MARRIAGE.
As Sarah Kemble passed from childhood to early womanhood, she continued
to act the round of all the company’s plays, taking more important parts
as she grew older. The very atmosphere she breathed was dramatic. To walk
the stage was a second nature to her. She was not, however, at the same
time shut out from common-place every-day matters. She helped her mother
in the household work, and went from a rehearsal to the making of a
pudding or the darning of a pair of stockings. There is little doubt that
this free mixing in the simple family life of her home gave a healthy
balance to her mind. Like her mother, she always kept her domestic life
intact in the midst of her professional occupations, and ever remained
simple and womanly. Her fine friends in later days would tell how they
had found her ironing a frock for one of her children, or studying a new
part while she rocked the cradle of the last baby.
At the age of sixteen, Sarah’s beauty had attracted the attention of
her audiences. One or two squires of the county places they visited
offered her their homage; but before she was seventeen her affections
were already engaged by a member of the troupe, an ex-apprentice from
Birmingham.
We have already seen the name of Siddons figuring on the Kemble
play-bills, when Sarah was only thirteen years of age. We can imagine,
therefore, all the opportunities that the young people had of falling
in love, rehearsing together, acting together, with the continual
communion of interest brought about by their profession. No wonder that
even Mr. Evans, a Welsh squire, with three hundred a year, who, enslaved
by Sarah’s singing of _Robin, Sweet Robin_, offered her his hand, was
ignominiously refused. Her parents, however, took a different view, and,
allured by the splendour of Mr. Evans’s offer, revoked the unwilling
consent they had given to their daughter’s engagement to Siddons, and
summarily dismissed him from the company.
The indignant lover had recourse to a method of revenge that seems as
novel as it was ungentlemanly. Being allowed a farewell benefit, he
took the opportunity—it was at Brecon—of taking the audience into his
confidence, and, in doggrel of the worst description, informed them of
his woes:—
Ye ladies of Brecon, whose hearts ever feel
For wrongs like to this I’m about to reveal,
Excuse the first product, nor pass unregarded
The complaints of poor Colin, a lover discarded.
Yet still on his Phyllis his hopes were all placed,
That her vows were so firm they could ne’er be effaced;
But soon she convinced him ’twas all a mere joke,
For duty rose up, _and her vows were all broke_.
Dear ladies, avoid one indelible stain,
Excuse me, I beg, if my verse is too plain;
_But a jilt is the devil_, as has long been confessed,
Which a heart like poor Colin’s must ever detest.
We only give three verses of the eleven, being as much, we think, as our
readers could submit to with patience.
How a girl of any spirit could forgive a lover for thus exposing their
private affairs, and how a girl of any artistic appreciation could
forgive a lover such bad verses, and take him back into her good graces,
is more than we can understand. Mrs. Kemble, her mother, seemed to take
the most correct view of the situation, for, instead of excusing “the
first product” of the luckless poet, “his merits tho’ small,” she amply
rewarded with a ringing box on the ears as he left the stage.
Jones, a member of Roger Kemble’s company, preserved some verses written
by Sarah to her lover, which show her to be as superior to him in taste
and poetic perception, as she afterwards proved herself in dramatic
power:—
Say not, Strephon, I’m untrue,
When I only think of you;
If you do but think of me
As I of you, then shall you be
Without a rival in my heart,
Which ne’er can play a tyrant’s part.
Trust me, Strephon, with thy love—
I swear by Cupid’s bow above,
Nought shall make me e’er betray
Thy passion till my dying day:
If I live, or if I die,
Upon my constancy rely.
Siddons sufficiently relied on her constancy, in spite of his statements
to “ye ladies of Brecon,” to suggest to his beloved an immediate
elopement, which suggestion she, as Campbell quaintly puts it, “tempering
amatory with filial duty,” politely declined, and her lover left.
As it was considered advisable to wean Sarah from old associations she
was sent away for a time, and lived “under the protection” of Mrs.
