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AUTOBIO

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WRITTEN Br

4LBERT
CHEmilER

BCUGIHIT f ROM
Laessnle Donation

BEFORE I FORGET-

Super Royal Zvo, clothe 32s.

The Confessions of a Caricaturist

Being the Reminiscences of Harry Furniss.

Illustrated with over 300 Illustrations, many
made specially for the Volume. In 2 Vols.

London : T. Fisher Unwin
Paternoster Square, E.G.

t*.

Digitized by the Internet Archive

in 2007 with funding from

IVIicrosoft Corporation

http://www.archive.org/details/beforeiforgetautOOchevrich

Photo by']

Albert Chevalier.

[B. Knight.

Frontispiece.

BEFORE I FORGET

THE
AUTOBIOGRAPHT OF A
CHEVALIER D'INDUSTRIE

WRITTEN BY

ALBERT CHEVALIER

. ILlLUST^lATEp,

LONDON: T. FISHER UNWIN
PATERNOSTER SQUARE. 1902

• SECOND VMJpki^SjCJN

TO MY UiNFAILING FRIEND, THE
PUBLIC.

IF in the course of these pages you should resent
a constantly recurring personal pronoun, overlook
it — mentally erase it, but don't accuse the author of
being unduly egotistical. The penalty of writing an
autobiography is that you must do it yourself.
Custom has made it a rule, that the first person
singular shall figure conspicuously In a work pur-
porting to be a faithful record of the writer s life. It's
a silly custom, because other people know so much
more about you than you know about yourself.

Just one word more. Fortune has treated me very
kindly. I am going to record many nice things that
have been said, and written, about me. If I omit
any unpleasant ones, don't run away with the idea
that, in my career, I have escaped them. Attribute
it rather to a bad memory — a conveniently bad
memory.

ALBERT CHEVALIER.

961099

CONTENTS

PAGE

Introduction ........ v

PART I.

CHAPTER I.

Childhood — I learn a "piece" — Debut as the "Youthful Phe-
nomenon"— An offer for pantomime — I escape a clerical
career — The late Henry Compton — A digression— My father
becomes a Spiritualist — The late Daniel Home — A mani-
festation ........

CHAPTER n.

Amateur theatricals — The Roscius Club — A critique — I become
a clerk— My first fee — The King's Cross Theatre — Edgar F.
Jacques conducts — Amateur management — The Bijou Theatre,
Bayswater — I become a schoolmaster — First attempt at play-
writing — The late Dion Boucicault — I call on Blackmore —
My first engagement — The Old Prince of Wales's — Reminis-
cence of S. B. Bancroft— A " speaking " part — Fred Storey as
a schoolboy .......

CHAPTER HI.

With Mr. and Mrs. Kendal—" Diplomacy " tour— The Old Court
Theatre under John Hare's management — William Mackin-
tosh : an appreciation — Brandon Thomas — A hitherto untold
story concerning the tragic death of William Terriss — In
Grand Opera — The Princess's Theatre, Glasgow — The
"Squire" tour— A. W. Pinero— T. W. Robertson— The
Crystal Palace matinees — "Low Water" — "Impulse" on

vii

Contents

PAGE

tour — The Court Theatre again — Mrs. John Wood is sceptical
— Mackintosh and I write and produce a play under curious
circumstances '. . . .

CHAPTER IV.

With Willie Edouin — My first play in London — My first coster
song — " Little Lord Fauntleroy " — An American offer — First
production of " Our Flat " — The late M. Marius engages me
as principal comedian at the Avenue Theatre — " La Prima
Donna" — I settle a long engagement — George Alexander's
dcbiU as manager — " Dr. Bill " — Toole's Theatre again — A
reminiscence . . . . . . .26

CHAPTER V.

Out of a shop" — An offer from Chas. Morton — I read a paper
to the " Playgoers' " — The late Bessie Bellwood — My debut in
the London music-halls — " The Coster's Serenade " — A short
experience of the provincial music-halls — I start with my
Recitals on tour— I revisit Manchester — A generous apology
— The pro.'s brougham — My music-hall contracts — I " run "
the Trocadero — Training lions — The difficulty of single-
handed entertaining — An experience at the Canterbury — A
failure becomes a big success — "Art" in the music-halls —
The actor-manager — Typical "variety" — Rivalry between
theatrical and music-hall managers — The dramatic sketch —
The Palace Theatre— The prurient-minded : a suggestion . 33

CHAPTER VL

My friends advise me— Penalty of becoming a specialist— The
Coster's Laureate — The critic — Various offers from theatrical
managers — Private engagements — " Jeames " Redivivus —
" For //artistes only " — A foreigner makes a few remarks —
His lordship hums "an awfully jolly song," and a light breaks
on Alfred H. West—" The Flunkey ' . . . .45

CHAPTER Vn.

My provincial Recital tours— John L. Toole — The moral pat on
the back — An experience in Ireland — A parody and a reply —
Communication from a South Shields poet — Curious corre-
spondence-Letters from song-writers, &c. . . -53

viii

Contents

PART II.
CHAPTER VIII.

PAGE

The impossibility of pleasing everybody — "Suggested improve-
ments"— "Our Bazaar" — A protest and a reply — "An Old
Bachelor" — How I might "bring down the house" — The
soul specialist . . . . . . -63

CHAPTER IX.

I go to America — My Friend, Philosopher, and Guide — Two tele-
grams— I meet the ladies and gentlemen of the New York
Press— The Herald office— Pigeon-hole C— My " F. P. and G."
spins a couple of yarns — Photography extraordinary — The
journalistic Autolycus — The result of offending him . . 69

CHAPTER X.

My debut in New York — My " F. P. and G." comes round to en-
courage me — A never-to-be-forgotten reception — I try to
return thanks— "You own New York !" — My " F. P. and G."
exercises his inventive faculty at my expense . . .76

CHAPTER XI.

In the Bowery— I meet Chuck Connors, the " Mayor of China
Town" — Bailing out the "Rummage" — A Chinese "restau-
rant"— Chuck Connors writes to me — A selection from Mr.
Connor's vocabulary . . . . . .80

CHAPTER XII.

"Another Schumann" — An interviewer calls — "The marvellous
life-history of Alfred H. West," as written by me for the
New York papers — The " proof " and its fate — I receive two
suggestions for songs — The failure of revenge — The matter
of not seeing a joke — A curious mental attitude — Two
typical cuttings — ^Why Englishmen are not "quick" . 84

CHAPTER XIII.

The lady journalist — International courtesy — The persistent Press
representative— I am ill — West sees a caller for me — I
am unable to appear one night— The result as told in the

Contents

New York Herald — The "anxious inquirer" calls again — We
become acquainted — He brings me something to sign, and
relates a personal experience — I meet Rudyard Kipling —
Song-writing under difficulties — Some remarks made to me
by Joseph Jefferson — A journalist asks me if audiences should
be allowed to hiss . . . . . • Qi

CHAPTER XIV.

An " extra turn " — A letter signed " Stranger " — A communication
from California — A good " ad." — I am presented with a cup —
American and English hotels — A comparison — Entries in an
autograph album — A holiday in the Adirondacks — The
journalistic Autolycus is busy again .... 105

PART III.

CHAPTER XV.

Letter from Charles Frohman — I sign with him to tour through
the United States and Canada — I present a letter of
introduction — "One-night stands" — A page from my diary
— My welcome in Canada — The students of M'Gill Uni-
versity— My debt of gratitude to the American Press —
A few exceptions — I travel with James Corbett the pugilist
— Corbett as the hero in melodrama — Dinner at the Forty
Club, Chicago — Portion of a speech — Some rules and
regulations . . . . . . • 115

CHAPTER XVI.

A horsey Englishman — Toboganning in Quebec — The Mont-
morenci Falls — I purchase souvenirs of "The Noble Red
Man"— The "Raines" Bill, and a story concerning it —
" A wee bit Scotch " — Starring convicts — Buttonhole
decorations — Delicate tribute to our ancient aristocracy
— Buffalo Bill's advance agent tells me a "new story" —
Ogdensburg — Au revoir to America . . . .123

CHAPTER XVII.

I lose a small fortune — I recoup — "The wine is corked" — "The
Land of Nod " — An American millionaire offers me a theatre

Contents

PAGE

to be called ''Chevalier's" — I decide to produce the play in
England — Richard Harding Davis hears it read — Sir Edward
Russell — Reception by the Manchester and Liverpool Press —
I am approached by the notorious Monson — H. E. Moss
(of Hippodrome fame) offers to produce "The Land of Nod"
at Terry's Theatre — Failure at the Royalty — A few words
of explanation — Two criticisms — Alfred H. West's music—
A lyric ....... 132

CHAPTER XVIIL

My return to London — Nellie Farren's benefit at Drury Lane
Theatre — Sir Henry Irving is nervous — The pro.'s are wel-
comed at the stage door — My first London recital — St. James's
Hall—" A Fallen Star "— 'E Can't Take A Roise Out of Oi— My
reasons for appearing at St. James's Hall instead of returning
to the music-halls — A tribute to the " halls " — The fascination
of incurring certain debts — " Experientia docet " — The writing
of my songs, sketches, &c. — Two songs in a fog — " My Old
Dutch " — Notes from an old portfolio — Stories by two
"Knowalls"' — On taking oneself seriously — A Glasgow
record . . . . . . . . 140

CHAPTER XIX.

Charles Morton suggests a matinee recital at the Palace — I repeat
the experiment and go into the regular night bill — Suggestion
for a high-class variety programme— Labour replies to Capital
— Robert Newman's Christmas entertainments at Queen's
Hall — A section of the public left uncatered for — I start my
Recitals at the small Queen's Hall — The manager's bugbear —
"Sunday in our Alley" — The L.C.C. as an entertainment
guardian angel — The tyranny of teetotalism — A question put
for the consideration of certain agitators and licensing
authorities ........ 153

CHAPTER XX.

On tour again — "Anky Panky" and "Armand Thibault" — The
patriotic reciter — Pay, pay, pay— "Owed to Kipling" — A
violin solo — Monologue: " M. Armand Thibault" — My
favourite items — The Hollingshead benefit — My address —
Practical John — Behind the scenes at the Empire — A presenta-
tion— Charles Morton and I escape embarking on a new career 165

Contents

CHAPTER XXI.

PAGE

First performances of " An old Bachelor " and " Mafekin' Night"
— "An Old Bachelor" — Robert Newman suggests a title —
Professor Severn calls — He "bumps" — A Kettering reporter
makes a trifling mistake — The Punch dinner — Letter from
Sir Philip Agnew — Another kind of letter written to me in
1894 by the representative of a certain music-hall syndicate
— A false prophet . . . . . .176

CHAPTER XXH.

On hobbies — I gather what mine are through the medium of the
Press — On enthusiasm — A lady tells me some news con-
cerning my private character — The flabby enthusiast — A
"Johnnie" asks me for my autograph — How theology came
to be given out as one of my " hobbies "... 187

CHAPTER XXni.

An experience in Wales — " Laces " — I utilise an old " flash " tune
of the Jack Sheppard period — The "Poet" and the "Yankee"
at Worcester — "The Cockney Tragedian" revised — A
Christmas Night's Dream — On tour again — The Royal
demise — The Transvaal War — The entertainment world —
On bigotry — "Advice to Parishioners" — Queen's Hall again
— "My Country Cousin" — "The Wings of Memory" — List
of sketches, &c., new to London which I have added to my
repertoire since starting at Queen's Hall . . .191

CHAPTER XXIV.

George Edwardes offers me "the best part in the piece" —
Writing and producing a play without words — Story of an
accent — The lazy man and the selfish man — A Mansion
House banquet — A racecourse story — Odd reminiscences —
Correspondence ....... 203

CHAPTER XXV.

Bohemia—" Upper " Bohemia — Clubland — ^The East End club —
The swell amateur — The " Society " actor — The real
Bohemian . . . . . . . .219

xii

Contents

CHAPTER XXVI.

PAGE

Reminiscence concerning an engagement to appear as Claude
Melnotte — The Actors' Association — Rehearsals — Music-hall
Bohemianism — "Poverty Corner" — The "Great" — Music
Hall Benevolent Societies — A London debut at eighty years
of age ........ 224

CHAPTER XXVH.

Miss Ellen Terry suggests that I shall play Romeo to her Juliet —
I miss my opportunity, but write a duologue, " The God and
the Star " . . . . . . . . 230

CHAPTER XXVHI.

Drama in a jam factory — " Kate the Lowly Cottage Girl" — I pay
sixpence for a stall — No programmes, only oranges pro-
curable— A past-master in the art of " gagging " — Three acts
of the drama described ...... 238

CHAPTER XXIX.

On tour again — Future arrangements — My next sermon — Offers
from Colonial managers — A letter from Robert Newman —
Au revoir ........ 245

PART IV.

APPENDIX.

Made in Germany — The Orator's Lament — Verses — A seventeenth

century song — Full list of songs, &c. . . . .251

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

Portrait of the Author ..... Frontispiece

TO FACE
PAGE

Sister and Self ....... 4

Self, aged 16 ....... 15

" Prince Paul " in " The Grand Duchess " . . . • 19

" Puffy " in " The Streets of London " (Princess's Theatre, Glasgow) 20
"The Peepshowman" (Princess's Theatre, Glasgow) . . 21

" Major Stretton " in " False Glitter" (Princess's Theatre, Glasgow) 22
Taken by a Member of the Court Theatre Co. when I was

engaged there in the " Magistrate " . . . . 23

" Richard Fluffy " in " Katti." (From a sketch by one of the

Audience.) . . . . . . • 23

" No. I Round the Corner "..... 24

" The Author " in " The First Night " (Princess's Theatre, Glasgow) 25
Fagin. (Photo by B. Knight.) . . . . . 28

Sairey Gamp. (Photo by B. Knight.) . . . .28

Albert Chevalier and John Beauchamp as Sam Weller and Tony

Weller. (Photo by B. Knight.) .... 30

John Beauchamp and Albert Chevalier as Betsy Prig and Sairey

Gamp. (Photo by B. Knight.) . . . . .30

" Sock and Buskin," Messrs. Beauchamp and Chevalier. (Photo

by B. Knight.) . . . . . . . 32

John Beauchamp and Albert Chevalier as Betsy Prig and Sairey

Gamp. (Photo by B. Knight.) . . . . .32

Albert Chevalier and John Beauchamp as Sam Weller and Tony

Weller. (Photo by B. Knight.) .... 34

Albert Chevalier and John Beauchamp as Sam Weller and Tony

Weller. (Photo by B. Knight.) . . . . -34

John Beauchamp and Albert Chevalier as Betsy Prig and Sairey

Gamp. (Photo by B. Knight.) .... 38

John Beauchamp and Albert Chevalier as Bill Sikes and Fagin.

(Photo by B. Knight.) . . . . . . 38

" Sock and Buskin." (Photo by B. Knight.) ... 39

List of Illustrations

TO FACE
PAGE

" My Old Dutch." (Photo by B. Knight.) .
" 'E Can't Take a Roise out of Oi ! " (Photo by B. Knight.) .
" Knocked 'em in the Old Kent Road." (Photo by B. Knight.)
" Our Bazaar. (Photo by B. Knight.) ....

The Waxwork Showman. (Photo by Hubert.)
" Wot's the good of hany fink ? Why ! Nuffink ! " (Photo by
B. Knight.) ......

" An Old Bachelor." (Photo by B. Knight.)

" Our Court Ball." (Photo by B. Knight.) .

Burlesque French Song. (Photo by B. Knight.)

The Ruisseaumont Hotel, Lake Placid, Adirondacks. (Photo by

A. C.)

Our Tent in the Adirondacks. (Photo by A. C.)
Wild Raspberry Bushes, Adirondacks. (Photo by A. C.)
Near Lake Placid, Adirondacks. (Photo by A. C.) .
Miss Martha Morton and her Brother. (Photo by A. C.)
Sketched by an Artist in Chicago ....

Mrs. Albert Chevalier ......

" Pierrot Coster." (Photo by B. Knight.) .

" Professor Peter Pinder " in " The Land of Nod." (Photo by

B. Knight.)

" A Fallen Star." (Photo by B. Knight.) .

" Oh ! 'Ampstead ! " (Photo by B. Knight.)

" 'E Can't Take a Roise out of 6i ! " (Photo by B. Knight.)

" The Coster's Serenade." (Photo by B. Knight.)

" My Old Dutch." (Photo by B. Knight.) .

" The Nipper's Lullaby." (Photo by B. Knight.)

'Anky Panky. (Photo by Hubert.) ....

M. Armand Thibault. (Photo by Hubert.)

Our Court Ball. (Photo by B. Knight.)

" Mafekin' Night." (Photo by B. Knight.)

" Tick Took." (Photo by B. Knight.)

" Tick Tock." (Photo by B. Knight.) ....

The Lag's Lament. (Photo by B. Knight.) .

" The Cockney Tragedian." (Photo by B. Knight.)

" Our Restorong." (Photo by B. Knight.) .

" A Christmas Night's Dream." (Photo by B. Knight.) .

" My Country Cousin." (Photo by B. Knight.)

The Yankee in London. (Photo by B. Knight.)

The Poet. (Photo by B. Knight.) ....

At Queen's Hall. A Few of my Props. (Photo by B. Knight.)

XVI

PART I

CHAPTER I

I WAS born In London at 21, St. Ann's Villas,
Royal Crescent, Notting Hill, on the 21st of
March, 1861. Until I reached the mature age of seven
I exhibited no particular yearning for a theatrical
career. At seven, however, I learnt a piece, *' The
September Gale," by Oliver Wendell Holmes — a
humorous recitation which so took my juvenile fancy
in a book of '* select poetry," that I committed it to
memory, and one day recited it, with appropriate
action, to my poor dear father as he was enjoying his
pipe in a summer-house at the bottom of our garden.
He was a good father, and I ought to have known
better ; but as, by the accident of birth, he happened
to be my senior, some portion of the blame must
attach to him. He laughed. When in the course of
my declamation I simulated a tearful aspect — the
result of a supposed irreparable loss — when I drew
my sleeve across my eyes, and deplored the disap-
pearance of my *' Sunday breeches," carried off a
clothes' line (according to the poet) by an incon-

Before I Forget

siderate September gale, he simply shrieked, and did
j^*not rest imti- be saw my name entered on Part II.
""bf a local Penny Reading programme. My very
first public appearance was in 1869, at Cornwall Hall,
Cornwall Road, Notting Hill. |l

Children have no sense of responsibility, and their ""
nerves are sound, hence the youthful phenomenon.
In black velvet knickerbockers and white stockings,
with my hair curled, I used to deliver Mark Antony's
oration over the body of Julius Caesar. It must have
been a most edifying performance. I occasionally
meet people who have lived to remind me that they
actually witnessed my eight-year-old Shakespearian
recitals. Time, the healer, has probably robbed the
recollection of its original bitterness, for in one or two
instances these venerable relics have assured me that
I "showed promise." There they stopped. They
took no chances on fulfilment. I really cannot recall
a time when I was not stage-struck. Between the
ages of eight and twelve I certainly wavered ; but
this I attribute to maternal influence. My mother
wanted me to become a priest. I forgot to mention
that my parents were Roman Catholics. For the
sake of the priesthood I am glad to think that a
merciful Providence intervened. Still I was sent to
St. Mary's College, Richmond, with a view to
ultimately becoming Father Chevalier. A Roman
Catholic clergyman, who had heard of this, once
questioned me on the subject, and inquired how far
I had advanced in preparing for a priestly life. I
replied, '' As far as the vow of celibacy," and then the
conversation flagged.

Sister and Self.

• *' t fc fc ■

Before I Forget

The late Fred Charles, acting on behalf of his
manager, the late F. B. Chatterton, approached my
father with a view to engaging me for the pantomime
of '* Hop o' my Thumb " at Drury Lane Theatre.
This offer, however, was declined, and I continued to
increase my list of pieces for the delectation (?) of
Penny Reading patrons In different parts of London.
I ruthlessly cut the Immortal Bard out of my reper-
toire after hearing a local comic singer bring down
the house with a bewilderlngly mirthful ditty entitled,
'' I am so Volatile." I there and then determined to
oust him from his position as principal comique.
Aided and abetted by my proud father, on my next ap-
pearance I endeavoured to give an imitation of Stead,
in his then immensely popular impersonation, *' The
Perfect Cure." Being young, and sound of wind, and
limb, I contrived to bob up and down, singing at the
same time, without experiencing serious inconvenience.
The local critics (?) thought it was wonderful, and the
exalted position of Principal Penny Reading Comique
was assured to me from that moment.

I have mislaid all memoranda, or nearly all, of these
entertainments, but so far as my memory serves me,
my next efforts were in the way of Irish dialect
recitations. My brogue I picked up in the course of
conversations with a "broth of a bhoy " who carried
the collection plate at the Church of St. FVancIs of
Assisi, Notting Hill. About this time Arthur Roberts
appeared as an amateur at Cornwall Hall. Other
Penny Reading favourites of this particular period
were W. Lestocq (now Charles Frohman's representa-
tive In England) and Edward Compton. Talking of

Before I Forget

Edward Compton reminds me that I once, when a
boy, recited in private to his father (the late Henry
Compton). The old gentleman was very patient, and
controlled himself nobly.

For a short time, in the family circle, my histrionic
aspirations played second fiddle to a spiritualistic
mania which my father suddenly developed. Our
house in St. Ann's Villas became a happy hunting-
ground for mystic waifs and strays. We held seances
nightly. These stances, I need hardly say, were quite
private. My father w^as — or imagined himself to be —
a medium. Like most people, I am very sceptical
concerning so-called "supernatural" manifestations.
When a man assures me that he has seen a ghost, I
try to appear interested. Should he press the point,
and desire to prove his statement, I gladly agree to
consider whatever evidence he can produce. Only
the fool speaks of the impossible. The impossibilities
of to-day are to-morrow the possibilities which minister
to our creature comforts. The application of a
piece of wire made it possible for a force in nature to
act obediently at man's discretion. Because a thing
remains unexplained, is no argument against the truth
contained in the assertion that it actually occurred.
When men like Robert Dale Owen take the trouble
to compile a volume of ghost stories, not to shock
weak nerves, but with a view to exciting the interest
of thinkers — I allude to '' Footfalls on the Threshold
of Another World " — the common or garden individual
may surely be privileged to **have his doubts."

When a man like Du Prel, in his '' Philosophy of
Mysticism," endeavours to explain the importance of

Before I Forget

dreams — when the influence of this particular work
results in the writing and publication of " Psychic
Phenomena," by Hudson, &c., &c., I, as the aforesaid
common or garden type of individual, may be forgiven
for agreeing with Hamlet when he tells his friend,
''There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio,
than are dreamt of in your philosophy."

My reason for mentioning the subject at all is that
one of the mediums I encountered at this time was the
notorious Daniel Home, who later on contrived to
wheedle sixty thousand pounds out of an old lady — a
Mrs. Lyon. This enormous sum was paid to him by
way of remuneration : "for bringing back the spirit of
her departed husband." This unique widow, regretting
either the loss of her money, or the return of the
*' departed," sued Home for the recovery of her sixty
thousand pounds. When in course of cross-examina-
tion she was asked what had caused her to alter her
opinion, and to think that the returned husband was
not the pure spirit Home declared him to be, she gave
as her reason quotations from a pamphlet written by
my father, and entitled '' Experiences of Spiritualism."
In this little volume he gave an absolutely truthful
and accurate account of certain manifestations which
he had witnessed in his own house, and which, he had
arrived at the conclusion, were attributable to machi-
nations of the Foul Fiend. That the manifestations he
referred to were perfectly genuine — that they were not
produced by any ingenious trickery, so far as preven-
tion is humanly possible — I am quite certain. To
him, and to my mother, it was a serious matter.
They would sit alone in a room, putting questions to,

Before I Forget

and receiving replies from, what they, at that time,
honestly believed to be the spirit of their dead first-
born. I think I need say no more to prove that they
had no recourse to trickery. The fact, however,
remains that their questions were answered, and my
father, in his anxiety to solve the mystery, only
succeeded in diving deeper into the mire. He and
my mother finally arrived at the conclusion that it was
all "diabolical" — that they were being duped by the
Evil One, who was permitted to masquerade as a Spirit
of Light, until challenged, according to the New
Testament, i St. John chap. iv. vers, i, 2, 3 — a form of
procedure which in their experience effectually put a
stop to all ''spiritualistic manifestations."

Before leaving this subject, I should like to record
— without a word of exaggeration — something which
I witnessed one night in our dining-room at St. Ann's
Villas. After supper, my father asked me to push the
dining-table against the wall, so that he and one or
two others might sit round the fire " for a chat and a
smoke." The table, although a heavy one, was
ordinarily quite easy to move, as it was on castors. I
had frequently, on similar occasions, moved it as he
desired me now to do ; but now I couldn't. I looked
underneath (I fear I was born a sceptic !), there was
no one there. I walked round and examined the
castors. They were in their usual places. Why
wouldn't the table move ? I asked my father to help
me, which he did ; but the table remained in the centre
of the room. To cut a long story short, the united
efforts of three or four men, and a boy failed to move it
either by means of lifting, or by pushing. Now, I

Before I Forget

wasn't going to relate this incident, because I have a
morbid horror of appearing ridiculous ; but as I have
gone so far, I may as well go through with it. I had
heard my father talk of exorcising the spirits "in the
name of God." I repeated to myself what I had
heard him say, and the table moved — that is, I was
able to make it move. I offer no explanation. I can
think of none. I don't say the table moved because I
muttered a sacred name. All I know is, that until
then it could not be moved. Beyond that I know
nothing. I can only say it happened.

CHAPTER II

WHEN I was about fourteen years old I joined
an amateur theatrical club called the '' Roscius."
Not being quite satisfied, however, with the parts
allotted to me, I decided to go into management on
my own account. I really was driven into doing this
by the stage-manager of the *' Roscius," who cast me
for King Louis in ** Richelieu." I was a verybadSI
monarch. Whatever regal attributes I may have
since developed, I was not kingly at sixteen. Before
the piece de resistance came on, I appeared as Handy
Andy in a boiled-down version of Lover's famous
novel. I was soaked in Irish — that is, in the brogue —
and I couldn't shake it off. This fact may account for
my failure as the French King. When I commenced
a speech something after this fashion, ** Lorrd Card-
hinil ! Wan by wan, ye have severrred from me the
bhonds av human lov'," there was a titter. As the
speech continued, my brogue intensified. In the course
of that oration the audience were carried away — right
away — from Notting Hill (where I was performing) to
Cork, by way of Limerick and Tipperary. A local
critic went out of his way to be offensive. In the
columns of his vile newspaper he wrote of my per-
formance as follows : —

Before I Forget

'' Mr. Chevalier appeared as Handy Andy in
Lytton's play entitled ' Richelieu.' "

Having my suspicions concerning the authorship of
this criticism, I taxed a member of the company with
being responsible for it. He beat about the bush, but
finally admitted the soft impeachment, pleading, at the
same time, that his original article had been edited
out of all recognition. Before the editorial blue
pencil went to work on it, he declared that it read
like this : —

'' Mr. Chevalier appeared as Handy Andy, a part
which he acted admirably ; and in Lytton's play,
entided ' Richelieu,' he took the part of King Louis.''

The italicised portions had been crowded out.
There was no necessity for him to explain that the
omissions made a difference.

For a short time, a very short time, I was a clerk in
an office — a newspaper office. An English edition of
the Buonapartist organ, rOrdre, was published in
London. The editor, Comte de la Chapelle, who
had *' heard of my paintings," interested himself on
my account, with the result that I was engaged to sing
between the acts of '' Still Waters Run Deep," for one
night, at the King's Cross Theatre. My fee (my first
professional fee !) for inflicting on the audience two
comic songs and a recitation was ten shillings. I had
almost forgotten this incident ; but a few days ago I
happened to mention the King's Cross Theatre to my
good friend Edgar F. Jacques, the musical critic,
whose name has so long and honourably been
associated with the analytical notes on Queen's Hall
Symphony, and other concert programmes. To my

Before I Forget

astonishment, Jacques informed me that he conducted
the orchestra on the occasion above referred to, and
that Mrs. Jacques presided at the piano. She there-
fore accompanied me the very first time I ever
appeared as a professional, receiving a fee for my
services. Truly the world is very small.

At the King's Cross Theatre, the Ladbroke Hall,
and the Bijou Theatre, Bayswater, I occasionally
blossomed forth as an actor-manager — generally starr-
ing in Irish melodrama — my poor father supplying
cash for the necessary preliminary expenses. This
Hibernian leaning may have been due to a school
acquaintanceship with young Boucicault, the present
Dion Boucicault, son of the famous actor-dramatist.
Anyway, whenever I had the chance, I elected to ll
appear either as Miles or Danny Mann in the ** Colleen
Bawn."

The history of the Bijou Theatre, Archer Street,
Bayswater, if ever it should be written, would disclose
a remarkably long list of names which have since
become familiar to playgoers. To mention only a
few : Beerbohm Tree's first attempt at management
was made there in, I think, a series of matindes. Ada
Ward, recently ''converted" by "General" Booth's
''officers," played there, in the "Ticket-of- Leave
Man." Fred Kaye, Etienne Girardot, Cecil Thorn-
bury, Percy F. Marshall, Fred Grove, Inez Howard,
and many others, whose names, in recent years, have
figured on playbills of more important houses, have all
either '' ddbuted'' or gained experience at the Bijou.

When I was fifteen I became " pupil teacher " at a
school in Shepherd's Bush. In reality I was under-

Before I Forget

master, but, owing to my youth, the principal thought
It advisable to call me a '' pupil teacher " — a distinction
without much difference, if you take the trouble to
analyse the terms. Here I remained for about a year,
fretting my heart out, and occasionally seeking relief
in one-night performances at a local hall, the
Athenaeum. Here, later on, in conjunction with
Julian Edwards (now well known In America as the
successful composer of numerous comic operas) I first
tried my hand at scribbling for the stage. My Initial
effort was the libretto of an operetta entitled *' Begging
the Question," In which, " supported by " the com-
poser and his sister, Annie Kinnaird, I appeared as a
French peasant. The little piece was very kindly
received by an audience of friends and relations. I
was most proud of a notice, written by Julian
Edwards' father, which appeared In a local paper.
As, according to custom, the critique was not signed.
It did me a lot of good — locally. Among Shepherd's
Bush-men I was looked up to as a coming literary
light. My fame, however, was restricted to this
picturesque corner of Suburbia — or rather to a corner
of this particular corner.

My father, realising that I was not likely to settle
down either as a clerk or a schoolmaster, wrote to the
late Dion Boucicault, asking him If he would be good
enough to use his Influence, and so give me the
opportunity to make a start In the theatrical profession.
Boucicault kindly sent me a letter of Introduction to
Blackmore (father of the present well-known musical
and dramatic agent). This letter I presented in
person to Blackmore pere, I remember the meeting.

Before I Forget-

I was a very fat, chubby boy. He stared hard at me,
and asked '' if I took much exercise," warning me at
the same time, paternally, that I was '* running a great
risk of becoming as broad as I was long." My
appearance, however, instead of standing in my way,
actually went in my favour. A Mr. Gates, represent-
ing the then " Mr. " S. B. Bancroft, chanced to be in
the outer office. He wanted five or six boys to
appear in '' To Parents and Guardians," a little after-
piece, by the late Tom Taylor, which was shortly
going into the bill at the old Prince of Wales's
Theatre in Tottenham Street, Tottenham Court
Road. As I came out, he went in to see Blackmore.
In the doorway he stopped, and looking me up and
down — a deal more down than up ! — asked me if I
wanted an engagement ? If I wanted an engagement !
Think of it ! A sixteen-year-old budding histrion,
bubbling over with an enthusiastic desire to act ?
Did I want an engagement ? Why, cert'nly ! Jl

Before I left Blackmore's my ambition was
gratified. I was a full-blown actor, engaged to
appear at the most celebrated comedy house in
London ; and what was more, the terms of the
agreement stipulated — there had been no haggling,
it was down in black and white — that my salary
should be ten shillings per week, payable on
Saturdays, at '' Treasury." I went straight off to
French's (then Lacy's) in the Strand, and purchased a
copy of ** To Parents and Guardians," bound in the
orthodox orange-coloured cover. Having removed
my handkerchief from the breast-pocket of my coat, I
substituted the playbook. To my sorrow it did not

Self, Aged i6.

[To face p. 15.

Before I Forget

show : the pocket was too deep. This, however, I
soon remedied by replacing my handkerchief as a
foundation, or prop. Thus, as I imagined, labelled
*' actor," I proceeded to walk home, having exhausted
my finances in starting a theatrical library !

On the day appointed I attended my first rehearsal
in a real theatre — the old Prince of Wales's— the
*' Band-box," as it was familiarly called

How curiously little things impress one — little,
incongruous things they are as a rule — things which,
under given circumstances, might easily escape
observation. I had only seen Bancroft on the stage,
playing, as he alone could play, parts like Hawtree
in ** Caste." I was to meet him now for the first
time in private life. As I passed through the stage-
door I heard the well-known drawl — that peculiarly
languid drawl — which the late M. Marius shortly after
reproduced so cleverly in *' Diplunacy " at the Strand
Theatre. I peeped round a corner to catch a glimpse
of my manager. He was talking to a little boy — his
eldest son, I think — who, resplendent in a new pair of
boots, insisted on submitting them to his father's
critical eye, and horn-rimmed glass. It was a very
trifiing incident, but I never meet my late manager
now without mentally conjuring up this picture. In
a way it was a disappointment at the time, because,
in my youthful inexperience, I had expected something
infinitely more imposing. This homely little touch
was my first lesson in a very much misunderstood
subject, viz., what the actor is like off the stage.

The rehearsal commenced. The cast included
Arthur Cecil and Willie Young, both since dead. I,

Before I Forget

with my fellow "super" schoolboys, was waiting
anxiously to know what we had to do. In the
** wings" I struck up an acquaintance with another
youthful super, who Informed me that his name was
Fred Storey. This young gentleman, anticipating the
success he was to make In after years, turned out to
be the terror of the dressing-room during the run of
'' To Parents and Guardians." It was a small room,
and he would practise the '' splits " — to say nothing
of his attempts at high kicking. I came off compara-
tively well. I was short, but the taller boys had a
rough time when, Imitating the late Fred Yokes,
he endeavoured to throw his leg over their heads!
To return to the rehearsal. Bancroft, after a care-
ful inspection of his schoolboys, whispered something
to Gates the stage-manager (my friend from Black-
more's), and before I had time to realise what had
happened, a manuscript part was put Into my hands,
** to rehearse on approval." (I shouldn't dare to do
such a thing now!!) It was a very tiny part, but it
was a part. I suppose I must have given satisfaction,
as it was not taken away from me. I thought it was
too good to be true. A part ! a speaking pari !
However, I played It, and to this early association
with artistic surroundings, under the Bancroft rdgwie,
I owe more than I know how to acknowledge. The
thoroughness with which everything was done was an
object-lesson to any young actor. What care, what
attention to detail! No wonder the little ''Band-
box " drew, not only fashionable London, but all
lovers of dramatic art at its best.

CHAPTER III

WHEN *'To Parents and Guardians" and the
''Unequal Match" were taken out of the
bill, to make room for the important production of
*' Diplomacy," I was faced with the fact that I had to
procure another engagement — a predicament which
has recurred with painful frequency in the course of
my career. I haunted Blackmore's office. I really
believe he tried hard to "fix me up," if only to get rid
of me! But although I was a real, live, full-blown,
London actor, privileged to ''pass in on my card" to
what were then called " professional reunions,'* at the
Oxford Music Hall, I could not persuade managers to
engage me. I was in despair, when I received a very
kind note from Arthur Cecil. He had mentioned me
to Mr. and Mrs. Kendal as a likely person to play
the small part of Antoine in " Diplomacy." I was
fortunate enough to settle an engagement for this
provincial tour, and my salary went up from ten to
thirty shillings per week. In the company engaged
was that truly great actor William Mackintosh. We
two became fast friends, and, I am glad to say, have
remained so ever since. Londoners as yet have had
only a taste of this fine artist's powers — his genius.
Some day I hope he may be allowed the opportunity

17 c

Before I Forget

of proving and establishing his right, to hold a
position second to none.

When the *' Diplomacy " tour finished, Mrs. Kendal,
interesting herself on my behalf, persuaded John
Hare to engage me for the Court Theatre, where he,
in conjunction with Mr. and Mrs. Kendal, was about
to produce Palgrave Simpson's version of " Les Pattes
de Mouches," entitled ^' A Scrap of Paper." My
association with Messrs. Hare and Kendal, at the
Court and St. James's Theatres, lasted some years,
during which time I understudied principal parts, and
played small ones, in a repertoire of pieces includ-
ing: "A Scrap of Paper," *'A Quiet Rubber," '*A
Regular Fix," *' William and Susan," " The Ladies
Battle," '^M. le Due," ''The Queen's Shilling," &c.

