Imogen, Ophelia, Catherine in the Taming of the Shrew, and Cordelia, all acted with her brother, followed in quick succession. This hard work entitled her to a salary of twenty-four pounds ten shillings weekly, while her brother drew ten pounds. Not contented with this, however, she made a tour in the provinces, Liverpool, Manchester, Birmingham, &c. These country tours were not only fatiguing in consequence of the amount of travelling to be done, but also in consequence of the unsympathetic audiences to be faced, and the discomfort of country theatres. The system, also, of absorbing all the profits of provincial actors made her very unpopular in the profession. Some ridiculous stories are related of these tours.
When playing the “sleeping scene” in Macbeth, at Leeds, a boy who had been sent for some porter appeared by mistake on the stage, and walking up, presented it to her. In vain she motioned him away, in vain he was called off behind the scenes; the house roared with laughter, and all illusion was dispelled for the rest of the evening. On another occasion at Leeds, when about to drink poison on the stage, one of the audience in the gallery howled out “Soop it oop, lass!” She endeavoured to frown down the interrupter, but her own solemnity gave way. She was also at country theatres often subjected to bearing the brunt of a local quarrel or facetiousness directed against a member or members of the audience. Once at Liverpool the play of Jane Shore, which had sent London audiences into fits of sobbing and hysterics, was announced. The house was full, and Miss Mellon, from whom we have the story, says the actors behind the scenes expected a repetition of the same emotion; but the people in the gallery, seeing the principal merchants with their families present, thought this a delightful opportunity of indulging their wit respecting the “soldiering.” Accordingly, they formed two bands, one on each side of the gallery, and, from the commencement of the play to the end, kept up a cross-dialogue of impertinence, about “charging guns with brown sugar and cocoanuts,” and “small arms with cinnamon powder and nutmegs.”
Miss Mellon was in agony for the object of her theatrical devotion. She cried, she ran about behind the wings as if she were going out of her senses. Mrs. Siddons, however, calm though deadly pale, merely said to her, with a slight tremor in her voice, “I will go through the time requisite for the scenes, but will not utter them.”
She went on the stage; said aloud, “It is useless to act,” crossed her arms, and merely murmured the speeches; and it is a fact that, on the first night one of Mrs. Siddons’s masterpieces was acted in Liverpool, she went through the entire performance in dumb show.
In December 1785 her second son, George, was born. As soon as she was able to write, she communicated the fact to her friends, the Whalleys, in one of her lively, light-hearted letters:—
“I have another son, healthy and lovely as an angel, born the 26th Dec.; so, you see, I take the earliest opportunity of relieving the anxiety which I know you and my dear Mrs. Whalley will feel till you hear of me. My sweet boy is so like a person of the Royal Family, that I’m rather afraid he’ll bring me to disgrace. My sister jokingly tells me she’s sure ‘my lady his mother has played false with the prince,’ and I must own he’s more like him than anybody else. I will just hint to you that my father was at one time very like the King, which a little saves my credit. I rejoice that you are well, and have such pleasant society, but I wish to God you would return! I have no news for you, except that the prince is going to devote himself entirely to a Mrs. Fitzherbert, and the whole world is in an uproar about it. I know very little of her history more than that it is agreed on all hands that she is a very ambitious and clever woman, and that ‘all good seeming by her revolt will be thought put on for villany,’ for she was thought an example of propriety. I hear, too, that the Duchess of Devonshire is to take her by the hand, and to give her the first dinner when the preliminaries are settled; for it seems everything goes on with the utmost formality—provision made for children, and so on. Some people rejoice and some mourn at this event. I have not heard what his mother says to it. The Royal Family have been nearly all ill, but are now recovering, and they graciously intend to command me to play in The Way to Keep Him the first night I perform. They are gracious to me beyond measure on all occasions, and take all opportunities to show the world that they are so. How good and considerate is this! They know what a sanction their countenance is, and they are amiable beyond description. Since my confinement I have received the kindest messages from them; they make me of consequence enough to desire I won’t think of playing till I feel quite strong, and a thousand more kind things. I perceive a little shooting in my temples that tells me I have written enough.
“I don’t take leave of you, however, without telling you that I am very much disappointed in Sherriffe’s picture of me, and am afraid to employ him about your snuff-box. I don’t know what to do about it, for that promised to be so well that I almost engaged him in the fulness of my heart to do it. I have not been in face these last four months; but now that I am growing as amiable as ever, I shall sit for it as soon as possible. God Almighty bless you both!
“Yours,
“S. Siddons.”
Later she writes again to Whalley:—