an “off” night Christmas and had the whole company, over a hundred
persons, to dinner at the Monhongaheela House, where he was staying. We
drank all the loyal and usual toasts and finished with a sing-song,
wherein various members of the company and the staff exhibited hitherto
unknown powers of song and dance. They did amongst them a nigger
entertainment which would have passed muster anywhere.
XXXIV
IRVING AS A SOCIAL FORCE
The history of the Lyceum Theatre was for a quarter of a century a part
of the social history of London. A mere list of Irving’s hospitalities
would be instructive. The range of his guests was impossible to any but
an artist. As he never forgot or neglected his old friends there were
generally at his table some present who represented the commonplace or
the unsuccessful as well as the famous or the successful sides of life.
The old days and the new came together cheerily under the influence of
the host’s winning personality, which no amount of success had been able
to spoil.
Sometimes the Beefsteak Room, which could only seat at most thirty-six
people, was too small; and at such times we migrated to the stage. These
occasions were interesting, sometimes even in detail. On the hundredth
night of _The Merchant of Venice_, February 14, 1880, there was a supper
for three hundred and fifty guests. On March 25, 1882, ninety-two guests
sat down to dinner to celebrate the hundredth night of _Romeo and
Juliet_.
The Prince of Wales dined there in a party of fifty on May 7, 1883. The
table was a round one, and in the centre was a glorious mass of yellow
flowers with sufficient green leaves to add to its beauty. This bouquet
was thirty feet across, and was in the centre only nine inches in
height, so that it allowed an uninterrupted view all round the table. I
remember the Prince saying that he had never seen a more lovely table.
On this as on other occasions there was overhead a great tent-roof
covering the entire stage. Through this hung chandeliers. On three sides
were great curtains of crimson plush and painted satin ordinarily used
for tableaux curtains; and on the proscenium side a forest of high palms
and flowers, behind which a fine quartette band played soft music.
One charming night I remember in the Beefsteak Room when the Duke of
Teck and Princess Mary and their three sons and Princess May Victoria,
whose birthday it was, came to supper. In honour of the occasion the
whole decorations of room and table were of pink and white may, with the
birthday cake to suit. Before the Princess was an exquisite little set
of _Shakespeare_ specially bound in white vellum by Zaehnsdorf, with
markers of blush-rose silk.
The ordinary hospitalities of the Beefsteak Room were simply endless. A
list of the names of those who have supped with Irving there would alone
fill chapters of this book. They were of all kinds and degrees. The
whole social scale has been represented from the Prince to the humblest
of commoners. Statesmen, travellers, explorers, ambassadors, foreign
princes and potentates, poets, novelists, historians—writers of every
style, shade and quality. Representatives of all the learned
professions; of all the official worlds; of all the great industries.
Sportsmen, landlords, agriculturists. Men and women of leisure and
fashion. Scientists, thinkers, inventors, philanthropists, divines.
Egotists, ranging from harmless esteemers of their own worthiness to the
very ranks of Nihilism. Philosophers. Artists of all kinds. In very
truth the list was endless and kaleidoscopic.
Irving never knew how many personal friends he had, for all who ever met
him claimed acquaintance for ever more—and always to his great delight.
Let me give an instance: In the late “eighties” when he took a house
with an enormous garden in Brook Green, Hammersmith, he had the house
rebuilt and beautifully furnished; but he never lived in it. However, in
the summer he thought it would be a good opportunity of giving a garden
party at which he might see all his friends together. He explained to me
what he would like to do:
“I want to see all my friends at once; and I wish to have it so arranged
that there will be no one left out. I hope my friends will bring their
young people who would like to come. Perhaps you may remember our
friends better than I do; would you mind making out a list for me—so
that we can send the invitations. Of course I should like to ask a few
of our Lyceum audience who come much to the theatre. Some of them I
know, but there are others from whom I have received endless courtesies
and I want them to see that I look on them as friends.”
I set to work on a list, and two days afterwards in the office he said
to me:
“What about that list? We ought to be getting on with the invitations.”
“No use!” I said. “You can’t give that party—not as you wish it!”