Greatheed, of Guy’s Cliff in Warwickshire. Some have maintained that she
was nursemaid or housemaid; but the terms she was on with her mistress,
who presented her with a copy of Milton, precludes that idea, unless,
by her smartness and industry, she, within a very short period of her
engagement, worked herself into a better position. Campbell also points
out that there were no children to be nursed in the Greatheed family
at that time. “Her station with them,” he continues, “was humble, but
not servile, and her principal employment was to read to the elder Mr.
Greatheed.” The secret history of the green room informs us that she was
maid to Lady Mary Bertie, Samuel Greatheed’s second wife; and the Duchess
of Ancaster told Mrs. Geneste she well remembered Lady Mary once bringing
this attractive attendant with her on a visit.
It was remarked that she delighted in reciting fragments of plays for
the entertainment of the servants’ hall. Lord Robert Bertie was so fond
of listening and admiring her declamation, that Lady Mary had to beg of
him to desist, and “not encourage the girl to go on the stage.” Young
Greatheed told Miss Wynn later on that he had often heard Mrs. Siddons
read _Macbeth_ when she was his mother’s maid.
Lady Mary confessed years afterwards to “Conversation” Sharp, that so
queenly was the bearing of the young girl, even at that early age, that
she always felt an irresistible inclination to rise from her chair when
her maid came to attend her.
We can imagine the romantic girl wandering through the lonely glades,
and amongst the stately elm-groves of Guy’s Cliff, or along the shores of
the soft-flowing Avon, Shakespeare’s Avon, that glides at the foot of the
rocks between green meadows, dreaming of her love, and reading the poet
she loved so well, whose birth-place and burial-place lay so near where
she was. She must have heard reminiscences told of the great Jubilee that
had taken place in 1769, only three years before, when Mr. Garrick and a
“brilliant company of nobility and gentry,” had come down to Stratford
to celebrate the Shakesperean centenary. She little knew then that it
was in a repetition of the Jubilee procession on the boards of Drury
Lane she was destined to make her first bow to a London audience. There
is a tradition that she met Garrick during her stay at Guy’s Cliff. It
is not impossible, as, after the Jubilee, he was a constant guest of
the Greatheeds. The statement hardly tallies, however, with his writing
sometime later to Moody to the effect that there “was a woman Siddons”
acting at Liverpool, who might suit the Drury Lane company, and asking
him to go and have a look at her. He might easily, however, have failed
to connect the girl Sarah Kemble with the woman Mrs. Siddons.
It redounds much to the credit both of the Greatheeds and the actress,
that afterwards, in spite of the change of circumstances, Mrs. Siddons
ever remained a firm friend of the family. We find Miss Berry in 1822,
forty-seven years later, writing in her journal:—
“Guy’s Cliff, Tuesday, Jan. 1st.—Mrs. Siddons and her daughter arrived.
“Wednesday, 2nd.—Mrs. Siddons read _Othello_, the two parts of Iago and
Othello, quite _à merveille_.”
We find Bertie Greatheed standing sponsor for her daughter Cecilia in
1794; and, greatest test of true friendship, writing a tragedy, _The
Regent_, which failed disastrously.
In spite of stern parents and social obstacles, “Love will be ever Lord
of all.” William Siddons came several times to Guy’s Cliff to see her.
There, almost within sight of Shottery, where Shakespeare enacted his
love story with Anne Hathaway, Sarah Kemble enacted hers. Wandering
amidst the scented fields through which Shakespeare wandered, William
Siddons again pleaded his cause, and was forgiven his bad verses and
untimely confidences for the sake of his persistency.
The Kembles, seeing the attachment was serious, at last gave their
consent, and in her nineteenth year Sarah Kemble became Mrs. Siddons.
The marriage took place at Trinity Church, Coventry, November 26th, 1773,
and on the 4th of October following, the first child, Henry, was born, at
Wolverhampton.
