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MEMORIES OF THE LAST FIFTY YEARS.

By Lester Wallack.

FIRST PAPER.

NTRODUCTORY school performance given at Brighton, NOTE.-Mr. when I was about fifteen years old. Charles Dudley This was at a seminary kept by a Mr. Warner, in his Allfree, which was then rather celebrated, "Backlog Stud- and the play was "Pizarro." At that ies," says: "The time my uncle, Henry Wallack, was stagebest talk is that manager at Covent Garden. Of course which escapes up all the boys were racking their brains and the open chim- ransacking the shops to find what they ney, and cannot should wear. My mother applied to my be repeated." The following papers are uncle, who sent down a lot of splendid simply the result of an effort to catch and properties, a leopard skin robe and all preserve the familiar talk of a veteran of the necessary things for Rolla, all of the stage on its way to the fireplace of which were of course very much too large a certain front room in Thirty-fourth for me, particularly the sandals. I reStreet, New York. They do not pretend member nothing of the play except that to be complete or consecutive; or even it went off with a great deal of applause, to be what is termed literature; only the but I do remember that the end was a Memories, Social and Professional, of most undignified one for me, because Half a Century; affectionately inscribed as I fell dead I fell just exactly where to the audiences the speaker has ad- the curtain must come down on me; and dressed in other days and in other ways. when it began to descend the boy who played Alonzo, and one of the soldiers stepped forward, and taking me, one by one leg and one by the other, dragged me up the stage, a bit of new "business" which was greatly appreciated if I might judge from the "roars" in front.

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My first experience on any stage was at an establishment at Mitcham, in Surrey, called Baron House Academy, a fine old mansion which had become a private school. Colman's "Heir at Law" was produced immediately before the beginning of the summer holidays, upon an improvised stage in the school-room, with the English usher as prompter and general manager. As the son of "the celebrated Mr. Wallack," it was felt proper, naturally, that I should take part, and I was billed for the speech from Home's tragedy of "Douglas"-"My name is Norval"-although I was only ten years of age. I was dressed in a red tunic trimmed with fur, white trousers and red shoes, and carried a round wooden shield and a wooden sword painted blue. As for the lines, I suppose I must have painted them red. How I spoke them heaven only knows. I only remember that I never missed a syllable. My next appearance was at another

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On returning from my first visit to America, which had been a purely social one, and before it was quite determined whether I should finally go into the army or not, my father, who was about to set out upon a starring tour to Bath and other provincial towns, proposed that I should join him, partly as a companion, and partly to support him in such parts as could safely be entrusted to one who could only be looked upon as an amateur; and the first appearance

Henry Wallack, Uncle of Lester.

I made on any stage after I arrived at manhood was as Angelo in a play called "Tortesa the Usurer," by N. P. Willis. I had seen it brought out before when my father had the National Theatre in New York. The character of Tortesa was written for him, and when he went over to England he took the play with him and starred in it. The character I assumed was originally acted by Edmon S. Conner, then his "leading juvenile."

Gustavus Brooke.

During this tour I played that part, Macduff to his Macbeth, and Richmond to his Richard III., and these, I think, constituted the main portion of my endeavors at that time. This was just after the burning of the National Theatre in 1839. I had done enough, inexperienced as I was (so my father told me afterward), to show that, if ever the profession should become a necessity to me, I had a certain amount of promise; that in fact I had "the gift." During this engagement I assumed the name of "Allan Field," which had belonged to a relative of the family.

I hesitated long before I made up my mind to become an actor; but when I finally did so, I determined that I should know my profession from beginning to end, and should depend upon it for my sole support; and the consequence was that my poor mother often cried in those early days, because I would not let her send me a five pound note now and then, to add to my weekly stipend of twenty shillings!

I was resolved that whatever success I might make I would owe to myself, and not to my father's name; therefore, as Mr. Lester I played the Earl of Rochester in the town of Rochester, in a comedy called "Charles II.," by John Howard Payne. I had a very good part-the second part of the piece. Charles Kemble was King Charles, Fawcett playing Edward and Jones the Earl of Rochester in the original cast, at Covent Garden. The season at Rochester was a short one, as my uncle Henry Wallack,

who had taken the theatre as an experiment, had it for only a few weeks. This was my first professional engagement. My salary was still one pound a week; and I was paid about as punctually as actors in small companies were at that time. Three pounds a week was a good salary in a country theatre, and five pounds was enormous. When we got to the larger provincial cities salaries were a little higher, but I very much doubt if any leading actor at Bath, Bristol, Liverpool, or Manchester ever received more than ten pounds a week in those days.

My experience at another provincial theatre-the Theatre Royal Southampton -was somewhat curious. The house was taken by a Mr. W. J. A. Abingdon, a barrister in very good practice and a rich man, who was wildly enthusiastic upon every subject connected with the drama. His particular craze was his fancy that he resembled Shakespeare, and he indulged his pride in having himself painted as the Bard of Avon, after Roubillac's statue in Westminster Abbey, a portrait which was distributed broadcast over Southampton and the neighboring town of Winchester. I soon became a favorite with him, and as I was pretty careful in my study and acting, although very inexperienced, a short time after my joining his company he made me stage-manager; and a pretty queer stage-manager I suppose I was! This must have been about 1844, because

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the light of this lantern, arriving at our destination awfully tired in the middle of the night, or perhaps early in the morning. Sometimes we had but one rehearsal and sometimes two, seldom more; and to this early discipline I owe the retentive powers of memory which have been of such wonderful assistance to me ever since.