“Why not?” he asked amazed; he never liked to hear that anything he
wished could not be done. I held up the sheets I had been working at.
“Here is the answer,” I said. “There are too many!”
“Oh, nonsense, my dear fellow. You forget it is a huge garden.” I shook
my head.
“The other is huger. I am not half through yet, and they total up
already over five thousand!”
And so that party never came off.
He had many many close friends whose names I should like to mention
here, but to attempt a full list would not be possible. Such must be
incomplete; and those so neglected might be pained. And so I venture to
give in this book only the names of those who belong to the structure of
the incident which I am recounting.
But Irving’s social power was not merely in his hospitality. He was in
request for all sorts and kinds of public and semi-public functions—the
detailed list of them would be a serious one; of monuments that he has
unveiled; of public dinners at which he has taken the chair or spoken;
of foundation and memorial stones which he has laid; of flower shows,
bazaars, theatres, libraries and public galleries that he has opened.
The public banquets to him have been many. The entertainments in his
honour by clubs and other organisations were multitudinous.
And wherever he went on any such occasion, whatever space there was—were
it even in an open square or street—was crowded to the last point.
This very popularity entailed much work, both in preparation and
execution, for he had always to make a speech. With him a speech meant
writing it and having it printed so that he could read it—though he
never appeared to do so.
All this opened many new ways for his successes in his art, and so aided
in the growth of its honour. For instance, he was the first actor asked
to speak at the annual banquet of the Royal Academy; thus through him a
new toast was added to the restricted list of that very conservative
body.
The “First Night” gatherings on the stage of the Lyceum after the play
became almost historic; the list of the guests would form an index to
those of note of the time.
There were similar gatherings of a certain national, and even
international, importance; such as when the members of the Colonial
Conference came _en masse_; when the Conference of Librarians attended
the theatre; when ships of war of foreign nations sent glad contingents
to the theatre; when the Guests of the Nation were made welcome.
Some of the latter groups are, I think, worthy to be told of in detail.
XXXV
VISITS OF FOREIGN WARSHIPS
I
When, in May 1894, the United States cruiser _Chicago_ came to London
whilst making her cruise of friendly intent, there was of course a
warm-hearted greeting. Admiral Erben was the very soul of geniality and
Captain Mahan was, through his great work on _The Sea Power of England_,
himself a maker of history. At the banquet to them in St. James’s Hall,
Irving, though he was unable to attend as he had to play at the Lyceum,
was nominally present. He felt that all that could possibly be done to
cement the good feeling between Great Britain and America was the duty
of every Englishman.
At the banquet, on the end of the hall was the legend in gigantic
letters:
“BLOOD IS THICKER THAN WATER”
—the phrase that became historic when Admiral Erben was in China. It
will be remembered that whilst a flotilla of British boats were
attacking a fort on the river and had met a reverse they were aided by
the crew of the American ship of war. They were on a mud flat at the
mercy of the Chinese, who were wiping them out. But the crew of the
neutral vessel—unaided by their officers, who had of course to show an
appearance of neutrality in accord with the wisdom of international law—
put off their boats and took them off. On protest being made, the answer
was given in the above phrase.
Through me—I was one of the diners—Irving conveyed a warm invitation to
all the officers to come to the Lyceum to see the play and stop for
supper in the Beefsteak Room. A night was fixed and they all came except
Captain Mahan, who had to be away at an engagement out of London. It was
a delightful evening for us all and many a new friendship began.
In addition to the officers, Irving had asked the whole crew of the
_Chicago_ to come to the play in such numbers and on such nights as
might be possible. They came on three different nights. Each party came
round to the office to have a drink—and a very remarkable thing it was
considering that, except the petty officers, they were all ordinary
seamen, marines and stokers, though they had everything that was
drinkable to choose from—for Irving wished them to have full choice of
the best—no man would take a second drink! They had evidently made some
rule of good manners amongst themselves. A fine and hearty body of men
they were—and with good memories one and all. For ten years afterwards—
right up to the end of our last tour—there was hardly a week during our
American touring that some of that crew did not come to make his
greeting.