Mr. Siddons was just the man to fascinate a young and high-spirited
girl. Good-looking, calm, sedate, even-tempered, not over-burdened with
brain-power, and not too much will of his own. One might apply to him
what Johnson said of Sheridan’s father, “He is not a bad man, no, Sir;
were mankind to be divided into good and bad, he would stand considerably
within the ranks of the good.” “A damned rascally player,” the Rev.
Henry Bate says forcibly, “but a civil fellow.” We are told that he had
not only that invention which in provincial theatres is the first of
requisites, but he also possessed the second, a quick study, in almost
unequalled perfection. He could make himself master of the longest
dramatic character between night and night, and deliver it with the
accuracy that seems to result only from long application; but so slight
was the impression made, that it escaped from his memory in as few hours
as he had employed to learn it. It was said later, by members of his
wife’s company, that though Siddons was a bad actor himself, he was an
excellent judge, always drilling his wife, and very cross at any failure.
His position as husband of the “great Mrs. Siddons,” continually cast
into the shade by her superiority, was an unthankful one, but we must
confess that he filled it with commendable equanimity.
Their love wore better than the tinsel finery amidst which it began. The
happy domestic life that succeeded was undoubtedly a great safe-guard
amidst the dangers and difficulties of her life, saving her from much
that is the ruin of her less protected sisters. We are told that in the
days of her success, when her would-be admirers and lovers were legion,
her husband’s ear was the one to which she confided all the incidents of
attempted gallantry, invariably attending an actress’s life; and many
were the hearty laughs they indulged in together over them. Perhaps
now and then there was too great an inclination to make use of him. We
find the poor man writing to managers as their obedient humble servant,
making piteous appeals to Garrick, and put forward to dun Sheridan for
the amount due to his wife; but at first they seem to have shared all the
trials and struggles of their profession together.
Wolverhampton was their first stage after their marriage. The reigning
Mayor seems to have nourished a prejudice against all actors. He had
closed the King’s Head Yard, and declared contemptuously that “neither
player, puppy, nor monkey,” should perform in the town. After a popular
demonstration, he was induced to rescind this harsh interdict; and by
the Christmas of 1773, Roger Kemble was giving two stock dramas, _The
West Indian_ and _The Padlock_. Sarah appeared for the first time as Mrs.
Siddons, at a farewell “Bespeak.” An address, written by herself, and
spoken on this occasion, has been found and published by an inhabitant of
Wolverhampton:—
Ladies and Gentlemen,—my spouse and I
Have had a squabble, and I’ll tell you why.
He said I must appear; nay, vowed ’twas right
To give you thanks for favours shown to-night.
...
He still insisted, and, to win consent,
Strove to o’ercome me with a compliment;
Told me that I the favourite here had reigned,
While he but small or no applause had gained.
“Pen me some lines where I may talk and swagger,
Of poisons, murders, done by bowl or dagger;
Or let me, with my brogue and action ready,
Give them a brush, my dear, of Widow Brady.”
...
First, for a father, who on this fair ground,
Has met with friendship seldom to be found,
May th’ All-Good Power your every virtue nourish,
Health, wealth, and trade in Wolverhampton flourish!
This doggrel is almost on a par with Mr. Siddons’s effusion to the Ladies
of Brecon.
In the year following Mr. and Mrs. Siddons made their way to Cheltenham,
then a town consisting of but one street, “through the middle of which
ran a clear stream of water, with stepping-stones that served as a
bridge.” Already, however, its merits as a watering place had been
noised abroad, and some of the “people of quality” had begun to find
their way there. Seeing the play of _Venice Preserved_ announced for
representation at the theatre, some of the fashionables took tickets,
hoping to be highly diverted with the badness of the rustic performance.