At the Court Theatre a Mr. Brandon made his first
appearance on the stage. This gentleman, under his
own name, Brandon Thomas, has since become known
to fame, not only as an excellent actor, but as the
author of several plays, notably that screamingly
funny farce, '' Charley's Aunt."

It was at the Court Theatre also that I first met the
late William Terriss. The dreadful circumstances
under which poor Terriss met with his death are so
fresh in the minds of playgoers, that I may perhaps
be permitted to tell a hitherto untold story in
connection with this tragedy, for the truth of which
I can vouch.

In a certain North London boarding-house,
where the proprietor catered for the theatrical
profession, there lived a poor, hard-worked general
servant — atypical lodging-house "slavey." She had

Prince Paul" in "The Grand Duchess."

\Tofacep. 19.

Before I Forget

rather a pretty face, but of this fact she appeared quite
obHvIous until she dressed for her nights out. On
these rare occasions she would tittivate herself to such
an extent that, as she walked down the street, on her
way to the Adelphi Theatre (her one and only source
of enjoyment), nobody would have recognised, in the
neatly attired, somewhat delicate-looking maiden, the
dirty, slovenly, down-at-heel '* Marchioness " who
cooked and scrubbed for a miserable pittance at

No. "1 8, Street, Kilburn. She was madly in

love with William Terriss, and made no secret of the
fact. In the kitchen, in the scullery even, the walls
were decorated with pictures of her hero. She had
hitherto worshipped him from afar — from " on high."
It was her night out. A mad desire to have a look at
him, off the stage, suddenly seized her. After perhaps
a little extra tittivation, she hurried away to the
Adelphi stage-door in Maiden Lane. On her arrival
there she heard a cry, and saw some one reel.
Rushing excitedly forward, she was just in time to see
her hero. He had at that moment received his death-
blow. Terrified, she flew from the spot, and for some
days after she did not show up at No. i8. When
next she was seen cleaning the front-door steps, she
wore, pinned to her torn print bodice, a tiny piece of
draggled black crepe,

I resigned my engagement at the St. James's
to become principal comedian in an opera company.
Auguste Van Biene, with the Jdea of permanently
establishing English opera in Liverpool, engaged a
very large and expensive^^company, a full orchestra,
leased the Bijou Theatre in Bold Street (which,

Before I Forget

1
I

crammed full to the doors, could not possibly
have held much over fifty or sixty pounds!), and
started with a repertoire consisting of "Trovatore,"
'' Fidello," '' Maritana," *' Martha," '' Don Giovanni,'*
** La Sonnambula," and by way of variety, Offenbach's
"Grand Duchess." It was for the part of Prince
Paul in the last-named work that I was really
engaged, but I also undertook to play such parts
in the *' grand " operas as my vocal and other
limitations would allow. In the light of later develop-
ments, it will astonish my readers to learn that I did
not shine in grand opera. Mozart must have
squirmed in his grave on the occasion when, as
Masetto, I dared the intricacies of his glorious music. M
Altogether, this experience lasted about six weeks.
Then came a welcome relief in the shape of an offer
for a short season in Glasgow, at the Princess's
Theatre, under the management of H. Cecil Beryl.
Here I played a round of parts, supporting William
Mackintosh during his first starring engagement.
Mackintosh, an enormous favourite in Glasgow, was
particularly successful in a little one-act play entitled
" Peebles," which I translated for him from Mme. de
Girardin's ** La joie fait peur." My share of the
work was little more than a bare translation, but
Mackintosh's performance of the tide ro/e, an old
Scotch servant, was something to be remembered by
those who were fortunate enough to witness it. •

My next engagement was, for me, a very important
one. The late Edgar Bruce wanted some one to
play Gunnion in A. W. Pinero's successful comedy-
drama, *'The Squire," then running at the St. James's

Puffy" in "The Streets of London.
(Princess's Theatre, Glasgow.

\To face p. 20.

« o •

" The Peepshowman."
(Princess's Theatre, Glasgow.)

[To face p. 21

Before I Forget

Theatre. Mackintosh, who created the part in
London, suggested that I should play it, which I
eventually did for nine months in the provinces.
This engagement was important to me in more ways
than one. I gave satisfaction, not only to the manage-
ment, but to the author, who, later on, did not forget
me when an opportunity occurred in London.

In 1883 I joined the late T. W. Robertson (son of
the famous playwright) for a season at Toole's
Theatre, appearing as Sergeant Jones in " Ours,"
Mulhowther in '* M.P.," &c. About this time special
matinde productions at the Crystal Palace were very
much in vogue, and I did my share towards enter-
taining the glass-house patrons. It was a weird
audience in those days, at the Crystal Palace. People
who would not go to a London theatre, sneaked in on
the quiet at Sydenham, to see the most risky plays.
Old ladies would bring their knitting, or wool-work,
and the comedian who succeeded in attracting sufficient
attention to make one of these venerable relics *' drop
a stitch," was an object of envy to his brother actors.
The wild dissipation of the audience culminated, as a
rule, in a mad rush after the performance ** to see the
actors come out." There was always some *' authority "
ready to point out who was who. According to this
''authority," as from time to time I came out of stage
gloom into the light of day, I passed for nearly every
well-known actor in London. I never resented being
mistaken for a good one, but there were occasions when
I thought seriously of showing the "authority" up.

As I said just now, Pinero did not forget me. A
piece of his, entided " Low Water," was put into

Before I Forget

rehearsal at the Globe Theatre (then under the
management of Messrs. John Hollingshead and J. L.
Shine), for which I was engaged to play a drunken
broker's man in the first act. The piece was a failure.
After this I toured the provinces again, this time as
Sir Henry Auckland in '' Impulse." The company
was organised by Miss Fanny Josephs and C. W.
Garthorne, both since dead. On this tour I met J. H.
Darnley, who, later on, wrote and produced several
ingeniously constructed and very successful farcical
comedies, notably "The Barrister." In "Impulse"
on tour he played the part in which poor Arthur
Dacre originally scored at the St. James's. My next
move was once more to London — a chance for which
I again had to thank Pinero. At the Court Theatre,
under the management of Messrs. John Clayton and
Arthur Cecil, I appeared in the original productions of
two big successes, ** The Magistrate" and "The
Schoolmistress." While playing in the last-mentioned
piece I was taken seriously ill. Brain fever the
doctor called it. I suppose he knew what he was
talking about. Anyway, I did not then, and I do not
intend now, to dispute what he said, as it establishes a
fact : I have a brain. Always enthusiastic in my
work, I went to the theatre, and played for three
nights running, when, as the doctor told me afterwards,
I ought to have been in bed with ice-bags on my head.
When I was well enough to resume my part, some
three months later, Mrs. John Wood, after congratu-
lating me on my recovery, apologised profusely for a
conclusion she had rashly jumped at, in consequence
of my extraordinary behaviour during the three nights

1
I

Major Stretton " in "False Glitter.'
(Princess's Theatre, Glasgow.)

\To face p. 22.

Before I Forget

before referred to. She thought 1 had taken to
drink ! During the run of '' The Magistrate " I wrote
a burlesque on '' Called Back," entitled '' Called Back
Again," which Mackintosh took out on tour. My
final appearance at the old Court Theatre was on the
last night it was open to the public, when a programme
was submitted consisting of an act from each of the
following plays: *' The Magistrate," **The School-
mistress," and " Dandy Dick" — at that time Pinero's
three most successful efforts.

As we were both ''resting," Mackintosh and I, within
three weeks, wrote, rehearsed, and produced a three-
act musical farce. During the first of those three
weeks we had an average of about two hours' sleep
each night, or rather morning, for we never turned in
till daylight. I thought, when we were writing it,
that the piece was developing into a great work !
Mackintosh distinctly had his doubts, but as he
was booked to appear in a new play, he tried to
consider the ''thing" from my enthusiastic point of
view. I have the manuscript at home now, and I
must admit that, so far as my share in it is concerned,
it is pretty bad — even for a musical farce ! The
manager of the provincial theatre where the play
was to be produced duly paragraphed the " forth-
coming novelty " in all the local papers. He
advertised that "special scenery was being painted.'*
He spoke the truth — it was being painted. On
our arrival in the town we went straight to the
theatre where, according to the bills, we were to
open that night. The scenery was being painted —
we had ocular demonstration of the fact. In the

Before I Forget

forest scene one branch of an oak-tree was nearly-
finished. Unfortunately, the other two equally
important scenes were untouched. Mackintosh
fumed, I raved, but it only resulted in the old
theatrical '*gag": ''everything would be all right
at night." Well, night came, and the company
dressed. The house was full up. It was Bank
Holiday. We were all ready and anxious for the
fray ; the scenery, however, was still being painted !
A few more trees had sprung up in the forest since
the morning, but the Baronial Hall was represented
by nothing more advanced than sheets of white
canvas stretched on wooden frames. There was
only one possible course to pursue, viz., to explain
the position of affairs, and offer an apology to the
audience, telling them, at the same time, that the
money they had paid for seats would be refunded
on application at the box-office. Much as we
regretted turning such a big crowd away, it had to
be done. Somewhere about midnight I encountered
Ingle (then Mackintosh's business manager) trying
to convince a couple of yokels that they were not
entitled to any money, as the tickets, on which they
claimed payment, were free admissions, privately
marked ''for exhibiting bills!" Needless to say,
relations between Mackintosh and myself, and the
management, became somewhat strained. We accused
the staff of painters, carpenters, &c., of not under-
standing their business. There was a row, and in
the end, Mackintosh, the local manager, the company,
and myself, were left to do the best we could for
ourselves. The staff struck. We remained in the

No. I, Round the Corner.'

[To face p. 24.

*.• >*r J*'*t ♦.'^^"^^VJ?^.**^^'^^'"'^"^ First Night.
(Princess's Theatre, Glasgow.)

{To face p. 25.

Before I Forget

theatre till 4 a.m., went home, returning at nine the
same morning to work. By about four In the afternoon
we had contrived to dodge up three scenes, out of
some old stock stuff, which we found stored away
in the paint-room. Determining not to be beaten,
we opened, produced the play, acting our parts, and
doing our own scene-shifting. I forgot to mention
that the advertised ''augmented orchestra " was only
" augmented " when Ingle could spare time to leave
the box-office, which at intervals he contrived to do.
Then some slight augmentation was noticeable. Ingle
presided at the pianoforte. In order to play certain
accompaniments which the '* orchestra " could not
manage ! It remains for me to say that the only
people who paid to see the show that night were
the strikers — the painters, carpenters, scene-shifters,
&c., who had left us in the lurch. They were all in
front, and I never played to a more unsympathetic
audience !

2c:

CHAPTER IV

MY next manager was Willie Edouin. I cannot
overrate the value of my experience with
him. He came along with that moral pat on the
back which at the right moment is of such service
to the struggling actor who has learnt sufficient to
realise how little he knows. I owe a great deal to
the encouragement I received from Willie Edouin
and his charming wife, the late Alice Atherton. At
the Royalty and Strand Theatres I played all sorts
of parts. Edouin, after reading a burlesque of mine
on ** Clancarty," which piece was then running at
the St. James's, advised me, to his ultimate cost, I
fear, to go on writing. He bought and produced a
little comedietta of mine entitled *' Cycling" — my first
London production. It would be no exaggeration
to say that I wrote reams for Edouin, which he
bravely purchased, and which to this day are, I
believe, stored away in one of his innumerable trunks,
labelled " MSS."

When he revived Byron's "Aladdin" at the Strand,
I was turned on to write it up-to-date — an offence for
which I was hauled over the coals by indignant critics,
who did not hesitate to talk of vandalism. I played
Abanazarin "Aladdin." One day at rehearsal Edouin

Before I Forget

remarked that among the interpolated numbers I had
not included a song for myself. He suggested my
writing one. As the date of the production was
drawing near, I asked him to allow me to sing a ditty
which I had occasionally inflicted on intimate friends
in the sanctity of the home circle. He requested me
to ''hum it over to him," which I did. It was my
first coster song, *'Our 'Armonic Club." Edouin was
not at all sanguine about it, but as I had nothing else
ready, he agreed to let me try it : —

OUR 'ARMONIC CLUB.-

WRITTEN AND COMPOSED BY ALBERT CHEVALIER.

On a Monday night when the blokes 'as finished work,

And the merry "dibs" 'as been a-flowin' free;
At the Brokers' Arms there's a parlour set aside,

Where us coves indulges in sweet 'Armonee.
There we sets and sings, till the clock strikes twelve,

We could go on all night long without a doubt;
But the Boss calls, " Time ! " and if that don't make us move,

Well, he sends the pot-boy in to chuck us out !

With my 'ammer in my 'and, there I sets as large as life
Surrounded by the patrons of the pub :

Oh, I ain't by nature proud, but I feels a reg'lar " treat," ^
When I takes the chair at our 'Armonic Club !

Rorty Bill sets down and fakes the dominoes,

Then I calls on Mr. 'Arris for a song;
In his ear I whispers, "'Arris, cut it short,"

'Cos 'is songs is alius very much too long !
Then the blokes all grin — they've 'card 'im sing afore,

Of all the singers — there, he is the wust !
But he thinks 'e's big, and he likes to do a turn,

So I alius calls on Mr. 'Arris fust !

With my 'ammer in my 'and, &c.

^ Change this word in the chorus after each verse, in the following order :
" Book," " Hearl," " Markis," ''Viscount," «' Grand Order of Buffaloes."

* BypemtissUn of Messrs. Reynolds and Co., ij, Berners Street, IF.
27

Before I Forget-

Arter that I raps the table very 'ard,

Some old bloke 'as kindly offered to recite;
So he trots out sharp, and he bows to all around,

And addresses of the company perlite :
'E forgets 'is "bit," and the coves begin to laugh,

'E turns to me and says it ain't "the thing";
But they shout, " Set down, turn it up, my rorty pal !

And our comic man is called upon to sing !

With my 'ammer in my 'and, &c.

First Encore.
There's a cove what plays the banjo very nice,

And political effusions is 'is line,
'E composed a verse wot contained a gentle 'int.

That a certain grand old party should resign,
Then a gent wot wheels a barrer down the " Cut,"

Shouted, " Bravo, cully ! very good — hencore ! "
'Im and Rorty Bill, wot's a Lib'ral, come to blows

And the argument was settled on the floor !

With my 'ammer in my 'and, &c.

Second Encore.

Once a year we gives a very special night,

When the company's particularly chice ;
I'm the " virtuous " chair, but to gratify my pals,

A member of our Local Board's the "Vice."
He surveys the scene with a patronisin' air.

And he makes a speech, I look upon as crood;
But before he's done, it's a thousand pounds to one,

'E gits landed on the nose for bein' rude !

With my 'ammer in my 'and, &c.

The only rehearsal I ever had for this was on the first
night of the production, ten minutes before the doors
opened. There had been some delay in copying
out the band parts. However, that excellent con-

a t;

Before I Forget

ductor, Edward Jones, pulled me through. Owing
to the length of the performance, It was nearly half-
past eleven when I came on to sing my song. I
feared that the lateness of the hour would handicap
my chances of success, but I am glad to say the
audience took to the song at once. After this, Edouin
altered its position, enabling me to sing it earlier in
the evening, and it never failed to obtain an encore.
E. J. Lonnen, who saw the burlesque just before it
was taken off, asked me if I had another song on
similar lines, as he was looking out for one to
Introduce In the next Gaiety production, '' Faust up
to Date." Thinking I should never want another
coster song, I sold him *' 'Ave a Glass along o' Me,"
with which he eventually made a hit In the piece just
mentioned.

By arrangement with Willie Edouin I appeared as
Silas Hobbs in the authorised version of '* Little Lord
Fauntleroy" at Terry's Theatre (matinees only). Mrs.
Kendal superintended the production. In which, by
the way, the Misses Vera and Esmd Berlnger made
their first appearances in public. During the run of
*' Fauntleroy " I received an offer from my old
managers, Mr. and Mrs. Kendal, for their first
American tour. It was a tempting offer in some
ways, chiefly on account of the parts I should have
played — parts originally associated with the name of
John Hare. I thoroughly appreciated the compli-
ment of such an offer, but it was a crucial moment
in my career. I was just beginning to make headway
In London. When the question of terms came to be
discussed, we agreed to differ, and so negotiations fell

Before I Forget —

through. I had my doubts at the time as to whether
I had acted wisely, but in the end it all turned out for
the best. My refusal of the engagement was the
means of introducing J. E. Dodson to our trans-
atlantic cousins. Dodson made an instantaneous hit,
and at the present moment is one of the most popular
actors in America.

At a matinde at the Prince of Wales's Theatre (the
new Prince of Wales's, Coventry Street) for the benefit
of William Greet (some time acting manager at the
Strand under Willie Edouin), *' Our Flat " was
produced, in which I played the part taken after-
wards, at the Strand Theatre, by Lionel Rignold.
Edouin offered me the engagement, but I decided
to try my luck elsewhere. Arthur Roberts was
leaving the Avenue to go into management on his
own account, at the Royalty. The late M. Marius,
looking about for somebody to take Roberts's place,
happened to meet me one day at the Gaiety Theatre,
where I had called to see George Edwards con-
cerning some lyrics which he had commissioned me
to write for him. Marius gave me the libretto of
** La Prima Donna" (Tito Mattel and Alfred Murray's
comic opera) to read. I went over to the Savage
Club, hurriedly skimmed through the book, and the
same evening met Marius again by appointment.
He asked me if the part originally intended for
Roberts was one which I thought I could play.
I hesitated. It seemed presumptuous to say '*Yes."
However, he was willing to engage me if I would
take the responsibility of stepping into the inimitable
Arthur's shoes. Nothing venture, nothing have, I

■^

Before I Forget

agreed, and a few days after signed an engagement
as principal comedian at the Avenue Theatre, at a
salary of fifteen pounds per week — the largest sum I
had, up till then, ever earned as an actor. I settled
for the run of the piece only, but after the first night
I had the satisfaction of being approached by the
management with a view to signing a fresh contract,
for a further term of two years, at a salary increased
to twenty pounds per week. This matter I was only
too delighted to fix up immediately. Unfortunately
both " La Prima Donna" and its successor, an
old-time Strand burlesque, " The Field of the Cloth
of Gold" — in which I played the French King
Francis — failed to draw. The theatre was sublet
to George Alexander, who, with Hamilton Aides
farcical comedy, '' Dr. Bill " (an adaptation from the
French) first tried his hand at management. I
believe that one of the stipulations made with
Alexander in the transfer of the lease was that he
should take over certain contracts, which he did,
mine being among the number. In the above-
mentioned play I appeared as Mr. Firman. The
piece which followed '' Dr. Bill," '' The Struggle for
Life," succumbed after a very feeble struggle,
although the cast included George Alexander,
Frederick Kerr, Ben Webster, Genevieve Ward,
Kate Phillips, and Alma Stanley.

My next, and last, engagement before appearing in
the music-halls was at Toole's Theatre, in *' The
Two Recruits," a farce in three acts, written by Frank
Wyatt — a very funny and cleverly constructed play,
but a failure, from the box-office point of view.

Before I Forget

I have omitted one experience — lamentable in some
respects — but with which are associated so many-
pleasant recollections that, looking back, I do not
even regret my share of the serious financial loss
incurred by the venture. The well-known actori
John Beauchamp and I, during a short summer
vacation, visited certain small towns with an enter-
tainment consisting of songs and sketches from me,
("The Coster's Serenade," "The Coster's Court-
ship," &c., among the number), recitations by Beau-
champ, and duologues from the works of Dickens.
Beauchamp played Tony Weller, I played Sam. He
was excellent as Tony — I was very bad as Sam. In
a scene from " Martin Chuzzlewit," I may claim toHJ
have done better as Sairey Gamp. Another scene
which we successfully produced was from '' Oliver
Twist." Beauchamp played Sikes and I took the
part of Fagin. In Northampton, on Bank Holiday,
the total night's receipts consisted of one solitary
shilling. My brother (professionally known as
Charles Ingle) took the '' money " at the doors.
Some eighteen months later he again officiated at
the Corn Exchange, Northampton, in the same
capacity. On this occasion, too, he took very little
money at the doors ; but for a different reason. At
seven o'clock we opened to admit ticket-holders.
Those who had purchased vouchers beforehand
could get in — those who only possessed money had
to go away !

CHAPTER V

ON the closing of Toole's Theatre I found myself
once more out of a shop — to use a term
which to the actor is full of such terrible meaning.
Charles Morton offered me an engagement to sing
at the Alhambra. This offer was a direct result of
certain successes I had been able to make during my
comic opera and burlesque experiences at the Strand
and Avenue Theatres. Although I could not afford
to do so, I declined the offer, because I had no faith
in my power to hold a music-hall audience. It is one
thing to be part of a picture, as an actor is supposed
to be in a play, it is quite another thing to stand up
alone, and entertain. It is one thing to be *' of the
halls," it is a totally different thing for the actor,
suddenly transferred, to adapt himself and his
methods. In this connection I may be permitted to
quote from a paper which, in 1893, ^ was invited to
read at the Playgoers' Club.

(In the light of riper experience the quotation calls
for certain qualifications ; which qualifications, under
the circumstances, I consider myself entitled to
make.)

'', . . I unhesitatingly assert that to hold and to

33 ^

Before I Forget

interest a music-hall audience is by far the more
difficult task."

I should have added, *' when the performer attempts
to be artistic, and to produce his effects legitimately."

Later on I shall refer to this subject again. At
present I have to record a welcome which was as
gratifying as it was unexpected. In my heart of
hearts I have always looked upon my success in the
halls as a fluke — one of those freaks of fortune which
it is difficult to explain. I remember standing at the
back of the Pavilion circle, with the late Newsome
Smith (then managing director) a night or two before
I made my dSu^. Bessie Bellwood was occupying
the stage. Bessie Bellwood was — well, she was
Bessie Bellwood ! — vulgar, if you like, but oh ! she
had the saving grace of humour. The boys in the
gallery started chaffing, or, as she would have called
it, ''chipping" her; but they didn't stand the ghost
of a chance. The wittiest "god" that ever hurled
satire at a stage favourite, from the security of
Olympian heights, would only attempt it with Bessie,
knowing full well that he would come off second best.
I had often witnessed her performance before, but
now it had a special, a personal interest for me. I
was to appear before those very *' chippers." Where
should I be if they started chatting during my per-
formance, as they were at that moment with Miss
Bellwood ? Turning to Newsome Smith, I nervously
exclaimed, " You've made a big mistake. They'll
never listen to me. I shall be a dire frost ! " He
smiled, and begged to differ.

Newsome Smith was right and I was wrong. A

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'■5 a

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Before I Forget

kinder and more considerate audience I never played
to than on my first appearance at the London Pavilion.
To recall what actually happened, would be to con-
jure up the details of a lightning dream. All I know
is that I went on, and when I came o£f I heard the
audience applauding. Next day the papers said kind
things about my initial effort. My opening song was
" The Costers Serenade."

THE COSTER'S SERENADE.

WRITTEN BY ALBERT CHEVALIER, COMPOSED BY JOHN CROOK.

You ain't forgotten yet that night in May,

Dahn at the Welsh 'Arp, which is 'Endon way?

You fancied winkles and a pot of tea,

" Four 'alf," I murmured, " 's good enough for me."

" Give me a word of 'ope that I may win " —

You prods me gently with the winkle pin.

We was as 'appy as could be that day

Dahn at the Welsh 'Arp, which is 'Endon way.

Oh, 'Arriet, I'm waiting, waiting for you, my dear,
Oh, 'Arriet, I'm waiting, waiting alone out here.

When that moon shall cease to shine,

False will be this 'eart of mine;
I'm bound to go on lovin' yer, my dear ; d'ye 'ear ?

You ain't forgotten how we drove that day
Dahn to the Welsh 'Arp, in my donkey shay ;
Folks with a " chy-ike " shouted, " Ain't they smart ? "
You looked a queen, me every inch a Bart.
Seemed that the moke was saying, "Do me proud ;
Mine is the nobbiest turn-out in the crowd."
Me in my "pearlies" felt a toff that day,
Dahn at the Welsh 'Arp, which is 'Endon way.

Oh, 'Arriet, &c.

Before I Forget —

Eight months ago and things is still the same,
You're known about 'ere by your maiden name ;
I'm gittin' chivied by my pals, 'cos why?
Nightly I warbles 'ere for your reply.
Summer 'as gone, and it's a-freezin' now.
Still love's a-burnin' in my 'eart, I vow;
Just as it did that 'appy night in May
Dahn at the Welsh 'Arp, which is 'Endon way.

Oh, 'Arriet, &c.

My first night's programme also included : " The
Nasty Way e Sez It " (written by me, and set to
music by Charles Ingle) and a song entitled, *' Funny
Without Being Vulgar," by Harry Brett, and Chas.
Ingle, which I originally sang at the Avenue Theatre
in '^The Field of the Cloth of Gold." After these,
in due course, came, among others, '' Wot Che'r ; or, U
Knocked em in the Old Kent Road," '' Sich a Nice
Man Too," ''The Future Mrs. 'Awkins," '' The Coster's
Courtship," and one of the most successful of all my
songs, '* My Old Dutch."

During my first season I accepted a few en-
gagements from the managers of certain provincial
music-halls, but in the majority of these places my
work, notwithstanding its London success, met with a
very poor reception. I must, however, except Birming-
ham, where, at the Gaiety, I played to large and
most appreciative audiences. In Manchester, at the
Palace, they hissed me. A few months later I went
back to all these towns, this time with my Recital
entertainment. Needless to say, I did not revisit
the provincial music-halls. I appeared instead in
places like the Free Trade Hall, Manchester ; St.
Andrew's Hall, Glasgow, &c.

Before I Forget

On my reappearance in Manchester a local
paper, recalling certain unfavourable remarks made
on the occasion of my music-hall ddbut in that city,
said : —

''Yes, Mr. Chevalier, we did hiss once — only once,
sir, believe me — but we have tried to atone this week.
Don't be hard on us, and do please come again
soon!

Since then I have been to Manchester many times,
and I hope to go there again many, many times.

The arrival of the "turns" is a great feature in music-
hall life. The late Bessie Bellwood once impersonated
the driver of a pro.'s brougham. It is of course abso-
lutely necessary to hire a conveyance, in order to keep
anything like time, when appearing nightly at two or
three halls. Some of these conveyances are quaint in
the extreme. I have often wondered why the drivers
so religiously adhere to the livery coat, considering
that the remainder of their costume, more often
than not, consists of corduroy or check trousers
(these the rug covers), a bowler, or straw hat,
according to season, and a clay pipe. The brougham
itself is strongly reminiscent of the Deadwood Coach,
exhibited by Buffalo Bill at Earl's Court some
years ago. Sometimes there is carpet on the floor,
sometimes straw. But interest centres in the driver.
He is a distinct type. He isn't a cabman ; he isn't
a coachman, or a stable hand. He drives a pro.'s
brougham. A certain comic singer, working three
halls a night for the first time in his career, hired
a brougham and a driver, known familiarly to his
intimates as '' Punch." Being a novice in the hack-

Before I Forget

hiring line, and with a view to encouraging future
punctuality, the master instructed his driver to pull
up at a certain public-house. He was anxious to
establish a pleasant understanding, and so, with per-
haps a suspicion of patronage, he asked ''Punch"
"what he would have." Something — it may have
been an extra stress on the aspirate — irritated the
driver, who promptly descended from the box.
Drawing himself up to his full height (which was
just four feet) he addressed his master as follows :
*' Wot am I a-goin' to 'ave ? Look ere, guv'nor, we'd
better start as we're a-goin' hon. You call me
'Punch,* I'll call you 'Bill!' Mine's 'arf a pint
of mild an' bitter."

My music-hall contracts extended over a period of
seven years. Out of these seven years, about three
were actually spent in the halls. The remainder of ^|
the time I devoted chiefly to touring in the provinces
with my Recitals, the business arrangement of these
tours being then, as now, in the hands of my brother,
Charles Ingle. I lost a lot of money in a foolish
attempt to run the Trocadero; but the phenomenal
success of my Recitals on tour enabled me to discharge
not only my own, but my partner's liabilities in con-
nection with this unfortunate venture. Mention of
the Trocadero reminds me of an experience which
I related in M. A. P. some time ago. Here it
is as it appeared in the columns of that excellent
paper : —

" I have recently read accounts of foolish people
bearding the lion in his den. In the days of my
youth I was stupid enough to attempt the Daniel

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Photo by']

Sock and Buskin.

[B. Knight.

\Tofacep. 39.

Before I Forget ^ —

act once — and only once. On the occasion in
question a couple of lions were being trained to prowl
around a young lady, while she indulged in a dance.
When she had finished rehearsing, the trainer asked
me if I would care to go into the cage ? I accepted
his invitation on his assurance that there was no
danger, as the lions were dead tired. I remained in
the cage for a few minutes, and the trainer then
suggested that he should leave me alone — again
assuring me that I was quite safe. He left the cage,
and I remained inside alone, just long enough to
enable me to say I had done so. When he returned
I made a graceful, if hurried, exit. I had hardly time
to get out, when one of the dead-tired lions made a
spring, and pinned the trainer to the bars of the cage.
Under his breath he called for a stick, which was
passed through the bars. He seemed to stare the
animal out of countenance, for it suddenly dropped
and prowled across to its mate. The trainer, now
armed with a heavy stick, attacked the lion, defending
himself with a chair, which he held out whenever the
animal he was striking turned on him. This continued
for about twenty minutes, when both animals seemed
completely cowed. He made them lie down, and then,
seating himself in the middle of the cage, lighted and
smoked a cigarette. When he came out I con-
gratulated him on his presence of mind. *Ah,' he
said, * if I'd moved when he pinned me against the
bars, he'd have done for me. My only chance was to
keep still and look him full in the face.' I made a
note of that valuable tip, in case I should ever take it
into my head to keep lions."

Before I Forget

In London, from time to time, I was engaged at the
following halls : The Pavilion, Tivoli, Oxford, Can-
terbury, Metropolitan, Middlesex, Cambridge, Royal,
and Paragon. Sometimes I worked as many as five
halls nightly. It was a wonderful experience — one
from which any actor would have derived benefit.
The rapid change of audiences — ten o'clock at the
Tivoli, ten forty-five at the Middlesex! Having to
sing the same songs at each hall, but under conditions
as widely different as chalk is from cheese. No! it
was not easy. Often on first nights, driving from hall
to hall, I have quaked, never feeling sure that the
attention which I had received at, say, the Tivoli,
might not be followed in a few moments at, perhaps,
the Canterbury by the necessary, but to me distressing,
interruption of a drunken man being turned out, in
the middle of one of my quietest songs.

Mention of the Canterbury reminds me that the
night I first sang ** My Old Dutch " there, they would
not listen to me, although half an hour before, at the
Tivoli, you could have heard the proverbial pin drop
during my performance, and after — well, there are
certain rounds of applause which I don't think an
actor ever forgets. What makes it so difficult to
produce effects artistically and legitimately in a
music-hall is that you are never quite certain of
your audience. One tipsy man in the gallery is
sufficient to upset all your calculations. In a theatre,
after the first night, it is only on rare occasions that
there is the slightest disturbance. It is very different
in a music-hall, where a proportion of the audience
comes, not to be amused, but to amuse itself. My

Photo b

"AIy Old Dutsi^-." , ,

B. Kni:^ht.

[To face p, 40.

• ** ' -» ♦ » •o .^ 2

Before I Forget

experience at the Canterbury, to which I have just
referred, was the more extraordinary because I was
not a new-comer. I was, if anything, a favourite
there, and strange to say, before the end of the week,
'' My Old Dutch " (which I had cut out on finding it
was not to the taste of the audience) was not only
clamoured for, but listened to as attentively as it ever
was anywhere. Now, suppose that the night they
hissed me at the Canterbury had been my first
appearance in London. The chances are that the
management would not have allowed me to go on
again. Many so-called failures have been made under
similar conditions.

From an artistic point of view the music-hall may
improve when the possession of a wine and spirit
licence is not considered the essential attribute for
proprietorship. The success of the theatre is mainly
due to the efforts of a long list of actor-managers.
Where to-day do we find the best dramatic work.f^
At the Lyceum, the Haymarket, St. James's, and
Her Majesty's. These houses are all controlled by
artists who are also men of business. A few years
ago the music-hall was going to revolutionise the
entertainment world. It seemed possible that managers
would take advantage of a " boom " which was so
extensively advertised ; but being only business men,
they could not, neither did they wish to see beyond
their financial noses.

The following selection from one of their programmes
will serve to illustrate their system of *' giving art a
chance." For obvious reasons I have rechristened
the performers.

Before I Forget

No. 10. The Cocoa Warmer and the Cold Muffin

WILL box six rounds.

No. II, Miss Celia Fitzgibbons.

(Prima Donna from La Scala^ Milan.)
No. 12. The Sisters Longlegs.
(Duettists.)

No. lo was of course the "star turn," consequently
the audience attracted by it, in a neighbourhood
notorious for slums, could not appreciate, and declined
to listen to. No. 1 1 in a really beautiful rendering of
a very popular ballad. No. 12 was an immense
success. The Sisters Longlegs ** duetted " in unison,
or near it, occasionally. Why do the Sisters never
harmonise .-* They might attempt it, if only by way
of prettily emphasising the family tie. Perhaps in the
eternal fitness of things they exist to prove that Union
is Strength.

A few conscientious ** turns" still endeavoured to
do good work. Equally conscientious critics, who had
" found " the music-hall, and now found it wanting,
saw in their efforts a desire ''on the part of the
management " to establish a higher standard. They
forgave, and perhaps forgot, the residue of coarseness
and inanity, in a momentary glimpse of something
better. They exaggerated the possibilities. They
reckoned without the ** Blue Bag" and the purely
commercial directorate.

The Variety Demon promised, but it did not
perform. It transferred its favours to certain
theatrical speculators, who availed themselves of
that curious concession, the Lord Chamberlain's
licence, to produce what was practically a music-hall

Before I Forget

show, in which two or three of the performers had a
monopoly of the '' turns." This ingenious ruse cut the
ground from under their rivals' feet. The " eminently
respectable " could go to see a " play " — and they went.
Then the music-hall managers, realising that they
had lost their opportunity, by way of revenge, pro-
duced dramatic sketches. Think of it! **The
Ticket-of- Leave Man," in two scenes, boiled down,
and played by a couple of well-intentioned variety
artists ! Melodrama in ten minutes, with a pan of red
fire for each minute ! The palmy days of Richardson's
Booth feebly resuscitated, by way of educating the
masses, and wiping out the Lyceum.

It is a curious fact that the Palace Theatre, which,
under the auspices of Charles Morton, a gendeman of
experience and refinement, comes nearer the ideal
variety theatre than any other establishment in
London, should have been selected by the so-called
Purists as their special butt. The abolition of the
liquor traffic alone, will not cleanse the show. It is
impossible for art, with the tiniest "a," to thrive very
long in our music-halls under existing conditions.
It may occasionally come as a surprise, and for that
reason even please for a time ; but it cannot and will
not find a home there until the '' Blue Bag" yields to
the '' Blue Pencil." I am not narrow-minded. If
certain blasd individuals, with jaded palates, want spice,
give it to them — let them wallow in it ; but see that
it is in a place set apart, not in a hall where each
programme contains a dead-letter footnote, requesting
the audience to report to the management anything
objectionable in the entertainment. Let the prurient-

Before I Forget

minded have a hall to themselves. Call it the
Obscenity, but for the sake of the majority — the
lovers of clean, wholesome amusement — make it an
offence, punishable at law, for any one to encroach on
the prerogative of those engaged in pandering to the
tastes of the Dirty and Depraved.

The actor-manager runs a theatre to make money —
true. To gain a position — true. To gratify his
vanity — perhaps. But this combination of motives
urges him as a rule to uphold the dignity of his
profession, and to deserve the respect of the public.

