“In nothing at all, my good friend, and this it just what I wished to demonstrate to you. You see that the world in which we live is, after all, not so badly organised, seeing that the new one which you have tried to create on better principles, as you imagined, turns out, at the end of the account, to be an exact reproduction of the existing system.”—Leisure Hour.
BEHIND THE SCENES.
BY F. C. BURNAND.
During the past year there has been a considerable amount of discussion, within the circumference of a comparatively inconsiderable circle, as to the social position of the professional actor. It is a subject that crops up from time to time, attracting more or less attention to itself, from those outside the boundary, according to whatever may happen to be the prevalent artistic development, or the latest fashionable craze. The tone of the disputants and the weight of their individual character must, of course, be taken into account. The actor is of all professors of any kind of art the one who is most before the public. The result of his study is ephemeral: “he struts and frets his hour upon the stage and then is heard no more,” though nowadays the strutting and fretting are not by any means limited to the hour upon the stage; and at the present time there seems to be some anxiety on the part of the children of Thespis to obtain such an authoritative definition of their status, as shall put their position in society above all question, by placing them on a level with the members of the recognised professions. It is asserted that the professional actor is far differently situated now from what he was fifty, or even thirty years ago. Actor and actress are, it is pointed out, received everywhere, petted, fêted, lionized, and made much of; our young men of birth and education but of limited purse, take to the stage, professionally, as a honorable means of earning their livelihood, just as the youngest son of a good, but impoverished family, used to be sent into the Church in order to hold a family living. Further, it has been said that for our young ladies to go on the stage is not now considered, as heretofore, a disgrace, but, on the contrary, rather a plume in their bonnet. Altogether it may be fairly inferred that there has recently been a movement theatrewards, favorable to the social prospects of the professional actor. But has it been anything more than this? Is the actor's calling one whit nearer being recognised as on a social equality with the regular professions than it was fifty years ago?
Throughout this article I shall use the word “society” in its widest and most comprehensive acceptation, except of course where its limitation is expressly stated.
A “status in society” means a certain standing among one's fellow subjects, fixed by law, recognised by traditional usage, and acknowledged by every one, from the highest to the lowest. Formerly, it must be admitted, that as one of the “rogues and vagabonds” by Act of Parliament the actor, quâ actor, had no more status in society than the professional beggar with whom he was unjustly classed.
“The strolling tribe, a despicable race,
Like wandering Arabs, shift from place to place.”
And even now, when this blot on our statute-book has been erased, a respectable theatrical company, travelling in the provinces, is described in the law courts as “a company of strolling players.” Undoubtedly, in a liberal age, the actor's disabilities have been removed; but is he not asking for what is an impossibility from the very nature of the case, when he advances a claim for the recognition of his “calling” as on an equality with the acknowledged professions, which, of themselves, confer a certain honorable status on their members, stamping them, so far, gentlemen? A man who is a gentleman by birth and education is, as Mrs. Micawber phrases it, “eligible” for the best society; and he can only forfeit his social position by misconduct. Now, one question is, does “going on the stage” imply forfeiture of social position? To consider this impartially we must get entirely away from Leo Hunter associations and cliques established on the mutual-admiration principle. The test cases are soon and easily put. Let us suppose the case of the son of an impoverished peer. He cannot afford to be idle. He has a liking for the bar: he passes his examination and becomes a barrister; or he has an inclination for the Church, and there being a family living vacant, and plenty of interest to get him on, he takes orders. In either case does he forfeit his social position? Certainly not: if anything, he improves it by becoming a member of an honorable and dignified profession. Supposing he has money, and prefers soldiering or sailoring to doing absolutely nothing, does he forfeit his social position by becoming an officer? Certainly not: on the contrary he improves his already good social status. I maintain that, prima facie, for a man to be an officer, a barrister, or a clergyman, is in itself a passport to any English society. Wherever he is personally unknown, it is assumed that he is a gentleman, until the contrary is proved; and this assumption is on the strength of his profession only. Let the rank of our hypothetical peer's son be subsequently discovered, and for that representative portion of society which has “entertained an angel unawares,” he has the recommendation of his nobility plus the social position implied by his profession.