The man at the box-office, who had listened to their thoughtless remarks,
reported them to Mrs. Siddons, who was to act the part of Belvidera. The
young actress felt oppressed at the idea of the ordeal she was to be
subjected to. Ridicule was all her life the one thing the tragic muse
could not face; and from the moment of first coming on she was conscious
of the antagonistic influence in one of the boxes, and imagined she
heard sounds of suppressed laughter. She left the theatre after the
play, deeply mortified. Next day, Mr. Siddons met Lord Aylesbury in the
street, who inquired after Mrs. Siddons’s health. He then expressed
his admiration of her acting the night before, and declared that the
ladies of his party had wept so excessively that they were laid up with
headaches. Mr. Siddons rushed home to gladden his wife’s heart with the
news. The actress owed one of the truest friendships of her life to this
incident, for Miss Boyle, Lord Aylesbury’s step-daughter, came to call
on her the same day to express her delight in person, and from that time
never allowed the intimacy to drop. This lady seems to have possessed
considerable artistic gifts in several ways, having, as Campbell tells us
with much emphasis, written _An Ode to a Poppy_, which was thought full
of merit in her day. What was of more importance to the young actress,
however, than her new friend’s qualifications for writing “odes” was her
power of making costumes for different parts with her own hands, and her
generosity in supplying “properties” from her own wardrobe. There were
some, however, that even the Honourable Miss Boyle did not possess. For
the male habiliments of the Widow Brady, the young actress found on the
night of the performance that no provision had been made. The story goes
that a gentleman politely left the box where he was seated, lent her his
coat, and stood in the side-scenes with a petticoat over his shoulders
until his property was restored to him. Whether this courteous individual
was Lord Aylesbury we are not told, but we know that he was one of Miss
Boyle’s party.
The particular fascination of Mrs. Siddons’s acting in those early days
was its simplicity and pathos, which, united with remarkable beauty and
power of expression, gained the hearts of all rustic audiences. Her
talent, however, seems to have been singularly immature, considering the
continual practice she had enjoyed, almost from her cradle, in stage
affairs. Rachel reached the summit of her power at seventeen, Mrs.
Siddons not until she was thirty. She herself confesses later, in the
account she gives of her first reading of _Macbeth_: “Being then only
twenty years of age, I believed, as many others do believe, that little
more was necessary than to get the words into my head; for the necessity
of discrimination, and the development of character, at that time of my
life, had scarcely entered into my imagination.”
The power of drawing tears, however, was already hers, and rumours of the
charm and beauty of the young actress had been wafted to London, reaching
even the ears of the great Garrick himself. Mrs. Siddons tells us, in
her Autograph Recollections: “Mr. King, by order of Mr. Garrick, who had
heard some account of me from the Aylesbury family, came to Cheltenham to
see me in the _Fair Penitent_. I knew neither Mr. King nor his purpose
at the time.” Neither did she know of the second emissary whom Garrick
sent, the Rev. Henry Bate, who in 1781 took the name of Dudley, and was
afterwards made a canon and a baronet; a bruising, muscular clergyman of
the old school, who fought duels one moment and wrote “slashing” articles
on every subject, “human and divine,” the next. He was well known as
a theatrical censor and critic of considerable acumen. We know him by
Gainsborough’s portrait, standing in a garden with his dog. It is said
that a political opponent remarked that the man wanted “execution” and
the dog “hanging.” We find Garrick continually sending him on theatrical
errands. We give the letters he wrote about Mrs. Siddons very nearly in
their entirety, on account of their characteristic quaint humour and
shrewd power of observation; and also because they to a certain degree
exonerate Garrick from some of the charges brought against him by Mrs.
Siddons:—
MY DEAR FRIEND,
After combatting the various difficulties of one of the
cussidest cross-roads in this kingdom, we arrived safe at
Cheltenham on Thursday last, and saw the theatrical heroine
of that place in the character of Rosalind. Though I beheld
her from the side wing of the stage (a barn about three yards
over), and consequently under almost every disadvantage, I
own she made so strong an impression upon me, that I think
she cannot fail to be a valuable acquisition to Drury Lane.