CHAPTER VI

A FEW days before I made my ddbut in the halls
I met a well-known dramatic author at the
Green Room Club. He took me to task very
seriously for contemplating what he was pleased to
term *' social suicide." "You must be mad," he ex-
claimed, ''to throw up your position as an actor for
the sake of tempting Fortune in the music-halls. I
am truly sorry. You're going to make a hash of
your career. You'll never get your nose inside a
theatre again." So much for prejudice, as I encoun-
tered it ten years ago. Many of my best friends
looked upon the matter in the same light ; but there
comes a time in every man's life when he must decide
for himself. My friends meant well, I felt sure of
that. Possibly they imagined I was going to challenge
the lion comiques — to adopt their methods. This, I
realised, would have spelt ruin to me. Music-hall
performers succeed in theatres when they adapt their
methods to their surroundings. Why, then, I argued,
should not an actor succeed in the halls by similarly
adapting himself and his methods '^. One thing which
greatly influenced me in my decision was a love of
independence. I thought I could do something which,
unless I took a theatre and produced a play, specially

Before I Forget

written for me, I might never have the chance to do.
As an actor I had always been associated either
with burlesque and comic opera or with parts of
the '* crotchety old man " type. I remember once,
when a manager was casting a piece, suggesting
that I might be able to successfully impersonate
a certain character in which there was a vein of
sentiment. I shall never forget the look that
manager gave me. *' My dear boy," said he,
smiling at my presumption, '' I know you can make
em laugh, but I can't afford to let you do it in
the wrong place ! " He could not believe that the
audience would, under the circumstances, take me
seriously. There is a penalty attaching to success in
any one special line. To prove you are capable of
doing something else outside that particular line is
next door to impossible, at all events in a theatre.
Nowadays actors are more often than not engaged
because in private life they resemble the parts they
are called upon to '' impersonate." This is the age
of the specialist. An actor is successful as a French-
man, a German, a dude, a villain, or a lunatic, and he
is doomed henceforth to earn his living either as the
aforesaid Frenchman, German, dude, villain, or lunatic.
I wanted to break fresh ground, and in doing so
I too paid the penalty of the specialist. Arthur
Symons christened me the '' Costers' Laureate," and
it is wonderful to reflect how, even to this day, with
a programme consisting of types as widely differing
as "An Old Bachelor" and the Curate in "Our
Bazaar," certain critics in some of the small towns
which I visit on my provincial tours will, in writing

Before I Forget

of my entertainment, speak of "his rendition of some
of his best-known coster songs," and then proceed
to enumerate as follows: "An Old Bachelor," "Our
Litde Nipper," "A Fallen Star," "Burlesque French
Song," "Our Bazaar," &c.

It was this type of "critic" I attempted to burlesque
in a sketch which I produced recently at the Queen's
Hall. Unfortunately, in some respects it was too
"shoppy" to be very successful. The audience had
never met the man. Their state was the more
gracious. They did not know him as I knew him,
and so the point of the skit did not appeal to them ;
but it certainly went on Press Nights ! I chaffed this
"critic" concerning his weakness for "dipping into
the unlucky tub of set phrases, with the result that
the impersonator of Hamlet is classed with the clog-
dancer as an 'able exponent' or a * gifted artiste,' or
possibly Irving is told that 'he took his role with
discretion and showed ability of no mean order.' "
I tried to represent the man as a well-intentioned,
egotistical, slightly patronising person, who, in de-
scribing the local d^but of an old acquaintance in the
part of Othello (the acquaintance dating back to
a time when they were both members of an amateur
minstrel troupe), wrote the following criticism : " Mr.

played Othello with the same verve and spirit

which always distinguished his delineation of coon
characters."

When my playwright friend told me that I should
never get my nose into a London theatre again, he
was as wrong as he was in calling my temporary
secession from the theatre "social suicide." I had

Before I Forget

not been in the halls more than a few months, when
I received two offers to return to my first love, the
theatre — one from George Alexander and the other
from the late D'Oyley Carte. These were quickly
followed by many more, including one from John
Hollingshead (representing a syndicate) to run me
at the Princess's in drama, one from the Shaftesbury,
and quite a number for various pantomimes. I also
had plays submitted to me written by well-known
authors, and I was offered more private work than I
could possibly accept. Of these private engagements
1 shall now have a word or two to say.

Nervous as I naturally am, I am never more so
than when appearing at private engagements. To
an actor accustomed to the conditions of a theatre, a
few screens and lamps form a poor substitute. I
have had some delightful experiences when performing
in private houses, and I have had some which no fee
would ever tempt me to repeat. These unpleasant
ones were nearly always the result of being left to
the tender mercies of Flunkeydom. There is one
night, indelibly stamped on my memory — one awful
night when I was engaged to appear '' before Royalty"
at the house of a noble lord. I was timed to go on
about 10.30. At ten o'clock I drove up to the
front door with my "props" in a modest four-wheeler.
I rang the bell once, twice, several times. It was a
cold night. After waiting a quarter of an hour, as
nobody answered the bell, I made up my mind to go
home. Before I had time, however, to re-enter my
cab, a dirty-looking scullery-maid came up the back-
door steps and inquired " '00 was a-ringin' ? " I

Before I Forget

explained the position. In a few minutes the front
door was thrown open, and I was escorted, or rather
patronislngly led, to my dressing-room by a gorgeously
arrayed prototype of Thackeray's '' Jeames." The
fact that I was receiving a fee for my services entitled
this person, so he imagined, to treat me not only with
offensive familiarity, but with less consideration than
he would possibly, in his magnificence, have extended
to a new groom. I have mixed with all sorts and
conditions of men, under all sorts of conditions. I
am thoroughly Bohemian, and patronage to me is as
the proverbial red rag to a bull. Under any circum-
stances I resent it ; but to be patted on the back by
a swaggering, liveried nonentity — a nought without a
rim — who told me to "go ^upstairs," was more than
I could stand. I was already boiling over with irrita-
tion at having been kept waiting on the front door-
steps for a quarter of an hour. Knowing the man
I had to deal with, I, metaphorically, jumped on him,
whereupon he became comparatively civil. An agent
had negotiated the engagement. I had stipulated, as
I invariably do under similar circumstances, that I
should not have to walk into a drawing-room in my
''make up" — that there should be an arrangement of
screens, or curtains, to separate me from the audience.
I discovered that there was a kind of staee erected
some distance from the dressing-room. To reach
this, however, it was necessary to traverse a long
passage, which passage the flunkey assured me was
reserved solely for the use of ''.^artlst^^." To my
horror, on leaving my dressing-room, made up as an
old yokel in decayed corduroys, and a dirty smock-

49 E

Before I Forget

frock, I found the passage through which I had to
go, in order to reach the platform, crowded with guests
— gentlemen in evening dress, and ladies in elaborate
gowns — who, as I heard one of them whisper, were
*' going to see w^hat the funny man looked like near
to." Royalty had not yet arrived. West played the
introduction to my song, "'E Can't Take a Roise Out
of Oi," and I walked on to "entertain." Everyone
was talking. The song consists of three verses.
About half-way through the last, somebody laughed
very faintly, and the others looked round with languid
curiosity to see what was the matter. Lorgnettes
were levelled at me as I made my exit, feeling like
a spent bottle of ginger-beer — not champagne —
ginger-beer. There were only two or three artists
engaged. One, I remember, was an opera singer,
with what I once heard described in America as a
** searchlight " top note. There was also a humorist
— a foreigner — whose comments in the dressing-room
on the manners and customs of high-toned English
society, as displayed on this particular occasion, were
funnier even than his stage gags ; but I don't think
they would have been quite so well received ! With
the arrival of Royalty, which, as luck would have it,
occurred in the middle of my second song, the
chattering diminished, and by the time J went on
for my last ''turn" the conditions were a little more
favourable. When I had finished, the host came
round and asked me to give them that ''awfully
jolly song of yours — er — don't you know ? Oh, an
awfully jolly song ! " I mildly hinted that the de-
scription was too vague for purposes of identification,

Photo by] .,'.',.,,..•.' 'rj^ 'Knight.

" 'E CAN'T TAKE A ROISE OUT OF Ol ! "

[To face p. 50.

• • ,• • •
« • • ••

Photo by'] \_B. Knight.

" Knocked 'em in the Old Kent Road."

[To face p. 51.

Before I Forget

whereupon his lordship proceeded to hum something,
still insisting that it was "an awfully jolly song."
Anything more funereal than the noble lord's attempt
to remind me of a "jolly song" it would be impossible
to imagine. I apologised profusely, but as his know-
ledge was limited to the tune, or, as W. S. Gilbert
says, " something resembling a tune," I could not
for the life of me guess the particular song he wanted.
One moment his effort feebly suggested "The Lost
Chord," then it somehow merged into " Little Brown
Jug." The only thing he seemed absolutely certain
about was that it was an "awfully /(?//)/ song." Later
on in the evening a solution dawned, not on me, but
on West. As we wended our way homeward West
was very silent. He had been thinking deeply. As
I wished him good-night the spell broke. Bursting
into a wild guffaw, he excitedly exclaimed, " I know !

Lord was trying to sing ' Knocked 'em in the

Old Kent Road ! ' "

As a result of the above experience I wrote the
following song, which I shall probably produce in
London next season : —

THE FLUNKEY.-

Hi'm disgusted with my present situation,

Hi took it in a casual sort of way,
An' I hain't got not the sHghtest 'esitation

In sayin' as I now regrets the day.
I've been used to mixin' in the 'ighest suckles,

Where one can meet the chickest of the chic;
From my powdered 'ead of 'air down to my buckles

In helegance I'm halways hup to Dick.

By permission of Messrs. Reynolds and Co., 13, Berners Street, IV.
51

Before I Forget-

So me an* my young woman's given notice,
We can't abear the company they keep;

We don't see no Dooks or Princes,

And we ain't been used to minces,
To dine without a hontray is a bit too steep !

The governor's a common button maker.

Of trade I've hallus managed to fight shy ;
'E's a terror at 'is ware'ouse near Long Acre,

But trembles when I fix 'im with my heye !
Oh, 'e do get hon my nerves when 'e's at table.

The things 'e sez ! the 'orrid jokes 'e'll crack !
Now the missus, cos she's gone an' missed a sable,

Makes vulgar low remarks about the "sack."

So me an Hangelina's given notice.
They've 'urt our feelings, cut into 'em deep;

We are class, an' they're parvenus.

You can tell it by their mmus,
An' the master's best cigars would make a hangel weep

Though they wants to be considered quite " de rigger.

The ^lite mostly keeps itself aloof;
Still, they hentertains an' tries to cut a figger.

The buttons seems to bring in lots of oof.

Hat a swarry I was filled with h indignation,

Hi must say I was hawfully henraged;
They expected me, a pillar hof the nation.

To serve a lot of singers they'd hengaged !

So me and my financier give 'em notice.
Hi can't stand bein' knocked hall of a 'eap ;

Hi can 'and a hice politely

To a party as is knightly,
But to 'ave to wait on hartists is a bit too steep

CHAPTER VII

I ALWAYS look forward to my provincial tours.
For the past ten years, with the exception of the
time I was in America, I have spent a considerable
portion of each year in the provinces, appearing
almost invariably before large and enthusiastic
audiences. The work in connection with these
tours is no sinecure. As a rule my brother Ingle
starts booking three or four months in advance. I
seldom stay more than two nights in a town. I ''get
away before they find me out," as dear old John
Toole once jokingly said to me. On the occasion in
question I met him coming out of the local booking-
agent's office in Ilfracombe. He had remained inside
for half an hour, unrecognised by the clerk, whom he had
utterly bewildered by insisting on having seats for my
Recital, ''as he was intimately acquainted with a friend
of mine in London, a policeman. If they doubted his
word, he referred them to Scotland Yard." I should
like to repeat the many encouraging things which John
Toole has said to me from time to time ; but in cold
print it would be hopeless to express the kindly
interest which, as spoken by him, his words con-
veyed. I have to thank him for advice which has
proved of the greatest value to me. ** Always keep

Before I Forget-
to that little bit of human nature in your work. . . .
Aim at depicting true comedy, in which there is not
only laughter, but tears." He came into the show
that night at Ilfracombe, and the encouragement of
his appreciative presence, the consciousness that I was
playing before a past-master of the art which can
command not only the laughter, but the tears of an
audience, spurred me on to do " all I knew."

I have a press-cutting book — a formidable-looking
volume it is, too — which contains for me, I am glad to
say, more pleasant than unpleasant reading. There
is one cutting from a London paper which I may be
pardoned for quoting, as it does not so much refer to
my actual performance, as to the motive behind my
work : —

** Welcome Chevalier, who has ministered so much
to the healthy amusement of both sexes."

I am very proud of this cutting, as I am of many
more in my big book. Judicious applause is a fine
stimulant. If an audience only realised how much more
it can get for its money by showing its appreciation !
That is why actors on first nights are seldom seen at
their best. It is hard work to appear before a body
of people who have come, not to be entertained, but
to criticise. To a public performer, the moral pat on
the back, at the right moment, means more perhaps
than to any other artist, for the simple reason that so
far as it can be of any real service, there is a time
limit. To him the moment is when he is actually
working. The author and the painter are not seen at
their work — building it up, and completing it in public.

Before I Forget

I shall perhaps be reminded of the fact that actors
rehearse, which preliminary I should compare with
the author's or painter's " thinking out" before either
touches pen and paper, or paint-brush and canvas.

I have had several delightful tours in Ireland.
Dublin gave me a remarkable welcome on the
occasion of my ddbut there. In four nights I
appeared before twenty thousand people. In one of
the smaller Irish towns Ingle, on his arrival at the
hall, could not see a seat in the place. He applied to
the caretaker, who said, *' Sure, that'll be all right.
You lave it to me, sorr." Ingle "left it to him " for
two hours. When he returned, about six o'clock, he
found that the caretaker had been as good as his word.
There were the seats, but covered In dust, having been
put away for months to "keep clean" In a cellar.
Ingle suggested that It would not be a bad idea to
dust them, whereupon the caretaker replied, "That'll
be all right. You lave it to me, sorr. Sure they'll
dust 'em when they sit on 'em !"

On the conclusion of each tour from 1891 to 1895,
I returned to my engagements in the music-halls. I
always tried to reopen with one or two new items.
I did not, however, change frequently enough to meet
with the approval of one critic, who accused me of
allowing my songs to wear out their welcome.
Parodying " My Old Dutch," he attacked me in
verse thus : —

"We've heard your songs, old pal.
They're mostly out-and-outers ;
Many months yet we shall

Hear them from Highway Shouters —

Before I Forget-

And we applaud each dainty thing,
Which you, our Albert, blithely sing,
But oh ! we 'ope you'll not cling
To these too much.

Chorus.

We've been togevver now for two or three years

From 'Arriet to My Old Dutch ;
But we 'ope re the ditties of the Coster Band

That you won't wear them out too much."

Claiming an equal right to paraphrase my own
song, I replied next day as follows : —

"Listen you shall.

You gen'rous, thoughtful critic,
You're a dear, good old pal

With a mania analytic.
It ain't so long since fust we met,
I've got yer praises by me yet ;
An' now yer seems a bit upset —

Cheer up, old pal !

Chorus.

You've been a critic now for many a year.
An' perhaps you 'ave seen too much.

It ain't my fault if, with the great B.P.,
You're a little bit out of touch !

I see yer, pal,

Yer fads an' fancies sportin';
I.izer, 'Arriet, Sal,

I've been a long time courtin'.

wants to reach the public's 'eart —
A orgin as gives your'n a start;

ain't for you I acts a part,

My blase pal !

Chorus as before,
6

Before I Forget-

I calls yer " pal,"

You queer opinion airer!
Like a faded old gal,

I should wish you to be fairer.
I ain't a angel ! When you start
A-tryin' to be extry smart,
I recollects as you dorCt part

To 'ear me, pal ! "

Chorus just as before.

Here are a few specimens of curious communications
which have been sent to me from time to time : —

WELCOME TO SOUTH SHIELDS TO MR
CHEVALIER.

Merit and worth will always win the Day
When combined with a Clever Rich Display,
And South Shields folks are Brave and true
So unite to give Honour where 'tis Due.

Mr. Albert Chevalier's Great aim and Plan
Is to comfort and cheer his Fellow-man;
A Select and Rare treat we will find
A credit and Boon to mankind.

So long live Mr. Chevalier we say to-night !
May his star be never Dim, But always Bright!
May Prosperity and Honour attend him Day by Day,
And nothing Ever Plunge him in Dismay !

By W H ,

Local Poet (a Poor Man). By request of several gentlemen.

** Dear Sir, — I write songs for composers, but I
have just composed a descriptive song of walking on
the seashore and fancying I heard a gull scream, but

Before I Forget

on looking round about I found a girl in tears. I go
to her and tell her I am a Palmist, and read her hand,
and so on. I find she has had a row with her lover.
I advise her, &c. Knowing your clever make-ups
and acting, I venture to take the liberty to write and
ask you may I send it for your inspection. I can get
it set to music. Would you give me ;^io or /^i^
for it? If you do I'll soon make it the rage for you
through two well-known personages in Society.
*' Yours faithfully,

'^R V (Miss)."

** Dear Sir, — I am sending you these few lines to
know if you require any New songs. I have eighteen
Comic and two Love Songs which I should like to have
the Pleasure of showing you at any time you like to
mention. I would bring them up to you, if you would
kindly let me know what time I could bring them after
you done work in the afternoon, and you would look
them over, which would take about a quarter of an
hour. They would make you and others Laugh when
you read the lines and verses. They are the Life and
ways of the People ; they are not Vulgar they are my
own, they are not old Songs on New Lines they would
Please the Audience. And make them Laugh, I
would like to show them to you or any other Artistes.

** I am, yours faithfully,

'' R F "

" St. Lukes, E.G.

'* Dear Sir, — Will you kindly Excuse me kindly
taking the liberty of Writing to you but a Happy

Before I Forget

thought struck me, of a cheap advertisement for you
and also of doing me a turn. I am a Coster and my
round extends from St. Lukes to Regents Park I
am well known in the West End as well as here, But
Being a Bit on my Knuckle just now I thought perhaps
you could help me in an easy way. and this is My
plan, if you had by you, an old suit of Pearlys you
could dress me up in Put an advertisement on my
Clothes, in any Place the People could see Plain I could
Wear them on my round, for a small sum. I have
Been a West End Coachman for twenty years and
have driven some of the Royals also the Khedive of
Egypt Ishmail Pasha. When he was in London, I
also have driven some Artists such as Cheevers and
Kenedy. Miss Kate Munro. Sir Arthur Sullivan &
Many Others But I have Made a good round and as
a Coster am quite at home. But in want of a Little
start, and answer to this Will Oblige

*' Your Most humble Servant,

-T B "

The following was sent to me when I was appearing
at Koster and Bial's Theatre in New York : —

" Street,

"New York City.

** Dear Sir, — As I should like to hear you sing
some of your songs and as the price of seats at
Koster and Bial's is too steep for a working man, I
should like you to send me tickets for me and the old

Before I Forget

Dutch, I kept a Greengrocer's shop in Bethnal Green
when George Leybourn was Lion Comic.

" Yours, &c.,

'^G H

" PS. — They printed your song, * What's the goo
of Harry Fink ? ' — they think they know it all too !
— G. H."

" Tune^ 1900.

'' To Mr. Albert Chevalier.

** Dear Sir, — I do not know what you charge for
your signature, and I have no money. Please could
you let me have it } My address is —

''S. T. W.,

'' House,

'' College,

*^ Bucks."

PART II

•. ! ::• • ••=: ^v

PART II

CHAPTER VIII

A CERTAIN fabulous legend concerning an old
gentleman and his donkey has, from time im-
memorial, been treasured for the moral it points, viz.,
you cannot please everybody. The legend only
asserts a fact. The story culminates in a truism. I
suppose every one has encountered the man who can
always see how matters might be arranged, where
improvements can be made, and who does not hesitate
to submit his " ideas," either in letter form or by
word of mouth. I have a remarkable collection of
" suggested improvements." Nearly all the songs
and sketches in my entertainment — so far as the
words are concerned — are written by me. Before
submitting a new item to an audience I have frequently
turned it over in my mind for months beforehand.
'' Our Bazaar " (of which I am part author) remained
on the shelf for two years. The dread of failure has
often, at the last moment, caused me to postpone the
production of something which I have not only
written and thought out, but which I have carefully
rehearsed for weeks — and then, I am such a hopelessly
bad first-night performer ! I am so susceptible to the

Before I Forget-

attltude — or what I imagine to be the attitude — of an
audience, that if — as it sometimes happens — I am
unfortunate enough to catch sight of one forlorn-
looking, unsympathetic face, I lose consciousness of the
smiling ones. I see only that moral wet blanket,
and its influence is fatal. '* Our Bazaar " mloht have
remained on the shelf but for a particularly enthusiastic
reception which I had one night In Bedford. The
audience insisted on a double encore. I had come
prepared with sufficient *' props" for my usual pro-
gramme. My wardrobe, so I thought, was exhausted.
Hunting in a basket (the audience still applauding)
my dresser turned out a clerical suit which I had
ordered to be made when '' Our Bazaar " was originally
written. I seized hold of it, dressed rapidly, went on
the stage, and so broke the Ice with an Impersonation
which has proved to be a great favourite. What has
pleased me as much as anything In connection with
this item is that It has appealed to the '' cloth "
precisely as I intended It should do — as a perfectly
good-humoured satire on that extra yard in the cloak
of Charity, which is added to cover a multitude of —
well, not exactly sins — but little winked-at evasions of
certain rules governing ordinary trade transactions.
That in some exceptional cases it struck unpleasantly
home, may be gathered from the following corre-
spondence : —

•* Terrace, Chiswick.

" Dear Sir, — Having been present at your charming
dramatic entertainment yesterday afternoon, and having
thoroughly enjoyed it, I yet want to enter a humble

Photo by'] [B. Knight.

"WoT's THE Good of Hanyfink? Why! Nuffink!"

[To face p. 64.

« • * • ^o * *

/■lH^Jvs

Before I Forget

protest on one point. I need hardly say that point is
your truthful and clever impersonation of a Church of
England vicar. In view of the approaching Xmas
holidays particularly, when young and old will throng
to hear you, would it not be better and more ex-
pedient to impersonate the vicar's wife in your
inimitable sketch of 'Our Bazaar'? This would obviate
all suggestion of irreverence in the performance, which
as it stands at present may offend many a weak
brother like myself.

'* Yours truly,

-T K "

To which I replied : —

" Dear Sir, — Your letter is so quaintly paradoxical
that I am unable to quite grasp its meaning. In one
and the same breath you 'protest' against a per-
formance which you praise as ' clever and truthful.'
In 'Our Bazaar' I ridicule a man who makes an ass
of himself — I do not attack his calling. When a
clergyman breaks the law his coat does not protect
him. When a clergyman makes a laughing-stock of
himself, he cannot reasonably reproach those who
laugh at him. The writer who draws his characters
from life must, in the natural order of things, offend
some one. The type will object. I take it you are a
bachelor. This I gather from your suggestion re the
Vicar's wife — a suggestion which is as chivalrous as it
is charitable — as gallant as it is amiable. But what
has the poor lady done to deserve such attention ?
However, you evidently know, as you consider ' this

65 F

Before I Forget

impersonation would be better and more expedient,'
and as I am anxious to ' obviate all suggestion of
irreverence in the performance ' perhaps you will be
good enough to write a sketch, round the type you
desire me to ridicule — which sketch might be adver-
tised in my programme as follows : —

'' The Vicar's Wife :
'' (a ' weak ' brotherly sketchy

'' Written by T K

*'and sung by,

" Yours truly,

"Albert Chevalier."

By way of contrast I will give just one more letter
concerning my impersonation of the curate, which I
received, a few months ago, from a clergyman living
m the north of London : — A

'' Dear Sir, — Allow me to thank you for the
splendid humour of your * Burlesque Lecture ' given
yesterday afternoon.

'' We members of the clerical calling, which is in
Itself so great, need a good whipping like that when
we give way to ridiculous antics.

"The tone of your whole afternoon performance,
too, was so beautifully human that I could not
help respecting you throughout as a real preacher
of righteousness. ...

" Yours faithfully,

"H. H.

''{J/icar of St. .)'

:PJ

Photo by]

An Old Bachelor.

[B. Knight.

[To face p. 67.

Before I Forget

When I produced **An Old Bachelor" I received
the following from my good friend ''the man who sees
where improvements can be made." As an example
of "how not to do it" — as a sample of that intelli-
gence to which only the very obvious can appeal, it is
worth quoting : —

" Dear Sir, — . . . At the finish of the song, after
delivering his last lines, the old Bachelor buries his
face in his arms on the table, at the same moment
the stage gradually darkens, and the back scene
opens at the upper centre, and shows an illuminated
picture of a village church and graveyard by
moonlight, at the same time the church organ is
heard in the distance (this can be produced with an
harmonium at back) and curtain descends slowly.
This I think would bring down the house.

" Faithfully yours,

- P R "

The following appeared in an article which I wrote
for M. A. P, : "In the course of my career I have
received many curious letters from unknown corre-
spondents. Until recently I thought it would be
impossible to beat some of these, as samples of cool
impudence, but it has been reserved for a gentleman
who writes from an address in Hampshire, to put my
collection of many years entirely in the shade. He
calls himself a ' soul specialist.' He cheerfully refers
to the time when I shall ' shuffle off this mortal coil,'
and asks if I shall then call to my bedside my brother
artists, to comfort me with selections from their

Before I Forget—

various repertoires ! He encloses me a printed form.
Near the stamp at the bottom there is a blank space
left for signature ; and then comes this remarkable
line : * Witnessed by the angels in heaven.' On the
stamp is a reproduction of a well-known picture of
the Founder of Christianity. Accompanying this
so-called * bond ' is a letter saying : * I feel led by the
Spirit of God to write to you in reference to your
soul's eternal welfare, seeing that you are a wonderfully
popular man, as far as this world goes' The italics
are mine. By way of encouragement the example of
two * converted ' actresses (who only discovered how
bad they were when business was the same !) is placed
before me. The ' soul specialist ' is gracious enough
to believe that even I may occasionally doff the cap
and bells in favour of more sober headgear. His
generosity equals his condescension, for he offers * to
answer any question ' or ' explain anything which I
don't quite understand.' Only those who know me
intimately can appreciate the largeness of this order."

• •■»■>» •

Photo by

Our Court Ball.

yB Knight.

[To face p. 6g.

CHAPTER IX

I DON'T think any cockney realises that he lives
on an island, or understands what is meant by
England's isolation, until he sails for a far-off land.
I had often been away for two or three or six months,
travelling mostly within the limits of the United
Kingdom, but when the moment came to say "good-
bye," and I knew my passage was booked on an
Atlantic liner, I confess to a feeling which I had not
hitherto experienced. It was but the foretaste of
many new sensations. Why will people insist on
seeing one off? It is the cruellest kindness which
well-intentioned friends can infliv^t. It's bad enough
at anytime to say "goodbye" quietly; but to have
it emphasised by shouts, and the waving of hats,
handkerchiefs, umbrellas, sticks, hands, and other
wavable objects, adds a weight to the heart, and
swells that irritating anatomical enigma, the lump in
the throat.

I had hardly set foot on the landing-stage at New
York when I was seized by a gentleman of gigantic
proportions, who, asking me " how I liked America,"
hustled me Into a cab. The giant apologised for his
apparent rudeness, explaining that he represented my
managers, and that he was anxious to get me away

Before I Forget —

before the swarm of reporters should have time to
surround, and interview me, which, so he informed
me, they were waiting to do on the landing-stage.
We drove off I sat up in a corner eyeing my com-
panion somewhat suspiciously. He then disclosed to
me his plan of campaign. He had promised to take
me first of all to the Herald office to meet the editor.
Then he arranged that I was to spend the remainder
of the evening with representatives of various other
New York papers. With a tear in his voice he
begged me to assure each and every individual press-
man that I was being interviewed for the very first time
in America — that, as a fact, I had promised my
managers he should be the first in the field. Before
I had time to dissent, or acquiesce, my transatlantic
guardian, throwing a dash of sentiment into his
naturally strident tones, said : '* I know you will be
pleased to hear that Sir Henry Irving" (he emphasised
the " Sir " in a manner characteristic of true demo-
cracy, and repeated) — ^' Sir Henry Irving and Mr.
John Hare have sent you telegrams containing the
kindest welcome to this country, which country they
regard as the greatest on earth." Having been a
member of Mr. Hares company some years
previously, and knowing his good-nature, I was not
surprised that he should have wired. I said as
much, and expressed my appreciation of his thought-
fulness, but not having the honour of more than a
casual acquaintance with Sir Henry Irving, I confess
that I was not only pleased, but gratified to think
that he should have so remembered me. Well, I
contrived to get through the evening. At one time

Before I Forget

1 sat in a little room full of Press ladies and gentle-
men who asked me '* to talk." That's a terrible
thing to be called on to do, when you are conscious
of notebooks, and the presence of rapid stenographers!
Still I managed to pull through the ordeal aided by
my mentor, who, perspiring from over-anxiety, came
to my relief every now and then with the Irving-
Hare telegram story. I left my gentle adviser about

2 a.m. Just before bidding him ** good-night " I
asked him to let me have those two telegrams. I
wished to keep them. ** What telegrams? " said he.
" Irving's and Hare's," I replied. He laughed — an
unusual proceeding I afterwards discovered — then
lapsed into solemn silence, which he broke with the
following astonishing statement : '* There are no
telegrams." It took me about a week after that to
know when to believe him — and then I wouldn't
have bet on it.

My first evening's experience included a visit to
the Herald office, where I was introduced to the
editor. He very courteously showed me over the
building. As we were roaming round we came to a
little room full of pigeon-holes. '' What room is
this?" I inquired. ''Obituary notice room," was the
reply. Then, with a twinkle in his eye, the editor
called an attendant and asked him to look in pigeon-
hole C. ''What name?" asked the attendant.
" Chevalier," said the editor. There was a pause,
and a little bundle of papers was handed to me for
my inspection, and, I suppose, approval. The
bundle of notes contained the necessary "copy" in
case of my premature demise.

Before I Forget

To his many accomplishments my friend, philoso-
pher, and guide added that of yarn spinning. He
had a larger stock of funny stories than any man I
ever met, except, perhaps, our own English comedian,
Arthur Williams. He was a perfect godsend to the
journalistic Autolycus, who never failed to pay him
a visit when hard up for *'copy." Here are a couple
of samples which occur to me at the moment :

He was at one time managing a theatre out
west. The house could accommodate comfortably
sixteen hundred people. During a performance one
night the place caught fire. My friend assured me
that the following day no less than ten thousand play-
goers called to thank him for having saved their lives
by placing them near the doors.

An actor — a notoriously bad one — sought him
with a view to being engaged for a forthcoming
production. The offer of his services was firmly but
courteously declined. Losing his temper, the actor
sneeringly remarked —

'* You're like all the rest. You know nothing.
You don't even begin to understand what good acting
really means. You think you can do as you like
because you have the dollars. I should like to know
where you managers would be if it wasn't for us
actors ? "

"That question is easily answered," replied my
friend. ** I should be in a barber's chair, and you'd
be shaving me ! "

I arrived in New York a week before I was booked
to appear at Koster and Bial's. A suite of rooms had
been taken for me at the Normandie Hotel, Broad-

Before I Forget

way. On the night of my arrival for reasons already
given, I was tired out. I tumbled into bed and
slept like a top. My sitting-, bed-, and bath-room
were on the same floor. The following morning,
when I was in my bath, I heard somebody apparently
moving the furniture about in the sitting-room. I
put my head out of the bath-room door, and, to my
amazement, saw two gentlemen busily engaged in
screwing together a photographic camera-stand. I
was too staggered to say anything, but they
courteously put me at my ease by informing me that

they represented the New York (a newspaper).

They were deputed to call w^ith the object of
obtaining three photographs of me depicting the
following emotions : Surprise, Joy, and Disgust. I
told them I should have some difficulty in supplying
the middle one, but the other two I had on hand.
"You are too good," was the answer. ''Don't
hurry — continue your ablutions. We'll wait till you're
dry." The photos were taken, and in due course
published. I had a frantic struggle about the second,
but they declined to go until I placed my "joy" on
record.

For the next few days I was hardly able to leave
the hotel. From nine in the morning, until late in
the evening, cards were brought in from people
purporting to represent the Press. Not feeling sure
of my ground, I received them all until my giant
adviser happened to drop in. He assured me that
they were not authorised at all. They simply
represented the journalistic Autolycus on the look-out
for unconsidered trifles. After this I declined to see

Before I Forget

any one who could not produce proper credentials.
To this action on my part I attribute several
flattering (?) paragraphs which eventually appeared.

As my address was apparently public property, I
decided to leave the Normandle (a remarkably
comfortable hotel) and to take private rooms. No
sooner had I done this than the following was printed
in one of the daily papers : *' The London costers are
noted for thrift, but there Is a man in this city who

mimics their songs, sayings, and doings for a

w^eek. I refer to Mr. Chevalier." Of course a salary
was mentioned. I say a salary because, although
guesses were constantly hazarded, no paper, even by
accident, ever gave the correct sum. *' He makes
more per diem than the President of the United
States, and finds life enjoyable in a room that
costs four dollars a week." As a matter of fact I
found private rooms more expensive than living In
an hotel.

Some remarks of a similar kind appearing In an
evening edition called forth the following anonymous
reply published next day : —

** I know for a fact that when on one occasion

a man carried Chevalier's trunk up four flights of
stairs, the latter put his hand In his pocket and gave
him a nickel. I hope you will print this in the
interest of fair play."

That there should be creatures willing to accept
payment for scurrilous drivel of this description is bad
enough, but that they should be permitted to publish
it in an Important newspaper, does not reflect much
credit on the discrimination of the editorial department.

Before I Forget

From the Press of America I received so much
unqualified praise, that it may look like ingratitude
to even recognise the existence of a section that is
deplored by none more than by the cultured American
journalist. Still, as I am recording my experiences,
I may be forgiven if I do not allow the perfume of
praise to obliterate all recollection of certain low-down
thorns.

CHAPTER X

IN fear and trembling I wended my way to Koster
and Dial's on that, by me, never-to-be-forgotten
23rd of March, 1896. There had been so much
preliminary puffing, that I felt sure the audience would
be disappointed. When the time came for me to go
on, I was so nervous that I could hardly control my
limbs. My knees were knocking together, my throat
was parched, my head was on fire, my hands and feet
were as cold as ice. I contrived to shake off a
horrible dread that my memory would — to use an
Americanism — go back on me. I talked to any one,
about anything. A few minutes before my number
went up my friend, philosopher, and guide came
round to wish me luck. When I told him how I felt,
he patted me on the back, saying : ** What, nervous ?
You don't say ! Nonsense ! . . . Nonsense ! . . . You'll
hit them hard, sure ! . . . Fail ? . . . No, sir, no
artist ever failed in Amurrica. . . . They're waiting
to welcome you, sir. Why, I've just been round to
have a look at the house. In the stalls there are two
hundred and fifty of your old schoolfellows. . . .
Sure ! . . . I counted them ! " My number went up,
and the applause started. I feel nervous as I write
about it now. My first song was the ** Future Mrs.

Before I Forget

'Awkins." Through the symphony the audience still
applauded, and they continued to do so as I stood
before them bowing, and bowing, unnerved by the
warmth of a welcome which, as I had not yet
commenced my song, could only have been meant
to assist, to encourage me. I have never experienced
anything like that night. I sang five songs, all in a
dialect foreign to the majority of my hearers, and yet
they did not miss a point. To work for such an
audience was a real pleasure.

I have sometimes been accused of being too
impressionable, too emotional. The charge, in my
opinion, carries with it very little of reproach. I am
not ashamed to own that when I came off the stage
I was so elated, amazed, and overpowered by the
experience I had just gone through, that I — well,
never mind. They were calling for me, and I
managed to control myself sufficiently to make the
only successful speech I ever attempted. It was very
short — a feeble expression of sincere gratitude, but it
rang true, and was generously acknowledged.

As I was going upstairs to my dressing-room my
** F. P. and G." met me with the following character-
istic remark : '* Sir ! You own New York ! "

Here is a story for which, shortly after my arrival,
the inventive faculty of my friend, philosopher, and
guide was responsible. It appeared in the New York
Times shortly after my ddbut : —

CHEVALIER'S IDEA OF DISTANCE.

Albert Chevalier has a better idea of distances now

Before I Forget-

than he possessed when he first set foot on New
York soil.

When Koster and Blal's thousands finally induced
him to come here, the fact that he would be able to
see many of the famous things he had read about made
him forget, to a considerable extent, the dread he had
lest we should fail to approve his delineations of
characters to be found in one place in the world.
He thought of the Yellowstone National Park, the
Capitol at Washington, Chicago, and Niagara Falls,
and determined to see them all.

Jauntily swinging a cane, he walked briskly into
Albert Bials office last Tuesday afternoon and said —

** Well, Mr. Bial, I'm going to see them at last.
Au revoirl See you at the performance to-night."

** Why, where are you going .'^ " asked Mr. Bial.

*• Oh, just going to take a run out to the Falls —
Niagara Falls, you know. Goodbye for a while."

Away tripped the coster, leaving Mr. Bial speech-
less and incapable of action.

*' Great Scott ! " shouted the music-hall man when
he recovered. *' Niagara Falls ! We'll lose him for
to-night, sure. Get after him, there, everybody ! Go
to every depot where he could get a train ! Hurry on
your lives ! Ten dollars to the man who gets him ! "

Every man in the office rushed to the street, and
even the stage hands were pressed into service, and
it seemed to passers-by in Thirty-fourth Street that a
lot of lunatics had broken away from their keepers.

