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.
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.
Now supposing a young lady at once obtains an engagement at a reputable
theatre, and is cast for a good part. What then? Then the atmosphere of
the theatre at its best is not a pleasant one. Your daughter will be
astonished at the extraordinary variations of manner, from the abjectly
servile to the free-and-easy, described in Mr. Namby's case as “Botany
Bay gentility.” She will hear everybody “my dearing” one another. At
first she will not understand half that is said, and very little that
is meant. When they all warm to their work, the veneer of politeness is
soon rubbed off, and actor and actress are seen as the real artistes
they are. The stage manager comes out strongly too; strange words are
used, and whether it be high art or not that is being illustrated,
there is pretty sure to be a considerable amount of forcible language
employed in the excitement of the moment. Your daughter's ideas of
propriety will be rudely shocked at every turn. When she ceases to be
even astonished, she will be unconsciously deteriorating.
There is one sort of girl to whom all this does no harm, and that is
the girl who comes of a hard-working professional theatrical family,
who has been decently brought up in the middle of it all from a child,
whose father and mother are in the theatre, thoroughly respectable
people, and as careful of their daughter s morals as though she were
the niece of a bishop. Such a girl as this, if she remain on the
stage, will be a tolerable actress, always sure of an engagement.
She will marry a decent, respectable actor, of some one connected
with theatricals, will bring up a family excellently, will be really
religious without ostentation, will never lose her self-respect, and
in her own way be perfectly domesticated, happy and contented. Or she
may marry some one in a good social position: if so, she will quit
the stage without regret, because she is not of the stuff of which
great actresses are made; but she will look back on her theatrical
experience with affection for her parents to whom she owed so much.
She is neither Esther, nor Polly Eccles, nor is she in the position of
the well-brought-up young lady we have been considering. But she is an
admirable woman, in whatever station of life her lot may be cast, and
not a bit of a snob.
For a young lady, travelling with a company would be simply impossible,
unless accompanied by her mother, or by some trustworthy relative.
A manageress might undertake the guardianship and execute the trust
conscientiously. But this is an exceptional case.
There is another point, and a very important one, to be considered,
and that is the artistic temperament. If a young lady of attractive
personal appearance possesses histrionic talent, then in proportion to
her talent will be her temperament. She will be impulsive, passionate,
impressionable, self-willed, impatient of control, simple, confiding,
and vain, but artistically vain, and desirous of applause. She will be
illogical, inconsistent, full of contradictions, fond of variety, and
unable to exist without excitement. It only requires her to be a genius
to be duped by the first schemer that throws himself in her way.
So, when the theatrical profession is brought before you, my dear
madam, as a calling for your daughter to follow, you see that on the
one hand there is mediocrity and deterioration of character, and on the
other success, at, probably, a ruinous price. This does not apply, and
again I impress it on my readers, to those who are to the manner born.
They will lead jog-trot lives, study their parts, make puddings, act
mechanically every night, knit socks in the green-room, and be virtuous
and happy to the end of their days. Their artistic temperament will
not lead them very far astray, unless they have the _feu sacré_, and
then, it is likely, they will make a hasty marriage, repent at leisure,
and try to forget they ever bore a husband's name by making one for
themselves. In some recent French romance an ex-actress is warning her
daughter who has married a prince, against the fascinations of a young
painter. The princess turns on her mother with, “Est ce ma faute à
moi si j'ai dans les veines du sang d'artiste?” And the ex-comédienne
feels the full force of her daughter's retort, which has in it a
certain amount of truth. Public life has great dangers for young women
of the artistic temperament: mothers cannot be always with them, and
sheep-dogs are expensive and untrustworthy. Chance or ill-luck may
bring your daughter, madam, to the stage, but you would not choose it
for her, that is, the stage, being as it is, and as it is likely to be
under the present conditions. When those conditions are altered for the
better, it will be time enough for society to change its opinion on the
subject.
But, it is urged, the present state of the stage is a vast improvement
on the past; that the actor is a person of more consideration than
formerly, and not necessarily tabooed from all society, but on the
contrary, he is to be met in the very best drawing-rooms. It may be
that a few, whom you may count on the fingers of both hands, have the
_entrée_ to the best society. It may be so; I am not in a position
to deny it. But their genius, or talent, and their unblemished
reputation have combined to place them on that pedestal exalted above
their fellows. But was it not always so? Have there not always been a
privileged few among the actors, as among other citizens of the Great
Republic of Art and Letters, who have been admitted to the assemblies
of the great, and whose hospitality the great have condescended to
accept in return? Go back thirty years and at least a dozen names
of prominent actors and actresses will occur to us as having been
received in the best society. Now, in their time, the number of
West-end theatres was about one-third of what it is at the present day.