The return visit to the ship came on Sunday, June 3, when we went to
lunch on board the _Chicago_. Irving took with him J. L. Toole and
Thomas Nast, the American cartoonist, who had been at the supper at the
Lyceum. We went down to Gravesend, where the vessel lay, and were met by
the younger officers who brought us on board. There welcome reigned. It
shone in the eyes of every man on the ship, from the Admiral down. The
men on parade looked as if only the hold of discipline restrained them
as Irving passed by with words of kindly greeting. We had a delightful
time.
When late in the afternoon we were returning on shore, the whole crew
were on deck. I do not believe there was a man on board who was not
there. If the greeting was hearty, the farewell was touching. We had got
into the boat and were just clearing the vessel, we waving our hats to
those behind, when there burst out a mighty cheer, which seemed to rend
the air like thunder. It pealed over the water that still Sabbath
afternoon and startled the quiet folk on the frontages at Gravesend.
Cheer after cheer came ringing and resonant with a heartiness that made
one’s blood leap. For there is no such sound in the world as that
full-throated Anglo-Saxon cheer which begins at the heart—that
inspiring, resolute, intentional cheer which has through the memory of
ten thousand victories and endless moments of stress and daring become
the heritage of the race.
Before the _Chicago_ left London, a little deputation came one evening
to the Lyceum from the crew. To Irving they presented a fine drawing in
water-colour of their ship, together with a silver box with an Address
written and illuminated by themselves. It was a hearty document,
redolent of the memories of crossing the Line and such quaint conceits
as the deep water seaman loves.
I value dearly their gift to myself; a beautiful walking-stick of
zebra-wood and silver, of which the inscription runs:
“Presented to Bram Stoker, Esq.,
By the crew of U.S. _Chicago_, 1894.”
II
Three years after the visit of the _Chicago_—1897—another warship came
on a similar friendly mission.
This was the battleship _Fuji_, of the Japanese Navy. In those days
Japan was just beginning to step from her sun-lit shores down into the
great world. She had awakened to the need for self-protection and had
manifested her fighting power with modern weapons in the capture of Port
Arthur. Captain Mimra, who commanded the _Fuji_, had been appointed
Commandant of the fortress-city after the capture.
Irving thought it would be hospitable to ask the visitors to the play.
On the night of April 2, Captain Mimra and his officers came. The play
then running, _Richard III._, was one that took up Irving’s time from
first to last during the evening so that it was not possible for him to
have the privilege of meeting his guests personally. So I had to be
deputy host. The party sat in the Royal box and the one next to it, the
two boxes having been made into one for the occasion. After the third
act of the play we all went into the “Prince of Wales’s Room”—the
drawing-room attached to the Royal box—and drank a glass of wine
together to a toast which was prophetic:
“England and Japan!”
XXXVI
IRVING’S LAST RECEPTION AT THE LYCEUM
I
At the time of the Queen’s Jubilee in 1887, Irving had something to do
in the celebration in a histrionic way. He was able to make welcome at
the Lyceum and to entertain individually many of those who came from
over seas to do honour to the occasion. The only act of general service
which came within his power was to lend the bells which were played in
Hyde Park on the occasion of the Children’s Jubilee. These were the
“hemispherical” bells which had been founded for the production of
_Faust_, and were the largest of the kind that had ever been made. On
that day it seemed as though the carillon sounded all over London.
II
Ten years later, when the “Diamond” Jubilee was kept, much more
attention was paid to the Colonial and Indian guests than had ever been
done before. The Nation had waked up to the importance of the
“Dependencies,” and the representatives of these were treated with all
due honour. Irving, thinking like many others that it would be well that
private hospitalities given in general form might supplement the public
functions, gave a special _matinée_ performance on June 25 for the
troops of all kinds which had been sent to represent the various parts
of the Empire. The authorities fell in with the plan so thoroughly that
he was encouraged to add to his service of hospitality a reception on
the stage after the play on the night of June 28. To this came all the
Colonial Premiers, and all those Indian Princes and such persons of
local distinction throughout the world as had been named on the official
lists, and all the officers taking a part in the proceedings. Besides
these were a host of others, amongst whom were a large number of
representatives of literature and the various arts.