The man who went to the Grand Central Station
won the reward. He found Chevalier calmly smoking
a cigar in a smoking compartment on a Central

Before I Forget

express. The train was due to start In a few seconds.
There was no time for argument or explanation.

''Come on, sir, quick! come off!" screamed Mr.
Dial's emissary. Chevalier looked at him amazed.
The man seized the laureate by both arms, dragged
him to his feet, picked him up, and soon had him on
the platform.

The situation was explained in a few words as the
train was vanishing northwards. In his dressing-
room that night Chevalier found a bundle of time-
tables and a card reading, '* Compliments of Albert
Dial."

CHAPTER XI

THE BOWERY BOY

CHUCK CONNORS, or, to give him the title
by which he is known in the Bowery, *' Mayor
of China Town," is a great character, a type distinct
from anything we can produce in England. He is a
** tough," a real ** tough." In appearance he might
have wandered out of a slum in Whitechapel, but the
moment he opens his mouth ! — well, into that moment
he can cram more lurid word-painting than any British
artist I have ever encountered who fancied himself in
the same line of business. Chuck was born in China
Town, a quarter of New York set apart for Celestials.
Bret Harte wrote about the Heathen Chinee, but
Chuck Connors knows him, knows him intimately, and
to his cost ; a fact to which his arm bears witness —
an arm slashed by a dagger in a scuffle with an irate
'John." In America all Chinamen are called *' John."
I have Chuck's authority also for saying that all
Chinamen are cousins. He stolidly informed me that
no other degree of relationship was recognised between
Celestials. If a man's wife presented him with triplets,
three more cousins had arrived to swell the already
overcrowded list. It was a journalist who introduced

Before I Forget

me to Chuck. We — the journalist, Alfred West, and
I — visited the Bowery about eleven o'clock one night,
and stopped there till the small hours of the morning.
Chuck met us by appointment. His " get-up " was a
surprise to me, it so resembled the costume I wear in
one of my coster songs, ''Our Court Ball." Talking
of a ball. Chuck Connors related a rather curious
incident connected with a dance of which he was the
instigator. I think it was given to celebrate a fight
which he had won. (The Bowery boy never works —
it is against his principles — but he will fight for stakes.)
Chuck was paying his attentions to some one in the
vicinity of China Town, a damsel whose pet name was
''the Rummage." The night before the ball "the
Rummage " was locked up by an officious policeman
for being drunk, and creating a disturbance. Chuck
was in despair. What sort of a ball would it be with-
out a hostess to welcome the guests ? She must be
bailed out — and she was, by Chuck, who, true to his
plighted word, escorted her back to prison " after the
ball."

About 2 a.m. we had supper in a Chinese "res-
taurant." I can laugh now as I mentally picture
Alfred West struggling to follow Chuck's example,
eating a bowl of rice with the aid of a couple of
chopsticks !

We explored China Town from the Joss House to
the opium dens, and then Chuck took us to Steve
Brodie's saloon.

Steve Brodie is the man who created a sensation
some years ago by diving off Brooklyn Bridge. Chuck
called for a "schooner," the largest drink supplied in

8i G

Before I Forget

any saloon, and I had — a look round. Two frames
decorating the walls attracted my attention. One
contained a splinter of wood with a blob of crimson
on it, underneath which was written this explanatory
note : ** Drop of Charles Mitchell's blood spilt in his
great fight with John L. Sullivan."

The other frame enclosed a piece of linen. This,
the inscription told me, was —

" A portion of the shirt worn by on the day he

was electrocuted for the murder of Mr. ."

After this I went home.

I had not, however, heard the last of Mr. Connors.
He came to the theatre one night, and next day I
received the following communication from him : —

" friend chalvier i hope you will excus me for not
seeing you last thirsday i hope you will not be sore
me an the gal wants to see you but the blok wodent
let us in so we went a way so i hope you will come
down next thirsday night i will give you a good time
for the favor you did me so chiv i hope you will not
forget me come for you now one good tirn disvers an
other no more from me chuck connors

** see me at i6 Doyer St

" thirsday night sure "

chuck's vocabui^ary.

Don't be alarmed. I 'm not going to give it in extcftsOy
only little bits — tit-bits. For instance, when he told
me that "his pipes were froze" I was to understand
that he had a cold. The Bowery boy's term of

Before I Forget-

endearment for his sweetheart is *'my Rag." A
** twist" or a ''spiel" is a dance. Thus the inten-
tion to whirl in a mazy waltz is conveyed in the
following elegant sentence : ''I'm going to have a
twist wit' my Rag." Speaking confidentially to me
concerning his " Rag," Chuck Connors assured me
that ''she had more fellers after her than you could
shake a stick at." When I asked him how long he
had lived in China Town he replied, " Been here since
Daddy paid the doctor's bill ! "

CHAPTER XII

ALFRED H. WEST, who as solo pianist am
accompanist has so long and popularly been
associated with my entertainment, is one of the
quietest, most modest, and retiring of men. Give
him his pipe and piano, and he Is perfectly happy.
He would not know how to begin to advertise him-
self, and I am glad to see that, in spite of this fact, his
remarkable gifts are being recognised, even within the
charmed circle of academic faddists. I say I am glad
of this, because such is the influence of Red Tape,
that it is considered risky to deal with those outside
the ring. There Is a " Tattersal's " in every pro-
fession, and the pass-word to It Is not necessarily
'• Genius." Men force their way through on the
strength of other attributes. Once Inside, they can
pose with the best. They have been recognised.
As a musician Alfred West is almost entirely self-
taught, and I hold that the self-educated man is
generally the man with grip, the man of initiative.
He learns because he wants to learn. He may be
deprived of many advantages, but In the end he knows
more. On my American trip West accompanied me
in more senses than one.

To prove that West is able to hold his own under

Before I Forget

any conditions, I need only refer to his frequent
appearances at Robert Newman's concerts in the
large Queen's Hall — concerts which appeal essentially
to lovers of the best in music. I remember on one
of these occasions West was playing a piece by
Schumann for piano and orchestra. Henry J. Wood
was conducting. At the conclusion West, after
responding to five enthusiastic recalls, gave, as an
encore, a scherzo of his own composition, which a
musician sitting next to me informed his neighbour
was ** another Schumann."

I may be pardoned this digression, as it is essential
to the story I am about to relate, that the reader
should have some idea of the type of man whom I
all but succeeded in ** booming " on the approved
American lines. One day, in New York, a pressman
called on West to interview him. West begged
me to relieve him of the ordeal, and to give whatever
details of his career I might consider necessary.
Seeing fun ahead, I consented, and the following is
culled from an article concocted by me, submitted
to, and accepted by the pressman, who, agreeing to
send me a proof next day for correction, thanked me,
and retired. The proof came — ah ! — but thereby
hangs a tale. Meanwhile here is the interview — or
rather bits of it : —

'* Alfred H. West, a native of Plymouth (England) ,
is at the present moment thirty-four years old. A
musical enthusiast, a pupil of Cipriani Potter (who, as
everybody knows, was the near friend of, and studied
with, Beethoven), superintended Mr. West's musical
education. His father, a wealthy brewer, fearing that

Before I Forget

he would take up music as a profession, knowing how
precarious the calling was, decided that his son should
study for the law, and with that end in view Alfred H.
was sent to Eton, where he became famous among
his companions as the composer of those students'
songs which to this day resound through the historic
corridors. He was captain of the cricket eleven
which gained a notable victory over Harrow in '"j"].
Following up his college success, at Lord s, he was
personally congratulated by Dr. W. G. Grace on his
wonderful left-hand bowling. Spraining his arm at
football the following year, he was unable to practice
his beloved piano, but with a turn for mathematics
and calculation, which has never left him, he con-
ceived a passion for chess. At St. Petersburg,
he beat Strelitzki three games out of five. Rubin-
stein, who happened to be present, entered into con-
versation with him, and hearing him speak modestly
of his musical achievements, begged him to play some-
thing of his own composition. Rubinstein was so
struck with the originality of the work, that a few
days after. West received a special command to appear
before the Czar, at the Winter Palace. Here he met

his first wife Princess with whom he contracted

a morganatic marriage. This lady died three years
after, leaving him with two children. On his return
to England he found his father a ruined man. The
necessity of earning his own living was forced upon
our hero for the first time. This fall from the lap of
luxury he naturally felt very keenly. One night, at
the Carlton Club, Mr. Chevalier was introduced to
him by Lord Salisbury and the late Cardinal Manning.

Before I Forget

** He is now on tour with Chevalier.

'* This is the history of one who might have been a
lawyer, a professional cricketer, a champion goal-
keeper— one who became a petty Prince, but whose
musical genius has wafted him, on the wings of the
American Eagle, to win fresh laurels under the fostering
shelter of the Stars and Stripes."

Unfortunately for the success of my scheme, I was
out when the proof arrived. West, however, was at
home, and when I returned I found him engaged in a
heated argument with a printer's devil, who declined
to go away without the corrected proof. West, over-
coming his natural modesty, gave the devil a letter to
his chief explaining matters ; and in due course a less
romantic, but distinctly more truthful, account of his
career appeared in print — the result, this time, of a
personal interview. I may add, that though I volun-
teered my services. West would not allow me to
correct, or edit, the second proof.

For some days after my unsuccessful attempt to
play a practical joke on West I received each morn-
ing, by the first post, a suggestion for a new chorus,
which the anonymous author, signing himself '' Your
Ardent Admirer," sent free of charge, enclosing also a
written request (type- written) that I would ''work it
into a popular success." Altogether I received about
ten verses of four lines each. Here are a couple of
samples : —

Suggestion No. i.
What a curious thing is the chirp of the ox
If you wrap it up well in a pair of new socks !
What a very rich coat is the wool of the snail,
It is softer by far than the fur of the whale !

Before I Forget

Suggestion No. 2.

How extravagant is the " inetative " ^ moth !
I am told that it never will feed upon cloth,
It prefers incubated or tailor-made broth,
Blown at first with the bellows to give it a froth.

Regularly, as if turned out by clockwork, the
matutinal type-written verse arrived. One day I came
upon West, suddenly, as he was reading to a mutual
friend — who, by the way, owned a typewriter — an
advance copy of what would have been the following
day s contribution. I always thought West was a kind
man ; but I altered my opinion when he informed me
that if I had not found him out he would have written,
and I should have received, daily, during my stay In
America, *'a suggested addition to my repertoire." It
was useless for me to think of paying West back in
his own coin, although, shortly after, I made the
attempt. I sent him anonymously the following
verses, accompanied by a request that he would set
them to music : —

Are the wild flowers wild, when the scenery's seen?
Does the nurse to the child say, 'You're suckled,' I ween?
Does the hollihock holl, when the daffodils daff?
Does the loUipop loll, when the saffrons saff ?

Does the marmalade marm, when the petticoat pets ?
Do harmoniums harm, if the metronome mets?
Does the omnibus om, when the battledore bats ?
Can the tomahawk tom when the latitude lats?

We were having breakfast when this arrived by
post. He read the **poem," then looked across the

« PS. — I own all rights in this word. — Author's note.

Before I Forget — -

table with such a dazed, unhappy expression that I
burst out laughing, and so gave the joke away.

In the matter of not seeing a joke, I am afraid the
Englishman appears to the American as the Scot to
the cockney. In each case a libel has been uttered.

I happened one day to mention Mark Twain to an
American. " Mark Twain," he exclaimed. *' Oh
yes ! That*s the man who writes stories for the
English market ! " There was no mistaking the
Inference — Mark Twain had fallen in his estimation
because he had become so popular In England ! That
this curious mental attitude was not exceptional the
following cutting from a New York paper will show.
For obvious reasons I omit names : —

" This week the Vaudeville stage has offered new
proof of a fact that has frequently been demonstrated

In legitimate performances. Not long ago the

Sisters gave a singing and dancing entertainment that
was one of the most graceful, Ingenuous, and pleasing
features of houses engaged in this kind of diversion.
The young girls went to London, stayed a season with
our English cousins, and have come back to us shorn
of much of the charm by which they first caught our
favour. We no longer find pleasure in these now
confident faces which used to blush with happiness
at the spectators' applause . . . beyond the money
they earned, their admirers must regret that the
Sisters ever left home."

Of another American performer who returned to
his native land after a " demoralising" stay in London,

the same paper remarked : " Here, too, Is ,

who at one time was a considerable singer. . . .

Before I Forget

After a dozen years, Mr. has now returned

to us. The writer has studied character for many
a year, but he never found one who resembled the
character comedian into which has been trans-
formed by the London music-halls. . . . From these
and other examples of the evil of foreign influence," &c.
Most Americans are keenly humorous, but there are
exceptions, and these, in order to support the strain,
cultivate a sort of facetious second sight, with which
they will pretend to discover a joke, too subtle for the
ordinary intelligence — where probably the original
intention was quite serious — and then tell you, as
an American once told me, that ''the reason English-
men are not quick at getting on to a funny point is
that they lack practice ! "

Photo by\

Burlesque French Song.

[B. Knight.

\To face p. 90.

• • * «•

■.•t> "

-J?

CHAPTER XIII

A MERICANS are nothing If not practical. They
Jr\. utilise everything. Even woman's inquisitive-
ness is a marketable commodity, hence the lady
journalist. Sometimes she is young and pretty, and
pleads for information with an assumption of ingenuous-
ness positively alluring. To inspire confidence she
tells you her whole history. Her *' Popper," once a
millionaire, lost his fortune some years ago, and the
shock killed him. She is now the sole support of her
poor old '' Mommer." She has made a few notes.
You need not answer any of her questions if you
would rather not. She gushes, you reply, she over-
whelms you with thanks. ** So good of you to spare
an hour of your precious time to poor little me." Her
eyes are eloquent. Eye eloquence is an art cultivated
by American women to an embarrassing extent. She
holds out her hand, you take it nervously, she re-
assures you with a sympathetic pressure, and leaves
with more ** copy " than a male reporter would have
dragged out of you in a month of Sundays !

Here is an example of the lady journalist when
she feels inclined to show how free the American
Press really can be. For unsparing bitterness, for
just that soupgon of the Pharisee, so characteristic of

Before I Forget—

many women when writing of outraged modesty, it
would take some beating. No mere man could have
done it ! I did not see the performance which she
criticises. I therefore cannot express an opinion as to
the fairness of her remarks ; but it is decidedly hard
hitting. It is headed —

"THE APOSTLE OF VULGARITY."

Here are a few of the mildest hits —

" She is a tall animal with a perfectly foolish face.
I want some positive proof that she is not closely
related to the notorious Mrs. Fleming who was last
year tried and acquitted of matricide. She strongly
resembles her. Her face consists of a nose which is
sheep-shaped, large eyes like raisins, and a large, red,
loose mouth. The Creator left out forehead and chin.
Upon her chest and bosom, which are thin, she wears
a mineral display which is vulgar, distracting, and
extremely tiresome to look at. If the museum of
stones is inherited, her ancestors were people of
bizarre tastes, and by wearing them she pays a
respect to their memory which they don't deserve.

. . . Inane and flaccid. Mile. came on the stage

exposing so much of her corseted and tortured little

anatomy that undressing was superfluous. Mile. "

mentioning yet another performer, "kept a certain
amount of our respect by keeping on her clothes, and
her underclothing remains, thank Heaven, unknown to
us. . . . Now and then, Mile. ," the original sub-
ject of her criticism, " essays to give us a suggestion
of coquetry. She shows us her yellow chiffon
bloomers and her long, continuous ankles. It is a

Before I Forget

failure. She wriggles and inverts herself. More
yellow chiffon. That is ecstasy ! She snaps her long,
gem-crusted fingers and stamps. That is abandon !
. . . She is not encored. While this sensual, soulless
creature goes through her overpaid exhibition of bad
taste and mediocre art many beautiful young women,
with talent, education, foreheads, and chins, voices
and grace, are looking in vain for * a chance.' . . .
Their careers are not punctuated by suicides.

"Now is your time, ladles without talents. No sense
of humour or skill, or good workmanship, or hard
study Is needed. Not even good looks are necessary.
Learn the fashionable art of undressing. That is all."

The following interview with an American dancer,
who had just come home from Europe, appeared in
one of the New York daily papers. It will, I feel
sure, appeal to all lovers of international courtesy :
"In England I was gloriously received, and I met
nearly all of that great country's people. The Prince
of Wales I found to be one of the most charmlnor
gentlemen I ever met — genial, kindly, and democratic
in his manner. In Lord Wolseley and Sir Arthur
Roberts I saw two grand soldiers, whose bravery
I trust we will never have to face. Lord Salisbury
looked to me like a veritable lion — fierce and un-
yielding, while Joseph Chamberlain and Arthur
Balfour appeared more like men of fashion than
men of affairs, and the weighty affairs of a nation
at that. But the brainiest, brightest, wittiest, cleverest
man in all England is Henry Labouchere, editor of
the London Truth, His store of knowledge borders

Before I Forget-
on the marvellous. He completely hypnotised me in
the little chat I had with him. Poor Princess Beatrice,
generous, kindly woman, as well as gentle princess
— how I sympathise with her in her bereavement ! —
gave me a pleasing token of her appreciation. It is
a beautiful gold watch, studded with diamonds and
pearls, and has an appropriate inscription on its case.
I never leave this treasured memento out of sight.
Another nice memento I have is a gold chatelaine
presented to me by the Khedive of Egypt. ... I met
Emperor William at Berlin, and Emperor Francis
Joseph at Vienna. The German monarch much
impressed me with being a fine, manly young soldier,
full of military ardour, and filled to the brim with
national pride. He will make a great man when he
grows a little older. Emperor Francis Joseph looked
like a man borne down with grief and cankering care.
The tragic death of his son no doubt is the cause
of all this, for the old monarch fairly doted on the
erratic Rudolph. He attends the theatres once in
a great while. Whenever he does he acts as if he
had received a bracing tonic, and plucks up a cheery
spirit for a few hours, but the inevitable gloom returns
when the effect of the tonic has disappeared. The
most charming man I met abroad was the late
Alexandre Dumas, the gifted author and playwright.
The most charming woman I met is Sarah Bernhardt.
The great actress gave me words of cheer and
encouragement. Dumas sent me a beautiful painting
of himself and a complete set of his works. Truly
I have been more than favoured by fortune. ..."
There was one Press representative in New York

Before I Forget

who was most persistent. He would never take " No "
for an answer. He was not attached to any par-
ticular paper. He just kept his eyes open for "copy."
All was fish that came to his net. Failing the net,
and the fish, he had his imagination to fall back upon —
an imagination so vivid that I often wondered why
it had not helped him to occupy a better and more
remunerative position. He had always some new
idea which he wanted to work into a story about me.
Occasionally he carried out his scheme without con-
sulting me. At other times (generally when the
initial idea contained a suspicion of truth) he would
seek my advice and assistance — my consent he seldom
troubled about. I became acquainted with him in the
following way : I was seized by an attack of influenza.
I struggled through a matinde at Koster and Bial's,
but on coming off the stage I was so ill that I had
almost to be carried home. The doctor was called in,
and he ordered me at once to go to bed, as he found
my temperature alarmingly high. My bedroom was
on the ground floor. No sooner had the doctor left
me than I heard a ring at the front-door bell, and
a voice announcing that ** somebody wanted to see
Mr. Chevalier." West was with me at the time, and
he interviewed this *' somebody," who turned out to be
the above-mentioned Press representative. Through
the folding-doors, which separated my bed and sitting-
room, I heard the following conversation : —

Press Rep, Can I see Mr. Chevalier?

West. I'm sorry to say you cannot.

Press Rep. I should vurry much like to have just a

few words with him. I represent the New York .

Before I Forget

West. I feel sure, If he could, Mr. Chevalier would
be only too pleased to see any representative of the
Press, but unfortunately he has been suddenly taken ill.

Press Rep. Yes, I know — IVe been over to Koster
and Dial's. I've heard all about it. I'm vurry sorry
that he's sick.

West. He's very ill.

Press Rep. Sorry he's so sick. Can't I see him ?
I won't keep him five minutes.

West. I regret to say "No," but he must obey the
doctor's orders.

Press Rep. Is he really so vurry sick ?

West (somewhat irritably). He's seriously ill, I
tell you. Temperature somewhere about 105°.

Press Rep. (after slight hesitation). Humph ! Well,
can't I see him to ask how he feels with his tempera-
ture at 105° ?

I heard the front door slam as the anxious inquirer
made his exit.

It was on a Saturday afternoon that I was taken ill.
I sent word some time before the doors were opened
at night that it would be impossible for me to go on.
What happened may be gathered from the following
account which appeared in the Nezv York Herald
on the Monday morning after : —

"Trouble at Koster and Bial's.

The Audience Raised a Row because

Mr. Chevalier was III and Could not Appear.

Wanted Their Money Back.

'* There came very near being a row at Koster and

Before I Forget

Dial's last night, when at half-past ten o'clock the
stage-manager came forward and announced that Mr.
Chevalier was ill and could not appear. Such a storm
of hisses and shouts of disapproval that went up from
the audience has probably never before been heard in
a New York playhouse. The speaker tried to explain
that the management had not heard of Mr. Chevalier's
illness until very late, but they had induced Herr . . .
to go on and fill the vacancy in the bill.

'' But the audience would have none of it. They
yelled, they hooted, they hissed ; even the women
added their protest, and said things about the
management that were not polite.

''They Wanted Their Money Back.

** Many in the audience left their seats and flocked
out into the lobby, where they besieged the box-office
— which had been closed — and loudly demanded their
money back.

** Some of the most indignant in the crowd said they
had not come to the house before ten o'clock, only
wishing to hear Chevalier, and that if the ticket-seller
had informed them that he was not going on, or if an
announcement to that effect had been posted in the
lobby, they would not have bought seats. . . . Finally
the angry crowd broke up and left the building."

Not a word was ever said about the note which

I had sent to the management long before the doors
were opened for the evening performance !

My friend the ''anxious inquirer" looked me up
again when I was well enough to receive him. One day

97 H

Before I Forget

he brought me a bundle of manuscript which he wanted
me ''to sign." When I asked him why I should put
my signature to a formidable-looking document, the
contents of which I had not had time to examine, he
assured me that any such examination was quite
unnecessary, as he **had been through it all himself —
in fact, it was his own composition." There was
nothing — so he said — to which I could possibly take
exception. I expressed my appreciation of his desire
to save me trouble, explaining at the same time that
I had a foolish foreign prejudice in favour of reading
things before I signed them. He appeared a trifle
disappointed, not to say hurt. However, he left the
manuscript with me to look through. It contained the
supposed private history of a number of New York
celebrities! In any one case the details, as set forth
— whether false or true — would, even in America,
where the Press is so very free, most certainly have
laid me open to an action for libel. In this " article,"
which only awaited my signature to be published, so
he informed me, in a big magazine, my anxious friend
had allowed me to spare nobody. Here is a story,
which, in the course of our acquaintance, he related as
a fact. I will endeavour to repeat it from memory,
omitting all names — a formality which occurred to the
original narrator as being quite superfluous : —

Somewhere in the seventies a wealthy New York
merchant engaged a private secretary. The merchant

and his wife kept an elaborate establishment in

Street, Avenue, where they had lived during the

five years of their married life. Until the advent of
the secretary the husband had never had reason to

Before I Forget

suspect his wife of being other than faithful, and
attached to him ; but now he noticed, or thought
he noticed, some alteration in her manner towards
him. He accused her of being in love with the new
secretary. This she indignantly denied. Her denial,
however, did not convince him, and he determined
to watch the supposed guilty couple. One night he
surprised the secretary coming out of his wife's room.
Without a moment's hesitation he drew a revolver, and
shot him dead on the spot. He was arrested, tried,
and convicted. He appealed (there is a Criminal
Court of Appeal in America), and so contrived that,
on the next hearing, the verdict went in his favour,
and he left the Court a free man. (My anxious friend
did not hesitate to say that the *' almighty dollar" was
responsible for this miscarriage of justice.) The sequel
to this story my anxious friend assured me he had
witnessed only a few days before he met me.

He had dropped in to lunch at a restaurant in —
or, as he called it, '*on " — Broadway. Seating himself
first of all at a table which the waiter informed him
was reserved for a little party of three, he moved and
settled down elsewhere. As he was finishing his
meal, three gentlemen were escorted by the waiter
to the reserved table.

''Guess," said he, ''the names of the three people
who proceeded to partake of a very recherchd lunch ?
You can't? Well, I'll tell you. That litde party
consisted of the three principal figures in the cele-
brated murder trial of twenty years ago : So-and-so,
the judge ; So-and-so, the prosecuting counsel ; and
So-and-so, the criminal!''

Before I Forget—

I had often been approached by managers with a
view to visiting the States, and I had declined
because I was afraid to try my luck with a repertoire
consisting, as mine did then, of nothing but songs in
the cockney dialect. It was Richard Harding Davis,
the well-known writer, who first led me to believe that
his fellow-countrymen would take kindly to me. I
cannot sufficiently thank him for the innumerable
articles he wrote concerning my work before even I
thought of crossing the Atlantic, and for introduc-
tions which resulted in much social pleasure to me,
not the least memorable being a little dinner at
the Manhattan Club, where I was invited to meet
Rudyard Kipling. If I remember rightly the number
of guests was limited to six. After dinner Kipling
recited some verses which he had just written. These
were promptly snapped up for publication by a guest,
the editor of one of the big New York papers. I
rather think he had the agreement signed and sealed
before wishing Kipling '' Good-night."

I was entertained one night by J. E. Dodson, and
the members of the Lotos Club, at supper. Some-
where in the small hours a party of us went on to the
Manhattan for "a few minutes," the result being that
I turned into bed about 4 a.m. It seemed to me that
I had only just gone off to sleep when a knock at the
door woke me up. Some one was ushered into the
sitting-room, and a card was brought to me. Need-
less to say it belonged to a Press representative. I
dressed hurriedly, wondering what business could
possibly necessitate such an early call. My curiosity
was soon satisfied. My visitor represented the A^. V.

100

Before I Forget ; .;,-._.

Journal. He apologised profusely for , disturbing iney,^ .
*'but," said he, **it is quite unavoidable,' 'ais we wariit '•- '
to publish a song specially written by you for next
Sunday's issue." I told him that I would look through
my papers for something suitable, and if I could find
it I would send it on immediately. Holding out my
hand I wished him " Good morning." He took my
hand, and did not let go of it until he had made me
understand that he must have that song before leav-
ing. ''How about the music ? " said I. *' Oh ! that'll
be all right ! Don't you worry about that ! I took
the liberty of looking Mr. West up before coming to
see you. He'll be here in a few minutes. If you will
just knock off a couple of verses and a chorus, he can
get to work on it when he arrives." I tried to explain
that I had had a late night ; that I couldn't even under
ordinary circumstances '' knock off" things to order
in such a cold-blooded way ; but that, if he would
leave me alone for a few hours, and call again later
on, I would do my level best to supply him with what
he wanted. He was more than polite. He said that
words failed to express his sorrow at having to disturb
me in the '' middle of the night," but unless he could
hand in my ** copy " before midday t\i& Journal readers
would be disappointed, and, he added with an in-
genuous smile, '' You will miss a very fine ad." I
tried to temporize, but he would have none of it.
What he wanted was a song, and a song he meant to
have ! At this moment West entered the room,
rubbing his eyes. '' Have you done it.'^ " he inquired,
yawning. "Done it!" said I; "I haven't the ghost
of an idea what to write about." '' Hand it over as

lOI

, .e. ,t i Before I Forget —

, „ ^soon.as possible," said West, throwing himself into an
■ •*.' ►•eiasy-chair. *' I can't keep my eyes open. I'll have
forty winks. Wake me up when you've dashed it
off ! " A loud snore informed me that I had wasted a
look of bitter reproach. '' What sort of a song do
you want?" I Inquired in desperation. ''Just what-
ever you care to write. You won't mind if I smoke ?
You're very kind. I'll wait for the inspiration!"
I stared at him, and then at West fast asleep in the
armchair. In the matter of blissful calm there was
nothing to choose between them. " Can't you suggest
a subject ? " I asked sadly. " No, sir, I camioL"
Now, when an American does not use this word in its
abbreviated form, you may take it that he Is more than
usually positive. I thought to tire him out, but he
wasn't built that way. I deliberately sat down and
wrote one verse and a chorus. They were very bad, but
he said that didn't matter. He wanted another verse.
Then I struck. I was too ashamed of what I had
done to prolong the torture by so much as even one
additional line, and I told him so. Seeing that he was
not likely to get any more out of me, he woke West
up, and " encouraged " him to compose a melody.
West dived into his inexhaustible tune fund, and
within an hour the " work " was finished. The
following Sunday this atrocious composition (I allude
to my share) occupied the whole front page of the
JVew York Journal.

THE THEATRE GOOSE.

Shortly after this a journalist called on me to ask If,
in my opinion, audiences were entitled to express dis

102

Before I Forget

approval by hissing. Fancy putting such a question to
an actor who in his time has gone through the awful
ordeal of being hissed ! I can think of nothing more
cowardly — more cruel — than to hiss during the pro-
gress of a first night's performance, except, of course,
when decency and good taste are outraged.

I remember something that Joseph Jefferson, the
grand old American comedian, said to me during an
after-dinner chat in St. Louis. Comparing the art
of acting with the painter's art, he observed : "The
actor's art is the art of reproduction. When you
criticise a picture you see before you the work com-
pleted— the consummation. In criticising an actor,
take into consideration that you see the picture being
painted. You watch its progress, its evolution."

If first-night audiences would realise this I think
they would pause before giving vent to that nerve-
wracking hiss. I wonder what sort of picture an
artist could produce, what sort of book an author
could write, if compelled to work before an audience
whose attention might be distracted at any moment
by some self-constituted critic ? Does the Theatre
Goose ever stop to think that before a play is pro-
duced in London it has meant months of work to the
author, generally speaking an experienced writer ?
The manager has turned the matter over in his mind
very carefully. The actors have heard the play read.
It has been altered and cut at rehearsals. Everything
that money and forethought can do has been done.
A play, when produced, is not the work of one brain
only. In nine cases out of ten the advice of experts
is sought, and yet, because when acted it does not

103

Before I Forget ~

quite hit the taste of a noisy section, that section is
privileged to upset the performers. How would the
painter get on if, working under the conditions to
which actors have to submit, a crowd of roughs
suddenly rushed on the stage and mixed up all his
colours, or jogged his elbow every time he attempted
to touch the canvas ? Hall Caine once told me that
he never read the reviews of his books. He was
perfectly candid. The reviews might be good, they
might be bad ; he would not run the risk of reading
them. He acknowledged that a ** slating" hurt and,
in a way, unnerved him. The critic, unlike the actor,
appeals to one audience only. The actor has to try
and please two, each distinct in temperament : the
public and the critic.

104

CHAPTER XIV

ONE night I went to Hammerstelns magnificent
variety theatre to hear Auguste van Biene
play the 'cello. Prior to his appearance the stage-
manager came forward and informed the audience
that " he had a surprise in store for them — an extra
'turn.' Two officers of the American army would
now sing to them." Judge of my surprise when two
people, members of the Salvation Army (man and
woman), walked on the stage. They were obviously
genuine Salvationists. The man sang a long hymn,
and the woman, in her hideous poke-bonnet and
correspondingly ugly regimentals, accompanied him
on the piano. The whole thing was so impudent — so
daring — that the people in front were too astonished
to utter even a protest. They didn't hiss, neither did
they applaud. They just sat still and allowed the
dirge to proceed. When it was over I went round to
see Van Biene. From what I could gather the incon-
gruous scene which had just been enacted was the
outcome of a chat between Oscar Hammerstein
(proprieter) and Mr. Booth (son of the "General").
I won't enter into the matter of motive, but the whole
business was an object-lesson in what the public will
occasionally submit to at the discretion of experienced

105

Before I Forget — -

showmen. As the papers next day devoted consider-
able space to **the storming of Hammerstein's by-
Salvationists," I suppose both showmen were satisfied.
The only person, so far as I could see, who really
resented the extra ''turn," was Van Biene, whose
dressing-room the "captains" surreptitiously con-
trived to decorate with printed queries as to where
its present occupant would " spend Eternity." If I
remember rightly the musician expressed a hope that,
under any circumstances, it might be far away from
Booth's brass band !

I received the following letter when I was per-
forming in New York : —

*' Mr. Albert Chevalier.

** Dear Sir, — I write you this believing that it Is
pleasure to one to know that some act of theirs has
been of important benefit to others.

** I was married seven years ago, and have two
beautiful children, aged five and three. For the past
three years I have been gradually, though without
a predetermined intent, becoming estranged from my
wife, through no fault of hers, however, as she has
been true and faithful.

** A few days ago I left home. In a distant city. . . .
Hearing you sing * My Old Dutch ' on Tuesday night
so affected and impressed me and opened my eyes to
what can be, that I have determined to go back home
and be the husband that a loving wife deserves, and
with the help of the Almighty spend the balance of
our days as happily as the costermonger and his Old
Dutch ; and while you don't know me, and never will,

1 06

Before I Forget

I want to thank you a thousand times for opening my
eyes.

'' God bless you.

** Stranger."

Here is another communication — telegraphic this
time — which I received at the theatre in New York
from some one in California : —

'* John , English actor, died here yesterday in

poverty. No money to bury him. Cable funeral
expenses to ."

I wired back for further particulars, and in due
course received a letter to the effect that the writer
could guarantee the genuineness of his statement.
An English actor, friendless, and alone in California,
had died in abject poverty. The reason he (the
writer) had wired me was *' that he thought I might
like to pay the funeral expenses of my fellow-country-
man, as the papers were sure to hear of it and it
would be such a good ' ad.' "

On the last night of my engagement at Koster and
Bial's my Friend, Philosopher, and Guide approached
me with an air of mystery. He had been com-
missioned to request my attendance at a little function
in his office after the performance. When I pressed
him to tell me the nature of the function, he informed
me that the management had invited a few friends to
witness a presentation. I was to receive a cup in
recognition of my American ddbut, I finished my
'' turn " and made my way round to the front of the
house. There my friend met and escorted me to his
office, carrying in his hand a large green baize bag.

107

Before I Forget

After the customary formalities, speech-making, &c.,
had been observed, he opened the green baize bag,
and drew therefrom a large silver goblet, which he
handed to ^me ''with every good wish from the
management." Needless to say I returned thanks,
clumsily and inadequately, as usual, pleading, not
without sincerity, that any lack of eloquence might be
attributed to an overwhelming sense of gratitude, for
the kind thought which had prompted the handsome
presentation. The guests gradually filed out of the
office, leaving me alone with my Friend, Philosopher,
and Guide, who, taking the cup, which I was admiring,
out of my hands, replaced it in the bag. Lighting a
cigar, he said, *' The real cup will be here in a day or
two. It wasn't quite finished when I called at the
silversmith's this afternoon." Then, throwing the
green baize bag and its contents into a corner, he
exclaimed, **That is a dummy!" In the course of a
few days I received the real cup — a very handsome one.

For three or four dollars per diem, living on the
American plan (inclusive terms), it is possible to obtain
almost anything that a reasonable being can desire in
the way of food or accommodation. A bath-room
attached to the bedroom, a constant supply of hot
and cold water ; all sorts of ingenious contrivances
for anticipating your wants and saving servants
unnecessary trouble ; telephones and lifts, electric
lighting and steam heating apparatus everywhere,
even in the smallest one-night stands.

Prices vary according to the position of rooms
occupied. The man who pays twenty dollars, or
more, per diem gets no better food at table d'hote

io8

to _f/

Before I Forget

than the man who only pays three dollars. It has
often amused me, in American hotels, to hear cockney
tourists grumbling at the food, and the cooking. With
some of these very cockneys I have been sufficiently
well acquainted to know that they never in their lives
sat down to anything half so good ; nor did they ever,
in an average English hotel, find such a variety of
dishes — such a profusion of delicacies. The con-
servative Briton, accustomed to his cut off the joint,
is a hard person to please in the matter of food
obtainable outside his own country. There are many
little home comforts which an Englishman misses in
America ; but he should not forget that he is away
from home, and that to grumble at the best which can
be provided, is hardly the way to make things pleasant,
either for himself or for others who may come after
him.

The American is intensely patriotic. A New
Yorker who had just returned from a visit to
England sent me his autograph album, accompanied
by a request that I should write something in it.
Here are a few typical entries, evidently the work of
patriotic, home-sick fellow-countrymen : —

''I'm going home to see the sun.

*' London. '' J. B."

** In England after twenty one years' absence, and
can't get back to the States quick enough.

'' London. '* R. V.

'' I'm off the earth in London.

