But how if the son of our “poor nobleman” have a taste for theatricals, and, after being at Eton and Oxford, determine on “adopting the stage as a profession,” or, as it might be more correctly put, “in lieu of a profession.” What will his noble father and his relatives say to this step? Will they be as pleased as if he were going into the army, or to the bar, or into the Church? Not exactly. If he became an officer, a barrister, or a clergyman, the event would be officially notified in due form; but if he went on the stage there would be startling paragraphs in the papers announcing “The Son of an Earl on the Stage,” “The Honorable Mr. So-and-So has adopted the profession of the stage, &c., &c.” “Well, and why not?” some will exclaim; and others will commend his pluck, and say, “Quite right too.” I entirely agree with them. But the point is, has the young gentleman taken a step up the social ladder, or has he gone more than two or three down? Has he improved his position, or injured it? Certainly, as matters stand, there can be but one answer,—the step he has taken has seriously affected the position to which his birth and education entitle him.
As a barrister on circuit I have supposed him received quâ barrister with his legal brethren; as an officer, quartered in a garrison town, we know he will be received quâ officer, with his brother officers, and no questions asked; and I have alluded to the satisfaction that will be felt (snobbery of course is taken for granted everywhere) when his rank is discovered. But as a player with other players in a country town, will he be received by society, it being understood that because he is a player, therefore he is a gentleman by birth and education? On becoming a soldier, or a barrister, does any one change his name? No: but on going “on the stage” it is the rule for any one to conceal his identity under some name widely different from his own, just as he conceals his individuality behind the footlights with cosmetics, burnt cork, and an eccentric wig. When it is ascertained who he is, will this same society, which would have received him as a barrister, be satisfied and delighted? No, probably scandalised. It will be with these simple, old-fashioned persons a foregone conclusion that this scion of a noble house must be a loose sort of fellow, and they will decide that the less they see of him the better.
There is one reason why the aspirant for Thespian honors (if such he really be) should change his name, and that is the chance of failure. If he goes on the stage as somebody else, and fails as somebody else, very few will hear of it, and he may quit “the boards” none the worse, perhaps for the experience; but for some considerable time, until in fact he has “lived it down,” he will be very careful to conceal this episode in his career from the world at large.
Before getting at the very essence of the difficulty, I will ask in what light do our upper-middle class, and upper-lower middle class, and the remainder of that form (the public school divisions are useful) regard the stage as a means of earning a livelihood?
We must put out of the case entirely all instances of genius. An histrionic genius will be an actor, and his success will justify his choice. The force of his genius will take him everywhere. Genius excuses a multitude of faults and solecisms. We must, too, leave out of the question cases of exceptional talent, where there is more than an occasional spark of the feu sacré. Whether histrionic genius could be better utilised than on the stage, may occur to some serious minds with a decided anti-theatrical bias. But the histrion for the stage, and the stage for the histrion, and we must take the stage as it is for what it is, and not for what it is not. Such a reform of the stage, as shall give its members something like the status they very properly covet, is a matter for future consideration. Let it be understood then—and I cannot impress this too often on those who do me the honor of reading my contribution towards the discussion,—that I am only speaking of very ordinary men and women taking to the stage as a means of earning their livelihood. The men first; it is not yet awhile place aux dames, when professions are concerned.
Whatever theatrical biography I have taken up, I can call to mind but very few instances of a man going on the stage with the full approbation of his relatives. Let his parents be small or large tradesmen, civil servants, clerks in the City, no matter what, they rarely took kindly to their son “going on the stage.” It was so: is it not so now? The bourgeois is as dead against his son becoming an actor as ever he was. Scratch the British bourgeois and you'll come upon the puritan.
Supposing a tradesman, free from narrow prejudices, and theatrically inclined, a regular theatre-goer in fact,—will he be one whit more favorable to his son's becoming an actor? No: rather the contrary. He will not indeed regard him as going straight to a place unmentionable, as probably he will not consider the religious bearings of the “vocation” at all, but he will not give the youth his blessing, and he may contemplate omitting his name from his will. Supposing this same son had told his father that he wanted to be a barrister, and in order to do so he should like, as a first step, to serve as a clerk in a solicitor's office, wouldn't the old tradesman be pleased? Certainly. He might, indeed, prove to the lad that if he would stick to the business he would be better off for a certainty, but, all the same, the youth's aspirations would give his parent considerable pleasure. And, to be brief, here is a case which will bring the question directly home to every one; given equality in every other respect, and which would be preferred as a son-in-law, the ordinary actor, or the briefless barrister?
The question of the social status of the stage is still more important as affecting ladies who have to earn their livelihood. At the present day there are more chances of suitable employment for educated, respectably-connected girls than there were fifty years ago. As yet, however, the demand exceeds the supply. Few occupations insure to successful ladies such good pay as stage-playing; but, as in the previous instances, “on the spear side,” so now we must consider the case of girls of ordinary intelligence, well brought up, not by any means geniuses, with no particular talent, and who have to earn their living. If they cannot paint plates and doileys, or copy pictures in oils, if they object to any clerkly drudgery that has something menial in it, and if, as has been affirmed, they “turn with a sigh of relief towards the vista of the stage,” let us see what this “vista” has to offer, and on what terms. And to do this we had better take a glance at “professional,” i.e., “theatrical” life.
