Strolling Manager, by Washington Irving
Tales of a
Traveller
As I was walking one morning with Buckthorne, near one of the Principal
theaters, he directed my attention to a group of those equivocal beings
that may often be seen hovering about the stage-doors of theaters. They
were marvellously ill-favored in their attire, their coats buttoned up
to their chins; yet they wore their hats smartly on one side, and had a
certain knowing, dirty-gentlemanlike air, which is common to the
subalterns of the drama. Buckthorne knew them well by early experience.
These, said he, are the ghosts of departed kings and heroes; fellows
who sway sceptres and truncheons; command kingdoms and armies; and
after giving way realms and treasures over night, have scarce a
shilling to pay for a breakfast in the morning. Yet they have the true
vagabond abhorrence of all useful and industrious employment; and they
have their pleasures too: one of which is to lounge in this way in the
sunshine, at the stage-door, during rehearsals, and make hackneyed
theatrical jokes on all passers-by.
Nothing is more traditional and legitimate than the stage. Old scenery,
old clothes, old sentiments, old ranting, and old jokes, are handed
down from generation to generation; and will probably continue to be
so, until time shall be no more. Every hanger-on of a theater becomes a
wag by inheritance, and flourishes about at tap-rooms and six-penny
clubs, with the property jokes of the green-room.
While amusing ourselves with reconnoitring this group, we noticed one
in particular who appeared to be the oracle. He was a weather-beaten
veteran, a little bronzed by time and beer, who had no doubt, grown
gray in the parts of robbers, cardinals, Roman senators, and walking
noblemen.
"There's something in the set of that hat, and the turn of that
physiognomy, that is extremely familiar to me," said Buckthorne. He
looked a little closer. "I cannot be mistaken," added he, "that must be
my old brother of the truncheon, Flimsey, the tragic hero of the
strolling company."
It was he in fact. The poor fellow showed evident signs that times went
hard with him; he was so finely and shabbily dressed. His coat was
somewhat threadbare, and of the Lord Townly cut; single-breasted, and
scarcely capable of meeting in front of his body; which, from long
intimacy, had acquired the symmetry and robustness of a beer-barrel. He
wore a pair of dingy white stockinet pantaloons, which had much ado to
reach his waistcoat; a great quantity of dirty cravat; and a pair of
old russet-colored tragedy boots.
When his companions had dispersed, Buckthorne drew him aside and made
Himself known to him. The tragic veteran could scarcely recognize him,
or believe that he was really his quondam associate "little gentleman
Jack." Buckthorne invited him to a neighboring coffee-house to talk
over old times; and in the course of a little while we were put in
possession of his history in brief.
He had continued to act the heroes in the strolling company for some
time after Buckthorne had left it, or rather had been driven from it so
abruptly. At length the manager died, and the troop was thrown into
confusion. Every one aspired to the crown; every one was for taking the
lead; and the manager's widow, although a tragedy queen, and a
brimstone to boot, pronounced it utterly impossible to keep any control
over such a set of tempestuous rascallions.
Upon this hint I spoke, said Flimsey—I stepped forward, and offered my
services in the most effectual way. They were accepted. In a week's
time I married the widow and succeeded to the throne. "The funeral
baked meats did coldly furnish forth the marriage table," as Hamlet
says. But the ghost of my predecessor never haunted me; and I inherited
crowns, sceptres, bowls, daggers, and all the stage trappings and
trumpery, not omitting the widow, without the least molestation.
I now led a flourishing life of it; for our company was pretty strong
And attractive, and as my wife and I took the heavy parts of tragedy,
it was a great saving to the treasury. We carried off the palm from all
the rival shows at country fairs; and I assure you we have even drawn
full houses, and being applauded by the critics at Bartlemy fair
itself, though we had Astley's troupe, the Irish giant, and "the death
of Nelson" in wax-work to contend against.
I soon began to experience, however, the cares of command. I discovered
that there were cabals breaking out in the company, headed by the
clown, who you may recollect was a terribly peevish, fractious fellow,
and always in ill-humor. I had a great mind to turn him off at once,
but I could not do without him, for there was not a droller scoundrel
on the stage. His very shape was comic, for he had to turn his back
upon the audience and all the ladies were ready to die with laughing.
He felt his importance, and took advantage of it. He would keep the
audience in a continual roar, and then come behind the scenes and fret
and fume and play the very devil. I excused a great deal in him,
however, knowing that comic actors are a little prone to this infirmity
of temper.