*' W. M."
109

Before I Forget

** Three years in England, and still no dialect.
'' London. '' C. T."

Tell an American that New York is the greatest
city on earth, he will smile and say courteously, '' Yes,
sir ! the greatest — bar London " — or Paris, if you
happen to be French. Tell him that New York is a
hopelessly inartistic jumble of half a dozen European
cities, and — well, you'll hear some real common sense
concerning London — or Paris, as the case may be.

It is impossible to do justice, adequately, to the
hospitality which is extended to strangers in America.
It is unbounded, if they will only accept it. They
mustn't be continually finding fault with the mutton,
which is bad, and the beef, which is not. They must
take things as they find them, and they will find them
very good indeed. Speaking personally, if I had to
choose between the discomfort of the average English
hotel, and the light, bright, clean, well-appointed
American hotel, I should consider myself a fit subject
for Hanwell if I did not plump, hands down, for the
Yankee. There is no comparison — always allowing
for the fact that the American hotel is run, primarily,
for the accommodation of natives. There is hardly
an hotel in the United Kingdom in which I have not
stayed at some time or another ; and I unhesitatingly
assert that not only are the American hotels, as a rule,
better so far as cleanliness, lighting, and the ordinary
creature comforts are concerned, but they are less
expensive. Say you live on the American plan,
and it costs you four dollars per diem. Instead of a
miserable candle you have the electric light in your

Before I Forget

bedroom. Instead of a tub with a canful of luke-
warm water, you have a private bath-room with
a constant supply of hot and cold. Instead of
two cane-bottom chairs, a gilt looking-glass, the
frame of which is wrapped up in a dirty pink fly-
paper, a bed constructed on the switchback principle,
a few mourning cards on the walls, side by side
with, perhaps, a German print of The Black
Brunswicker, The Raising of Lazarus, or Martin's
Day of Judgment, you have a neatly, in most cases
an artistically furnished room, tastefully decorated.
Travelling about as much as I do, in Great Britain, I
only wish I could get anything like the comfort, the
cleanliness, and the cooking, at the same price. One
of the most delightful holidays I ever spent was in
the heart of the Adirondacks, at the Ruisseaumont
Hotel, Lake Placid. If you wanted to forget that
there was anything so civilised as an hotel in the
district, you could live out in a tent in the pine woods ;
the thoughtful proprietor, however, would send out all
your meals to you, the courses served exactly as you
would have had them in the hotel at table d'hote. This
was your only necessary link with the crowd of
elaborately gowned *' Mommers " and correspond-
ingly attired marriageable daughters. At night you
lit a '' smudge," the smoke from which — so the legend
ran — would keep off the mosquitoes. In the morning
the chip-monks and squirrels would come round the
tent, and feed out of your hand. My wife and I lived
in one of these tents, and we both of us hope some
day to repeat the experiment. At Lake Placid we
met Miss Martha Morton, the well-known American

III

Before I Forget

dramatic authoress. To her, and to her family's kind
hospItaHty, we owe much of the pleasure associated
with our holiday in the Adirondacks.

This holiday I took when I finished my engagement
at Koster and Bial's. Prior to my tour, under the
direction of Charles Frohman, I had a three months'
vacation. I was going back to England, but my wife,
who had been seriously ill, thought the trip across the
Atlantic might do her good, and so she came out to
me there. I offer this explanation, because my busy
friend, the journalistic Autolycus, wrote, and published,
his own views on the subject — which views I repro-
duce from the columns of a New York paper : —

" Albert Chevalier has concluded not to go back to
England at all this summer, but to spend his vacation
in the Adirondacks. In this section board may be
had upon an exceedingly inexpensive basis, and it^|
does not cost as much to get there as it does to go
across the water at the fashionable time of year. It
is, of course, highly improbable that Mr. Chevalier has
considered this point. But to a man who receives
the mere pittance of" — here, as usual, a large number
of dollars Is mentioned — *'a week the matter of personal
expenditure ought to be of very grave importance."

112

Mrs. Chevalier.

PART III

CHAPTER XV

LONG before I settled to appear at Koster and
Dial's I had been approached by Charles
Frohman, who wanted to run me In America. After
my first night I received the following letter froni
him : —

" Empire Theatre, New York,

" March 24, 1893.

'' My Dear Chevalier,— Let me congratulate you
on your success last night, although I expected it. I
have just sent the following cable to Lestocq. I wrote
him a week ago that if you were successfully received
here, I would cable him so that he could place it in
the Green Room Club. I cabled him. Chevalier
Immense Stic cess.

'' I hope that when you take up the question of
appearing outside of New York, before closing any
arrangement you will advise with me. I should very
much like to undertake it. It would be a great
mistake for you to rush through the country, one or
two nights in each place. I should think now would
be the time to talk over the scheme you had m

Before I Forget—

London — that is your own organisation — to appear
in the very best places. I should very much like to
take the matter up with you.

'* Yours very truly,

" Charles Frohman."

We met a few days later, discussed terms, and in
half an hour everything was practically arranged. My
dealings with Charles Frohman, personally, were of
the pleasantest in every way. He is a delightful man
to deal with. He doesn't haggle. He knows what he
wants, and the conditions under which he is prepared
to do business. When the contract was to be drawn
up, requiring some one to act for me, I remembered a
letter of introduction which I had from a friend in
England to an American lawyer. I presented the
letter and was delighted to hear that it was from his
dearest friend, ''his vurry dearest friend." When I
told him that I had come for his advice concerning a
contract, he wouldn't hear of its being treated in the
ordinary way, as a matter of business. ''No, sir," he
exclaimed, "you bring a letter from my dearest friend,
my vurry dearest friend. I can't look on this in the
light of business." He was so emphatic that I could
not press the point. I had, I think, in all, three
short interviews with him, and he sent a clerk down to
witness the signing of the contract. A few days later
I received a bill from him for two hundred dollars !

Under Frohman's management I visited all the
principal cities in the United States and Canada,
indulging for a time in a spell of "one-night stands "
— the latter an experience to be avoided. Here is a

Ii6

Before I Forget

fair example of a few days' travelling taken at random
from my diary : —

''Friday. — Arrived Ithaca 3.20 afternoon. Drove
straight to theatre, then to hotel. Invitation to supper
with Cornell students, from Professor Morse Stephens.
Replied accepting. Show 7.30. Then to supper. Went
to bed 3 a.m. Saturday. — Caught train for Rochester
8.15 a.m., arrived Rochester 1.15 p.m. Two perform-
ances. Matinde 2 o'clock and evening at 7.30. After
the show drove to station to catch 1 1 o'clock train for
Chicago. My bed in state-room over steam heating
apparatus. Couldn't sleep. Arrived Chicago 3 p.m.
Sunday, and opened at Hooley's Theatre the same
night. Tired."

In all the big cities I was most kindly and
generously received both by the Public and by the
Press. In Boston and Chicago I was particularly
successful. In some of the smaller towns the cockney
dialect handicapped me. In Canada I had a great time.
In Montreal the students of McGill University gave
me a welcome which I am not likely to forget, as the
following cutting from the local Gazette will prove : —

" At the conclusion of the performance the horses
were removed from Mr. Chevalier's carriage, and, with
Mrs. Chevalier, he was drawn to the hotel in state by
the boys themselves. In front of the hotel he had to
make another speech " — (oh, those speeches !) — '' in
which he thanked them most gracefully for their
attendance and enthusiasm."

To show that I do not exaggerate the debt of
gratitude I owe to the American Press, I may be
forgiven for reproducing some of the headlines which

117

Before I Forget

prefaced many columns of generous, and more than
kind appreciation : —

American Press Headlines.

*' Great is Chevalier." — N.Y. Advertiser,

"The English singer creates a furor." — N,Y,

Mercury,

*' Chevalier makes a great hit." — N. Y, Sim,

" No more enthusiastic reception ever accorded to a

foreign artist in New York." — N. Y. World.

*' Mr. Chevalier's success immediate, unqualified,

unexampled." — N,Y. Herald.

** The Unique in Art. Chevalier wins a Hollis

audience." — The Boston Traveller.

*' Chevalier is a Genius." — Toronto Evening News
'' An artist of the highest order." — Chicago Post
"His art is universal." — Chicago Jou^^nal.

By way of contrast the following may be interesting.
In Troy (a one night stand) they couldn't stand me
for one night : —

" . . . . presented a variety entertainment, but far
below the standard of the ordinary American Vaudeville
Company." — The Troy Press.

Here is another, kindly, but curious : —

*• Chevalier is an instantaneous hit. He is one of the
most comprehensive artists who ever stood on any
stage anywhere. Still, if he had been a duffer, Mr.
Bial had guaranteed him too big a salary to allow him
to fail. Foreign artists will always do well to make a
first appearance under a gigantic salary — if they can
get it. It simplifies the hereafter."

ii8

Before I Forget

Just one more, which appeared in a magazine two
years after I had left America. I offer it as an example
of how histories may be written. Accompanying the
letterpress which is headed, '' Frosts from England,"
there is a portrait of myself framed in icicles. I am
described as " having been mildly successful at first,
but like — here another '* icy " Briton is mentioned —
''too, too English to please us." This "criticism"
has its place among the pages of more than favourable
comment — the columns of generous appreciation,
which appeared in almost every paper of importance
published in the United States.

In the train travelling from Montreal to Toronto I
met James Corbett, the pugilist. He was touring
with a melodrama in which he played the hero, and
played it very well indeed. What chance had three
or four " powerful " stage villains against the redoubt-
able Jim? Corbett's stage heroics carried conviction
with them. They were backed by a prize-ring reputa-
tion which was a factor not to be despised, when the
moment came for Virtue (championed by the champion)
to triumph over Vice.

It must have taxed the ingenuity of the dramatist
to give Corbett an opportunity to exhibit his dexterity
in punching the ball ; but the opportunity was pro-
vided, much to the delight of the audience. I have
seen many worse melodramatic heroes than Jim
Corbett. He looked well, spoke his lines intelligently
and with proper emphasis. He was not bombastic,
and when he threatened to play at "ninepins" with
a mob of stage roughs, you felt that for once in a
way right was might, and that all directions as to

119

Before I Forget-
how that mob should behave were, under the cir-
cumstances, superfluous.

In private I found Corbett quiet, and gentlemanly.
I asked him about Fitzsimmons, with whom he was
to fight in a few months' time. He seemed quite
confident about the result. He was not the least
boastful. He said, '' Fitzsimmons is a hard hitter, but
I have the science. If he gets one in it will be rough
on me, but I don't think he will get one in." I'm
afraid Corbett underrated both his opponent's strength,
and his skill.

Corbett and I went to a football match in Toronto.
One of the players was terribly mauled and injured.
As he was being carried off the field, Corbett turned
to me and exclaimed, *' Just look at that ! " — a bundle
of blood and bruises — " And they object to prize-
fighting because it's brutal ! "

In Chicago I was entertained at dinner by the
Forty Club. A few speeches were made — the worst,
as usual, by me. I never could make an impromptu
speech, and I have always avoided attempting to do
so, after an experience I had at the ''Criterion," when I
occupied the vice-chair at an Eccentric Club function.
John Hollingshead was chairman. I had been faith-
fully promised that I should not be called on to speak,
but this, like most promises, was broken. I started
off with a very good idea, but in my anxiety and
nervousness, I lost the thread of my story and
collapsed ignominiously. I had hardly hidden my
diminished head when a practised after-dinner
speaker arose, and using the theme which I had
failed to illustrate, made the biggest hit I have ever

120

Before I Forget

known at a similar function, with one exception, and
that was In Chicago at the Forty Club. A gentleman
begged to be permitted to reply for the '* absent
guests." A portion of the speech ran as follows : —

*' To the Absent Sweetheart — for on behalf of the
Benedicks present I swear our wives shall be our
sweethearts ever. A man without a wife is like a bird
with one wing. His life is a question without an
answer. As Prentice once said of George Francis
Train, * Such a man is a clock without hands, a cipher
searching for a figure in order to mean something.'
Gentlemen, it is Cupid's Sacrament — bumpers and no
heel-taps ! "

During my tour through the States I found the
following rules pasted in the prompt entrance of a
theatre. They were probably drawn up by a waggish
professional, whose experience of travelling companies
resembled Sam Weller's knowledge of London : —

" I. Each and every performer engaged Is expected
to do everything In his power to make It disagreeable
for every one else connected with the aggregation,
and to back cap the show and queer the performance
on every possible occasion.

2. Salaries will be paid the second Saturday in
the week, the same to be paid In stage money.

3. No performer is allowed to send money home.
Keep it with you, as the management may need It.

4. In case a performer Is fined by the manage-
ment and he has no money coming to him, he must
send home for it.

5. All wardrobes and costumes must be neglected
as much as possible, and any member of the company

121

Before I Forget -

caught patronising a laundry will be immediately
discharged.

6. In case rehearsal is called, each member of the
company is expected to pay no attention to it.

7. All hotel bills will be settled next season.

8. The performers are expected to present the
management with a diamond pin at least once a
week.

9. The advance agent is expected to be at least
five days behind the show, and must in all cases keep
his business a profound secret.

10. Any performer caught obeying any of these
rules will be fined.

11. Landlords following up this company for
board-bills will be expected to sing a ballad each
evening."

122

Photo by']

Pierrot Coster.'

[ii. Knight

[To face p. 122.

CHAPTER XVI

AT one of the hotels where I stayed on tour, there
was a young Englishman whose affectation of
horseyness was a never-ending source of amusement
to me. He walked about in riding-breeches and
gaiters. Instead of a collar he wore a stock. He
invariably carried a little cane or switch, with which,
when talking to you, he would tap his gaiters, as if
encouraging some refractory gee-gee to ** hurry up."
I only saw him go out riding once. A few of the
visitors had arranged an outing. Some of them
proposed to ride, and invited him to join their party.
The invitation was accepted, and when the hired
horses arrived outside the hotel, the young English-
man, assuming the air of a connoisseur, walked round
the animals and examined them with a fiercely critical
eye. He made no secret of his suspicions concerning
one horse— a horse selected by a month-old bride-
groom, whose anxious spouse implored him not to
risk his life. After considerable persuasion he agreed
to exchange with the young English *' expert," who,
declaring that *' he had never met the horse he could
not manage," mounted the ''suspect " with — to give
him his due — more pluck than science. The party
rode off in the direction of some thickly wooded

123

Before I Forget—

country. In about an hour's time we saw several
horsemen slowly wending their way towards the hotel,
and somebody, or something, being carried home on
a roughly constructed hurdle. As the procession
came nearer, the hurdle was seen to contain the very
much torn, bruised, and battered body of the young
Englishman, who had fallen — or to quote his own
words, when later on he volunteered some exciting
details — '* had been thrown from his saddle in con-
sequence of an encounter with a bear, which had
maddened the high-spirited animal he was riding."
My own private opinion was, and is still, that he had
other and less Quixotic reasons for the original ex-
change— that in his ignorance he had selected the
wrong horse.

As to the bear story — well, one day I certainly did
see a bear in the vicinity — on a chain — led to the hotel
door by a person in Tyrolean attire who, to prove that
it was not stuffed, jerked the chain, at the same time
producing a hideous din from a combination of drum,
bells, cymbals, and triangle. By some subtle arrange-
ment of strings, and pulleys the whole combination
was at once put in motion, the performance com-
menced, and the onlookers were privileged to specu-
late as to which was the brute.

In Quebec I had my first experience of toboggan-
ning, and cannot say that I liked it. I call it my first
experience because, although in the wilds of Earl's
Court I had frequently braved the ''slides," the
Quebec arrangement showed me the difference be-
tween the real thing, and an imitation. We drove
over one day to the Montmorenci Falls — picturesque

124

Before I Forget

at any time, but particularly so in mid-winter, as it
was when I saw them. The water falls from an
enormous height — higher than Niagara, I believe —
and in winter, on the lower level, the spray freezing
forms itself into cones, upon which we were able to
stand looking up at a view rendered doubly Impressive
by innumerable giant icicles, constantly varying in
size and fantastic form. Contrasted with the snow
and frost, the falling water, where it could be seen,
looked like black oil slowly trickling over.

To commemorate my visit, I purchased some bead-
work, which the vendor assured me was made by the
Noble Red Man. On returning to my hotel I
examined my purchase. As I was about to repack
it, a label inside the box caught my eye, on which
was printed the magic word '* Birmingham."

THE RAINES BILL.

This Bill caused a great stir in New York. Its
object was to close the drinklng-saloons on Sundays.
Unfortunately for its temperance sponsors, it was
worded somewhat ambiguously. It stipulated that
only hotel-keepers should be privileged to supply
intoxicants on the Sabbath. The result was that
the first Sunday on which the Bill came into operation
there were more ''hotels" to be found In New York
than you would find In the whole of Europe. To
convert an ordinary saloon into an hotel was a simple
matter. It necessitated a large book, in which lodgers
were supposed to register their names. Once regis-
tered, the ''lodger" could slake his thirst with im-

125

Before I Forget

punity, or any other poison. The simple way to
obtain a drink was to walk up to the bar and call
for ** lunch." The Raines Bill allowed the hungry
man to have a drink with his meal. Like most
attempts to legislate for morality, it was a ridiculous
failure — almost as absurd as our own efforts in Wales
and Scotland, with that glorious satire, the preceding
Saturday night, chuckling at our hypocrisy.

I have a vivid recollection of many Sundays spent
in Scotland. On one of these dismal days — having
nothing better to do, as it was snowing hard by way
of adding to the gloom — I wrote, to a sympathetic
friend in London, the following lines : —

" I'm far frae being tired, ye ken,
O' snow-tipped hills and kilted men ;
I love the bonnie braes — the glen —
But no the pubs that close at ten !

And oh ! the Sabbath is na gay —

(A dreadfu' purgatorial day !)

Sae full wi' gloom and horrors crammed,

I wonder — can a Scot be damned ?

No joy, no play, no life, no work.
No anything but crepe, and kirk
Wi' meenisters who love to tell
O' greater torments doon in hell.

I'm no a giddy, reckless youth ;

I dinna suffer much frae dreuth [thirst] ;

But tae a Londoner by birth

The Lord's day here is hell on earth ! "

I heard a good story concerning the Raines Sunday
Closing Bill told by a New York comedian. He

126

Before I Forget

related his experience in one of these suddenly trans-
formed saloons. He called for lunch and a glass of
beer. The waiter walked to the next table, at which
was seated another '' luncher," and, without asking
permission, removed a suspiciously worn-out, tired-
looking sandwich, placed it before the comedian,
serving him at the same time with a glass of beer.
Six more men came in and called for "lunch." The
same sandwich was passed round and six glasses of
beer supplied. Presently a tramp put in an appear-
ance. He, too, called for 'Munch"; but being more
hungry than particular, he ate the hitherto despised
sandwich. And the saloon had to close up.

In a melodrama touring through the States the
big sensation scene consisted, of a successful attempt
to break open an iron safe. To give the necessary
touch of realism, two burglars who had just served
a long sentence for housebreaking were engaged,

and starred as " The notorious Bill and

Tom , who will nighdy, in Act H., give an

exhibition of their skill. The tools used in this scene
are the identical tools with which they committed the
crime for which they have recently been so severely
punished."

When I was in America the craze for buttonhole
decoration was at its height. Everybody wore an
enamelled button of some sort or another. There
was the '' McKinley " button," the ''Brian" button,
&c. Everything and everybody were advertised on
buttons. One day, as I was having something to
eat in a restaurant, a gentleman called my waiter over
to his table and asked him to present me with some-

127

Before I Forget

thing. Need I say It was a button ? The sender
was a song- writer. He presented his compHments,
begging me at the same time to accept and wear this
little souvenir of his latest composition, on which was
inscribed the title :

" Mommer's teeth are made of gold."

DELICATE TRIBUTE TO OUR ANCIENT ARISTOCRACY.

In a burlesque played at one of the New York
theatres an English lord was introduced. You
couldn't mistake him for anybody but a real live
lord. He wore a frock-coat and a coronet. To
emphasise his aristocratic descent, he never appeared
without a little pug dog, which he led by a string.
He was supposed to be out hunting — heiress-hunting.
The heiress and her ** Mommer," in the course of the
play, were discussing the possibilities and advantages
of becoming '*my lady." I will endeavour to quote
a portion of the spoken dialogue from memory :

Mommer. My dear, he comes of a real old English
family.

Daughter, How old, Mommer ?

Mommer, Well — real old.

Daughter, Say, Mommer, are these English families
so very old ?

Mommer, My dear ! Why, some are so old that
you can't stop in the same room with them !

In a part of London where the traffic is generally
very congested, a hearse contrived to get in front of
an omnibus, and so completely blocked the way.

128

Before I Forget

The 'busman started '* chipping " the hearse-driver,
who, unusually conscious of the seriousness of his
calling, maintained a dignified silence. If sarcasm
could have withered, the hearse-driver would have
gone inside, but he was proof against mere cockney-
flippancy. He didn't see his way clear to move, and
so he remained where he was. His reticence, more
than anything else, annoyed the 'busman, who at last,
summoning up all his mental resources, shouted, ** Git
aht of the way, old man ! Your fare ain't in no
bloomin' 'urry ! " This is a very old story, one which
I have told over and over again- I shouldn't have
repeated it here, but for the fact that it was retold to
me in New York by a man who was introduced as
Buffalo Bill's advance agent. He prefaced the story
with the Interesting Information that the incident
actually occurred to Buffalo Bill, as he was driving
through Oxford Street on the top of a 'bus with the
Prince of Wales.

I had only one disagreeable experience in America,
and that happened in a place called Ogdensburg. It
may be due to the association of ideas — to memories
conjured up — but there is something in the very word
— " Ogdensburg " — which does not suggest harmony.
There were two ladies In the company, engaged by
Mr. Frohman for my tour, two sisters, who, although
no blame attaches to them for the misfortune, were
born in Ogdensburg. This fact was duly boomed In
the local press, prior to my visit. Indeed the majority
of people who booked seats for my Recital there were
either friends or relations of these sisters. Local
interest had been worked up to such a pitch, that the

X29 K

Before I Forget

sisters' first appearance in their native city was quite
the feature of the entertainment. Ogdensburg was
on tiptoe with excitement to see what sort of a figure
their old acquaintances would cut as stage performers.
Ogdensburg was doomed to disappointment. The
sisters were too ill to appear. As luck would have it,
there was only one other lady in the company, and she
had lost her voice, the result of a severe cold caught
on a long railway journey. Night came, and the
manager walked on to apologise. Here is a news-
paper report of the proceedings. In all my experience,
I have never passed through such an awful ordeal : —
"... The reception and treatment of this justly
celebrated English actor is a monumental and eternal
disgrace to the city of Ogdensburg. When Mr.
Chevalier's manager advanced to the footlights before

the performance began and announced that the

Sisters — who come from the vicinity of Ogdensburg —
were ill and could not appear, the gallery hissed
vigorously. In vain did he read a certificate of sick-
ness from a local physician — they would not be
appeased. Not content with hissing Mr. Chevalier's
manager, they hissed and disturbed other members
of the company, Mr. Chevalier in particular. Mr.
Chevalier stood it pluckily until an apple-core was
thrown at him.

'* Then he stopped and addressed the audience :
'' ' Ladies and gentlemen, — I have performed in
America, from Canada to New Orleans, and until this
evening have always been received with kindness and
courtesy. No one regrets the non-appearance of the
young ladies more than I do, but I am not responsible

130

Before I Forget

for their absence. I have done the very best I can
this evening, but I cannot go on with my entertain-
ment.'

'' . . . From start to finish the performers were
harassed and discouraged by the blackguards in the
gallery. . . . Think of the vast provincialism with

which Ogdensburg is cursed ! Because the

Sisters happen to have a local interest and are absent
through illness, the audience in cold blood insult an
actor whose unique genius is heartily acknowledged
by the best critics of America as well as of his native
land! ... His support was good all through, but
they all suffered the slings and arrows of outrageous
fortune. ..."

When my American engagements terminated I
received a number of offers to reappear in the London
music-halls ; but having made up my mind to try my
luck with the '' Land of Nod " — to which piece I shall
refer at length in the next chapter — I declined them
all. I left America carrying with me a store of
pleasant recollections. Since my return to England
I have frequently been approached with a view to the
renewal of my acquaintance with our transatlantic
cousins. This I have been unable to accede to, in con-
sequence of prior bookings. I am, however, most
anxious to go back with my now considerably ex-
tended repertoire. I can only express the hope that,
when I do go, my American friends will be as pleased
to see me, as I shall be to have the honour of
appearing before them once again.

131

CHAPTER XVII

IT has often been said that a knock-down blow
does a man good now and then. Much depends
upon the strength of the blow and the character of its
recipient. I am not ashamed to own that I have
received several severe knocks in the course of my
career. Some years ago I was infamously let in for
something like ten thousand pounds, by a man who
at the present moment lives in swagger chambers,
and is to all appearances distinctly prosperous. I sued
him in a court of law. I won my case — oh yes ! I
won my case — but that was all. He still owes me the
money. I might have followed his example, at the
time, and have gone bankrupt. The law — that won-
derful institution which enables the rogue, the clever
rogue, to drive a coach-and-four through its so-called
decisions — would have assisted me ; but I preferred to
go my own way. I worked for, and paid off every
farthing. All the satisfaction the law afforded me,
was a "judgment" for a sum of money — a "judg-
ment " which the smart one merely laughed at, leaving
me to settle debts which he knew, for my credits
sake, I would not leave unpaid, although the law
had decided that he, as my partner, was liable to me
for his moiety of the liabilities. So much for a single

132

Photo by] [^B. Knight.

"Professor Peter Pinder" in "The Land of Nod,"

[To face p. 133.

Before I Forget

experience. It was a blow, a hard blow, but I
stiffened my back, and pulled through. Whatever
benefit I may have derived from it, is difficult to realise,
when I encounter this ''gentleman," attired in fault-
lessly fitting Bond Street garments, dining at a most
expensive restaurant, and waxing indignant with the
waiter because his pint of Pontet Canet is ** corked " !
A sense of humour, however, comes to my rescue,
and I could almost forgive him (as in my younger
days I forgave Jingle and Dick Swiveller) because he
makes me laugh. At the start of a career, to lose ten
thousand pounds may be set down as a "blow."
That was nothing, however, to one which I was to
receive later on. In America a wealthy merchant
offered to back me, if I could find a play which should
contain a part to suit me. He owned a site on
Broadway, where he proposed to build a theatre which
should be called ''Chevaliers," if I would agree to
remain in New York for a term of years. I set to
work and wrote the "Land of Nod." Alfred H. West
composed the music. When the work was finished,
my American would-be backer selected a committee
,of alleged experts, and invited them to hear me read,
and to sit in judgment on, my play. In the result I
was more than gratified. The verdict of the com-
mittee was distinctly favourable. A contract was
drawn up, but when the moment came for me to sign,
the prospect of being away from England for possibly
another year made me hesitate. What with my pro-
vincial and American tours, I had not appeared in
London for nearly three years. My wife wrote to me
from home saying that all sorts of rumours were being

133

Before I Forget — -

circulated — that my absence was being misinterpreted ;
and, to tell the truth, I was getting home-sick ! I
decided therefore to return to England and to produce
my play there. As I was packing my trunks in Phila-
delphia, Richard Harding Davis called to wish me
"goodbye." I told him about the " Land of Nod."
He asked me to read it to him, and I had the temerity
to comply with his request. I remember what he said
when I had finished : '' Why, it ought to be as big a
success as the ' Pair of Spectacles.' " I don't mind
repeating this now, because the play in London only
ran a week ! I just want to show that it was not a
case of merely backing my own opinion. When I
produced the piece in Liverpool, Sir Edward Russell
(whose theatrical opinion extends over many years)
came round to my dressing-room after the per-
formance to personally offer his congratulations. In
the course of an exhaustive criticism the Liverpool
Post said : —

**The 'Land of Nod' is described as a musical
comedy, but it is utterly unlike the average class of
pieces catalogued under this comprehensive head-
ing. . . . The idea is handled with remarkable
cleverness, and there is displayed a freshness, and
novelty in its treatment which makes the work no
less striking than entertaining. . . . Sufficient has
been said to indicate the original idea upon which
this distinctly clever piece is based. . . . The author
is to be congratulated upon having so successfully
broken fresh ground."

In Manchester, the Courier S2X&\ —

'* He has written a work which admirably suits his

134

Before I Forget

wonderful flexible personality, and with the delightful
music by Mr. A. H. West, the performance is one
which cannot fail to keep an audience alternately
amazed by the splendour of its mountings, and con-
vulsed with the humour with which it abounds."

The Manchester Mail said : —

** Mr. Chevalier, who has written the piece himself,
deserves warm praise for its execution. It is too good
to be called a musical comedy."

The Manchester Guardian said : —

*' As Pinder, he is genuinely humorous, and his
mingled terror and wonder in the scene in which the
Hindoo shows him his previous existences, gradually
reminding him of them, was remarkably fine — not
unworthy indeed to be compared with the acting of
Joseph Jefferson in a like scene."

I could fill three or four pages with excerpts from
the provincial Press, all in a similar strain. In
Brighton, Charles Warner saw the play through
every night during my week's visit there. In
Margate, Sidney Grundy, after sitting it out, came
round and said the kindest and most encouraging
things. Indeed, acting on his advice, I wrote a
comedy, with which some day I may tempt fortune
again. I very nearly settled with a syndicate to back
me, but as one of its members suggested *' taking out a
policy on my life in case anything should happen to
me," my suspicions were aroused, and I found that I
was dealing with the notorious Monson !

H. E. Moss (of Hippodrome fame), after hearing the
play read and the music played, offered to produce it
at Terry's Theatre. My great regret now is that I

135

Before I Forget

did not settle with him, but as the arrangement he
suggested would have necessitated my becoming
partly responsible financially, the matter fell through.
I had already spent a lot of money on the provincial
production. I had taken the initial risk in testing the
chances of its success. What I wanted was to find
some one who would engage me, in the usual way, at a
salary, and pay a percentage on the receipts to Alfred
West and myself, as composer and author. The
then manager of the Royalty Theatre (representing a
syndicate) approached me on these lines, and an
agreement was signed. This agreement guaranteed
me a six weeks' run. Six weeks' salary was to be
paid to me before we opened. In a weak moment I
yielded to a request to accept half this amount down,
the balance to be paid during the first week of the
run. I received no more. The notice went up in
the middle of the week, and although most of the
principals, and even the chorus, offered to play
another week for nothing (so certain were they of
ultimate success), the management could not afford
to take the risk. The theatre closed and the syndi-
cate wound up.

The play never had a chance at the Royalty. There
was not room in the orchestra for the necessary
number of players. On the first night West, who
conducted, had in several instances to deal with
deputies, instead of the musicians who had rehearsed.
We had been working night and day. I was fagged
out — at my very worst — when we opened. The piece
didn't begin to go properly until about the third
performance. The stage was too small, the lighting

136

Before I Forget

(a most important feature) was bad. On the Saturday
night — the last performance — it went better than it
had ever gone in London. On the following Monday
I made it my business to find out if any one, believing
the theatre to be still open, turned up to book seats.
More people came on that black Monday than on any
previous occasion during the preceding memorable
week !

The failure of the ** Land of Nod," if failure it can
fairly be called, was the biggest disappointment I
have ever experienced. If, during its seven months
provincial tour it had been invariably slated — if
experienced men like Sidney Grundy, Hall Caine,
William Mackintosh, Charles Warner, Richard
Harding Davis, Sir Edward Russell, and many
others had condemned it, I might not have been
surprised at one of the London criticisms wherein
the play was described as

** A farrago of nonsense."

But why, then, did another paper compare it with

•* A poem by Edgar Allen Poe"?

If the Royalty management had been able to carry
out the terms of their agreement — if the play had had
the advantage of another week's run, it might have
pulled itself together, as many a first-night failure has
done. There were mistakes made in the casting.
Singers, admirable singers, were engaged to play
parts which called for acting, more than singing.

137

Before I Forget

This was an error of judgment for which I blame
nobody, but it was one which, in a week or two, might
have been rectified.

I don't say the *' Land of Nod" was a great work,
but I do say that, if only from a musical point of view,
it was infinitely better than many a so-called musical
comedy which has worked up into a success. To
substantiate this assertion, I would ask the sceptic to
examine the following numbers in the published score :
Opening Chorus, Act II., the song which, as Professor
Pinder, I sang to my pre-existences in Act I. ; the
Ghosts' Chorus in Act I. ; the coon song, ** Dat Moon's
Mighty High," in Act II. ; the concerted number (17) in
Act II.; Dr. Goodwin's song, '* The Late Lamented " ;
Nadoura's two songs, ''The Tarantella," and other
dances, and the duet in Act II. between the Cockney
and the Fairy, the words of which ran like this : —

Duet.*

Sims. Where do you come from, my pretty maid?
Nadoura. From the land of the ever-absent shade.
Sims, Do you think it would suit me, my pretty maid?

Nadoura. All sun and no shade?
I'm rather afraid
You'd sigh now and then for a few minutes' shade !

Sims. Where are you going to, my pretty maid?
Nadoura. To a land where the roses never fade.

Where Beauty is Law, and must be obeyed.

Sims. Are there many like you?
Nadoura. Well, only a few.

• By permission of Messrs. Reynolds & Co., 13, Bemers Street, W.

138

Before I Forget-

Sims. They know what it means to be put in the shade !
Sims. Won't you remain here, my pretty maid ?
Nadoura. I was going home but I may be delayed !
Sims. I promise you will not regret that you stayed —

Nadoura. It's far from the sun, —

But when all's said and done —

The sunshine is sunnier seen from the shade 1

139

CHAPTER XVIII

AFTER my provincial tour with the " Land of
Nod," before opening at the Royalty, I made
my reappearance in London at Drury Lane Theatre,
on the occasion of Nellie Farren's benefit. I was
naturally very nervous, as I had been away from the
Metropolis for nearly three years. Behind the scenes
I happened to run up against Bram Stoker. He
asked me how I was, and I replied, '' Quaking/m
He laughed and said, " Well, you're in good company.
The chief" (Sir Henry Irving) ''is terribly nervous.
He's going on next. I've just left him pacing up and
down the dressing-room." When my turn came I
received an extremely kind welcome. What a
wonderful maiinde that was ! I don't remember ever
seeing such a number of theatrical celebrities, as were
literally packed together in the wings at Drury Lane
that day. Round the stage-door the usual crowd of
curious people waited to see the '* pro's " arrive. I
walked to the theatre. My dresser took my *' props "
on beforehand in a cab. When he arrived he received
an enthusiastic welcome, to which, so I was informed
by an eye-witness, he bowed his acknowledgments in
the most approved fashion, shouldered the luggage,
and dashed inside.

140

Before I Forget

On May 26, 1898, I gave the first of two Recitals at
St. James's Hall, presenting a programme composed
chiefly of impersonations which I had not previously
attempted in London. Among others, I produced the
two following items : —

A FALLEN STAR.*

MUSICAL MONOLOGUE,
WRITTEN BY ALBERT CHEVALIER. COMPOSED BY ALFRED H. WEST.

Thirty years ago I was a favourite at the "Vic,"
A finished actor, not a Cuff and Collar shooting stick ;
I roused the house to laughter, or called forth the silent tear.
And made enthusiastic gods vociferously cheer.
Those were the days, the palmy days, of Histrionic Art,
Without a moment's notice I'd go on for any part.
I do not wish to gas, I merely state in self-defence,
The denizens of New Cut thought my Hamlet was immense.
Thirty years ago ! I can hear them shout " Bravo,"
When after fighting armies I could never show a scar;
That time, alas ! is gone, and the light that erstwhile shone
Was the light of a falling star.

From patrons of the circle too, I had my meed of praise,
The ladies all admired me in those happy halcyon days.
My charm of manner, easy grace, and courtly old-world air,
Heroic bursts of eloquence, or villain's dark despair.
I thrilled my audience ! — thrilled 'em ! as they never had been

thrilled !
And filled the theatre nightly as it never had been filled !
Right through the mighty gamut of emotions I could range,
From classic Julius Caesar to the "Idiot of the Grange."
Thirty years ago ! I was some one in the show.
And now I pass unrecognised in crowded street or bar!
The firmament of fame holds no record of my name,
The name of a fallen star.

^ By permission of Messrs. Reyttolds & Co., 13, Berners Street, W.

Before I Forget

The dramas that I played in were not all upon the stage,
Nor did I in an hour become the petted of the age.
Oft in my youthful days I've sung " Hot Codlins " as the Clown,
And turned my face away to hide the tear-drops rolling down ;
And when the pit and gallery saw I'd wiped the paint away,
They shouted *'Go it, Joey! Ain't 'e funny? Hip hooray!"
My triumphs and my failures, my rise, and then my fall !
They've rung the bell, the curtain's down, I'm waiting for my

call!
{Producing old play-bills)

Bills — not those I owe — but old play-bills of the show !
My name as Hamlet, Lear, Virginius, Shylock, Ingomar !
The laurel on my brow — a favourite — and now —
Forgotten ! a fallen star.