Her figure must be remarkably fine, although marred for the
present. Her face (if I could judge from where I saw it) is one
of the most strikingly beautiful for stage effect that I ever
beheld, but I shall surprise you more when I assure you that
these are nothing to her action and general stage deportment,
which are remarkably pleasing and characteristic; in short, I
know no woman who marks the different passages and transitions
with so much variety, and at the same time propriety of
expression. In the latter humbug scene with Orlando previous
to her revealing herself, she did more with it than anyone I
ever saw, not even your divine Mrs. Barry excepted. It is
necessary after this panegyric, however, to inform you that her
voice struck me at first as rather dissonant, and I fancy, from
the private conversation I had with her, that in impassioned
scenes it must be somewhat grating; however, as I found it wear
away as the business became more interesting, I am inclined to
think it only an error of affectation, which may be corrected,
if not totally removed. She informed me she has been upon the
stage from her cradle. This, though it surprised me, gave me
the highest opinion of her judgment, to find she had contracted
no strolling habits, which have so often been the bane of
many a theatrical genius. She will most certainly be of great
use to you, at all events, on account of the great number of
characters she plays, all of which, I will venture to assert,
she fills with propriety, though I have yet seen her but in
one. She is, as you have been informed, a very good breeches
figure, and plays in _Widow Brady_, I am informed, admirably.
I should not wonder, from her ease, figure, and manner, if she
made the _proudest_ she of either house tremble in genteel
comedy—nay, beware yourself, _Great Little Man_, for she plays
Hamlet to the satisfaction of the Worcestershire critics.
The moment the play was over I wrote a note to her husband
(who is a damned rascally player, though seemingly a very
civil fellow) requesting an interview with him and his wife,
intimating at the same time the nature of my business. You will
not blame me for making this forced march in your favour, as I
learnt that some of the Covent Garden Mohawks were intrenched
near the place and intended carrying her by surprise. At the
conclusion of the farce they waited upon me, and, after I
had opened my commission, she expressed herself happy at the
opportunity of being brought out under your eye, but declined
proposing any terms, leaving it entirely with you to reward her
as you thought proper.
You will perceive that at present she has all that diffidence
usually the first attendant on merit; how soon the force of
Drury Lane examples, added to the rising vanity of a stage
heroine, may transform her, I cannot say. It happens very
luckily that the company comes to Worcester for the race week,
when I shall take every opportunity of seeing her, and if I
find the least reason to alter my opinion (perhaps too hastily
formed), you shall immediately have my recantation. My wife,
whose judgment in theatrical matters I have a high opinion
of, joins with me in these sentiments respecting her merit.
I should have wrote to you before, but no post went out from
anywhere near here but this night’s.
I shall expect to hear from you by return of the post, as
Siddons will call upon me to know whether you look upon her
as engaged. My wife joins me in respects to Mrs. Garrick and
yourself. I remain, my dear Sir (after writing a damned jargon,
I suppose, of unintelligible stuff in haste),
Ever yours most truly,
H. BATE.
Worcester, 12th August, 1775.
P.S.—Direct to me at the “Hop Pole.”
To David Garrick, Esq., Adelphi, London.
* * * * *
Worcester, Aug. 19th, 1775.
MY DEAR FRIEND,
I received your very friendly letter, and take the first post
from hence to answer it. I found it unnecessary to make the
intimation you desired to the _husband_, since he requires only
to be employed in any manner you shall think proper; and as
he is much more tolerable than I thought him at first, it may
be no very difficult matter to station him so as to satisfy
the man, without burdening the property. I saw him the other
evening in Young Marlow in Goldsmith’s Comedy, and then he was
far from despicable; neither his figure nor face contemptible.