I had another trouble of a nearer and dearer nature to struggle with;
which was, the affection of my wife. As ill luck would have it, she
took it into her head to be very fond of me, and became intolerably
jealous. I could not keep a pretty girl in the company, and hardly
dared embrace an ugly one, even when my part required it. I have known
her to reduce a fine lady to tatters, "to very rags," as Hamlet says,
in an instant, and destroy one of the very best dresses in the
wardrobe; merely because she saw me kiss her at the side
scenes;—though I give you my honor it was done merely by way of
rehearsal.
This was doubly annoying, because I have a natural liking to pretty
faces, and wish to have them about me; and because they are
indispensable to the success of a company at a fair, where one has to
vie with so many rival theatres. But when once a jealous wife gets a
freak in her head there's no use in talking of interest or anything
else. Egad, sirs, I have more than once trembled when, during a fit of
her tantrums, she was playing high tragedy, and flourishing her tin
dagger on the stage, lest she should give way to her humor, and stab
some fancied rival in good earnest.
I went on better, however, than could be expected, considering the
weakness of my flesh and the violence of my rib. I had not a much worse
time of it than old Jupiter, whose spouse was continually ferreting out
some new intrigue and making the heavens almost too hot to hold him.
At length, as luck would have it, we were performing at a country fair,
when I understood the theatre of a neighboring town to be vacant. I had
always been desirous to be enrolled in a settled company, and the
height of my desire was to get on a par with a brother-in-law, who was
manager of a regular theatre, and who had looked down upon me. Here was
an opportunity not to be neglected. I concluded an agreement with the
proprietors, and in a few days opened the theatre with great eclát.
Behold me now at the summit of my ambition, "the high top-gallant of my
joy," as Thomas says. No longer a chieftain of a wandering tribe, but
the monarch of a legitimate throne—and entitled to call even the great
potentates of Covent Garden and Drury Lane cousin.
You no doubt think my happiness complete. Alas, sir! I was one of the
Most uncomfortable dogs living. No one knows, who has not tried, the
miseries of a manager; but above all, of a country management—no one
can conceive the contentions and quarrels within doors, the oppressions
and vexations from without.
I was pestered with the bloods and loungers of a country town, who
infested my green-room, and played the mischief among my actresses. But
there was no shaking them off. It would have been ruin to affront them;
for, though troublesome friends, they would have been dangerous
enemies. Then there were the village critics and village amateurs, who
were continually tormenting me with advice, and getting into a passion
if I would not take it:—especially the village doctor and the village
attorney; who had both been to London occasionally, and knew what
acting should be.
I had also to manage as arrant a crew of scapegraces as were ever
collected together within the walls of a theatre. I had been obliged to
combine my original troupe with some of the former troupe of the
theatre, who were favorites with the public. Here was a mixture that
produced perpetual ferment. They were all the time either fighting or
frolicking with each other, and I scarcely knew which mood was least
troublesome. If they quarrelled, everything went wrong; and if they
were friends, they were continually playing off some confounded prank
upon each other, or upon me; for I had unhappily acquired among them
the character of an easy, good natured fellow, the worst character that
a manager can possess.
Their waggery at times drove me almost crazy; for there is nothing so
Vexatious as the hackneyed tricks and hoaxes and pleasantries of a
veteran band of theatrical vagabonds. I relished them well enough, it
is true, while I was merely one of the company, but as manager I found
them detestable. They were incessantly bringing some disgrace upon the
theatre by their tavern frolics, and their pranks about the country
town. All my lectures upon the importance of keeping up the dignity of
the profession, and the respectability of the company were in vain. The
villains could not sympathize with the delicate feelings of a man in
station. They even trifled with the seriousness of stage business. I
have had the whole piece interrupted, and a crowded audience of at
least twenty-five pounds kept waiting, because the actors had hid away
the breeches of Rosalind, and have known Hamlet stalk solemnly on to
deliver his soliloquy, with a dish-clout pinned to his skirts. Such are
the baleful consequences of a manager's getting a character for good
nature.
I was intolerably annoyed, too, by the great actors who came down
starring, as it is called, from London. Of all baneful influences,
keep me from that of a London star. A first-rate actress going the
rounds of the country theatres, is as bad as a blazing comet, whisking
about the heavens, and shaking fire, and plagues, and discords from its
tail.