III
When, in 1902, the time of the Coronation was approaching and matters
were being organised for a fitting welcome to the guests of the nation,
Irving, remembering the success of his little effort of five years
before and the official approval of it, wrote to the Lord Chamberlain to
ask if it would be in accordance with the King’s wishes that the stage
reception should be repeated. His Majesty not only approved of the idea,
but commanded that the matter should be taken up by the India and the
Colonial Offices, so that those high officials in charge of the public
arrangements might have the date of the reception placed on the official
list of “informal formalities.” This meant that a special date was to be
made certain for the occasion and that the nation’s guests would attend
in force. There were so many events of social importance close to the
time fixed for the Coronation that there was a certain struggle for
dates. Those hosts were supposed to be happy who secured that which they
wished. Our date was fixed for the night of Thursday, July 3.
When, on June 26, the ceremony of the Coronation was postponed on
account of the dangerous illness of the King, it was made known formally
that it was His Majesty’s expressed wish that all the functions of
hospitality to the guests should go on as arranged. In Irving’s case
much pains had been taken officially. Sir William Curzon Wyllie, of the
Political Department of the India Office, and Sir William
Baillie-Hamilton, at the Colonial Office, arranged matters.
When the night of July 3 arrived all possible preparations had been made
at the Lyceum. As the function was to take place after the audience had
gone there would be little time to spare, and we had to provide against
accidents and hitches of all kinds.
The play began at eight o’clock and there was an immense audience. At
ten minutes to eleven the curtain fell; and then began one of the finest
pieces of carefully organised work I have ever seen. Everything had been
planned out, every man was in his place, and throughout there was no
scrambling or interfering with each other although the haste was
positively terrific. All was done in silence, and each gang knew how to
wait till their moment for exertion came.
As the audience filed out of the stalls and pit a host of carpenters
edged in behind them and began to unscrew the chairs and benches. So
fast did they work that as the audience left the proscenium the blocks
of seats followed close behind them to the waiting carts. Following the
carpenters came an array of sturdy women cleaners, who used broom and
duster with an almost frantic energy, moving in a nimbus of dust of
their own making. All the windows of the house had been opened the
instant the curtain fell, so that the place was being aired whilst the
work was going on. Behind the cleaners came a force of upholsterers with
great bales of red cloth, which had already been prepared and fitted, so
that an incredibly short time saw the floor of the house looking twice
its usual size in its splendour of crimson. By this time the curtain had
gone up showing the stage clear from front to back and from side to
side. A train of carts had been waiting, and as there was a great force
of men on the stage the scenes and properties seemed to move of their
own accord out of the great doors at the back of the stage. On the walls
right and left of the stage and at the back hung great curtains of
crimson velvet and painted satin which we used in various plays. The
stage was covered with crimson cloth. At each side of the orchestra was
lifted in a staircase ready prepared, some six feet wide, carpeted with
crimson and with handrails covered with crimson velvet. A rail covered
with velvet of the same colour protected unthinking guests from walking
into the orchestra. Then came the florists. An endless train of palms
and shrubs and flowers in pots seemed to move in and disperse themselves
about the theatre. The boxes were filled with them and all along the
front of the circles they stood in serried lines till the whole place
was in waves of greenery and flowers. The orchestra was filled with
palms which rose a foot or two over the place of the footlights. In the
meantime the caterer’s little army had brought in tables which they
placed in the back of the pit, the wall of which had during the time
been covered in Turkey red.
All the while another army of electricians had been at work. They had
fixed some great chandeliers over the stage and had put up the “set
pieces” arranged for the proscenium. These were a vast Union Jack
composed of thousands of coloured lights which hung over the dress
circle, and an enormous Crown placed over the upper circle. I never in
my life saw anything so magnificently effective as these lights. They
seemed to blaze like titanic jewels, and filled the place with a glory
of light.
While all this was going on, we had the whole house searched from roof
to cellar by our own servants and a force of detectives sent for the
purpose. It did not do to neglect precautions on such an occasion when
the spirit of anarchy stalked abroad. When this was done the detectives
took their places all round the theatre, and the coming guests had to
pass through a line of them. This was necessary to avoid the possibility
of expert thieves gaining admission. Some of these guests were known to
wear, when in State costume, jewels of great value. In fact one of the
Indian Princes who was present that night wore jewels of the value of
half a million sterling.
