at the College of Music, where she had gained a scholarship. On her own initiative she came up to the Savoy Theatre, for a voice trial, and was promptly engaged for the part of “Casilda” in the forthcoming production of The Gondoliers. I remember the first night of the opera occurred when I was still playing in The Middleman. Not being in the last act, I was able to go down to the Savoy. I was fearfully excited, and filled with pride and joy; it was a great night. After the performance, Decima cried bitterly all the way home, so convinced was she that her performance could not have been successful. It was not until the following morning, when she was able to read the notices in the morning papers, that she was reassured and finally comforted. Far from ruining her performance, she had made a big success.