The moment one of these "heavenly bodies" appeared on my horizon, I was
sure to be in hot water. My theatre was overrun by provincial dandies,
copper-washed counterfeits of Bond street loungers; who are always
proud to be in the train of an actress from town, and anxious to be
thought on exceeding good terms with her. It was really a relief to me
when some random young nobleman would come in pursuit of the bait, and
awe all this small fry to a distance. I have always felt myself more at
ease with a nobleman than with the dandy of a country town.
And then the injuries I suffered in my personal dignity and my
managerial authority from the visits of these great London actors. Sir,
I was no longer master of myself or my throne. I was hectored and
lectured in my own green-room, and made an absolute nincompoop on my
own stage. There is no tyrant so absolute and capricious as a London
star at a country theatre.
I dreaded the sight of all of them; and yet if I did not engage them, I
was sure of having the public clamorous against me. They drew full
houses, and appeared to be making my fortune; but they swallowed up all
the profits by their insatiable demands. They were absolute tape-worms
to my little theatre; the more it took in, the poorer it grew. They
were sure to leave me with an exhausted public, empty benches, and a
score or two of affronts to settle among the townsfolk, in consequence
of misunderstandings about the taking of places.
But the worst thing I had to undergo in my managerial career was
patronage. Oh, sir, of all things deliver me from the patronage of the
great people of a country town. It was my ruin. You must know that this
town, though small, was filled with feuds, and parties, and great
folks; being a busy little trading and manufacturing town. The mischief
was that their greatness was of a kind not to be settled by reference
to the court calendar, or college of heraldry. It was therefore the
most quarrelsome kind of greatness in existence. You smile, sir, but
let me tell you there are no feuds more furious than the frontier
feuds, which take place on these "debatable lands" of gentility. The
most violent dispute that I ever knew in high life, was one that
occurred at a country town, on a question of precedence between the
ladies of a manufacturer of pins and a manufacturer of needles.
At the town where I was situated there were perpetual altercations of
the kind. The head manufacturer's lady, for instance, was at daggers
drawings with the head shopkeeper's, and both were too rich and had too
many friends to be treated lightly. The doctor's and lawyer's ladies
held their heads still higher; but they in their turn were kept in
check by the wife of a country banker, who kept her own carriage; while
a masculine widow of cracked character, and second-hand fashion, who
lived in a large house, and was in some way related to nobility, looked
down upon them all. She had been exiled from the great world, but here
she ruled absolute. To be sure her manners were not over-elegant, nor
her fortune over-large; but then, sir, her blood—oh, her blood carried
it all hollow, there was no withstanding a woman with such blood in her
veins.
After all, she had frequent battles for precedence at balls and
assemblies, with some of the sturdy dames of the neighborhood, who
stood upon their wealth and their reputations; but then she had two
dashing daughters, who dressed as fine as dragons, and had as high
blood as their mother, and seconded her in everything. So they carried
their point with high heads, and every body hated, abused, and stood in
awe of the Fantadlins.
Such was the state of the fashionable world in this self-important
little town. Unluckily I was not as well acquainted with its politics
as I should have been. I had found myself a stranger and in great
perplexities during my first season; I determined, therefore, to put
myself under the patronage of some powerful name, and thus to take the
field with the prejudices of the public in my favor. I cast round my
thoughts for the purpose, and in an evil hour they fell upon Mrs.
Fantadlin. No one seemed to me to have a more absolute sway in the
world of fashion. I had always noticed that her party slammed the box
door the loudest at the theatre; had most beaux attending on them; and
talked and laughed loudest during the performance; and then the Miss
Fantadlins wore always more feathers and flowers than any other ladies;
and used quizzing glasses incessantly. The first evening of my
theatre's reopening, therefore, was announced in flaring capitals on
the play bills, "under the patronage of the Honorable Mrs. Fantadlin,"
Sir, the whole community flew to arms! The banker's wife felt her
Dignity grievously insulted at not having the preference; her husband
being high bailiff, and the richest man in the place. She immediately
issued invitations for a large party, for the night of the performance,
and asked many a lady to it whom she never had noticed before. The
fashionable world had long groaned under the tyranny of the Fantadlins,
and were glad to make a common cause against this new instance of
assumption.—Presume to patronize the theatre! insufferable! Those,
too, who had never before been noticed by the banker's lady, were ready
to enlist in any quarrel, for the honor of her acquaintance. All minor
feuds were therefore forgotten. The doctor's lady and the lawyer's lady
met together; and the manufacturer's lady and the shopkeeper's lady
kissed each other, and all, headed by the banker's lady, voted the
theatre a bore, and determined to encourage nothing but the Indian
Jugglers, and Mr. Walker's Eidonianeon.