'E CAN'T TAKE A ROISE OUT OF 01 ! •'

WRITTEN BY ALBERT CHEVALIER. COMPOSED BY ALFRED H. WES

Oi'vE sarved a many masters, an' Oi've travelled in my toime,

Oi've been as fur as twenty moile from 'ere;
O'm eighty-four coom Christmas, an' Oi feels just in my proime.

An' never was moi yed an' thoughts more clear !
Moi son 'e left the village nigh on forty year ago.

An' drat un ! 'e coom back 'ome t'other day:
'Tain't that Oi grumbles at, at all, tho' that theer were a blow —

It's 'is " Oi knows all about it " sort o' way !

Oi've been moindin' the farm 'ere fur forty-five years.

An' afore that, the pigs in the stye.
An' Oi knows wot Oi knows, an' Oi 'ears wot Oi 'ears,

An' 'e can't take a roise out of Oi !

E sez as Oi'm be'oind the toimes — wotever that may mean-
Becos Oi don't take kindly tew 'is ways,

* By permission of Messrs. Refnolds Sf Co., 13, Btmers Strut, W,

Photo by\ [B. Knight.

'' 'K CAN'T TAKE A ROISE OUT OF Ol ! "

[To face p. 142.

Before I Forget-

E tells about theayters, an' all sich like as 'e's seen,

An' sez as 'ow play-actin' bizness pays.
Lord sakes ! Oi gits that roiled, as Oi could 'it un when 'e talks,

A-sayin' as 'ow actors roides in style,
Oi've seed un roide at circus, but on comin' out they walks.

'E laughs at Oi, an' that makes my blood bile !

For Oi've been moindin' the farm, &c.

*E musn't think as 'ow becos 'e's lived i' Lunnon town

'E's ev'rybody — me amongst the rest !
Oi've 'arf a moind to show un up, or reyther take un down,

Oi 'ardly knows which way ud be the best.
Soomtoimes I lets un talk, an' then Oi busts into a laugh,

Oi never did 'ear sich a pack o' loies.
'E sez as 'ow 'e's seed a thing they calls the " funnygraph !

You turns a 'andle, an' it talks an' croies !

Oi've been moindin' the farm, &c.

My object in taking St. James's Hall, instead of
making my reappearance at a music-hall was, that I
was as anxious to break new ground as I was when,
for a similiar reason, I left the theatre, and broke away
from a groove labelled either '' low comedy and
burlesque" or ''crotchety old men." The limitations
of a music-hall would not have afforded me the oppor-
tunity I now wanted, because there also a label was
attached to me — a label to which I owe more than I
can ever repay, as it enabled me to make a corner
for myself in public favour. I have sometimes been
reproached with discarding the bridge which, in
reality, I am so deeply grateful to for carrying me

143

Before I Forget

over. I did not, nor am I ever likely to, forget that
but for the music-hall, I might never have made any
headway as an entertainer. My appearance at St.,
James's Hall was, as a matter of fact, an acknowledge
ment of this debt ; but there is a fascination ii
incurring some debts. I had experienced this fascina-j
tion, and desired to increase my liabilities. That
should have received a hearty welcome on my return
to the halls, I never for one moment doubted.
Indeed, I was urged to make my reappearance in
this way by music-hall managers, and by friends,
who took an interest in me and my work. I felt,
however, that once again I must decide for myself,
having the courage of my convictions. I realised that
much of my new work would miss fire in a music-hall,
where a mere study of character is not what the
audience expects. I had tried in the early days of
" Knocked 'em in the Old Kent Road," '' The Coster'si|§
Serenade," &c., to vary my programme by the intro-
duction of other characters away from the cockney
pure and simple, and I remembered that when I had
finished my attempt, stentorian voices roared out,
** Give us the old uns." This is very easy to explain.
In the halls I was associated with coster songs only —
I was a ''coster singer," whatever may be the generic
significance of the term. I was a specialist, and the
penalty of my success was that I dared not, on pain of
disappointing those who had paid to hear me "as
labelled," try any experiments. The most curious
experience I ever had, in this way, was at the Royal,
in Holborn, where one Saturday afternoon I intro-
duced a song in which I appeared, not as a coster, but

144

Photo by]

The Coster's Serenade.

, "^^.^f^nigk^A *»

\To Jace p. 144.

Before I Forget — —

as a " Johnnie." I took call after call. Several
publishers who chanced to be in the front came
round immediately after, all anxious to secure the
copyright. There seemed to be no two opinions
about it. *'A sure publishing success" was the
verdict of these experts. On all sides I heard nothing
but praise concerning my new song. ''It's capital!
The best thing you've done yet in the Halls." " You
think it will go?" I asked. ''Go!" they exclaimed.
"Didn't it go this afternoon.-* It'll be your trump
card for some months to come." At night, that same
night, I again included this Item in my programme,
not only at the Royal, but at the Pavilion, and — I
came off without a hand ! It was on this occasion
that the attitude of the audience was made clear to
me by cries of " Give us the old 'uns."

All sorts of stories have been circulated concerning
the writing of my songs, sketches, &c. For some
time I was supposed to employ a "ghost," who for a
very modest weekly stipend reeled off, and kept me
supplied with, the necessary material. As a matter of
fact I have written two or three in collaboration, to
which, on the published copies, joint names are
attached. The majority, however, for better or for
worse, I have perpetrated alone. I refer, of course,
to the words. In one or two cases — " The Future
Mrs. 'Awklns," for example — I have added a
tune to the original offence. The song, " My Old
Dutch " (for which my brother Ingle composed
the melody), I wrote on the backs of some en-
velopes, as I was walking from Oxford Street to
Islington : —

H5 L

Before I Forget-

MY OLD DUTCH.*

WRITTEN BY ALBERT CHEVALIER. COMPOSED BY CHARLES INGLE.

I've got a pal,

A reg'lar out an' outer,
She's a dear good old gal,

I'll tell yer all about 'er.
It's many years since fust we met,

'Er 'air was then as black as jet,
It's whiter now, but she don't fret,

Not my old gal !

We've been together now for forty years,
An' it don't seem a day too much ;

There ain't a lady livin' in the land

As I'd " swop " for my dear old Dutch !

I calls 'er Sal,

'Er proper name is Sairer,
An' yer may find a gal

As you'd consider fairer.
She ain't a angel — she can start

A jawin' till it makes yer smart ;
She's just a zvoman, bless 'er 'eart.

Is my old gal !

We've been together, &c.

Sweet fine old gal,

For worlds I wouldn't lose 'er ;
She's a dear, good old gal,

An' that's what made me choose 'er.
She's stuck to me through thick and thin,
When luck was out, when luck was in
Ah, wot a wife to me she's been,

An' wot a pa//

We've been together, &c.

♦ By permission 0/ Messrs. Reynolds &• Co., 13, Berners Street, tK
146

Photo by]

"My Old Dutch."

IB. Knight.

\To face p. 146.

Before I Forget-

I sees yer Sal —

Yer pretty ribbons sportin' !
Many years now, old gal,

Since them young days of courtin
I ain't a coward, still I trust

When we've to part, as part we must,
That Death may come and take me fust.

To wait my pal !

We've been together, &c.

I remember the occasion well. It was a very
foggy night, I lost my way, and for some con-
siderable time attached myself to a friendly lamp-
post, in the hope of being able to see some passer-by
who possessed a fog-defying bump of locality.
Waiting there, I scribbled two songs. The above
one has since been offered to, and accepted by, the
public. The other, for reasons which in a few
moments will doubtless be sufficiently obvious, I have
never submitted to any one outside the immediate
home circle. It was written when the fog was
blackest. That is all I can urge in its favour. It was
the simple tribute of a grateful heart, dedicated to
a light that did not fail in the wilderness of Clerken-
well, or thereabouts. I was forlorn, and my heart
went out to the only thing I could see — the Lamp-
post— the Lonely Lamp-post :

' ' I'm lonely,' said the Lamp-post,
'I'm really very lonely,

I miss the strife of active life ;
But oh ! 'tis not that only.

147

Before I Forget

I never move, which goes to prove,

I do not fetch and carry,
My grievance is, my line of " biz,"

It is so stationary.'

' I'm weary,' said the Lamp-post,

'I'm weary, dearie, weary,
For though at night I'm very bright

The sunshine makes me dreary.
I blaze away, till dawn of day

My brilliance renders dimmer;
And when put out, I never shout —

My swear-word, is a glimmer 1 ' "

*' An Old Bachelor," '' 'E Can't Take a Roise Out of
Oi," ** It Gits Me Talked Abaht," were written in the
train during railway journeys. **A Fallen Star"
grew out of some notes which I jotted down many
years ago. In its original form the ''Fallen Star"
was a broken-down fiddler. Here are the notes, as I
came across them in an old portfolio : —

Music to introduce : Mendelssohn's Concerto. An
old fiddler (make-up shabby. Head and hair like
Beethoven, but face bloated — dissipated) discovered
playing outside gorgeously illuminated gin palace
somewhere in the neighbourhood of the Docks.
View of Thames at back. 1 ime : midnight. Sky
overcast. Scene outside in strong contrast with the
brilliantly lighted pub., inside which a crowd of noisy
roughs are heard howling the chorus of a comic song,
as the curtain rises. Fiddler's story to be told in
three verses. He was once a great popular favourite.
In his young days, in the height of his success, he fell
in love with and married a woman, who, within a few

148

Before I Forget

years, proved false to him. From that moment he
lost all interest in life. He took to drink, falling
gradually lower and lower in the social scale, until
at last compelled to earn his living by playing in
the streets, on the chance of picking up a few
coppers. Broken in health and spirit, he is dying.
Suddenly, from inside the pub. voices are heard
calling to the fiddler to '' play up." He mechanically
attempts the tune which they have been bawling
out. Weak and faint he staggers — then realising
that life can last but a few moments longer, with a
supreme effort he pulls himself together, and plays
the opening strain of the Mendelssohn Concerto.
He falls ; and as he is stretched lifeless on the stage,
still clutching his violin, one of the strings is heard to
snap, and the curtain slowly descends, as the rough,
coarse voices roar out the refrain,

" Hi ! Hi ! clear the way for the Rowdy Dowdy Boys ! '

This idea I abandoned, as it would have been diffi-
cult to carry out in my Recitals, on account of the scenic
effects required. The above notes not only suggested
"A Fallen Star" — in which sketch I made the cha-
racter a broken-down, old-time tragedian — but they re-
sulted in my writing another monologue entitled '* M.
Armand Thibault," which I am glad to say was
equally well received. The two or three tunes which
I have (to use a word with due apologies to Leipsic,
Bayreuth, and other musical nurseries) ** composed,"
have worried me quite as much as they have worried
other people ! For days before I wrote any words to

149

Before I Forget ^M

it, the tune of ** The Future Mrs. 'Awklns," haunted
me. I went to sleep humming It, and in the morning
I bathed to it, shaved to it, dressed to it! I make
this confession because of reproaches which have been
hurled at me by friends, whose means were not equal
to the strain of constantly bribing organ-grinders to
** go into the next street." Just one word more about
"Mrs. 'Awkins." I was ''out of the bill " for some
time in consequence of a severe cold. One day a
friend called, and told me that he had travelled on
a recent railway journey with a man who volunteered
the following information concerning my indisposition :
** It's all bunkum about Chevalier's cold. He's mad,
that's what's the matter with him ! | He walks up and
down a long gravel path in his garden for hours at a
stretch, singing ' Oh ! Lizer ! ' Of course the truth
has been kept out of the papers, but they don't kid
me! I had it from the doctor who's attending
him ! "

This incident reminds me of another, which reflects
equal credit on the inventive faculty of that interesting
type — the man who knows everything about every-
body. Some years ago, my brother Bertram, trading
under the name of Knight, was in business as a
photographer, in the West End. One day a '* sitter,"
whose portrait had just been taken, walked out of the
studio into an adjoining waiting-room, where, on the
walls, hung a number of my photographs, in various
characters. Casually casting his eye round, the
gentleman remarked, '* Good likenesses of Chevalier.
I know him very well indeed. Ah ! he's got on — hasn't
he.'* Why I remember the time when he and his

150

Before I Forget-

father used to go round with a barrow. Many a
cabbage he's supplied us with in the old days ! "

Not a word was said until the "well-informed"
gentleman was about to take his leave. Then my
brother said, " I shall be seeing Albert at the Pavilion
to-night. He'll be interested in what you have just
told me. Would you mind giving me the address of
his old customers ? " " Who's Albert ? " queried the
knowing one. *' My brother, Albert Chevalier." The
gentleman picked up his hat, and made a wild rush
out into the street. My brother lost a customer. He
did not call back for his photos, as he had arranged
to do.

Many songs and sketches of mine, which failed in the
music-halls, have been most successful in my Recitals —
proving, if proof were needed, how much an actor is at
the mercy of the conditions under which he presents his
work. The particular items to which I refer, always safe
cards in my Recitals, never really appealed to music-
hall patrons. Sometimes they went fairly well, but as
a rule they were anything but big successes. Perhaps
they were not sufficiently obvious. The fancy of a
music-hall audience must be caught at once. It
won't wait to be tickled. There is very little '' work-
ing up " possible, as an actor understands the process.
By the time you've worked up to an effect, the chances
are that the greater part of your audience has retired
for refreshment ! You must start in with an effect.
The present-day music-hall is essentially a place of
amusement. The theatre — with all due deference to
the superior person who is so fond of saying that
" actors take themselves too seriously " — is, or should

151

Before I Forget

be, occasionally, something more. The fact that
Shakespeare wrote his plays to be acted, surely proves
this for all time. It is the artist's duty to do the best
he can — the best that is in him to do. Under the
circumstances he cannot take himself too seriously.
Above all he must have the courage of his opinions.

By way of encouragement to those who are fighting
the up-hill fight, let me relate a litde personal
experience. The first time I ever sang one of my
songs in Glasgow, was at a benefit performance. I
came off, as I had gone on, in dead silence. The next
time I appeared In that city, the advance booking for
my recital at St. Andrew's Hall was bigger than for
Paderewski ! — a fact which the curiously Inclined may
verify for themselves by applying to Messrs. Pater-
son, who were my bookers on the occasion in
question.

152

CHAPTER XIX

THE result of my two Recitals at St. James's Hall
more than realised my most sanguine hopes.
On each occasion I had a full house, and an enthu-
siastic audience. All my new impersonations were
received, both by the Press and the public, as kindly
as any of my earlier efforts. I had many offers from
London and provincial music-hall managers. Charles
Morton suggested that I should repeat my St. James's
Hall experiment at a Palace matinde. This I settled
to do, as I thought my new work would stand a better
chance of succeeding at the Palace than at any other
music-hall. In the matter of terms he was more
than generous. He found the theatre, the orchestra,
the staff, a company of artists, paid also for all
advertisements, and gave me 25 per cent, of the gross
receipts. The matinde was so successful that several
more were given, and I arranged to go into the night
bill for a short season, prior to opening at the Royalty
in the '' Land of Nod." At the Palace the night and
matinde audiences were quite distinct. During the
matindes, even the veteran Charles Morton was
surprised at the number of fresh faces to be seen in
the auditorium. Theatrical and music-hall managers
had often laughed at me for saying that they did not

153

Before I Forget

cater for all entertainment seekers. Apart from
Charles Morton, the only managers I can call to mind
who were at all inclined to think that my dream of
catering for, to them, an unknown quantity, was not
absolutely crazy, were H. E. Moss and the late
Newsome Smith. On different occasions I had talked
the matter over with them, and it is possible that if
Newsome Smith had lived, he would have attempted
to run a show on lines suggested by me — indeed he
promised me that he would do so. I wanted him to
try the experiment at the Tivoli, when he first took
over the management of that hall. The Tivoli would
have answered the purpose admirably, as it was
practically a new hall. It had no traditions ; it was
in an important thoroughfare. But although he
approved of the programme I suggested — a pro-
gramme, the sole aim and object of which should not
be simply to crowd in a number of turns, but which
should form a real variety entertainment, in the sense
that at some of the big theatrical benefits the turns
are really varied — he could not see his way then to
carry out the scheme. My suggestion was that the
bill should include the best procurable — not only in
the music-halls, but from the theatres, and the
concert platform. Good music (not necessarily incom-
prehensible !) selections from masters like Beethoven,
Mozart, Schumann, Chopin — masters who did not
ignore melody in their compositions. Short burlesques
— operettas (not boiled-down old plays), written by
established authors, and composers, played by
experienced people and properly stage-managed. The
instalment of a stage-manager, and the institution of

154

Before I Forget

rehearsals, as they are conducted in a well-regulated
theatre, to be a sine qua non. All songs produced by
the regular music-hall performers to be subject to
the same amount of careful rehearsing, instead of the
slipshod humming of a tune into the conductor's ear,
and his fatal assurance that '* it will be all right at
night' What an entertainment — a real variety enter-
tainment— could be presented under these conditions !
To obtain the best, the best must have some assurance
that it will not lose caste by appearing in the halls.
There is no reason why an artist, say, like the inimit-
able Dan Leno, should not be followed, or vice versa,
by, say, H oilman, Ben Davies, Blauvelt, or Kirkby
Lunn. Sims Reeves in his old age appeared in the
halls, but it was in his old age. There should be no
stigma attaching to '' variety." I feel sure that
certain so-called ** high class " Saturday concerts
would be all the better for a little '' high class "
variety. Such an attempt has been made occasionally,
a fitful, feeble attempt, but it carried no conviction with
it because it was half-hearted. Variety of the best
would surely prove more attractive than monotony of
the best. As I pointed out earlier, the term *' variety '*
has been so misapplied, that it no longer conveys, any
definite assurance that a programme, so headed, shall
not be merely a pot-pourri of good, and very bad —
tasteful and distasteful — harmless, and unwholesome —
graceful and disgraceful. I don't for one moment
mean to say that all so-called variety entertainments
come under any of these headings. What I desire to
emphasise is, that the majority of variety programmes
offer no guarantee that they contain nothing which

155

Before I Forget-

shall offend, and such a guarantee should be insisted
upon. It would be impossible to overrate the benefit
which would accrue to music-hall artists under these
conditions. Once establish a proper standard of work,
and it will be the aim and object of each, and every '
performer to reach that standard — not to fall below it.
A certain London manager — a typical theatrical
speculator — approached me shortly after my St.
James's Hall Recitals. This particular manager
having, strange to say, loads of money at his command,
was under the impression that he had only to make a
sufficiently tempting monetary bid, for any performer
to immediately fall down, and grovel before the golden
prospect. Here are some letters and telegrams which
passed between us : —

" Theatre.

*' My dear Sir, — I have a very fine part in my
next production which I would like you to play. . . .
Please understand from the outset that I do not want
you for your name, but simply for your talent. ... I
don't want you as a draw, simply because I don't
believe that any artist draws. . . . You would be
one of the crowd, not starred in any way. . . . Kindly
drop me a line to-day.

** Yours truly,

"Y. Z."

Here is my reply, sent by return post : —

" My dear Sir, — It is very good of you to say
that you want me * for my talent ' ; but my experience
is that, by managers, an artist's * talent ' is estimated

156

Before I Forget

according to his drawing powers ; and that he is only
offered ' fine parts ' when he is in demand — in other
words, when he is a draw. I am at present on my
tenth Recital tour. In defiance of your theories, I
actually ' star ' my own name, and, curiously enough,
business continues to be excellent. ... I do not feel
inclined to give you, or any other manager, the oppor-
tunity to inform the public that in future I am to be
regarded as ' one of the crowd ' — even if that crowd
be yours. I am writing thus candidly, because you
have addressed me in a similar way. My letter is
simply Labour replying to Capital — an interchange of
compliments between a Great Employer and a humble
worker.

** Yours truly,

"Albert Chevalier."

Immediately on receipt of my letter, the " Great
Employer " wired to me as follows : —

" As I must settle soon, can we continue to inter-
change compliments at luncheon to-day one-thirty sharp
at theatre ? Please wire to theatre. ..."

To which I wired back : —

" Sorry, but I leave town for Devonshire midday.
Shall be away all the week. The humble labourer has
recently had other offers. His intention is to wait for
the most advantageous. This is the Great Employer's
opportunity. Just ordered fresh stock of special print-
ing, star bills, &c. Address as before, Chevalier,

157

Before I Forget -Ml

Compliment Exchange Bureau. Letters answered
with neatness and dispatch."

In December, 1898, Robert Newman was arranging
some Christmas entertainments at the Large Queen's
Hall. Little thinking that it would lead to anything
more important, I setded an engagement with him
for three weeks. I had often thought, particularly-
after my St. James's Hall and Palace Recitals, of
trying to revive a kind of German Reed show. If |
realised that the death of Corney Grain and the
sudden, sad, collapse of the St. George's Hall enter-
tainment had left a gap which, though impossible in
some ways to refill, offered an opportunity for an
experiment on slightly different lines. A large section
of the London public remained uncatered for — the
people who would not go to a theatre or a music-hall.
Theatrical and music-hall managers have no idea what
an enormous number of people there are of this class ;
and yet it is an amusement-loving class — all it requires
is to be carefully catered for. It would go to the
theatre — to the music-hall, perhaps — if it could be
quite sure that it would not be shocked. It will come
over and over again, once it feels absolutely sure of
seeing or hearing nothing that will offend. If it only
knew, there are theatres to which it might flock, and
be entertained delightfully, intellectually ; but it has
no experience of theatres. All it knows about them
is what it has heard — and it has heard lots from
people who couldn't tell the stage door from the box
office ! It is an extremely cautious class. Are its de-
mands so very unreasonable, after all.'* My contention

158

Before I Forget

has always been that, given a clean, wholesome enter-
tainment, anybody can go to it. Given an entertain-
ment where variety means the clean and wholesome
served up as meat in the innuendo sandwich, and you
not only rob a whole class of amusement, but you keep
out those who would be your staunchest supporters.

During the Christmas show at Queen's Hall I had
several chats with Robert Newman on the subject of
trying to establish, in the Small Hall, an entertainment,
if not exactly on the lines of the late German Reed's,
on lines which might appeal equally to that large section
of the public which at present does not go to theatre
or music-hall, and that section which patronises both.

We decided to make the attempt in a small way,
and the fact that the thousandth performance is near
at hand, entitles us to some little credit for the faith
we had in receiving support from the public. Please
don't run away with the notion that I consider my
particular entertainment an ideal variety one ! All
I claim for it is that it does not offend ; and it is still
running — for which I am truly grateful. The con-
ditions under which I am able to produce my work
at Queen's Hall are to me delightful. The audiences
come there to be entertained. Remarkable audiences
they are, too — *' variety " audiences in the best sense
of the word : Theatre goers and non-theatre goers ;
music-hall frequenters, and people who have never
been inside a music-hall ; a big percentage of Mr.
Newman's own following (these lovers of symphony
and other classical concerts), and visitors from the
country — friends, if I may be allowed to call them so
— who have ** sampled" my entertainments on tour.

»59

Before I Forget

My Recitals started at the Small Queen's Hall,
January i6, 1899. My own opening programme con-
sisted of *^'E Can't Take a Roise Out of Oi," "Our
Bazaar," '' A Fallen Star," " Dat Moon's Mighty
High" (coon song from the "Land of Nod"), "Th
Coster's Courtship," " I've Got 'Er 'At," " Burlesque
PVench Song," and " Knocked 'em in the Old Kent
Road." During this, my first season, the managers'
bugbear, the London County Council, was once again
to the fore with a fresh budget of well-intentioned
restrictions. Robert Newman particularly had for
some time smarted under a succession of pin-pricks
inflicted by the L.C.C. Opinions may differ — they
always will on every subject — as to the advisability
of giving Sunday concerts. That, however, they
supplied a want, Mr. Newman proved at Queen's
Hall, notwithstanding certain passages-at-arms which
he had with the Licensing Committee. I ventured
to side with him, and in a feeble parody of " Sally
in our Alley," taking liberties with both tune, rhyme,
and rhythm, I presented, as an item in my programme
the following protest : —

SUNDAY IN OUR ALLEY.-

Of all the days that are in the week,

I really do dread one day;
That's — if it be well so to speak —

A County Council Sunday ;
For then I'm dressed all in my best

To roam abroad with Sally :
She is the darling of my heart;

We walk out "ca.sua//y."

■ By ptrmission «/ Messrs. Reynolds &• Co., 13, Berners Street IV.
160

Before I ^ Forget

The Licensing Committee all

Are guardians of that one day.
Show me the man who'd overhaul

A County Council Sunday.
Ah ! think what joy, for girl or boy —

East Ender or *' Pall Mally"—
They breathe the air, but must not dare

To breathe it un-conventiona//K.

We do not cry ; we would not sigh

For pantomime or ballet.
But just to hear — say — Meyerbeer,

Blauvelt, or Lady Halle.
Explain to me, great L.C.C. —

Explain it \og[ca//y —
If it be wrong to hear a song.

What price your Sunday bands, old pally?

Let's hope ere seven long years are o'er

(As fairy tales say, one day)
There'll be no County Council for

To regulate our Sunday.
Ah ! then, perhaps, these kill-joy chaps

Will frown at me and Sally;
And who shall say? — we may that day

Thank Heaven mutua//y !

The arrogance of this body, as represented by the
" Theatres and Entertainments Committee," is only
equalled by the ignorance it displays where essentials
are concerned. As an entertainment ''guardian
angel," as moral policeman, the L.C.C. is a miserable
failure, which is not surprising, considering that many
of its members give one the impression of being, in
their hearts, opposed to laughter, and all that causes
it, save their own bigoted, narrow-minded attitude.
Surely the man who " pays the piper " has the right

i6i M

Before I Forget

to decide whether he may be allowed to purchase a
drink inside a place of entertainment, instead of being
put to the discomfort of having to go outside, and so
allow a public-house proprietor to reap the benefit ofM
patronage catered for by another speculator? The
flagrant absurdity of these restrictions, was never more
forcibly brought home to rational-minded people than
in Manchester, at the Palace. When I was there,
you could not drink inside the building, but there was
a public-house across the way, which, in the interval,
did a thriving trade. Tell a man that he must not
do a thing, and his desire increases according to the
force opposing it. This is only human nature.
Hundreds who would have remained seated, without
wanting to drink, suddenly became thirsty when the
interval reminded them that there was a place outside,
where they could obtain what was prohibited within
the precincts of the hall ! We are not a nation ofjl
teetotalers ; and however temperate we may become,
it is doubtful if we shall ever be — or desire to be —
more than temperate in the matter of alcoholic stimu-
lants. The man in the street is alive to the incon-
gruous, paradoxical condition of things whereby our
Government permits, and grants licenses for the sale
of a certain article, deriving therefrom an enormous
revenue, and at the same time hypocritically sanctions
an outcry against its consumption. The man in the
street is a long-suffering, easy-going person. He
really represents all that is truly tolerant in this
country. He smiles when the Faddist threatens.
He believes in the common sense of the majority ;
but he forgets that he represents the majority — that

162

Before I Forget

majority which will not — or, up to the present, has
not — united to protest against the tyranny of teetotal-
ism. I know men who cannot take a glass of beer
without becoming temporarily imbecile. I also know
men who cannot eat cucumber without courting the
pangs of dyspepsia. To each of these I would say —
without preaching — avoid beer, avoid cucumber ; but
I should not deprive others, differently constituted, of
benefits, real or imaginary, which they may derive
from the consumption of either beer or cucumber.
I should not feel justified in unreasonably restricting
the sale of these articles, to the detriment of capitalists
who are prepared to pay according to the tariff im-
posed by our law-makers.

Has it ever struck theatrical and music-hall enter-
tainment caterers, what an enormous amount of ground
is covered by the industry they represent ? Here
are a few of the trades, professions, and arts directly
and indirectly interested : playwrights, actors, singers,
orchestral players, supers, dancers, scenic artists,
gymnasts, acrobats, carpenters, electricians, refresh-
ment caterers, printers, music and other publishers,
advertising contractors, builders, decorators, furnishers,
gasmen, scene-shifters, flymen, firemen, check-takers,
programme-sellers, clerks, typewriters, music copyists,
costumiers, wig-makers. All these, and many more,
derive incomes from work supplied by theatre, music-
hall, and other entertainment caterers. If delegates
representing these united workers would call a meeting,
to protest against the rough-shod riding of faddists
over their legitimate hunting-ground, what chance
would the faddists stand ?

163

Before I Forget-

I simply put the question for the consideration of
those in power, who do not know how nearly they
have approached that last straw which may break the
camel's back, only to substitute a very much stiffer
backbone.

164

CHAPTER XX

AFTER my first season at Queen's Hall, I went
as usual on tour in the provinces, returning to
Langham Place in October. I reopened with the
following additions to my repertoire : ** M. Armand
Thibault," " It Gits Me Talked Abaht," and *' 'Anky
Panky, or The Quickness of the 'And Deceives the
Heye." I had often contemplated a stage representa-
tion of the street corner, and racecourse conjurer. I
had frequently watched him at work — having a little
weakness for sleight-of-hand myself — but I had never
been able to quite see how to present the character
in my entertainment. I built up the sketch on tour,
giving it for the first time in Gloucester. It went so
well that I decided to elaborate it. In Leamington I
added to his list of accomplishments, that of one-
stringed fiddle Virtuoso. This enabled me to
burlesque the airs and graces of certain long-haired
instrumentalists. In a building where this type of
musician is not quite a stranger, my caricature was, I
am glad to say, most successful. The origin of my
monologue, ** M. Armand Thibault," I have explained
elsewhere. "It Gits Me Talked Abaht," I had had
by me ever since I came back from America. Shortly

165

Before I Forget

, the

after the commencement of my second season, the
South African war broke out, and the patriotic reciter
loomed large on the theatrical horizon. Rudyard
Kipling set him, and her, going with the '' Absent-
Minded Beggar." About this time I was inundated
with letters from aspiring histrions, and vocalists, who
were organising entertainments '' in aid of the good
cause." Many of these were simply bunkum, so far
as real patriotism was concerned. A novice wanted a
good '' send-off"^ — the following was his, or her, plan
of campaign : he, or she, wrote to certain artists
whose names would be of value from a business point
of view, asking if they would give their services at a
concert, which he, or she, (the aspiring one) was
organising for the '' Absent-Minded Beggar Fund."
The artists applied to, in many cases, agreed to give
their services. An attractive programme was drawn
up. The organiser not only succeeded in obtaining a
Mut under exceptionally favourable circumstances,
but in addition derived no little kudos as organiser.
This occasional misuse of the term "■ Patriotism " for
purposes of advertisement, and the fact also that
many of our old-established charitable institutions at
home, suffered in consequence of money being poured
into one channel, to the serious detriment of others,
no less deserving, tempted me to paraphrase, or
parody, Rudyard Kipling's poem. Here is the
parody as I gave it in my entertainment at Queen's
Hall. I introduced it into my ** 'Anky Panky" sketch.
The ** professor" explained, that being unable to
afford a copy of the original, he had "dodged up
some verses on his own " : —

i66

Photo 6y]

Our Court Ball.

[_B. Knight.

\Tofacep. i66.

^
n

ti ^p^ « •

* «

"«o*l> •»«'•' «r,</**i^ w t,'

Before I Forget

"OWED TO KIPLING."*

ABSENT-MINDEDLY WRITTEN AND RECITED BY ALBERT CHEVALIER.

You've done something for reciters ! They're an absent-minded

lot!
But they've turned up in a crowd to strike the iron now it's hot]
When I first thought of doing it, folks talked about an "ad,"
And looked at from that point of view, it's not so very bad !

Cook's son, duke's son, son of a belted earl,
Stage-struck Johnnie or dramatist, dude or society girl,
Do a good turn for a music-hall, or work it into a play.
Well, or atrociously rendered, it's sure to pay ! pay ! pay !

If you want a handsome sal'ry, you can have it, name your

terms,
Ev'ry detail shall be given to the advertising firms ;
Then to make the show effective we must have a martial air.
Drums to imitate the cannon — oh ! the booming must be there.

Duke's job, cook's job, gardener, baronet, groom,
Side-drum, kettle-drum, make it a big, big boom;
And some of us may be knighted for popularising the lay,
As I said before, if we must have war, it shall pay ! pay !
pay!

I'm an absent-minded beggar — I forgot to tell you that —
Oh ! the cause is great and noble — to the cause I raise my hat ;
But Kip.'s looking after Tommy, so Ive half made up my mind
To take out a poet's licence for some fighters left behind.

Brave fight ! vain fight ! fight that the strong would shun !
Fight without hope or glory — fight that is never won;
Battle in filth and squalor — sordid, spiritless fray !
Through the roll of the drum hear the cry from the slum,
and pay ! pay ! pay !

* By perntission of Messrs. Reynolds &• Co., 13, Berners Street, U\

Before I Forget

One of the parts I wanted to play, when I was
acting in the theatres, was Achille Talma Dufard in
the '* First Night." Over and over again I have
been going to appear in this character, but some-
thing has invariably cropped up to prevent my
doing so. I allude to this because, but for my desire
to play Achille, I might never have written, or
impersonated, Armand Thibault. I hope my per-
formance has given no kind friend cause to deplore
the desire which inspired it! I first produced this
little monologue at Ilfracombe. My natural nervous-
ness was accentuated by the knowledge that I had to
play a few bars on the violin — an instrument on which
I could at one time, '* strum " fairly well by ear. I
understand nothing of musical technique — an admission
which those who know me will doubtless consider
superfluous. The playing of those few bars worried
me for weeks beforehand. The actual impersonation
was comparatively easy, because I knew my man.
To make matters worse, it was necessary for the
audience to believe that Thibault, in his day, had
been a fine performer. When the moment came for
me to play I could hardly hold the fiddle under my
chin. Possibly, the kindly disposed audience made
extra allowance for the poor old "has been." Any-
way, it took me a week to overcome the dread of
appearing as a soloist. And even then, there was a
deal more tremolo in my playing than the musical
phrase actually called for. If I put the sketch aside
for a few nights, all the worst symptoms of my
nervousness would again remorselessly seize me !

i68

Before I Forget

MONSIEUR ARMAND THIBAULT.

MONOLOGUE.
WRITTEN BY ALBERT CHEVALIER.

(Scene. — Shabby room ; table and two chairs R.c. ; chair with hat
hanging on it up stage L. ; on table violin case. Thibault
discovered tuning violin. Pianist off playing ^^ Ki Harney " very
badly.)

Thibault. Oh ! dat man ! Alvays de same tune ! alvays de same
tune ! He is Irish. He vill only play de national melody. I love
de national melody, but when it start at eight o'clock in de morning
et finish only at eleven o'clock at night — ah ! but one can have too
much Irish ! {Examining string) Et dis string, mais how is it dis string
'as crack three times dis week, eh ? but it is not crack, dis string.
It is cut ! Ah ! mais pourquoi ? Perhaps I practice too much — I know
de gentleman upstairs he complain dat I interfere vid his piano studies.
He has a piano — oh ! yes ! he has a piano — he cannot play 'im, but
dat is noting ! {sits l. of table) I also, I had a piano once — it is . . .
{looking regretfully at violin case) it is vid my Stradivarius. It break
my heart to part vid my violin. I get twenty pounds for 'im three
months ago from — from one of my pupils. I 'ave not de twenty
pounds now, oh ! no ! but he gave me dis ticket {takes pawnticket
from pocket). It was very good of him. Oh ! ve had had von
previous transaction — about de piano ! et me voila maintenant —
Armand Thibault membre du conservatoire de Paris — leader of de
Franz Schubert Orchestre, and dis {looking at violin) dis is all I
have to remind me of de past. It is a poor substitute for de
instrument at ... at my pupil's. Ah ! dey say I am too old to
play ! Parbleu ! de gout it take me in de hand sometimes, mais
vat of dat ? Ven it leave me I am de same Armand Thibault !
{placing violin under his chin as if about to play — gets twinge of
gout— puts violin down). Ah ! I vas laid up tree times during
my last engagement, et dis season, de first for twenty years, my
place in de Franz Schubert Orchestre is taken by anoder ! and
worse dan dat — my instrument — my Stradivarius is — is at my
pupil's ! Ingrat dat I am ! I have live on dat instrument for
tree months ! De last of dat is gone dis morning — 'alf for my
breakfast, and 'alf for a new string ! {risings violin in hand^

169

Before I Forget

tuning violin. Pianist starts outside again). Ah ! de tone, de tone
Is not de same ! — but den my fingers vere getting so stiff. {Listens.)
Ah ! de gentleman upstairs ! (Style of playing now better.) Non !
dat is not de Irish gentleman ! Dat is de master ! Dat is better.
{Looking at string) Et dis string ? — mais somebody 'as cut it — Ah !
it is ce malheureux ! {looking off). You cut my string ! You don't
wish me to cure me of de gout ? You play piano ? You shall
accompany me ! {tries to play — gets twinge of gout). Oh ! . . . 'ere
nom d'un petit bon homme bleu ! If it is absolument necessary dat
I s'all have de gout, mais vy must I have it in de hand ? vy not in
de foot? A musician does not vant a foot ! I know tree
trombone, a bassoon, a clarinette all vid de gout, but in de foot
only ! {breaks down). Ah ! dey vere right, dey vere right. I am too
old ! {sinks in chair). Ah ! if only I 'ad my Stradivarius to remind
me of fame dat is gone ! — Oh ! je suis lache ! I am a coward !
Courage ! Courage ! {Knock outside.) Mais vat is dat ? Ah!
perhaps de little girl — de little girl to know if I take dinner at home
to-day ! No ! {turning towards door r.) not to-day — not to-day
{trying to conceal emotion) — I dine dis evening, vid some friends at
a little soiree musicale. {Aside) Oh ! que j'ai faim ! {Knock
outside.) Comment ! you insist ? but I tell you . . . {going towards
door) I tell you I go out — I . . . {Thibault takes letter ivhich is
handed in to him). A letter for me ? . . . {examines envelope)
' Franz Schubert Orchestre ! " But vat . . . vat can dey have
to write to me again? {opens letter and reads. Music outside).
"My dear M. Thibault, — I have much pleasure in enclosing
you a cheque, which I beg you to receive as the first instalment of
a pension "... Pension ! Cheque ! {looking towards violin case)
Oh ! vere is de ticket? {feels in pockety finds pawnticket). Dere it is !
dere it is ! {calling) Marianne ! Marianne ! {closing and fastening
empty case, leaving violin on table) I change my mind — I — I dine
at home to-day ! {takes hat off chair, mumbling) I dine at home to-
day. But first I go out ! {Going off, turns round and calls out)
Lay for two, Marianne — for two — I bring back an old friend !

