My Dear Esmond,
I saw The Law Divine yesterday, and enjoyed it more than I can express. It is a delightful play—admirably acted. It was quite a treat to me, who am not given to the theatre spirit nowadays. I didn’t go round to see you, for I’m as backward as a novice, and I tremble at “going behind” where I have no business.
Kindest regards,
Yours truly,
Robert Courtneidge.
P.S.—And I remember Miss Illington playing juvenile parts in Edinburgh—dear, dear! She was a braw young lassie then, but a delightful actress.
That is the Robert Courtneidge I have met; with a twinkle in his shrewd, kindly eyes, and that more than a touch of his country’s humour always ready to appear—when rehearsals are over. He is one of the people who remain young, despite the fact that at a rehearsal he has been known to put on his hat and, shaking his head, say sadly, “I’m an old man, I can’t stand it”, and so walk away. Underneath it all, though actors may turn pale and actresses may shed tears in the dark recesses of the prompt corner, there is always the twinkle in Robert Courtneidge’s eye—if you look for it!
I should not wish to praise myself; I should never wish to be an egotist, even though this is an account of “My Life”; and that is why I have included in my bundle of letters only a few that have been written to me, but mostly those which were written to Harry. Here is one, however, which appealed to me then, and does still, as “high praise”. It is from a Frenchwoman—and is, therefore, “praise from Sir Hubert Stanley”—for it refers to the performance of Mumsie, by Edward Knoblauch—that dear, human, though unsuccessful play for which I had so much love:
I could see working in you all the feelings of a Frenchwoman. You are a great artist. You give me intense pleasure. I wish to thank you very much.
Very sincerely yours,