Therefore, if five actors were received by society then, there should
be fifteen received now. If there are not, the stage of to-day is
socially on the same level with the stage of thirty years ago, and has
not advanced a step; if the number of presentable actors is, nowadays,
less, then the stage has retrograded. I cannot make out that there are
more received than formerly. There are a few University men on the
stage, men of birth and education, entitled to be received in good
society. But now we are speaking of only a section of society, and are
begging the original question.
And why, from the nature of the case, cannot the stage ever rank
with the recognised professions? Because, as a means of earning a
livelihood, that is as a mere employment, the stage is open to all
the world. Unlike painting, literature, and music, it requires no
special knowledge of any sort; it can be practised as well by the
unlearned as, though not with the same facility, by the learned. It is
a self-educating profession. Physical gifts, up to a certain point,
will make up for deficiency in talent: but given talent, and with
perseverance and application even for the most illiterate, success
is certain. Given genius, then “reading and writing” seem to “come
by nature,” and though there may always be a little difficulty with
the spelling, yet triumph is sure and swift. The stage requires no
matriculation; but for an actor of talent, who loves his art, there is
no limit to his studies,—one helps another, one leads to another. As
far as society is concerned, there should be no one more thoroughly
qualified to play a leading part in the very highest, the most
intellectual, and most cultivated society, than the actor or actress,
who is rising in or who has reached the summit of “the profession.”
Scarcely a subject can be named that is not, in its degree, almost
essential—a strong word, but on consideration used correctly—to
the perfection of the actor's art. A first-rate actor should be an
admirable Crichton. The best preparation for the stage is, as I have
elsewhere insisted, a thorough education. True, that it is so for
every calling, but especially for the stage. To belong to the bar of
England is an honor in itself, even though the barrister never gets a
brief and could do nothing with it if he did. To belong to the stage of
England is _not_ an honor in itself. To the genius, the talents, and
the private worth of our eminent actors in the past and in the present,
our stage owes its lustre. They owed nothing to the stage, the stage
everything to them.
The desire to raise the social status of the actor so that the term
actor shall be “synonymous with gentleman,” is worthy of all praise. To
make it possible for young ladies of education to take to acting as a
means of earning a livelihood, would be a great social benefit.
When a youth, well brought up, takes to the stage, he should not be
immediately treated as a pariah. On the contrary, if ever there be a
time in a young man's career when more than ever he stands in need
of good home traditions, the companionship of his equals, and the
encouragement of his superiors, it is when he has honestly chosen, as
a means of earning his living, the stage as a profession. That, for
evident reasons, it has been usually selected by the dissolute, the
idle, and those to whom any restraint is distasteful, accounts to a
great extent for the disrepute in which the stage has been held. Of
course the statute-book and the puritanism of the seventeenth century
have much to answer for in the popular estimate of the players. There
is a strong leaven of Puritanism amongst us, and, in some respects,
so much the better; but also among very excellent people of various
religious opinions, there has been, and it exists now, a sort of vague
idea that the stage has always been under the positive ban of the
Church. In the temporary laws and regulations of different countries,
enforced by narrow-minded men, civil or ecclesiastical, may be found
the origin of this mistaken notion. The Church has never pronounced
the stage the anathema. On the contrary, she has patronised the stage,
and the first mimes who entered France from Italy rather resembled
members of a religious order in their pious fervor, than actors of a
later date in their laxity. If players were refused Christian burial,
it was when they had neither lived nor died as even nominal Christians,
and in such cases even “maimed rites” would savor of hypocrisy. In
France the actors themselves were under this hallucination. M. Regnier
tells us how in 1848 a deputation of comedians went to Monseigneur
Affre to ask him to get the sentence of excommunication removed from
the theatrical profession. “L'illustre prélat leur répondit qu'il n'y
avait pas à la lever, parcequ'elle n'avait jamais été formulée, et que
les comédiens français, comme les comédiens de tous les autres pays
catholiques, pouvaient participer aux sacraments.”
It would be a comparatively easy task to trace the origin of this
floating but perfectly false tradition, but I have already overrun
the limit of this article. In the time of Louis XIII. the actors were
excellent church-goers, had their children baptised, frequented the
sacraments, and were on the best terms with curés of Paris; and it
will be a consolation to those actors among us who, like the doll in
the song, “pine for higher society” to be reminded, that the grand
monarch himself did not disdain to stand god-father at the font to the
first-born of Molière, and to do the like office to the third child of
Domenico Biancolelli, the Italian harlequin.
Our leading actors and actresses of the present day will naturally
strive, no less than those of the past, to do their best for the stage,
and, in return, the patrons of the drama will do their best for them.
But to claim for it, as its right, the social status of the recognised
professions, and to be fussily indignant with society at large for
refusing to acknowledge this groundless claim, is degrading to an art
which should be as independent and as exalted as virtue, and content
with virtue's reward.—_Fortnightly Review._