A jealousy prevailing through the theatre, upon a suspicion of
their leaving them, the acting manager seems determined that I
shall not see her again in any character wherein she might give
me a second display of her theatrical powers. I am resolved,
however, to continue the siege till they give her something
capital, knowing _that_ must speedily be the case, or the
garrison must fall by famine.
She has already gone _six months_, so that pretty early in
December she will be fit for service; as you certainly mean to
open the ensuing campaign, by charging in person at the head
of your lines, I conceive she will come at a very favourable
crisis to take a second command, when the retreat from the
field may be politically necessary. I am strongly for her first
appearance in _Rosalind_; but you may judge better, perhaps,
after a perusal of the list on the other side; the characters
marked under [in _italics_] are those which she prefers to
others:—
Jane Shore.
_Alicia._
Roxana.
_Grecian Daughter._
Matilda.
_Belvidera._
Calista.
Monimia.
Juliet.
Cordelia.
Horatia.
Imogen.
Marianne.
_Lady Townley._
_Portia._
Mrs. Belville.
Violante.
_Rosalind._
Mrs. Strickland.
Clarinda.
Miss Aubrey.
Charlotte.
_Widow Brady._
You are certainly right respecting a memorandum between you;
the moment, therefore, I receive one from you, it shall be
conveyed to them at Cheltenham, where they return next week,
and they have promised to return me an answer immediately at
Birmingham, for which place I shall set off the instant I have
received your letter in any way to town, in order to conclude
this business finally, and to the satisfaction of all parties.
I am desired to request your answer to the three following
particulars:—
1st. As they are ready to attend your summons at any time,
Whether they are not to be allowed something to subsist upon
when they come to town previous to her appearance?
2nd. Whether you have any objection to employ him in any
situation in which you may think him likely “to be useful”?
3rd. When you chuse they should attend you?
As to the first, without you are inclined to have them at the
opening of the house, perhaps her remaining in the country,
in their own company, where they do very well, may ease you
of some expense; but of this you must be the best judge. With
respect to him, I think you can have no objection to take him
upon the terms he proposes himself. I forgot to tell you that
Mrs. Siddons is about twenty years of age. It would be unjust
not to remark one circumstance in favour of them both; I mean
the universal good character they have preserved here for many
years, on account of their public as well as private conduct
in life. I beg you to be very particular in your answer to the
three queries, and likewise expressly to mention the time you
wish to see them, that they may arrange their little matters
accordingly.
In a _postscript_ he adds:—
She is the most extraordinary quick study I ever heard of.
This cannot be amiss, for, if I recollect right, we have a
sufficient number of the _leaden-headed_ ones at D. Lane
already.
Then come letters from Siddons, in answer to some from Bate, concluding
an engagement. We can see the trembling anxiety of the young couple.
“They were in much concern,” he says, “at not hearing sooner,” as from
the line he had shown him in Mr. Garrick’s handwriting, he had been
sure of Mrs. Siddons’s engagement. They had, in consequence, given his
partners in management at Cheltenham notice of his intention to go;
if anything had happened, therefore, to prevent their engagement, it
would have “proved a very unlucky circumstance.” He then touches on a
very necessary point—their pressing need of money to tide them over Mrs.
Siddons’s expected confinement. “Mr. Garrick,” he says, “has conferred an
eternal obligation by his kind offer of the cash.”
In his next letter, dated Gloucester, November 9th, 1775, he
writes:—“From my former accounts of Mrs. Siddons’s time, you’ll be
surprised when I tell you she is brought to bed; she was unexpectedly
taken ill when performing on the stage, and early the next morning
produc’d me a fine girl. They are both, thank Heaven, likely to do well;
but I am afraid, Sir, notwithstanding this, I shan’t be able to leave
this much sooner than the time I last mentioned.” He then alludes to
twenty pounds borrowed in Garrick’s name to meet pressing demands.
This “fine girl” was Mrs. Siddons’ daughter Sarah, whose premature death
later nearly broke her mother’s heart.