In saying that she no longer led the “vagabond” life of her early days, we mean that instead of wandering, as strolling players were obliged to do, from town to town, trusting to the chances of the hour, pitching their tent in a barn or an inn, and trusting to the caprice and humours of the public officials of the places they came to, she now secured fixed engagements at the best provincial theatres, which, owing to the difficulties and expenses of a journey to London, were attended during the season by many of the county magnates, and the lesser stars following and surrounding the brighter planets.
Bath stood at the head of these provincial theatres. York, Hull, Manchester, Hereford, Liverpool, Worcester, and many others came next in order of merit.
The first engagement she received on quitting Drury Lane was at Birmingham, where she remained the whole summer of 1776, acting parts of the highest standing. Here she enjoyed the privilege of having Henderson as coadjutor, who, Campbell tells us, was so struck by her merits, that he wrote immediately to Palmer, the manager of the Bath Theatre, urging him in the strongest terms to engage her. Palmer was unable to follow this advice just then, but did so later.
The only direct communication we have from her during this time of work and struggle is a letter to Mrs. Inchbald, whose friendship with the Kembles had begun in 1776. Charges were, indeed, “tremendous circumstances” to her who, at the best of times in those early days, only enjoyed a salary of three pounds a week. Her observations about “exotics” are amusing, she herself figuring so largely later in that character, to the dread of all provincial actresses:—
“I played Hamlet in Liverpool, to near a hundred pounds, and wish I had taken it to myself; but the fear of charges, which, you know, are most tremendous circumstances, persuaded me to take part of a benefit with Barry, for which I have since been very much blamed; but he, I believe, was very much satisfied—and, in short, so am I. Strange resolutions are formed in our theatrical ministry; one of them I think very prudent—this little rogue Harry is chattering to such a degree, I scarce know what I am about. [Her eldest boy was then four.] But to proceed: Our managers have determined to employ no more exotics; they have found that Miss Yonge’s late visit to us (which you must have heard of) has rather hurt than done them service; so that Liverpool must, from this time forth, be content with such homely fare as we small folks can furnish to its delicate sense.... Present our kind compliments to Mr. and Mrs. Wilkinson, and tell the former I never mention his name but I wish to be regaling with him over a pinch of his most excellent Irish snuff, which I have never had a snift of but in idea since I left York.” It is difficult to conceive the divine Melpomene taking snuff, though she did so all her life; but in that day it was the fashion for everyone to snuff.
Early in 1777 she played at Manchester, where she made so great an impression that the shrewd and enterprising Tate Wilkinson, lessee of the York Theatre, offered her an engagement. Her range of characters now included “the Grecian Daughter,” Alicia, Jane Shore, Matilda, Lady Townley—all the tearful dramas of the day, which the young actress brought into fashion instead of the artificial comedy of the preceding age. At Manchester, we are astonished to hear, one of her most applauded characters was Hamlet.
Her playing this great play in strolling days, as Mr. Bate tells us, “was most likely only a girlish freak.” Her acting it now shows that she was cultivating her dramatic genius in every direction, working out of the restricted domain of Jane Shore, the Grecian Daughter, and Calista, no longer content to move her audience by her pathos and grace, but determined to bring them to her feet by her intellectual power. It is curious that, though many years afterwards she acted it in Dublin, she never could be persuaded to appear in it in London. Her dislike to anything approaching male attire was almost morbid, and even in Rosalind she vastly amused the town by her costume—“mysterious nondescript garments,” that were neither male nor female, devised to satisfy a prudery which in such a character was wholly out of place.
At York, where Mrs. Siddons acted for Tate Wilkinson, the manager, from Easter to Whitsuntide 1777, she enjoyed an unequivocal success. “All lifted up their eyes with astonishment that such a voice, such a judgment, and such acting, should have been neglected by a London audience, and by the first actor in the world!”—another hit at Garrick made by Wilkinson, who, generously aided by Garrick at the beginning of his career, had turned against his benefactor, and never missed an opportunity of detracting from his merits.