Forty years of 'Spy'

by Sir Leslie Ward

But not very long afterwards he retired from the stage and death claimed him before the opportunity came.

I have always been treated with the greatest possible kindness by members of the theatrical profession, and I cannot speak too highly of the aid they have given me when occasion called for it.

It only seems the other day since I caricatured Sir Herbert Tree in 1890, when he looked a slim young man with a remarkably sleek figure. I think it was in the Red Lamp that a lady who had seen Tree's first performance in the part prophesied his enormous future, and told me she considered he would win a position on the stage that would rival Irving's, but no doubt the same idea entered other heads.

Quite recently Sir Herbert presented me with his book, which is quite unique amongst the literary efforts written by the members of his profession, and is well worth study, as he jokingly impressed upon me at the time, adding that no man should consider his life completed unless he read it before he died. Which reminded me of Bulwer Lytton who told me that no young man's education was complete who had not read Scott through and through.

I first met Max Beerbohm quite a long time ago when I was at the "Mitre" (Oxford), when Julius Beerbohm happened to be staying there also and he invited me to dine with him, adding:—

"I want you to meet Max Beerbohm, my half-brother, because I should particularly like you to see some most amusing caricatures that he has drawn, and which I think you will appreciate," and I did. "Max" has now a world-wide reputation in caricature and in letters; then he was an undergraduate and invited me to lunch in his rooms, when he showed me many of his humorous sketches.

The Kendals I have known since I was a boy, and I was first introduced to them at the house of the late Mr. Augustus Dubourg, then an official in the House of Lords, and joint author, with Tom Taylor, of New Men and Old Acres, in which they played. Their retirement from the stage, which was not advertised in any way or accompanied by the usual "benefit," was one of the greatest losses, in my opinion, that the stage has known, for Mrs. Kendal (Madge Robertson), who was a sister of Robertson the author of School, etc., is one of the most beautiful and consummate artistes England has ever produced. William Kendal himself, would even now, almost fill the part of a young man on the stage, for with him years do not tell us a tale of age.

If I were to relate all the anecdotes that I have heard of Henry Kemble (or the "beetle" as he was known) I might yarn for ever. For instance, on one occasion the tax collector called on Kemble for the Queen's taxes, "Quite an unusual tax," said Kemble; but after much discussion he found he had to pay. "Very well," he said to the collector, "I will pay just this once but pray inform Her Majesty from me that she must not look upon me as a permanent source of income."

Some of Charlie Brookfield's stories were very funny. He also drew a series of caricatures of Kemble as a special constable, in which capacity he was enlisted in a time of riots. There is a story "Brooks" used to tell of Kemble. He and Kemble were returning from a theatre one evening when they observed a large crowd gathered round the Mansion House. Dismissing their cab, they prepared to join in the fun, if there was to be any, and on approaching, found Sir Charles Dilke was speaking from a window. As they had arrived somewhat late and the speech was nearly over, their interest was not excited, nor did they comprehend the gist of the matter. Here and there rough-looking men commented aloud with decided emphasis, sometimes for and sometimes against the speaker, when Brookfield, in a mischievous mood, thought he would add his comment to the next remark.

"What abart the dockers!" he roared, choosing his words quite at random, with his hand to his mouth, in loud imitation of his audience.