Playhouses of the Past

1905

An interesting picture of the stage of our forefathers was drawn by Sir Henry Irving during an address delivered in Bath, England, at the unveiling of a memorial tablet to James Quin. After his retirement in 1751, Quin lived in Bath for fifteen years. He had been an actor for more than thirty-five years. For more than half that period he had held his own against all competitors until the advent of David Garrick, who reformed the stilted style of declamation then in vogue.

"Theatrical audiences in those days," said Mr. Irving, "must have been rather 'fearful wildfowl,' and often exacting more when they were pleased than when they were angry. There was always a danger that they would tear up the benches, or that some of them would rush upon the stage and deliver a general assault and battery. On one occasion, when Rich was attacked by a drunken nobleman, Quin saved his life by some vigorous swordplay.

"The actor's vocation then was full of stirring variety. Quin was a man of the readiest wit, and he is said to have employed it successfully in telling stories to an audience to keep them from rioting when the play was waiting for some royal personage, who had forgotten the time. Horace Walpole tells us that Quin, when pressed to play the part of the Ghost in 'Hamlet' — a part he considered beneath him — would make no answer but, 'I won't catch cold behind.' 'The Ghost,' says Walpole, 'is always ridiculously dressed, with a morsel of armor before and only a "block" waistcoat and breech behind.'

"The story how Quin befriended James Thomson, whom he found in prison for a debt of £70, is a worthy illustration of the actor's character. He ordered supper and claret — a good deal of claret — and when the bottle was going round he said with grim humor, 'It is time we should balance accounts.'

"The unfortunate poet, who was already alarmed at this burly visitor, took him for another creditor.

"'Mr. Thomson,' said Quin, 'the pleasure — I have had — in reading your — works — I cannot estimate — at less than £100 — and I insist on now — acquitting the debt.' And then he put down the money and walked out without another word."

Price of a Life in London Slums

1907

Willing Murderers Plenty in the Slums of London

I am told that a ten pound note will buy a man's life in London — that any unsuspicious person can fall into the Thames on a dark night or break his neck going round a slippery dark corner or fall under a van if a little bit of crisp paper changes hands, says a London writer.

I know that a very distinguished playwright, wishing to work out the plot of a melodrama, went into a high class den of thieves, made friends with some of the leaders and unfolded to them as something he wished to put into execution the plan he had devised for his villain's action.

He told his listeners that there was a very important financier he wanted out of the way for forty-eight hours while he played the very dickens on the Stock Exchange with the stocks the financier controlled. He suggested to his listeners that an attractive lady and a yacht would be the simplest means of insuring this object.

His hearers concurred. They knew the very yacht for the purpose. A skipper and a crew could easily be produced, and concerning the lady there would be no difficulty whatever.

"Then, after the forty-eight hours, we will of course bring him back," said the dramatist brightly, thinking of his fourth act.

A cloud came over the faces of his audience: "Well, guv'ner, of course, if you wish it. But it would save such a lot of questions being asked if he just went quietly overboard," the spokesman suggested.