What Tom Robertson, whose personal experience of every variety of theatrical life was considerable, in his thoroughly English (let us be grateful for this, at all events) play of Caste left to the imagination, in giving us Eccles as a widower, and bestowing an honest, hard-working lover on Polly (this was a mistake, except as a concession to respectability, for Polly was never meant to be a Mrs. Sam Gerridge, a small tradesman's wife, or, if she were, so much the worse for Sam), M. Halévy in his Monsieur et Madame Cardinal has put before his readers very plainly. The scenes in Georges Ohnet's Lise Flueron are not merely peculiar to the French stage; and only to those who want to know the seamy side of a strolling player's life would I recommend A Mummer's Wife, but not otherwise, as the realism of Mr. Moore's story is repulsive. Be it remembered, however, that the best chance for girls who seek an engagement at a London theatre, is to travel with a company “on tour,” and so learn experience by constant and frequently varying practice. “The Stage” is an art, and not a profession, and an art which, as a means of obtaining a bare livelihood, is open to everybody possessing ordinary natural faculties, offering employment without requiring from the applicants any special qualification or any certificate from schoolmaster, pastor, or master, and therefore it must be the resort of all who, unable or unwilling to do anything else, are content to earn their few shillings a week, and to be in the same category with Garrick, Macready, Phelps, and Kean; for the “super” who earns his money by strict attention to business, and who has night after night, for a lifetime, no more than a few lines to say, is briefly described in the census as “Actor,” as would be the leading tragedian or comedian of the day. He is a supernumerary, i.e., a supernumerary actor; and a supernumerary, abbreviated to “super,” attached to the theatre, he lives and dies. In civil and Government offices there are supernumeraries. They are supernumerary clerks, and none the less clerks on that account. If taken on to the regular staff they cease to be called supernumeraries, and if a super on the stage should exhibit decided histrionic talent, he, too, would cease to be a super and become an actor, that is, he would drop the qualification of “supernumerary.” So for the “extra ladies,” as they are politely termed, who are the female supers. As a rule, the extras are a good, hard-working people as you will find anywhere. They have “come down” to this, and in most cases consider their position as a descent in the social scale, no matter what they may have been before. A few may take the place for the sake of obtaining “an appearance,” with a view to something better; some as a means of honest livelihood, and to help the family in its “little house in Stangate;” and others, to whom a small salary is not so much an object as to obtain relief from the monotony of evenings at home, take to the stage in this, or any other capacity, as “extras” in burlesque, in pantomime, or as strengthening a chorus; and to these the theatre is a source of profitable amusement. These being some of the essential component parts of most theatrical companies, would any of us wish our daughters to “go on the stage?”
There can be but one answer to this: No; certainly we would rather they did not choose the stage as the means of earning a livelihood. But some objector will say, “Surely my daughter need not associate with such persons as you describe.” I answer No; she need not off the stage, but how is she to avoid it in the theatre? Your daughter, my dear sir, is not all at once a Mrs. Siddons; she is a beginner. Perhaps she never will be a Mrs. Siddons; perhaps she will never get beyond playing a soubrette, or, if she cannot deliver her lines well, and has not the fatal gift of beauty, she may, being there only to earn her livelihood, be compelled to remain among the extras. At all events, she cannot expect to consort in the theatre with the stars and with the leading ladies. The manageress may “know her at home,” and do everything she can for her; but she cannot be unjust to others, and your daughter must dress in the same room with the “extras,” just as Lord Tomnoddy, should he choose to take the Queen's shilling, must put up with the other privates in barracks. The officers may have “known him at home,” but that can't be helped now. Your daughter, my dear lady, goes on to the stage in preference to being a governess, to earn money to relieve her parents of a burden, and to replenish the family purse. Excellent motive! But can you, her mother, always be with her? Can you accompany her to rehearsals, and be with her every evening in the dressing-room of the theatre, where there are generally about a dozen others, more or less according to the accommodation provided by the theatre? If you make your companionship a sine quâ non, will it not prevent any manager from engaging your daughter? They cannot have the dressing-rooms full of mothers; they cannot spare the space, and mothers cannot be permitted to encumber green-rooms and the “wings.” You may have implicit confidence in your child and in her manager and manageress, but the latter have something else to do besides looking after your daughter. “Some theatres,” you will say, “are more respectable than others.” True; but your daughter having to earn her daily bread by her profession, cannot select her theatre. It is a hard saying, that beggars must not be choosers. Lucky for your daughter if she obtains employment in a small theatre where only comedy is played.[38] But the chances are against her, and she will be compelled to take the first engagement that offers itself, which will probably be at some large theatre where there is employment for any number of extra ladies, and where the salaries are really very good, if your daughter is only showy enough to make herself an attraction. You ask “what sort of attraction?” Well, have you any objection to her appearing as a page in an extravaganza? Consider that anyone who plays Shakespeare's heroines, Viola or Rosalind, must wear much the same costume; but the other ladies who play pages, and some of whom will be her companions in the dressing-room, are they just the sort of girls you would like your daughter to be with every evening of her life? If your well-brought-up daughter does go there one of two things will happen,—she will be either so thoroughly disgusted at all she hears and sees that she will never go near the place after the first week, or she will unconsciously deteriorate in tone, until the fixed lines of the moral boundary have become blurred and faint. If among these surroundings a girl remain pure in heart, it is simply nothing short of a miracle of grace. Would you like to expose your daughter to this atmosphere? Of course not. How can I put the question? but I do put the question, after giving you the information of the facts of the case. Even in a first-class theatre, for a Shakespearian revival, there must be a large number of all sorts engaged, and with them, your daughter, as beginner, will have to consort, and she cannot have her mother always at her elbow. Besides her mother cannot neglect her other daughters, or her household duties, to attend to the youthful actress.