Curtain.

Shortly after the production of this sketch, the
following lines were sent to me : —

170

Before I Forget

ARMAND THIBAULT.

From mood to mood you pass, from soul to soul,
From smiles to tears, from throbbing heart to heart

Breathing life's breath through many a varying role
In this great tragi-comedy of Art.

Chameleon-like you change : and now I see
The old musician — he whose soul's regret

Enthrals us like a haunting melody —

Fate's trio led by Love — a quaint quartet.

Armand Thibault ! We greet you, sir, to-day.
Maestro, in whose art sweet truths are blent :

You know the rhythms of the heart, and play
On life as on a perfect instrument.

Edinboro\ Dece7nber i6, 1899. G. F. R. Anderson.

People often ask me which of my songs, sketches,
and monologues I like the best. It is a very difficult
question to answer, because if I did not like a song,
a sketch, or a monologue, I should not produce it.
If I have any particular favourites out of a repertoire
of quite one hundred items, they are : "A Fallen
Star," " My Old Dutch," '' My Country Cousin,"
'' Mrs. 'Awkins," '' Our Little Nipper," '' Wot's the
Good of Hanyfink } Why, Nuffink ! " '^ Our Bazaar,"
** Burlesque Lectures," delivered as the curate,
'*M. Armand Thibault," '"Anky Panky," "Blue
Ribbon Jane," "Our Court Ball," "The Lag's
Lament," "Tick-Tock," "An Old Bachelor," " 'E
Can't Take a Roise Out of Oi," "Mafekin' Night," and
" Knocked 'em in the Old Kent Road." I am also
frequently asked if I find the old songs go better than
the new, to which I truthfully reply, " The new songs
go better — when they are old."

171

Before I Forget

Just before Christmas, 1899, I received a note from
John Holllngshead asking me to appear at his first
and only benefit. Instead of giving an Item from my
repertoire, it was arranged that I should write and
deliver a kind of ** address." This I did, made up
as one of Holllngshead s old Gaiety Gallery Boys.
Speaking of my effort, the Morning Post, in the
course of some extremely kind comments, remarked : —

** Incidentally Mr. Chevalier received a very fine
compliment. A lady who, from her sex and profession,
must know the resources of making-up, muttered,
* Poor Mr. Chevalier, he has aged ! ' It quite escaped
her that Mr. Chevalier would never sing of the things
of twenty years ago as a coster of twenty-five, and
his make-up and delivery were so simple, and so
natural, that she never suspected them to be In any
way assumed."

Here Is the ** address" as spoken by me at the
Holllngshead benefit, Empire Theatre, January 30,
1900: —

I can't go back to what they call the good old palmy days,
And if I could, perhaps my song would not be one of praise.
Somewhere about the sixties is as far as I can go ;
But since that time I've been a reg'lar patron of the show.
I've looked so often on the stage, and wondered what 'twas like
To earn the Pit's approval or the Gallery's chy-ike
That now I'm 'ere a-looking up, instead of looking down,
I almost wish I'd gone in front, and paid my 'alf a crown !
I've cast myself for Mercury — a gentleman as plods
With messages — that's it ! I bring a message from the Gods —
The boys '00 paid their tanners when John Hollingshead was King.
The boys '00 made the rafters with their merry laughter ring.
When John was King we knew no " cult," no morbid Ibsen craze
(I don't remember seeing Toole in any problem plays) ;

172

Before I Forget

*E gave us of the very best, and there were giants then,

Whose Uke, I only 'ope that we may look upon again.

I never saw your Garricks, your Macreadys, or your Footes;

But I've laughed at Edward Terry, and I've whistled Meyer Lutz!

I've shouted " Bravo Nellie ! " — 'ow the recollection thrills !

I begs the lady's pardon — " Miss N. Farren " on the bills.

Sam Phelps, and Arthur Williams — You may think I've got 'em

mixed ;
But each one 'as 'is place, and in my memory is fixed.
Chas. Mathews, and the Billingtons — Elton — Teddy Royce —
You paid your money, and you 'ad a very 'andsome choice.
'Oo brought us Sairey Bernhardt, and the brothers Coquelin too,
John Drew and Ada Rehan in the "Taming of the Shrew"?
Kate Vaughan, that Queen of Dancers, dear old Johnny Toole

in "Dot"?
Burlesque, Farce, Drama, Comedy — 'e gave us all the lot.
He catered for all tastes, and if a certain light outshone,
Us Gods should be the very last to round on honest John.
Within that lamp — that sacred lamp — which 'e so proudly lit.
There burned no low-flash oil, but bright Burnand-Byronic wit.
Burlesque has not so much improved — I'm but a gall'ry boy —
Still " little Dr. Faust " wants beating — so does " Robbing Roy."
But there ! no matter what 'e did, I'm 'ere to-day to tell
That ev'rything 'e did 'e always tried to do it well.
He may 'ave 'ad 'is failures, they were few and far between.
Good work enough 'e leaves be'ind to keep his mem'ry green.

(^Beckons towards wings.)

John 'Ollingshead, the "practical," they dubbed you long ago.

The Great B.P. is practical, as I intend to show.

The G.B.P. is mindful of a debt it owes to you ;

As mouthpiece of one section I am proud to pay it too.

We've got no pow'r to make you a K.G. or K.C.B.

But being G.B.P. ourselves, we'll make you G.B.P.

You ain't been knighted, honest John, but to us Gods you shall

Be always known as G.B.P.— that is, the Gods' Best Pal !

A night or two before the benefit I called on John
H ollingshead to run through the above. I was not

173

Before I Forget

quite certain about some of the people mentioned —
whether my memory served me faithfully as to their
connection with the Gaiety. I was alone with
Hollingshead for an hour or so. It did not dawn
on me until I began to read, how a simple record
of his triumphs, and his failures, would appeal to
the person immediately concerned. Practical John
showed me how deep-rooted is the sentiment springing
from associations, in which a man has put his whole
heart, and brain, and energies. Practical John broke
down! I'm sure he will forgive me for mentioning
it, but I do so, because it gave me a further insight
into human nature, and it increased my admiration for
a man, who had had his ups and downs on the see-saw
of theatrical enterprise — a "plucked un " — practical,
but withal, a man of deep sentiment. In relating this
incident I know I am giving the '' will-be-funny-at-
any-price " wag an opportunity. I am quite prepared
to hear that I am mixing up cause and effect. Let me
assure the ** will-be " that this side of the picture, this
humorous view of the situation, did not escape me ;
but I am too old a hand to make a mistake under
conditions such as I have endeavoured to describe.
Behind the scenes at the Empire there was the
usual scramble, almost invariably associated with
similar functions. Some alteration in the programme
had to be made at the last moment, in order to
facilitate the setting of a scene. A front cloth was
dropped, and I walked on to speak my '* piece." I
could hardly hear my own voice for the din behind.
I very nearly *' dried up," as we call it in theatrical
parlance. Indeed, so distracting was the noise, that

174

Before I Forget

at one point I had to refresh my memory with a peep
at the manuscript, which I had taken the precaution
to carry on, concealed in a newspaper. A few minutes
before my turn, some one dashed up to me, requesting
that I would, after my address, present Hollingshead
with a portrait of himself, specially painted, as a
souvenir of the occasion. Needless to say, this did
not help to lessen my nervousness. When the picture
was brought on by two attendants, I prepared to
make the presentation. To my surprise, and also relief,
Charles Morton stepped forward at the same moment.
I immediately retired, not knowing quite what was
going to happen. Morton congratulated Hollingshead
on the success of his first and only benefit, and begged
his acceptance of a little souvenir — the oil painting.
I discovered afterwards that according to the origi-
nal arrangement, Morton was to have made the
presentation, but as he had not been seen in the
building I was approached with a view to deputising
for him. He turned up just in time — only just —
another second he and I would have appeared, for the
first time on any stage, as Presentation Duettists !

175

CHAPTER XXI

BEFORE the termination of my season in June,
1900, I Introduced two new items in my
entertainment — ''An Old Bachelor," and *' Mafekin'
Night." I was in the habit of running down to
Margate, where I had a little house on the sea front,
from Saturday to Monday. In the train, returning
to town for my usual matinde at Queen's Hall, I wrote
the words of ''An Old Bachelor." West set them to
music, and I presented my new musical monologue
for the first time at Beckenham in the course of a
Recital which I was giving there : —

AN OLD BACHELOR.*

MUSICAL MONOLOGUE.
WRITTEN BY ALBERT CHEVALIER. COMPOSED BY ALFRED H. WEST.

They call me an old bachelor

I'm known as poor old bachelor,
Although I'm really rich in what this world considers wealth,

But money can't buy everything,

No! money is not everything,
It cannot bring you happiness, it cannot purchase health.

I'm hale and very hearty too,

Play poker and ^carte too,

* By ptrtnission 0/ Messrs. Reynolds &• Co., 13, Bertters Street H'.
176

Before I Forget

To pass the time away at home — my only home — the Club !
The boys all know my Christian name —
They call me by my Christian name,

And if they're running short of cash and want a modest sub :

They know I've more than I can spend,
I may say that I will not lend,
But still they get it in the end
From a poor old bachelor.

They say I save my money up —

I scrape, and hoard my money up.
Why don't I have a trifle on a gee-gee now and then?

A modest little flutter —

Yes, it's called, I think, a "flutter"
By some of my acquaintances, who pose as sporting men.

** You're old," they say, and " out of date,

A trifle slow at any rate ! "
I tell them they're so go-ahead, and p'raps IVe lived too long;

I only back the winners —

And I do pick out the winners,
Although before the race they always tell me that Fm wrong.

They envy me my luck, they say,
And I? Well, I can only pray
That know my luck they never may !
A poor old bachelor!

IVe been advised to settle down,

To choose a wife and settle down,
To find some homely body who is sensible and good,

A tempting combination !

An unusual combination !
I only smile and say, "I would not marry if I could."

They little guess, when chaffingly

They question me, and laughingly
I answer ; how each thoughtless word recalls a dream of youth,

A dream from which I cannot wake !

Of life lived for remembrance sake
They call me woman hater ! — if they only knew the truth !

177 N

Before I Forget

That somewhere, where the flowers are seen,
A white cross marks the spot I mean,
Who keeps a little grave so green?
A poor old bachelor.

Although the new number was well received, I was
not satisfied with my own work. I therefore put it
aside for a time. When next I attempted it, I made
up differently, and delivered most of the lines sitting
down — trying to convey the impression that I was an
old gentleman — an old bachelor — musing alone in the
smoke-room of his club. In many ways I then
re-read the song. In both the *' Fallen Star," and
'' An Old Bachelor," I have made considerable
alterations, and I hope improvements, since I first
delivered them in public. In each case I knew, in the
beginning, pretty well what effects I wanted to pro-
duce, where they should occur, and I may even say,
how to get them ; but for some weeks nervousness
robbed me of that self-control which is so essential
in presenting finished stage-work. As in the case
of ** A Fallen Star," " Thibault," &c., on its pro-
duction in London, ** An Old Bachelor " at once
became an important addition to my list of semi-
serious items.

After the performance one Saturday night, as I was
in my room dressing to go home. West asked me to
listen to a tune composed years ago, which he had
suddenly recalled, and which he thought would work
up into a good song of the rollicking order. He
played it over. Newman, who happened to be present,
was struck with its brightness and "go," and so was I.
In order to remember the rhythm, and the melody if

178

[Photo by']

Mafekin' Night.

[5. Knight

[To face p, 179.

Before I Forget

possible, I jotted down some nonsense lines. This
occurred a few days after the never-to-be-forgotten
Relief of Mafeking celebrations in London. On the
night that the glorious news arrived, Newman and I
had roamed the streets watching the revellers. I
rather think the suggestion of a Mafeking song came
from Newman. Anyway I wrote '' Mafekin' Night"
to the tune West had played over, going down to
Margate on the Sunday, and within three days
produced it at Queen's Hall with the most gratifying
result.

Although the event which suggested my ditty no
longer calls for the immediate purchase of penny
trumpets, and Union Jacks ; although the wild
excitement of Mafeking night is almost a matter of
ancient history now — so rapidly do we hear, see, and
sometimes remember nowadays — no present pro-
gramme of mine would be considered complete if it
did not include the costermonger's description of his
outing, and shouting, on that memorable occasion.
I quite look on this song as I used to look on the
''Old Kent Road" — a safe number with which to wind
up my entertainment.

One day a gentleman entered my dressing-room
and proceeded to examine the bumps on my head. A
curtailed version of the result of his inquiries I^now
reproduce (by permission) as published in the Popular
Phrenologist. Beyond providing the necessary phreno-
logical material, I am in no way responsible for
Professor Severn's summary of my attributes and
characteristics. I wish he hadn't started with a
remark about the size of my head, and I hope that

179

Before I Forget

the Professor's remarks concerning any abnormal
development may be accepted as containing no
subtle vein of cynicism : —

** Mr. Chevalier, though not much above the medium
height, possesses physically a strong, manly, vigorous
organisation.

*' His head is large — twenty-three inches in circum-
ference measurement — wide in the regions of the
executive powers, well developed in the perceptive,
reasoning, and social group of organs. He possesses
a most harmonious blending of the temperaments, and
considerably above the average mental powers. His
faults will result from too great activity of sympathy
and sociability rather than from a deficiency of any
mental organ.

" Though possessing a well-balanced brain and
intellect, he has some pronounced mental character-
istics : Mirthfulness, Imitation, Friendship, Agreeable-
ness, Ideality, Tune, Constructlveness, Causality,
Comparison, Benevolence and Executiveness are
all very powerful organs, and act Influentially in
making him the man he Is publicly known to be.
One rarely examines an individual with so powerful
a degree of Mirthfulness combined with large Imita-
tion, and Agreeableness or Adaptability ; and so high
a degree of refinement with so robust and executive a
character. The possession of these qualities gives
him unique abilities.

*' Few men could be so thoroughly adapted to their
own particular line of work as he Is. Those fine human
touches given especially in his pathetic pieces, and in

i8q

Before I Forget — -

his representations of old folk, are the products of an
ingeniousness which is innate. Having fairly large
Approbatlveness, Mr. Chevalier is not indifferent to
praise, he values it greatly, is grateful of the apprecia-
tion bestowed upon him by the vast number of his
admiring patrons, but this alone is not his greatest
incentive to effort. He glories in his art ; it is a
constant source of stimulus to him.

" His perceptive faculties being large make him
very observant, and give a strong practical bent to
his mind. He sees much that under the same con-
ditions would escape many another's notice, and he
has a good memory. He is systematic in his methods,
has a good head to plan and organise work and
business affairs, and the organs giving width to his
head indicate the possession of a great amount of
energy, force, and executiveness which he manages to
put into whatever he does.

** His large Ideality and well-marked intellect give
considerable refinement to his nature. He has a very
susceptible organisation, and possesses strong inward
emotions, but he is too practical and self-possessed to
allow these feelings generally to take sway. His large
Tune gives him a marked appreciation of music, and
he has talent to be able to produce it. He has good
powers of contrivance, creative and constructive talent ;
ability for literary and musical compositions, and his
large Mirthfulness and Comparison enable him quickly
to perceive the ludicrous and absurd. He has no
difficulty in imitating what he sees, yet he displays
originality in all that he does. He possesses a
wonderful amount of adaptation, which quality is

i8i

Before I Forget-
strongly manifested both in his professional and social
life.

After my matinde at Queen's Hall I contrive to pay
a flying visit, now and then, to outlying districts such
as Richmond, Surbiton, Beckenham, &c. Sometimes
I even go so far away as Reading, or Ipswich. One
night I gave a Recital in Kettering, when I submitted
a programme similar to that given at Queen's Hall.
A local critic, probably pressed for time, did not avail
himself of the Press tickets sent in the usual way to |H
his office. Here is his report of my Recital as it ™
eventually appeared in the paper which he " repre-
sented " : —

'' Albert Chevalier attracted a crowded audience jH
to the Corn Exchange on Monday evening. Mr.
Chevalier was supported by a talented company of
artistes, who performed a musical comedy, written by
himself, entided the * Land of Nod,' in a manner
which called forth repeated applause from the audience.
Mr. Chevalier himself is the central figure in the piece,
and he carried out his humorous part in a manner
which stamped him an actor of great skill."

I forgot to mention that two years before this I
performed the "Land of Nod" in Kettering for the
first and only [time there. Perhaps the critic was
doing penance for a previous omission ! If so, he
selected an unfortunate occasion to use up a two-year
old notice !

During this season I gave a special entertain-
ment, under unique and delightful conditions. Mr.
Punch (who originally christened me *'A Chevalier

182

Before I Forget

d' Industrie") was redecorating and refurnishing his
historic premises, and to celebrate the event his
proprietors Issued invitations to a house-warming.
Accompanied by Alfred West, I gave a performance
lasting about an hour In the celebrated room where
each week the editor meets his staff, to discuss the
serious business of jokes for the forthcoming number.
Looking across the footlights of the little stage
specially erected I saw, as I walked on, F. C.
Burnand, Phil May, Conan Doyle, Sir Philip Agnew ;
Indeed, everybody present was somebody of Import-
ance, the majority, of course, representing either the
literary or artistic world. What an audience to play
to ! I wish I could travel with It ! I received the
following kind letter, a few days afterwards, from Sir
Philip Agnew : —

" Dear Mr. Chevalier, — I must send you a line
to express, on behalf of the Punch proprietors, our
great gratitude to you for so generously offering your
services to us last Wednesday evening. Your per-
formance was a delight to all who were privileged to
witness it, and did more than anything to make the
evening a success.

''It would give me great pleasure if you would
accept the accompanying volume of pictures from
Punch. I regard this merely as a memento of the
occasion, and not at all as representing the measure
of our thanks to you.

" I am, dear Mr. Chevalier,

'* Yours very truly,

'* Philip Agnew."
183

Before I Forget

1894 is a long while ago. But as so much has
occurred since then to show that music-hall managers
are not infallible, I will, for the first time, tell of a
communication which I received in that year from a
gentleman representing the London Pavilion Board of
Directors. This letter is interesting, as again illus-
trating the importance of the conditions under which
a performer presents his work. In 1894 I returned to
the halls with a new budget of songs, including *' Wot's
the Good of Hanyfink?" '^ 'Appy 'Ampstead," ^' Blue
Ribbon Jane," '' Tick-Tock," and "The Nipper's
Lullaby " — songs which, in my Recitals on tour,
had invariably been most successful. Later on, in
America, nothing I did was more keenly appreciated
than '* Tick-Tock." When I revived it at my Palace
matinees, it met with the unstinted approval of both
press and public ; and the same thing can, with equal
truth, be said of its reception more recently at Queen's
Hall.

The letter from which I am about to quote is one
which I treasure because it showed me, before it was
too late, that I should receive little encouragement
from those in authority, if a tipsy youth in the gallery,
or a blas^ young man in the stalls, objected to work
submitted by me. The fact that the majority, the
respectable majority, accepted — if only by way of
variety — an item which had not a chorus of the
*' Hi tiddley hi ti " order, was altogether ignored by
the Syndicate of Popes.

The letter referred to began like this : —

" My co-directors and I have had so many

184

Photo by']

Tick Tock.

\B. Knight.

[To face p. i8^.

•^rr-rx;: - •

Photo by\

"Tick Tock.'

[B. Knight.

[To face p. 185.

Before I Forget

complaints brought to our notice from the public
as to the songs you are now singing."

The communication then became prophetic, stating
in positive terms that the result of my work must
be '* injurious, both to their interests and to my
reputation."

The satire of the whole thing was all the more
striking, when I compared this song with some of the
choice, and tasteful, *'gags" indulged in by other
contributors to the programme ! I was appearing, at
this time, also at the Metropolitan. There, when I
sang " Tick-Tock," nothing else that I did went half
so well. "Tick-Tock," however, was not the only
song which I was requested to withdraw. '' Wot's
the Good of Hanyfink.'^" and the "Lullaby" were
others which the Piccadilly Pavilion Papacy objected
to. I did not reply to the above-quoted letter,
although I might have answered that I was trying to
do good, clean, wholesome work — work which might
not mix well with certain suggestive items, winked at
by the tactful objectors — but work which deserved,
at their hands, at all events, some recognition, other
than the misapplication of a dead-letter programme
footnote, as contained in the protest they thought
proper to address to me.

I am not the author of " Tick-Tock," so I may be
permitted to speak of it as containing a simple, pretty
idea — reminiscent, perhaps, of Longfellow's " Clock
on the Stairs," but surely none the worse for that
It was charmingly and characteristically set to music
by Alfred H. West, and at the present time, after

185

Before I Forget

a lapse of seven years, regardless of all prophecy, it is
still an important feature in my repertoire. I don't
think its original production did much serious harm.
If any reputation has suffered, it must surely be the
reputation of that prophet who warned the singer of
*' Tick-Tock," and other similar ditties, that in sub-
mitting such items, he was jeopardising his own
chances of success, and damaging the best interests of
the music-hall !

i86

CHAPTER XXII

I HAVE recently been informed, through the
medium of the Press, that my favourite *' hobbies"
are fishing and theology !

This must have been written by the gentleman who
originated the saying that actors take themselves too
seriously. Fishing and theology ! Well, Peter was a
fisherman, so perhaps, after all, there is not much harm
in the connection. Fishing was a good guess, although
when I come to think of it, I may have been seen up
the river in a punt trying to snare the wily roach.
Fishing is not merely a hobby with me, it is a mania.
I am an exceptionally bad fisherman, but in the matter
of enthusiasm I would not give in — to Isaac Walton !

I have a little fishing of my own in North Devon.
My cottage stands on a hill, commanding a panoramic
view of some of the most glorious scenery in that most
beautiful county. My holiday is a real lazy time
True, I did write a three-act play one year, when I
was supposed to be resting ; but as a rule, I just loat
around with my rod and camera, being almost as bad
a photographer as I am a fisherman. Oh, the delight
of loafing, to a man who is used to the excitement of
stage life ! — and stage life is still exciting to me. I'm
not too old to be enthusiastic — I was forty last March.

187

Before I Forget

Speaking of my age, reminds me of a conversation
overheard recently by a member of my company on
tour. Two people were arguing about me. One
said, " How long has he been at it ? " ** Oh, years ! "
answered the other. ** How old do you suppose he
is ? " '* Well, he must be over sixty." " How do
you know ? " '' Know ? Why, you can tell it by his
voice ! " I had just made my exit as the old yokel.

Another story — before I forget — typical of those
people who always know more about you than you
know about yourself At a friend's house I took a
lady, a stranger, down to dinner. Our introduction
had been very hurried, and she evidently had not
caught my name. During dinner she began to talk
about ** Chevalier." For the fun of the thing, I ran
myself down as a performer. She, much to my amuse-
ment, resented my ''criticism." I was going to throw
a little light on the subject, when, turning round
suddenly, after saying something particularly com-
plimentary about my stage work, she exclaimed,
"Ah! but he's a bad man — a really bad man. I
know for a fact, that some years ago, he deserted his
wife and three children — left them to starve ! " Then
I explained that I was not, and never had been
married. When I eventually did enter the matri-
monial state, I told my wife this story. I thought it
advisable to do so !

But I was talking about " hobbies." Yes, I am an
enthusiastic fisherman — as enthusiastic as I am in my
profession, or in anything else that interests me.
Thank goodness I retain my enthusiasm. Instead
of losing it, it seems to increase as I grow older.

i88

Before I Forget

It is one of the greatest boons a man can possess.
Without it, life is simply an existence — a monotonous
filling out of the allotted span. With it, even failure
serves as a spur. There may be, doubtless there are,
penalties attaching to enthusiasm. Well, so there are
attaching to existence ; but enthusiasm lifts existence
into the sphere of life. It is the great stimulus — it is
Nature's tonic. No man ever yet achieved anything
without enthusiasm. Some people think the right
thing is to repress it — knowing it to be contagious.
But then some people are such slaves to ''good form."
They use the language of enthusiasm in a flabby, fish-
like manner, as I heard two ladies once say, speaking
of a mutual friend : " Oh ! yes, dear, Maude plays the
violin divinely. She's a pupil of Joachim."

" Really ! You don't say so ? How exciting ! "

Here is another instance of heartfelt sentiment : A
young "Johnnie" came up to me in the smoke-room
of an hotel where I was staying, and said, "Mr.
Chevalier, I believe ^ You really must forgive me
for addressing you without an Introduction, but I do
so want your autograph. You sent It to another
* Johnnie' I know, who wrote to you. Will you let
me have It? Do I It will give me the greatest
pleasure unhung ! "

There Is nothing more loathsome than affectation,
and there is no more horrible form of affectation than
assumed enthusiasm. If I had to choose between a
veneer of enthusiasm, and a wet blanket, I should
select the wet blanket !

Again I've wandered from my hobbles ! Not more
so, however, than the gentleman who originally gave

189

Before I Forget

theology as one of them. Sometimes it is very-
difficult to trace information of this kind to its source.
Sometimes it is quite an easy matter. In this
particular case it is simplicity itself. America has
not a monopoly of the journalistic Autolycus. Fleet
Street is equally well, or badly, represented. One of
these "snappers up" called to see me some time ago,
and I received him in my "den." He looked round
the bookshelves, and patronisingly expressed surprise
that they were not filled with "lighter literature." He
saw "copy " for an article on " Chevalier, Theologian,"
and suggested, after careful inspection of one particular
shelf, that he should, there and then, interview me on
the subject, which, from a certain collection of books,
he assumed to be my pet " hobby," as he called it.
Needless to say, I refused point-blank, telling him at
the same time that what I chose to read in the privacy
of my own room was a matter concerning me only,
and one which I had no intention of discussing for
purposes of publication. He went away, and within
a few days, running short, I suppose, of legitimate
material, he utilised his surreptitiously obtained
" copy."

That is all I have to say about Theology, as one of
my " hobbies."

190

CHAPTER XXIII

AFTER a months rest in Devonshire I toured
from August Bank Holiday until the middle
of October, spending most of the time on the south
coast, working round by way of Bristol into Wales,
where I had a funny experience one night.

My brother Ingle was, as usual, superintending the
arrangements in front of the house. The performance
had not commenced. Ingle, from the pay-box window,
saw a solemn-looking individual staring curiously at a
picture of me, as the parson in '' Our Bazaar." With
an eye to business. Ingle asked him if he wished to go
in .'^ "What's it all about .^^ " queried the sad-eyed
Welshman. "Oh!" said Ingle, "Chevalier Recital."
"What's that.?" asked the doubtful one. "Well,"
said Ingle, " you can find out for a shilling — but you'll
have to stand — all the seats are sold." Though this
statement startled, it decided him. He paid his
money, went in, and religiously stood it out.

After the show Ingle asked him how he had enjoyed
himself?

" Oh ! very well indeed," was the reply ; " but — I
prefer Oratorio ! "

In Wrexham I produced a monologue written by
Bart Kennedy (author of " Darab's Wine Cup," " A

191

Before I Forget-

Man Adrift,' &c.), and set to music by Alfred H
West. It was beautifully written, and set, but I
failed to make it effective as a stage representation,
I worked hard at it, and included it in my first
matinde programme, when I reopened at Queen's
Hall, with, I regret to say, the same result. Many
of my first-night failures have eventually worked up
into popular successes. Indeed, I generally approach
a new sketch, or song, in fear and trembling. It H
takes me a night or two to feel my way. I never
cut an item out of my programme, simply because it
does not happen to go on its first production. I work
at it, alter it, and try it before different audiences.
The failure of *' Laces " was mine, and not the result
of any fault attributable either to the author or com- !■
poser. In its place I substituted an old published song ^"
of mine — one which I had never publicly performed —
entitled ''The Lag's Lament." The music to this was
founded on an old flash tune of the Jack Sheppard
period. The late Bond Andrews (for some time solo
pianist, and accompanist on my Recital tours) arranged,
and harmonised the melody. The '' Poet," and the
" Yankee in London," originally produced in Wor-
cester, where I finished my tour, were two other items,
successfully added to my repertoire, during my London
season.

I also introduced a slightly revised edition of a
song, written some years ago, with music by
Edward Jones, entitled '' The Cockney Tragedian,"
the words of which, as altered, I reproduce, by
permission of Messrs. Reynolds and Co., Music
Publishers.

192

"The Lag's Lament.

[To face p. 192.

» • "r «

\Tofacep. igs-

Before I Forget

THE COCKNEY TRAGEDIAN.

WRITTEN BY ALBERT CHEVALIER. MUSIC BY EDWARD JONES.

I USED to wheel a barrow for my father down the " Cut,"

Until I saw a drama at the Brit, wot turned my nut,

About a bloke in Manchester, unfortunately dumb,

Then like the villain in the play, sez I, " A time will come ! "

I got a job to super at I think a bob a night,

I waved a banner proudly as I entered from the right.

Since then I've played a lot of parts, but life ain't been too

smooth ;
They say, tho' unlike Irvin', that my style suggests a Booth !
An' I've played Rosencranz in 'Amlet, an' the crowd in Julius

Caesar ;
An' Polonius, the Bard of Avon's fav'rite ancient geezer.
I've often made a big 'it, as a 'aughty Spanish Don ;
I'm a real dramatic 'Andy Man — Still I don't git on !

I travelled • round the country wiv a Ghost Show for a week,

But chucked it 'cos they cut the only line I 'ad to speak.

I 'ired a little 'all an' give a round of Shakespeare's plays.

An' 'ad 'em acted just as in the good old palmy days !

I thought wiv my experience the best fing I could do

Was to advertise for novices, I did git one or two.

I taught 'em wot I knew, which they declared was simply "cod,"

But all I got for teachin' 'em was eighteen months in quod !

They even 'ad the cheek to ask me why my name was starred ?

An' called my elocution rotten, which was very 'ard.

Why ! I played Richard, Lear, an' Shylock, in one night at

Newport, Mon.
Wiv 'Amlet just to finish up — Still I don't git on !

The Press too ain't been kind to me, I've copped it from 'em 'ot ;

I've 'ad a pile of notices, not one good in the lot.

They said when I played Shylock, that it wasn't Shakespeare's

Jew;
They talked about my mannerisms — well, p'raps I 'ave a few;
They said I dropped my H's when I played the wicked Bart,
But H's don't m^ke ^.rtists, an' there ain't no H in Art !

X93 o

Before I Forget

They oughter seen me waller in the murky pool of blood,
When I was starred for '"eavies," down at Slocum-in-the-mud,
Where I played Rosencranz, in 'Amlet, an' the crowd, in Julius

Caesar,
An' Polonius, the Bard of Avon's favourite ancient geezer.
I'm told as Dunkin in Mackbeff, I very brightly shone —
I've played Touchistone, in " If You Like It " — Still I don't git

on !

At Christmas I thought of playing a dramatised
version of ''The Christmas Carol," by Charles Dickens ;
but certain difficulties in connection with the room at
our disposal, on the small Queen's Hall stage, made it
impossible to attempt this. I therefore wrote a little
fantastic operetta entitled, '' A Christmas Night's
Dream," in the musical setting of which West utilised
several numbers from the '' Land of Nod " score.
My song, " Our Restorong," originally figured as " My
Sunday Out" in Act I. of that piece. The duet also
— quoted elsewhere in these memoirs — between the
Fairy and Timothy Trotters, was given exactly as
written for the ''Land of Nod." To show "how
soon we all forget these little things," not one critic
referred to the fact. For " A Christmas Night's
Dream " we had a tiny orchestra, consisting of strings
and reeds, with West at the piano. That this item
was successful, may be gathered from the fact that we
played to record business during its run. Suddenly
the nation was plunged into sorrow by the Royal
demise. This calamity, coming in the midst of the
terrible South African campaign, was a serious blow
to entertainment caterers.

It is curious to reflect that in times of distress, the
people whose services are particularly in demand when

194

Photo by']

Our Restorong.

IB. Knight.

[To face p. 194.

Photo by]

A Christmas Night's Dream.

[B. Knight.

[To face p. 195,

Before I Forget

the question of how to raise funds presents Itself, should
belong to a profession which, perhaps more Immediately
than any other, feels the effects of national, or inter-
national trouble. There is no disguising the fact, that
since the outbreak of hostilities in the Transvaal, the
whole entertainment world has had a struggle to keep
its head above water. I do not, of course, include
those patriotic managers who sailed with the wind.
Just one more curious point concerning the theatrical
and musical professions. They have suffered much
at the hands of the Ignorant and the bigoted ; but
ignorance and bigotry should be reminded that no
other trades, or professions are so frequently asked to
give something for nothing, and more often than not
by these very bigots ! How our big jewellers, and

furniture manufacturers would stare if Lady

dropped a casual note, containing a request for the
gift of a few diamond rings, or a suite of furniture, to
be sold for the benefit of the Widows' and Orphans'
Fund ! It was this occasional ostracising of the pro-
fession, to which I have the honour to belong, varied
by the courting of its services when coffers needed
refilling, which I endeavoured to satirise In ''Our
Bazaar."

Here is an example of broad-minded charity as
displayed by a clergyman. He wrote me a letter
asking for a contribution towards some church decora-
tion fund, enclosing at the same time the following
** advice" to his parishioners for "the forthcoming
Lenten season " : —

** Not to take part In social entertainments or public
amusements during Lent."

195

Before I Forget

Did It ever strike this reverend gentleman that
actors, and singers, have homes to support, and that
if they remained idle during Lent their wives, and
families, might be deprived of the necessaries of
existence ? Sunday concerts may be right, or they
may be wrong, but what would this — doubtless well-
meaning — parson say if Sunday concert caterers issued
pamphlets, setting forth the advantages of their en-
tertainments to the detriment of customary church
attendance? If there were no congregations there
would be no clergymen. If there are no audiences
there can be no living for the actor, or any other
public performer. Notwithstanding this '' pastoral "
letter, I went on tour through Lent, returning to
Queen's Hall on Easter Monday, when I produced a
cockney ditty entitled, '* My Country Cousin." This
I had had on the shelf for a long time. I wrote it
some years ago; but like the ''Old Bachelor" and
the " Fallen Star," I put it on one side until I saw my
way to satisfy myself in its performance.

My programme also included the following duo-
logue : —

THE WINGS OF MEMORY.

written by albert chevalier. music by alfred h. west.

Edward Strickland.

Jessie Strickland {his daughter).

Scene. — A room in Strickland's house. Curios about the room in
cabinets and on small tables^ skeletons^ fossils^ &=€. Time about
five o'clock on a winter's afternoon. Lamp alight.

Time: December ^ 1889.

Jessie {arranging fossils). It's no good ! Poor old Dad ! A
nice muddle I'm making of his collection. I can't help it. I can

196

Photo by]

My Country Cousin."

\B. Knight.

[To face p. 196.

^^yr, * r,^^, P^^ , r ej

Before I Forget

remember nothing, think of nothing, but that I love. Ah ! what's
the use of thinking about it ? I shouldn't if — if George wouldn't
remind me of it. He wants me to break the news to Dad. That's
the only fault I have to find with George. He's afraid of Dad. It's
cowardly ! — and so I suppose I'm doomed to spend the remainder
of my life looking after Dad's fossils. I've a horrible suspicion that
I put half an ichthyosaurus into the meteoric stone case {picks up a
pebble). Now, what on earth is this ? or rather, what in the earth
was it ? Of course, it's prehistoric ; everything in this house is. I
wonder where you come from ? {examining pebble). You're very,
very old. What a lot you must have seen !