One of the first important steps I ever took upon the ladder of fame was when I had the honor, and pleasure, of playing Benedick to Helen Faucit's Beatrice at Manchester. She was one of the gentlest and sweetest actresses I ever met. She gave me more encouragement than I had ever received before, and the patience with which she rehearsed, for I was young and inexperienced then, was remarkable. She did what must have been very irksome to her and went over our scenes again and again with me, until I got my part in some kind of shape; and it was through her kindness that I made something of a hit with the audience. I shall always remember her with feelings of the greatest gratitude on that account. I played but that one Shakespearian part with her, because Beatrice was her only comedy character there except Rosalind, and as she appeared in tragedy all through the rest of the engagement Gustavus Brooke supported her. She is now Lady Martin. As Miss Faucit she was what I should call one of the most sympathetic actresses who ever walked the English stage. She combined a great deal of power with perfect pathos, and I can hardly recall another actress who did this in so great a degree. They say her Lady Macbeth was very impressive; I know her Portia was. She not only played the comic portions admirably, but "the trial scene was equally well done; gentle and quiet, but majestic and powerful-wonderfully impressive. She came out first in London under her mother, Mrs. Faucit, who played what is called the "heavy lead." Helen supported Macready-she was the original Clara Douglas in Bulwer's "Money"-at the Haymarket, Covent Garden, and elsewhere, before she went starring on her

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own account. She was a very great favorite throughout Great Britain, particularly in Edinburgh.

I first met Gustavus Brooke at this house. It was rather a small one and Brooke and I dressed in the same room. Off the stage, he had a particularly strong

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Lester Wallack (from a photograph by Brady about 1870).

brogue. He was a perfectly reckless man, who did not care how his money went or what straits he might be in. He was an Irishman, one of the generous, kindhearted, whole-souled John-Brougham Irishmen. During that engagement at Manchester we acted together. I would often go into my dressing-room and find that certain very necessary articles of my wardrobe were missing, and one night in particular I remember I was playing Modus in the "Hunchback" while he was acting Master Walter, and Miss Faucit Julia. I went into the room and found Brooke ready to go on. I had a costume I was particularly fond of, a chocolate colored, plain, quiet sort of dress; and I missed the tights belonging to it. Brooke said: "What is the matter, me dear boy?" I said, "I cannot dress-I can't find my tights." "Why,"

Lizzie Weston Davenport.

said he, "I took the liberty to take your tights myself, they are on me. I couldn't find my own." Fortunately I did not go on till the second act, and by that time the whole theatre had been ransacked and I got somebody's nether garments, and he carried through the performance with "Lester's tights." It was characteristic of Brooke that he would have been quite as willing that I should have taken his and have gone on himself without any. He was one of those reckless, generous creatures who would give anything he had in the world to me, or to anybody else he liked. He first made his appearance at the Olympic in London, a little bit of a theatre, and he met with unqualified immense success. He came out in Othello. It is a singular thing, that Brooke made almost as great a hit as Edmund Kean did when he appeared as Shylock. It was a tremendous triumph. He had been little heard of except as a favorite provincial actor. His success was instantaneous and complete; but unlike that of Edmund or Charles Kean it was not followed up at all. The second part he played was Sir Giles Overreach in "A New Way to Pay Old Debts," and although that was as consistently fine a piece of acting as his Othello, perhaps more perfect, it did not seem to strike the people by any means forcibly. From his first performance the thing gradually simmered down, so to speak, and that, I presume, was the reason he went to Australia, where he made an immense reputation and is still lovingly remembered. It was on his second voyage to Australia that he went to the bottom, poor fellow. I think the ship was called "The London." Harry Edwards has the most affectionate recollection of him. Brooke had a most wonderful voice, a voice of tremendous power and at the

"Dolly" Davenport.

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same time of great melody, and with a great deal of variety in it. On one occasion he was acting with Forrest, our American tragedian. He was then a

stock actor in one of the English towns in which Forrest was starring, and when someone said to him: "Brooke, look out, here is Forrest coming; he has a powerful voice, a voice that will drown anything that was ever heard here;" Brooke replied: "I'll show him something if he tries it with me." Forrest played Othello and Brooke Iago, and in the great scene in the third act where Othello lays hold of Iago, Forrest put forth the whole of his terrific and tremendous force, which he always did. The moment he finished, Brooke came out with his speech: "Oh Grace! Oh Heaven defend me!" etc., in a manner that almost made the roof shake; it absolutely seemed as if Forrest's voice had been nothing. It astonished Forrest, and astonished everybody else. I suppose Brooke had the most powerful lungs except Salvini's that were ever given to an actor. That is a very exhausting speech of Othello's in this scene, and by the time Forrest was done he was pretty well pumped out and the other came in fresh. It was not a very wise act upon Brooke's part, and contrary to his better judgment; but he had become so worked up by the repeated warnings against Forrest's tremendous voice, that he did it on the spur of the moment. Forrest certainly was never more surprised in the course of his professional life; for it was seldom he met with a man whose utterance could compare with his own in volume and strength.

My first intimate relation with Charles Mathews the younger was also during my Manchester engagement, when I had become a sort of favorite at the Queen's Theatre-what might be called a semi star-or asteroid. Mathews and his wife-formerly known as Madame Vestris-came there to play; and of course I was very glad of the opportunity of acting with them, which I did in two or three pieces, receiving the kindest and warmest encouragement from them both. This is one of my pleasantest recollections; one of those remembrances that make me appreciate the fact that a young man's progress

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