A great actor, doctor, lawyer, writer, or painter has ten years of success, and if he does not provide for his future during those ten years, ’tis sad for him. As the tide turns on the shore, so the tide turns on the careers of men and women alike.
Public life is not necessarily bad. In the first place, it is only the man with strong individuality who can ever attain publicity. He must be above the ordinary ruck and gamut, or he will never receive public recognition. If, therefore, he is stronger than his brother, he should be stronger also to resist temptation, to disdain self-love or vainglory. The moment his life becomes public he is under the microscope, and should remember his influence is great for good or ill. Popular praise is pleasant, but after all it means little; one’s own conscience is the thing, that alone tells whether we have given of our best or reached our ideal. The true artist is never satisfied, therefore the true artist never suffers from a swelled head; it is the minor fry who enjoy that ailment.
The temptations behind the footlights are enormous. It is useless denying the fact. One may love the stage, and count many actors and actresses among one’s friends; but one cannot help seeing that theatrical life is beset by dangers and pitfalls.
Young men and women alike are run after and fawned upon by foolish people of both sexes. Morally this is bad. Actors are flattered and worshipped as though they were little gods. This in itself tends to evoke egotism. The gorgeous apparel of the theatre makes men and women extravagant in their dress; the constant going backwards and forwards in all weathers inclines them to think they must save time or themselves by driving; the fear of catching cold makes them indulge in cabs and carriages they cannot afford, and extravagance becomes their besetting sin. Every one wants to look more prosperous than his neighbour, every recipient of forty shillings a week wishes the world to think his salary is forty pounds.
Apart from pay, the life is exacting. The leaders of the profession seldom sup out: they are tired after the evening’s work, and know that burning the candle at both ends means early extinction, but the Tottie Veres and Gladys Fitz-Glynes are always ready to be entertained.
The following advertisement appeared one day in a leading London paper:
“Stage.—I am nearly eighteen, tall, fair, good-looking, have a little money, and wish to adopt the stage as a profession. Engagement wanted.”
What was the result? Piles of letters, containing all sorts of offers to help Miss A—— to her doom. A certain gentleman wrote from a well-known fashionable club, the letter being marked Private, saying: “I should like if possible to assist you in your desire to go on the stage, but I am not professional myself in any way. This is purely a matter in which I might be happy to take an interest and assist, if you think proper to communicate with me by letter, stating exactly the circumstances, and when I can have an interview with you on the subject.” This letter might be capable of many interpretations. The gentleman might, of course, have been purely philanthropic in his motives; we will give him the benefit of the doubt.
Others were yet more strange and suggestive of peril for the girl of eighteen.
What might have been the end of all this? Supposing Miss A—— had granted an interview to No. 1. Supposing further he had advanced the money for the novice to buy an engagement, what might have proved her fate? She would have been in his clutches—young, inexperienced, powerless, in the hands of a man who, if really philanthropic, could easily have found persons needing interest and assistance among his own immediate surroundings, instead of going wide afield to dispense his charity and selecting for the purpose an unknown girl of eighteen who innocently stated she was good-looking.