Alas for poor Pillgarlick! I little knew the mischief that was brewing
against me. My box book remained blank. The evening arrived, but no
audience. The music struck up to a tolerable pit and gallery, but no
fashionables! I peeped anxiously from behind the curtain, but the time
passed away; the play was retarded until pit and gallery became
furious; and I had to raise the curtain, and play my greatest part in
tragedy to "a beggarly account of empty boxes."
It is true the Fantadlins came late, as was their custom, and entered
like a tempest, with a flutter of feathers and red shawls; but they
were evidently disconcerted at finding they had no one to admire and
envy them, and were enraged at this glaring defection of their
fashionable followers. All the beau-monde were engaged at the banker's
lady's rout. They remained for some time in solitary and uncomfortable
state, and though they had the theatre almost to themselves, yet, for
the first time, they talked in whispers. They left the house at the end
of the first piece, and I never saw them afterwards.
Such was the rock on which I split. I never got over the patronage of
the Fantadlin family. It became the vogue to abuse the theatre and
declare the performers shocking. An equestrian troupe opened a circus
in the town about the same time, and rose on my ruins. My house was
deserted; my actors grew discontented because they were ill paid; my
door became a hammering-place for every bailiff in the county; and my
wife became more and more shrewish and tormenting, the more I wanted
comfort.
The establishment now became a scene of confusion and peculation. I Was
considered a ruined man, and of course fair game for every one to pluck
at, as every one plunders a sinking ship. Day after day some of the
troupe deserted, and like deserting soldiers, carried off their arms
and accoutrements with them. In this manner my wardrobe took legs and
walked away; my finery strolled all over the country; my swords and
daggers glittered in every barn; until at last my tailor made "one fell
swoop," and carried off three dress coats, half a dozen doublets, and
nineteen pair of flesh-colored pantaloons.
This was the "be all and the end all" of my fortune. I no longer
hesitated what to do. Egad, thought I, since stealing is the order of
the day, I'll steal too. So I secretly gathered together the jewels of
my wardrobe; packed up a hero's dress in a handkerchief, slung it on
the end of a tragedy sword, and quietly stole off at dead of
night—"the bell then beating one,"—leaving my queen and kingdom to
the mercy of my rebellious subjects, and my merciless foes, the
bum-bailiffs.
Such, sir, was the "end of all my greatness." I was heartily cured of
All passion for governing, and returned once more into the ranks. I had
for some time the usual run of an actor's life. I played in various
country theatres, at fairs, and in barns; sometimes hard pushed;
sometimes flush, until on one occasion I came within an ace of making
my fortune, and becoming one of the wonders of the age.
I was playing the part of Richard the Third in a country barn, and
Absolutely "out-Heroding Herod." An agent of one of the great London
theatres was present. He was on the lookout for something that might be
got up as a prodigy. The theatre, it seems, was in desperate
condition—nothing but a miracle could save it. He pitched upon me for
that miracle. I had a remarkable bluster in my style, and swagger in my
gait, and having taken to drink a little during my troubles, my voice
was somewhat cracked; so that it seemed like two voices run into one.
The thought struck the agent to bring me out as a theatrical wonder; as
the restorer of natural and legitimate acting; as the only one who
could understand and act Shakespeare rightly. He waited upon me the
next morning, and opened his plan. I shrunk from it with becoming
modesty; for well as I thought of myself, I felt myself unworthy of
such praise.
"'Sblood, man!" said he, "no praise at all. You don't imagine that I
think you all this. I only want the public to think so. Nothing so easy
as gulling the public if you only set up a prodigy. You need not try to
act well, you must only act furiously. No matter what you do, or how
you act, so that it be but odd and strange. We will have all the pit
packed, and the newspapers hired. Whatever you do different from famous
actors, it shall be insisted that you are right and they were wrong. If
you rant, it shall be pure passion; if you are vulgar, it shall be a
touch of nature. Every one shall be prepared to fall into raptures, and
shout and yell, at certain points which you shall make. If you do but
escape pelting the first night, your fortune and the fortune of the
theatre is made."
