commercial one. For some time a dead set was made against “eminent” actors and their London productions by mistaken friends of another type of drama. Certain writers on the drama in Manchester made themselves “laughing stogs to other men’s humours,” as a Welshman may say, by exalting the players on the eastern side of Peter Street into a glorious company of apostles, and deliberately tormenting the actors on the western side of the thoroughfare as though they were a noble army of martyrs. No doubt it injured business, and kept some of the bigger actors away from Manchester.
But, in my view, the great days of touring companies in the provinces are over. A London success now has a bigger chance in Australia and a less certain but, of course, more remunerative chance in America. And although a run round some of the big towns in England may be included in the future plans of the more popular actors, yet I think it is quite unlikely that Manchester will ever see so many first-rate performances on the road as there were in 1887. Nor is this altogether a matter of regret. I have always been an optimist about the English theatre, and have never believed that it would fall into the hands of either financiers or cranks. And in watching the evolution of the theatre in Manchester it has been manifest for a long time that some form of repertory theatre was on the way.
The beginnings were made, I think, in 1893, when Mr. Louis Calvert produced “A Blot in the ’Scutcheon” for Mr. Charles Hughes, who, as chairman
of Convocation of the University, gave a theatrical party to his guests. He was the leading spirit of our Independent Theatre, which produced “Candida,” “The Master Builder,” “Love’s Labour Lost,” and “The Two Gentlemen of Verona” without scenery, and many other interesting plays, in 1894. Louis Calvert was also associated with Flanagan in the earlier Shakespearean revivals at the Queen’s, whence he was spirited away by Sir Herbert Tree to act in and assist him with several memorable Shakespearean productions in London. Robert Courtneidge, too, must not be forgotten as a Manchester manager, who, at the Prince’s Theatre, gave two beautiful and reverently intelligent productions of “As You Like It” and “A Midsummer Night’s Dream.” In these editions everything was done for the text and the play, and the actor’s art was not hampered, but the adornment, exquisite as it was, clothed the drama without overwhelming it with finery.
These were the forerunners of Miss Horniman’s Repertory Theatre, which has won for Manchester such renown in the world of the drama, coming as it did at exactly the right moment, and coming—as surely it has come—to stay.
I am not one of those who has ever indulged in extravagant hymns of praise over any of the particular plays and artists of the Manchester Repertory Theatre. I think its greatest enemies have been its “die-hard” friends, who insisted, in season and out of season, that every actor and actress upon its
stage was a genius with a consummate knowledge of technique, and that every play produced by a local playwright could only possibly have been improved upon by some Belgian or Dutchman. As I have always said, the acting is so good and many of the plays are so interesting that they deserve to be judged by the highest standard, and, to my mind, the highest standard of acting and production is to be found in the London theatres. There is no doubt that the old stock companies had a great advantage in coming in contact with the star actor from time to time and playing with him. In the modern repertory theatre this is not so. There must necessarily be a certain touch of the amateur in a repertory company. For myself, I recognise it, and I like it, but I see no use in telling an amateur that he or she has great technical skill and nothing to learn. One does not expect to find a series of golf champions on a local green, and we should not expect or pretend to a series of star actors in a repertory company.
When the repertory system becomes more universal, and broadens out on the wide healthy lines of providing entertainment for all classes of people and giving smaller proportion of time, say one day in seven, to the cranks and pulpiteers of the drama, we shall find the repertory theatres getting a greater hold on local patriotism, and one by one growing stronger in good work and higher ambitions, until at last they unite into what will be in truth, as well as in name, a national theatre.
There is one thing in which I heartily agree with the expressed opinions of many well-known actors. The Manchester audience is a great audience. Once captured and really entertained, the Manchester audience is a fearless and loyal friend. I have often been delighted to read in local critical columns the solemn excommunication of a play—especially an amusing play—and to note the pompous warning to the audience that if they are amused by this kind of thing they condemn their mental condition, and their moral purpose is ended; and then to go into the theatre and hear a Manchester audience in thorough enjoyment of what their guardian high priest has forbidden. Only the other day I read that “Our Boys” visited the Gaiety Theatre, and the play “mirabile dictu went amazingly.” The Manchester digestion is good, its appetite is healthy, and many years of theatrical diet akin to the highest and most moving cheese has not destroyed the taste for a slice of honest plum cake. This kind of pedagogic critical literature is like the leader-writer’s essay. It fills the columns of the newspaper very decoratively. But when the polling boxes are turned out on the table and the votes are counted, you can appraise its value. It is the box office that speaks.
I am pleased to remember that on the few occasions I have ventured on dramatic productions I have had the Manchester audience with me. Perhaps they carry toleration too far, but I state the facts as they occurred. It was always certain to my mind from the days when I ran a toy theatre and