—Fools of Nature.
When Anthony Hope’s play, Pilkerton’s Peerage, was produced, the scene was—or so we were told—an exact representation of the Prime Minister’s room at 10 Downing Street. One Saturday matinée the King and Queen, then Prince and Princess of Wales, came to see the play, and on that particular afternoon we, the company, had arranged to celebrate the birth of Arthur Bourchier’s daughter—in our own way.
He was playing the Prime Minister, and we had been at considerable pains to prepare the stage, so that at every turn he should be confronted with articles connected with very young children. For instance, he opened a drawer—to find a pair of socks; a dispatch box—to find a baby’s bottle; and so on. The King and Queen could see a great deal of the joke from the Royal box, and were most interested. In the second act, a tea-time scene, Bourchier, on having his cup handed to him, discovered seated in his cup a diminutive china doll, and the thing began to get on his nerves. He hardly dare touch anything on the stage, for fear of what might fall out. In the last act, a most important paper was handed to him in the action of the play. He eyed it distrustfully, and you could see him decide not to take it, if he could avoid doing so, for fear of what might happen. He did everything in his power not to take that paper; he avoided it with an ingenuity worthy of a better cause, but “the play” was too strong for him, and he finally had to “grasp the nettle”. He took it as if he feared it might explode—a pair of small pink woollen socks fell out! It was a disgraceful business, but oh! so amusing, and we all enjoyed it.
Photograph by The Biograph Studio, London, W. To face p. [61]
Kathie
“Old Heidelberg”
In 1903 Alexander put on that great success, Old Heidelberg, at the St. James’s. We were rehearsed by a German, who had one idea which he always kept well in the foreground of his mind—to make us all shout; and the louder we shouted, the better he was satisfied. He was blessed with an enormous voice himself—as all Germans, male and female, are—and saw no difficulty in “roaring” lines. The whole of the rehearsals were punctuated with shouts of “Louder-r-r-r!”
In this play Henry Ainley played one of the students—quite a small part. I have a picture of him, wearing a student’s cap, and looking so delightful! I remember nothing particular which happened during the run, except that one evening, when I was hoisted on to the shoulders of the “boys”, one of them nearly dropped me into the footlights; and another evening, when someone had recommended me to use some special new “make up” for my eyes, and I did so, the result being that the stuff ran into my eyes and hurt so badly that I had to play practically all the last act with my eyes shut! “Kattie”, in this play, has always been one of my favourite parts.
Then my husband’s play, Billy’s Little Love Affair, was produced, and proved very satisfactory from every point of view. Allen Aynesworth, Charles Groves, and Florence St. John were in the cast. She was a most delightful comedienne, of the “broad comedy school”. A most popular woman, always known to all her friends as “Jack”; she died a few years ago, very greatly regretted by everyone.
One evening during the run of this play, Allen Aynesworth made an entrance, and Charles Groves, who was on the stage, noticed that his face was decorated with a large black smudge. Funnily enough, Aynesworth noticed that the same “accident” had happened to Groves. Each kept saying to the other, “Rub that smudge off your face”, and each thought the other was repeating what he said. Thus, when Aynesworth whispered “Rub the smudge off your face”, Groves apparently repeated “Rub the smudge off your face”! Both became gradually annoyed with the other, and when they came off they faced each other, to ask indignantly, in one breath, “Why didn’t you do as I told you?”—then discovering the truth that they both had smudges.
When this play was to be produced in America, an amusing thing happened. The man who was playing the leading part (his Christian name was William, but he was usually known as “Billy” by most people), his wife was just at that time bringing a divorce suit against him. A wire arrived one day for Harry, saying “Title of Billy’s Little Love Affair must be altered; impossible to use under circumstances”. It was altered and called Imprudence instead, thanks to the courtesy of Sir Arthur Pinero, who had already used that title.