I set off for London, therefore, full of new hopes. I was to be the
restorer of Shakespeare and nature, and the legitimate drama; my very
swagger was to be heroic, and my cracked voice the standard of
elocution. Alas, sir! my usual luck attended me. Before I arrived in
the metropolis, a rival wonder had appeared. A woman who could dance
the slack rope, and run up a cord from the stage to the gallery with
fire-works all round her. She was seized on by the management with
avidity; she was the saving of the great national theatre for the
season. Nothing was talked of but Madame Saqui's fire-works and
flame-colored pantaloons; and nature, Shakespeare, the legitimate
drama, and poor Pillgarlick were completely left in the lurch.
However, as the manager was in honor bound to provide for me, he kept
his word. It had been a turn-up of a die whether I should be Alexander
the Great or Alexander the copper-smith; the latter carried it. I could
not be put at the head of the drama, so I was put at the tail. In other
words, I was enrolled among the number of what are called useful men;
who, let me tell you, are the only comfortable actors on the stage. We
are safe from hisses and below the hope of applause. We fear not the
success of rivals, nor dread the critic's pen. So long as we get the
words of our parts, and they are not often many, it is all we care for.
We have our own merriment, our own friends, and our own admirers; for
every actor has his friends and admirers, from the highest to the
lowest. The first-rate actor dines with the noble amateur, and
entertains a fashionable table with scraps and songs and theatrical
slip-slop. The second-rate actors have their second-rate friends and
admirers, with whom they likewise spout tragedy and talk slip-slop; and
so down even to us; who have our friends and admirers among spruce
clerks and aspiring apprentices, who treat us to a dinner now and then,
and enjoy at tenth hand the same scraps and songs and slip-slop that
have been served up by our more fortunate brethren at the tables of the
great.
I now, for the first time in my theatrical life, knew what true
pleasure is. I have known enough of notoriety to pity the poor devils
who are called favorites of the public. I would rather be a kitten in
the arms of a spoiled child, to be one moment petted and pampered, and
the next moment thumped over the head with the spoon. I smile, too, to
see our leading actors, fretting themselves with envy and jealousy
about a trumpery renown, questionable in its quality and uncertain in
its duration. I laugh, too, though of course in my sleeve, at the
bustle and importance and trouble and perplexities of our manager, who
is harassing himself to death in the hopeless effort to please every
body.
I have found among my fellow subalterns two or three quondam managers,
who, like myself, have wielded the sceptres of country theatres; and we
have many a sly joke together at the expense of the manager and the
public. Sometimes, too, we meet like deposed and exiled kings, talk
over the events of our respective reigns; moralize over a tankard of
ale, and laugh at the humbug of the great and little world; which, I
take it, is the very essence of practical philosophy.
Thus end the anecdotes of Buckthorne and his friends. A few mornings
after our hearing the history of the ex-manager, he bounced into my
room before I was out of bed.
"Give me joy! give me joy!" said he, rubbing his hands with the utmost
glee, "my great expectations are realized!"
I stared at him with a look of wonder and inquiry. "My booby cousin is
dead!" cried he, "may he rest in peace! He nearly broke his neck in a
fall from his horse in a fox-chase. By good luck he lived long enough
to make his will. He has made me his heir, partly out of an odd feeling
of retributive justice, and partly because, as he says, none of his own
family or friends know how to enjoy such an estate. I'm off to the
country to take possession. I've done with authorship.—That for the
critics!" said he, snapping his fingers. "Come down to Doubting Castle
when I get settled, and egad! I'll give you a rouse." So saying he
shook me heartily by the hand and bounded off in high spirits.
A long time elapsed before I heard from him again. Indeed, it was but a
short time since that I received a letter written in the happiest of
moods. He was getting the estate into fine order, everything went to
his wishes, and what was more, he was married to Sacharissa: who, it
seems, had always entertained an ardent though secret attachment for
him, which he fortunately discovered just after coming to his estate.
"I find," said he, "you are a little given to the sin of authorship
which I renounce. If the anecdotes I have given you of my story are of
any interest, you may make use of them; but come down to Doubting
Castle and see how we live, and I'll give you my whole London life over
a social glass; and a rattling history it shall be about authors and
reviewers."
If ever I visit Doubting Castle, and get the history he promises, the
Public shall be sure to hear of it. |