All this preparation had been made within the space of _forty minutes_.
When the guests began to arrive a few minutes before half-past eleven,
for which hour they had been bidden, all was in order. Some of them, who
had been present at the play and had waited in the vestibule, could
hardly believe their eyes when they saw the change.
Irving stood in the centre of the stage, for there were three doors of
entry, one at the back of the stage, the private door O.P., and the
stage door which was on the prompt side. Only one door, that at the back
of the stage, had been arranged, but the guests came so fast—and so many
of them were of a class so distinguished as not to be accustomed to
wait—that we found it necessary to open the others as well. Servants
trained to announce the names of guests had been put on duty, but their
task was no easy one, and there were some strange mispronunciations. I
give some of the names of the thousand guests, from which the difficulty
may be inferred:
His Highness Maharaj Adhiraj Sir Madho Rao Scindia, Maharaja of
Gwalior.
His Highness Maharaja Sir Ganga Singh, Maharaja of Bikaner.
His Highness Sir Pertab Singh, Maharaja of Idar.
His Highness Maharaj Adhiraj Sawai Sir Mahdo Singh, Maharaja of
Jeypore.
His Highness the Maharaja of Kohlapur.
Maharaja Kunwar Dolat Singh.
His Highness the Maharaja of Kooch Bahar.
Maharaj Kunwar Prodyot Kumar Tagore.
Sir Jamsetjee Jeejeebhai.
Raja Sir Savalai Ramaswami Mudaliyar.
Maharaja Sri Rao the Hon. Sir Venkalasvetachalapati Ranga Ras Bahadur,
Raja of Bobbili.
Meherban Ganpatrao Madhavrao Vinchwikar.
The Hon. Asif Kadr Saiyid Wasif Ali Mirza, of Murshidabad.
The Hon. Nawab Mumtaz-ud-daula Muhamad Faiyaz Ali Khan, of Pahasu
Bulandshahr.
Nawab Fateh Ali Khan, Kizilbash.
Gangadhar Madho Chitnavis.
Rai Jagannath Barua Bahadur.
Maung On Gaing.
Lieut.-Colonel Nawab Mahomed Aslam Khan, Khan Bahadur.
The Sultan of Perak.
King Lewanika.
H.R.H. The Crown Prince of Siam.
The Datoh Panglima Kinta.
The Datoh Sedelia Rab.
Sri Baba Khem Singh, Bedi of Kullar.
They were from every part of the world and of every race under the sun.
In type and colour they would have illustrated a discourse on ethnology,
or craniology. Some were from the centre of wildest Africa, not long
come under the dominion of Britain. Of one of them, a king whose
blackness of skin was beyond belief, I was told an anecdote. Just after
his arrival in London, he had been driving out with the nobleman to
whose tutelage he had been trusted. In one of the suburban squares a
toxophilite society was meeting. The king stopped the carriage and
turning to his companion said:
“Bows and arrows here in the heart of London! And I assure you that for
more than a year I have prohibited them in my dominions.”
The Premiers of all the great Colonies were present, and a host of
lesser representatives of King Edward’s dominions. Also a vast number of
peers and peeresses and other representatives of the nation—statesmen,
ecclesiastics, soldiers, authors, artists, men of science and commerce.
The most gorgeous of all the guests were of course the Indian Princes.
Each was dressed in the fullest dress of his nationality, state and
creed. The amount of jewels they wore, cut and uncut, was perfectly
astonishing.
It was very hard to keep Irving in the spot which he had chosen for
himself; for as the great crowd streamed in on three sides he kept
shifting a little every moment to greet some old friend, and had to be
brought back to the point where he could meet all. In such cases he was
always amenable to a delightful degree. Seeing the difficulty to himself
he asked me to get two or three important friends to stand with him. He
named Lord Aberdeen and the late Right Hon. Richard Seddon, the Premier
of New Zealand. These came and stood with him, and the nucleus protected
him from movement.