Jessie. Song.

Weave a story allegoric
Round this fossil prehistoric.

Weave a story

Full of glory
Wrung from out a heart of stone.
Dainty feet have pressed this pebble
Dainty feet of timid rebel.

Tell me pebble

Was that rebel
Wise a conquered self to own?

Did she love him —

Really love him?
Was it but a passing whim ?
Was he all to her? and, tell me.
Was she all in all to him?

Tell me, was it too ideal?
Did it last ? Ah ! was it jreal ?

In the living

Was the giving
His and hers, or hers alone?
Find a tongue and whisper, pebble —
Did she once again turn rebel?

Tell me, pebble,

Was that rebel
197

Before I Forget — ^

Wise a conquered self to own?

Did she love him —

Really love him —
Was it but a passing whim?
Was he all to her? and, tell me,
Was she all in all to him?

Efiter Strickland.

Strickland. Ah, Jessie, my child ! Did you find those papers
I spoke to you about — a bundle of papers marked " notes for my
new treatise " ?

Jessie. Yes, Dad, they were hidden away in a corner of your old
bureau upstairs. Here they are l^gives him bundle of MSS.).

Strickland. Thankee, my child, thankee {puts bundle on table
and picks up geological specimen). Look here, Jessie, you've made a
mistake. You've labelled this specimen "Neolithic" — it should
have been "Paleolithic."

Jessie. Dear, dear, how careless of me !

Strickland {looking curiously at her). You must have lost your
head, my dear.

Jessie {quickly). No, I haven't !

Strickland. Don't contradict me, miss ! I never make mistakes.

Jessie. Well, Papa, may you not be mistaken, this time,
anatomically ?

Strickland. Eh ?

Jessie. Perhaps it's my heart I've lost.

Strickland. That would simply corroborate my statement ; but
woman-like you reverse the sequential order. Head loss follows
heart loss ; it does not precede it.

Jessie. Dear old Dad ! Is there no limit to your knowledge ?
I didn't know you were an authority on love.

Strickland. Love ? Ah ! " Si jeunesse voulait ! Si vieillesse
pouvait ! " Man and woman cannot understand that most elusive
of passions until — until

Jessie. Until the afifinities meet ?

Strickland. No ! I was about to utter what may sound like a
paradox : until they are too old to appreciate it.

Jessie {gently). You married late in life. Daddy ?

Strickland {quickly). No ; I was only fifty.

198

Before I Forget

Jessie. Mother died when I was a baby. But I know you loved
her, Daddy.

Strickland. Loved her? {Aside) Loved her? Yes, I loved
her. {Aloud, quickly) But there was no romantic nonsense about us.

Jessie. Love without romance ?

Strickland. Certainly.

Jessie {taking up picture of her mother from table). Poor mother !

Strickland. How dare you, miss !

Jessie. Here is her picture. No romance ? Are you sure ?

Strickland. Eh ?

Jessie {placing picture before him). Perhaps you have forgotten.

Strickland {sadly). Forgotten? {Takes picture and looks at it
wistfully. Jessie exits, looking back at her father, who sits gazing at
the picture.)

Strickland. Song.

I remember quite distinctly
Just as if 'twere yesterday,
The eloquence I stored up
Which my lips refused to say.
Tis many years ago, and I
Was then no longer young;
Yet something beating in my breast
Quite paralysed my tongue !

Refrain.
How soon we all forget these little things.
Or seem to, till we find that mem'ry clings ;

The striking of an hour,

The fragrance of a flower.
Recalls the greatness of these Httle things.

You left me broken-hearted, but
Your gift in death was life.
Our child ! — her place was second in
My heart to yours, sweet wife.
Think not because I saw a gleam
Of hope pierce through the rift.
That I did not distinguish 'twixt
The giver and the gift.
199

Before I Forget

Refrain.

Ah ! Time, and Cupid, both make use of wings
Since human joy from source Eternal springs.

The cloud of death above

May be the dew of Love ;
And life but one of Natures little things.

Little things ! Ah, how often we make the greatest troubles out
of the really little ones ! Before the great ones we develop moral
backbone. We face them and we conquer. With the little ones we
procrastinate until they assume proportions to which they are not
and never were entitled. They are the bullies in the school of life !
Mine is a case in point. Fd made up my mind not to reproach
Jessie with her infatuation for George Dexter. I determined that
I would treat the whole thing as a joke, and, above all, that I would
not permit it to cause me any anxiety — and why? Now, Ned
Strickland, be honest — why ? Because you're a selfish old brute !
Jessie is your right hand — that's it ! You're unreasonable, and
Jessie knows it. She must see it ! She's far too sensible not to see
it ! And yet — and yet — to let her go — to be at the tender mercy
of a housekeeper who wouldn't know a protoplasm from a stetho-
scope ! {Picks up bundle of notes ^ I wonder what set me thinking
about these ? I'd forgotten their very existence until yesterday. It
must be quite twenty years since I jotted down these notes : a chance
thought recalled them to my memory, and in a dilemma they come
to my rescue now ! Strange ! {Selects one which has dropped out.)
What's this ? {Looks for glasses.) Where are my glasses ? {Fails
to find them and tries to read without them^ " Meet me in the garden
at 6 this evening. Papa remains obdurate, but I mean to wheedle
him round to our way of thinking. Fondest love and kisses. — Jessie."
I must be dreaming ! Where are those glasses ? {Fails again to
find them. Reads again by candle-light >j No ! I'm awake ! She's
deceived me ! {Drops note on desk.) " In the garden at 6 o'clock."
{Looks at watch.) Where's my hat ? — My stick ? {Finds both.)
Where's that note ? {Looks for it and comes across spectacles.) Ah !
{Puts on specs.) There must be no mistake {Reads.) " Meet —
me — in — the — garden — at — 6 — this — evening ! " What's this
scribbled in the corner ? Oh ! the date, I suppose. {Reads.) June ?
— June ? Why, it's December ! Oh, the girl's quite mad ! {Reads
again.) June, 1869 ! {Staggered — then speaking with emotion.)

200

« A >< O • <

« • 0 a '

Photo 6y]

"Tiiz Yankee in London.'

[B. Knight.

[To face p. 201.

Before I Forget

Why, this was from this was to me ! {Looks at his wife^ s picti4re .

Then sinks in chair staring at note. Pause. Jessie nervously enters^
holding a letter in her hand.)
Jessie. Daddy !

(Strickland looks up. She kneels before him. He takes her face
between his hands tenderly a?id looks at her.)
Strickland. You have something to tell me, dearie?
Jessie {giving him letter). George asked me to give you this.
He has just called. He was afraid you might be angry if you saw

him. . . . He loves me — and

Strickland. And

Jessie. I love him ! {Hides herjace.)
Strickland {gently). Send him to me
Jessie {surprised). You — you are not angry ?
Strickland. I shall miss you, dearie.

Jessie. I sha'n't leave you. Daddy ! George won't take me away
— if — if you'll have us both with you.

Strickland {kissing her). Send him to me.

(Jessie rises^ goes towards the door smiling. Looks back
wonderingly .)
Jessie. I was so afraid he would be angry.
Strickland {gazing thoughtfully at his wife's letter). How soon
we all forget these little things !

{Pause. Jessie beckons some one to enter. Curtain slowly
descends).

(For Strickland's song I rewrote the verses, using the title and
the melody of Finder's first song in the " Land of Nod.")

Here is a complete list of items new to London,
which I have added to my repertoire since starting
my Recitals at Queen's Hall, or rather, since my return
from America : —

" A Fallen Star," '' 'E Can't Take a Roise Out of
Oi," '* We Did 'Ave a Time," '* M. Armand Thibault,"
"An Old Bachelor," '' Mafekin' Night," '' I've Got 'Er
'At," " The Poet," - The Lag's Lament," " The Yankee
in London," ** Laces," '' The Cockney Tragedian," '' My

201

Before I Forget

Country Cousin," ** Three Burlesque Lectures," '* A
Christmas Night's Dream," ''The Wings of Memory,"
**The Critic," ''Owed to Kipling," "Sunday in Our
Alley," " The Waxwork Show," " It Gits Me Talked
Abaht," " Burlesque French Song." And I have at
present, by me, about fifty more waiting to be pro-
duced.

202

r"-'

CHAPTER XXIV

SOME years ago, during a period of "resting,"
I was commissioned by George Edwardes to
''dodge up" a scene in a burlesque, which was then
running at the Gaiety. He told me what he
required, and I brought it to him the following day.
The scene was to be played by two actors, who
were impersonating subordinate characters, and its
object was really to make the story a little bit clearer.
Edwardes took the manuscript from me, and, after
examining it very carefully, observed, *Tt's capital"
— I saw visions of a cheque, which I badly wanted at
the time — '' but," he added, to my disappointment,
" it's too funny for So-and-so," mentioning one of the
comedians for whom I had been asked to write
the scene; ''it won't do as it is," said Edwardes
positively. " Fred Leslie, and Nellie Farren, are the
funny people engaged here. So-and-so comes on to
tell the story. I'm very sorry, but, as I said before,
it's too funny for So-and-so. You'll have to alter it."
I went home and ruthlessly eliminated " So-and-so's "
share of the " fun " — a proceeding which, with all due
deference to the opinion expressed by George
Edwardes, did not entail much mental strain. The
revised scene was accepted and played. The sequel

203

Before I Forget-

to this incident happened within the next six months
While the same play was still running, I received
another note from Edwardes, asking me to call at the
Gaiety on a matter of business. When I arrived there
he said, " Look here, Chevalier, I've often wanted you
in my theatre, but no suitable opportunity has ever
presented itself. Now, however, I have a part to
offer you — a fine part. The man who's been playing
it is going on tour. It's full of funny "gags" and
business. You'll be delighted with it. Ifs the best
part in the pieced I was curious to know who was
leaving the cast. It was *' So-and-so " !

I mildly suggested that I knew the possibilities of
this particular part, as I had been specially employed
to make it unfunny ! He stared at me for a minute,
then, remembering our former conversation, he burst
out laughing. He kindly proposed that I should
restore the "fun," which he had originally desired me
to eliminate ; but even this bribe would not tempt
me to become " first story-teller " at the Gaiety, and
negotiations fell through.

One of the most interesting tasks I ever undertook
was the writing, and the production, of a play without
words. It may sound like a paradox to speak of
writing a play without words, but those who saw
" r Enfant Prodigue " when it was presented in London
will understand what such a work means. I took
an old story and wrote a play in dialogue — dialogue
which the actors, instead of speaking, could express
in pantomime. To those who only believe in the
purely literary drama, this may appear a very simple
thing to do. Let me, however, undeceive them. It

204

Before I Forget

was extremely difficult. Lines had to be written, and
rewritten, over and over again, so that their pantomimic
expression could not be misinterpreted. Edward Jones
composed the music, and his score, both from the
melodic and orchestral point of view, was delightful.
The actors were silent, but the music spoke. Edward
Jones and I were together for weeks doing this work.
He would sit at the piano and improvise, while I read
over the lines. When he had fitted them to his satis-
faction, I reduced them to pantomime. I superintended
all the rehearsals, and I learned a great deal more
than I taught. The little play was produced in the
theatre at the Earl's Court German Exhibition in
1891.

I once Impersonated a Frenchman in a play. A
critic hauled me over the coals for my supposed mis-
pronunciation of certain French words. Among other
kind things, he asked, *' What shall we say of this
cockney Frenchman, whose accent comes from the
Boulevards, filtered through Bermondsey ? " It so
happened that after the first night, I dropped into the
Savage Club, and there I met another critic, who
prepared me for the above onslaught.

Critic No. 2 was an excellent French scholar.
Critic No. i knew very little of the language —
certainly not enough to pose as an expert In the
matter of pronunciation. No. 2 was aware of this.
During an entracte he had discussed the play, and the
performance, with his confrere. For reasons of his
own, which I will explain later on, he had hinted that
my French accent was obviously a home product, and
that it reeked of Cockneydom. I failed to see what

205

Before I Forget

advantage I could possibly derive from such an asser-
tion, but he laughingly exclaimed, ** No. i is sure
to repeat my words in his notice of the piece to-
morrow ; then I'll take the cudgels up for you and
expose his ignorance ! I've had to wait a long
time for this chance to pay back an old grudge,
but it's all right now ! I shall score, and so will you !"
I thought he was over-sanguine, and dismissed the
matter from my mind, until I read the above sentence
in No. I's criticism next morning. Then No. 2 was
as good as his word. He wrote for several papers, in
the columns of which he did not spare the gentleman
who had nibbled at his bait.

Many years after this I met Critic No. i and his
wife out at supper. In the course of the evening I
was asked to sing a song, and I, not without due
consideration, responded with a little ditty in French.
When I had finished, Mrs. Critic, who was seated
near the piano, exclaimed, '' But, Mr. Chevalier, why
don't you sing French songs in public ? " Then,
appealing to her husband, she asked, '' Hasn't he
a perfect accent ? " There was a moment's awkward
pause. The critic didn't look any too happy, and I
thought he scowled as, turning to him, I said, " I am
half French. Vou know that, don't you ? "

There were two men — two types. A. was supposed
to be very lazy ; B. very selfish. A. called to see me
one morning. He looked haggard, worn, and altogether
upset. I asked him what was the matter. " Oh ! "
said he, " I had an awful dream last night." For a
long time the recollection so pained him that he could
not go into details. Suddenly, sinking into a chair

206

Before I Forget

with a terrified expression, he exclaimed, ** A horrible
dream ! Don't try to guess, old man ! I'll tell you
in a minute. . . . Think of it ! I was working ! ! "
B. informed me that for years he had experienced
curious symptoms, which pointed to an incurable
disease. He had only just discovered what it was.
** I am suffering," said he, ''from total loss of all will
power — to do what is distasteful to me ! "

In November, 1893, ^ received an invitation to a
banquet given at the Mansion House, in honour of
Music. At first I thought there must be some mistake ;
but as I was reflecting, a barrel-organ outside re-
proachfully struck up *' Oh ! Lizer ! " — so I accepted
the invitation. I was not the only composer present
— Oh ! No, no ! All the others were there. We
mustered in force — Sir Alexander Mackenzie, and the
rest of us !

Lord (then General) Roberts responded to the
toast of " The Army." He seemed rather at a loss to
know how he could work something about music into
his speech ; but he got out of the difficulty remarkably
well — although it must have taxed even his unfathom-
able resource to do it. He started by saying that his
knowledge of music was limited, and wound up with
a tribute to the Bagpipes. His evident sincerity,
in speaking of this instrument as ''inspiring," almost
tempted me to invest in a set. I noticed, however,
that he emphasised the necessity of distance, as an
aid to appreciation. When I broke the news at
home, of my intention to become a Piper, my wife
quite fell in with Lord Roberts's view, as to the
importance of the conditions under which such music

207

Before I Forget

can best appeal. She did not urge a formal separa-
tion, but living in London, she suggested Glasgow as II
a suitable rehearsal ground. Owing to prior bookings
down south, I was unable to carry out my threat ; but
some day I hope to add a '' wee bit Scotch " to my
repertoire.

Two friends went to the races. A. would insist
on wearing a particularly large and valuable scarf-
pin. Before starting for the course B. hinted that
it might be advisable to leave this ornament at home.
A. however ridiculed the idea that any thief could
possibly take it away from him — he knew all about
racecourse thieves, and their methods. He was all
right. After the first race B. suddenly stared at
his friend's necktie, and asked him what he had
done with his pin ? It had disappeared. In great
distress A. sought the advice of a bookmaker,
with whom he was slightly acquainted, and who
was under an obligation to him for certain favours,
which need not be detailed here. The bookmaker
said he would do what he could. **The 'boys' are
in great force here to-day. Of course I know 'em
all. They'll stretch a point to oblige me. Come
back after the next race. Meanwhile I'll see what I
can do." A. returned as requested, and the bookie
informed him that there was a chance — just a chance
— of regaining his lost property. How much was he
prepared to '' spring " ? A. replied that he wasn't
going to be fleeced. ** Look here," said the bookie,
''you want your pin back, don't you? Well, if it's
worth a tenner, go over there" (indicating a certain
spot on the course), *' in ten minutes from now, and

208

Before I Forget

wait — that's all I can do for you." Long before the
ten minutes had elapsed A. was on the spot, tenner
in hand — very tightly in hand. An eminently
respectable-looking, middle-aged man, attired in semi-
clerical garb, approached and called him by his name,
saying, with a slight suspicion of sadness in his
voice, '' You are Mr. A. ? Ah ! I thought so ! I
hear that you have met with an accident ? " A.,
restraining his wrath, replied, *' I've lost a valuable
pin, if that's what you mean. Do you know any-
thing about it ? " A leer illumined the eminently
respectable gentleman's face, as he inquired, **What
are you prepared to spring?" '^Ten pounds," was
the reply. After a slight pause the following con-
versation ensued : —

Em. Resp. Gent. Hand us over the tenner.

A. {indignantly). Not till I get my pin !

Em. Resp. Gent. Honour among thieves,
cockey ! Give us the tenner fust, or I'll sling my
ook.

A. {desperately). All right {handing him a ten-
pound note). If you try any of your tricks now,
look out for squalls.

Em. Resp. Gent, {carefully examining note with
the air of a connoisseur, and hiding it away with
equal care). *'You needn't cut up rough, guv'nor.
It would have meant a lot more to me ; but I

owe " (mentioning the bookmaker) "a good

turn. Now then," and opening his coat to conceal
a collection of scarf-pins, which he held in his hand,
he nervously exclaimed, '' I'm in a bit of a muddle
myself. Which is it?"

209 p

Before I Forget-

I happened to be at Netley Station when some
wounded soldiers arrived from Egypt. Needless to
say that a sympathetic crowd freely and generously
condoled with the sufferers. One case in particular
excited — shall I say — my curiosity. It was that of
a warrior whose injuries were, apparently, so serious
that he had to be carried on a stretcher. There were
bandaged heads, and bandaged arms. There were
Herculean forms limping along with the aid of
crutches, but the centre of attraction was the above
mentioned hero, to whom crutches were, seemingly,
useless. A blanket was thrown over the recumben
one, and many looking on wept. I was not near
enough to question him personally, so I begged one
of his less injured comrades to give me a few details.
He said, *' We all as to show up at Netley — leastways
all as is invalided, or as been. 'E's a * as been ! '
'E's all right now."

'* Then why are they carrying him on a stretcher? '
I asked.

*' Why ? — 'cos 'e's lost 'is boots ! "

I was talking to a cockney whose views on things
political were more decided than convincing. He
particularly prided himself upon being very much up-
to-date. It was shortly after Lord Roberts returned
from South Africa, and my cockney friend, taking
time by the forelock, volunteered the following — not
as a mere rumour, but as an absolute fact : '' Straight
tip," said he, " no 'ank ! The Americans think so
'ighly of Bobs that, now 'e's out of a job, they've
telegrarfed to know if 'e'll go aht to Cuber an' settle
the Philistines!"

2IO

]

Before I Forget

I used to go fishing with a curious old cha-
racter, who, for so much per diem, punted me
about from roach swim to roach swim on the river
Thames. Airing his views one day on the Spanish-
American war, he laid down the law as follows : "It
ain't fighting nowadays ! In olden times they did
fight ! Cross-bows, and halibuts " — he meant halberds,
but he was a fisherman — **an' battle-axes, and them
things. Ah ! that was somethin' like playin' the
game ! Wot do they do now ? They gits old of
some of them there bombs, fills 'em with linoleum an'
blows yer to blazes ! An' they calls that fightin' !
Ugh ! ! "

I was looking round the Oriental department at
Maple's one day, when a considerate and courteous
attendant asked me if I would care to see a Japanese
praying cabinet which had only recently been
imported. He took a lot of trouble over the matter
— fetched the key, unlocked the outer wooden case,
disclosing inside some magnificent specimens of that
wonderful lacquer work for which the Jap is so
justly celebrated. He was evidently an authority
in this particular department — Japanese art was his
specialty. This I gathered from the lavish way in
which he interspersed his remarks with technicalities.
'' All this," he said, pointing to the interior lacquer
work '' is purely Oriental. This," he observed, as he
closed the cabinet, and affectionately patted its
polished wooden surface — *' this is Maple." Having
my doubts, I spell the word with a capital.

I was playing one night to a particularly appre-
ciative audience. Among other items, my programme

211

Before I Forget

included **A Fallen Star." As the curtain fell, one
of the attendants heard a lady sitting in the reserved
seats exclaim to a friend, '* How did he manage «_
those tears?" **Oh!" answered the friend, after afl
moment's thought, '' Perhaps he keeps a sponge under
his hat." II

I was appearing in a West End hall, and had"
just finished the second verse of a song when 3,
loud report was heard off the stage, followed by aiU
cloud of smoke wafted over the footlights, into the
auditorium. A smell of something burning did not
help to make matters more pleasant. I never
remember singing such a long last verse. I could see
the audience looking round anxiously towards the
exits, wondering if they should keep their seats, or
follow the example of some twenty nervous people
who, terror-stricken, had hurriedly left the building.
I realised that if I stopped, or even hesitated, it would
be taken as evidence of danger, and although I was as
anxious as anybody else, I managed to keep cool. At
the end of my song the curtain dropped, and I rushed
off to find out what had happened. There had been
an explosion of gas in connection with the limelight.
The explosion itself might not have caused very much
alarm, but unfortunately some of the indiarubber
tubing had become disconnected, and the gas escaping
from it caught fire. Instead of stamping on the tube
and so arresting the escape, some excited stage- hand
had seized a blanket — supposed always to be kept wet
— and had thrown it on the flame ! The blanket, as
dry as tinder, immediately began to smoulder, and it
was this that was responsible for the smell of burning,

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Before I Forget

and the cloud of smoke, which might have resulted In
a general panic. Curiously enough, a few nights after,
as I was singing '' My Old Dutch" at the Pavilion, I
heard a roar at the back of the stage, and simul-
taneously the scene received a violent shaking. For-
tunately for me, in one way, when this occurred I
was finishing my song. As the curtain dropped the
commotion behind became more pronounced. Some
performing elephants were being led in from the
street, through an iron door, and this door had closed
on the trunk of one animal, who, bellowing In pain,
startled the others. Every way I looked I saw
nothing but elephant ! The Pavilion stage at that
time was very small, and a few elephants made a
big show ! The extraordinary part of the business
was, that the trainer's influence over these mammoth
beasts was so great, that all, Including the trunk-nipped
one, went through the performance as usual.

In the days when my salary was thirty shillings
weekly I was very anxious to make my brother pro-
fessionals believe that I earned considerably more.
Actors are not greater liars than other men, but if, in
conversation, they do occasionally add a nought to the
stipend they really earn — it means nothing ! At the
time of which I am writing, I was young enough to
think It meant a lot. When I came out of treasury,
carrying my thirty shillings (thirty ** white," in the-
atrical parlance) in a silk purse, I really Imagined that
my assumed indignation, because the acting manager
had insisted on paying me in gold, Instead of notes,
caused a flutter of envy to disturb the equanimity of
my confreres I Well, one Saturday I came out of

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Before I Forget

treasury holding my silk purse in my hand (I had
noticed that the leading man always carried a silk
purse !) ; I had my usual grumble concerning the pig-
headedness of the manager, and his predilection for il
paying salaries in gold instead of notes. By way of
emphasising my annoyance I tossed my purse in the air.
Failing, however, to catch it, it fell on to the stage,
burst, and the assembled company picked up, and
restored to me my thirty ** white." dl

I remember being in a company where a very old
actor was engaged to play a small part. He only had
one line to speak, but, unfortunately, he was so deaf
that a spoken cue was useless to him. His only
chance was to watch the lips of the person address-
ing him. One night something took the old man's
attention off this particular actor, and he missed his
usual cue. I saw him looking anxiously for that
movement of the lips, which was his warning to get
ready. The old man's face was a study. He could
not, and did not, realise that he had allowed his oppor-
tunity to slip. Every one walked off the stage with
the exception of this bewildered old actor who, to
prove himself a conscientious artist, remained facing
the audience, alone. Watching from the wings, we
beckoned him to come off. This he ultimately did,
but not until he had shouted in a stentorian voice,
** Bravo, William ! " — his one line, which should have
been spoken some ten minutes earlier!

The most curious correspondence I ever had was
with a music-hall manager shortly after my return
from America. It originated in his suggestion that
I should accept certain contracts to appear in the

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Before I Forget

music-halls, subject to which condition, he, and another
manager, would run my Recitals in London, as later
on I arranged with Robert Newman to give them at
Queen's Hall. This particular manager was a bit of
a character. He had read Herbert Spencer, and loved
nothing better than to dilate on the comfort, and advan-
tage, he had derived from perusing the works of his
favourite author. He was the only music-hall manager
I had ever encountered with a metaphysical turn of
mind. I was anxious to '' draw " him, and with this
object in view I interspersed my reply to his offer with,
more or less, philosophical ''bait." In one letter,
discussing the class of entertainment contemplated
by me in my Recitals, he said : —

''When securely established, and properly worked,
such a scheme as you suggest would, in my opinion,
be successful ; but it is the establishment of these
things that requires effective preparation and time.
The best seed ever put into the most suitable soil
requires time to flourish. . . . It is as fallacious, in
my opinion, to suppose that the kind of entertain-
ment hitherto associated with St.- George's Hall is
bound to be successful there as it would be to suppose
the fine traditions of Sadler's Wells Theatre make
tragedy the staple for success at that theatre."

I seized my opportunity, or, rather, made it, out of
the above none too promising material, and replied,
baiting the ground as follows : —

" I quite realise the truth contained in your remarks

215

Before I Forget-
about Sadler's Wells, and I also see that these remarks
apply, in a way, to St. George's Hall, or any other
neglected shelter for fugitive entertainments. Your
parable of the seed planted in suitable soil appeals to
me very forcibly. At Sadler's Wells Phelps planted
the good seed, and it brought forth * Barnum's Beauty.'
Several present-day theatres were originally chapels.
... I am, as I think you are, a firm believer in the
survival of the fittest ; but here we are brought face to M
face with a curious paradox. Revelation does not
help us, for are we not told that out of evil cometh
good.-* To discover the why and the wherefore, we
must throw the searchlight of intelligent inquiry into
the chaos of theological speculation, and explain the
very origin of evil, arriving ultimately at the conclusion
that if out of evil good cometh, then in evil there must
be some good, consequently evil is not evil as we
understand evil, but good in degree. We can only
judge by results. I hope you will gather from the
foregoing that I am not a prophet, even if I do want
to plant a seed. I cannot read the future, neither
could Phelps. ... I would no more dream of
reviving the old German Reed show, than * Barnum's
Beauty ' would think of putting up * Timon of Athens '
for a run at Sadler's Wells — even under an alliterative
title. . . ."

The metaphysician nibbled, and by return of post
sent me the following : —

** . . . Yes, I believe in the survival of the fittest,
interpreting * fittest ' to mean that which is best

216

Before I Forget

adapted to meet the requirements of its environ-
ment, or the force of circumstances, and possesses
the greatest amount of adaptability to the changes
ever operating in such environment. Those are the
statics and dynamics of my fittest. . . . Your biblical
illustration does not strike me as being paradoxical,
because the reasoning contains a fallacy in omitting
the limiting word ' some,' as it is obviously meant that
out of some evil good may come, not out of all evil,
and the portion out of which good does not come is
the intrinsically evil. . . ."

To which I immediately replied, with more bait, to
this effect : — ■

*' Your desire to prove my biblical illustration falla-
cious has led you into error. The absence of the
limiting word ' some ' in the quotation you criticise
is so important that I cannot accept its addition
thus late in the day. . . . You say the reasoning
contains a fallacy. It is not my reasoning, it is
Revelation, and with all due respect, I cannot admit
your right to interpolate, or to suggest the interpola-
tion, of a word which so materially alters the sense of
the original, in order to show me what you consider is
obviously meant. If, as you say, ' the portion of evil
out of which good does not come is intrinsically evil,'
then there is a portion of evil which is evil and a
portion which is not ! You might apply the same
argument to good."

Next day I received the following : —

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Before I Forget

" The reasoning was yours from the biblical quota-
tion consisting of words abstracted from a translation.
That translation is admittedly the work of man ; . . .
the translators into English are responsible for the
phrasing which admits of the reductio ad absur-
dtim. ..."

To which I replied : —

"... I take the translation as it stands. ... It
is not my fault — neither is it yours — if we each see
the apparent necessity of adding a word for the pur-
pose of emphasis. I cannot help thinking, however,
that my reading is the more reasonable. For example :
If your contracts stipulate that artists engaged must
submit their songs to you before singing them in your
hall, you mean all artists, not some artists. All their
songs, not some of their songs. You may possibly
argue that a music-hall contract is not a Revelation
in the biblical sense, which would be an admirable
instance of the reductio ad absurdum. Pax vobiscum,

** Yours sincerely,

** Albert Chevalier."

218

CHAPTER XXV

BOHEMIA Is not entirely wiped off the map of
London, although the polite prefix ''Upper"
has done much to rob it of many delightful attributes.
" Upper " Bohemia is a poor place, where the rich
and dilettante endeavour to reproduce an atmosphere
which they have never breathed.

Within the last few years many of the old haunts
have disappeared. The Pelican — unique in Clubland,
after a chequered career — suddenly, and in defiance
of the eternal fitness of things — like the old Prince
of Wales's and Grecian Theatres — had its premises
stormed, and taken, by the Salvation Army. To go
down a step or two in the social scale, the Spooferies,
the Gardenia, the Supper, the Nell Gwynne, and other
similar clubs, which catered for certain independent
spirits, who rejoiced in the chance offered in these
places to defy the Licensing, and other laws, all belong
to last century. There has been no true history written
of Bohemian life in London during the past twenty
years. We often hear that one half of the world
does not know how the other half lives. If we divide
these halves into those who go to bed before midnight,
and those who begin to spend the evening as the clock
strikes 12 p.m., it will help to explain the mystery.

219

Before I Forge t-

Respectable paterfamilias, preparatory to quitting his
suburban home for the dally routine of city life, reads
occasionally of a raid on some dreadful establishment
where, after midnight, a crowd of people were dis-
covered dancing, and singing, drinking, eating, and
even gambling. He puffs and blows in his Indigna-
tion. He never in his life heard the clock strike
2 a.m. To him it is awful that anybody but a police-
man should keep such hours ; and yet paterfamilias
probably belongs to a club where, although dancing
and singing are unheard-of delights, there Is a card-
room. Paterfamilias may, or may not. Indulge now
and then in a " flutter " at Poker or Bridge, but he
(in common with many who legislate for morality)
pays his annual subscription to support an establish-
ment, where the laws of the land may be dodged.

I can remember Cremorne and the Argyle. What
good did the closing of those places do? Within
very few years, out of their scattered ashes, w
revived the same opportunities, only on a much more
elaborate scale, not a hundred miles from defunct
Cremorne. I am speaking now of the seamy side ;
but neither in the seamy, nor the healthy side, can the
Pharisee exist. The very vices of Bohemia produce a
virtue. "The greatest of these" — Charity. I have
seen some of the kindest acts performed by the dis-
owned— the pariahs of society — the fringe of Bohemia.

How many people living in the West of London
know anything of that vast district the East End.-^
There are theatrical companies whose sole source of
income is the East End club, where on Sunday
evenings performances take place, at stated intervals,

220

Photo by']

The Poet.

[B, Knight,

[To Jace p. 221.

Before I Forget —

during the season. These companies are seldom
seen away from East End Clubland. They have
their stars, their tragedians, and their funny men. It
is doubtful if anywhere in the United Kingdom the
Bard of Avon is more sure to draw than at one of
these functions. I often laugh when I encounter the
" Johnnie " who, from his acquaintance with the outer
rim, imagines that he has explored Bohemia, from its
fringe to its centre, and right through to the other
side.

'' Upper " Bohemia is a mockery, because the
*' Upper" Bohemian is only at home within its exclu-
sive circle. The real Bohemian shuns it, and its
affectations, as he shuns all other shams. I am not
pleading for the old days of sanded floors, pewter
pots, hard seats, and long clay pipes. I am quite
willing to admit the superiority of modern furnishing,
from the point of view of comfort ; but a club is very
like some men. A new coat makes a lot of difference.
It develops side, and there is no side in real Bohemia.
The Savage Club is Bohemia at its best. It has
survived the ordeals of refurnishing, and change of
premises ; but then its list of members still boasts the
name of E. J. Odell, the doyen of Bohemians.

Of late years it has been the aim and object of
certain actors to get into "Society." No criticism,
however favourable, affords them more pleasure than
the paragraphs in which their names are bracketed
with the leaders of fashion. I am glad to say that
this type does not represent the majority. In his
heart of hearts, the actor is not in sympathy with
what is termed, the ''smart set." It may tickle his

221

Before I Forget

vanity, but he cannot serve two masters. Once let
Society get the upper hand, and the actor (or any
other professional) develops into a snob of the most
pronounced order. The swell amateur is mainly
responsible for this absurd condition of things.
The swell amateur is the curse of the modern
stage. He has never done really good work in,
or for, the theatre. No actor can afford to be exclu-
sive, he must rub shoulders with all sorts and condi-
tions of men. I have frequently been asked to take
part in ** swagger " — I believe that is the correct term
— performances in the cause of charity, the organisers
of these entertainments urging, as an inducement, that
it would be ** such fun " ! There is the whole thing in
a nutshell. To the swell amateur acting is " such !■
fun." '■

I have the greatest contempt for the actor whose
success is due to the fact that he has been '' taken
up " by Society. It savours unpleasantly of the —
thank goodness ! — departed days of patronage, when
no artist could hope to make headway, without the
approval, and protection, of some titled nonentity.
There is nothing more pathetic in the history of
Art than the *' Dedications " written by poets, and
dramatists, in days gone by. They are the essence
of snobbery.

The social status of the actor has improved, because
of the work done to raise it to its proper level by men
like Henry Irving — not because of paragraphs in the
Era informing brother pro's that " Mr. So-and-so is
at present enjoying a pleasant holiday with Lord and
Lady at Castle."

222

Before I|Forget-

The real Bohemian is not necessarily a lazy ne'er-
do-well because he chafes under the restrictions of
life as it is lived by the majority of his fellow-
creatures. The real Bohemian does not lose his
head when success comes to him. He has seen too
much to overestimate the value of applause. He
accepts it gratefully, as a reward for which he has
striven. I hold the theory that most men know when
they do good work, and the success of their mediocre
achievements, does not blind them to the inherent
weakness of such productions. There are great
poets, painters, and dramatists, whose reputations,
so far as popular fancy is concerned, rest on anything
but their best works, but, having caught the popular
taste, they can afford to appeal to the exclusive ring
of red-taped culture. No profession is more over-
crowded than the theatrical, and, oddly enough, for
the reason that it is supposed to be " so easy," '* such
a jolly life." This overcrowding is the only possible
excuse — a lame one, but still an excuse — for seeking
the near cut — the Royal Road which has produced the
Society actor. It is in itself evidence of the difficul-
ties which beset the earnest worker. In the course of
a year I receive many letters from aspiring histrions,
and, since I have been at Queen's Hall, from vocalists
and instrumentalists. I am not sure that a school of
Dramatic Art would ever succeed in England ; but if
its establishment only proved that the theatre is not
to be counted on to provide employment for the
failures in other professions, it would be doing some
good — it would save much disappointment to the army
of incompetents.

223

CHAPTER XXVI

THE life of an actor, to an actor, has a chann
which only the actor can appreciate. Nowadays,
thanks in a large measure to the Actors' Association,
the theatrical profession is very much better off than it
was when I first entered it. I have a vivid recollection
of being engaged many years ago to play Claude
Melnotte (!) and Conn the Shaughraun ; but the night
we were to open our manager was not sufficiently in
funds to pay five shillings deposit on the gas — although
from his conversation, when engaging me, I should
never have anticipated that such a contingency would
have stopped any performance in which he was
interested. The Actors' Association has done much
to check the bogus manager. By bogus manager I
do not mean the man who takes a company out, and
after a month's disastrous business finds his small
capital exhausted — I mean the rogue who starts with
no capital, save a few pounds for preliminary expenses
but unlimited bounce, and who trusts solely on the
weekly returns to meet his liabilities. I was once with
a company, the manager of which started out with
sufficient capital to meet very heavy expenses for
about six weeks. Business was awful. The company
agreed to a reduction of salaries. When I say the

224

Before I Forget

company, I mean the actors. We travelled with an
orchestra. The musicians would not budge an inch.
They insisted on receiving the salaries they were
originally engaged at, and, sooner than disband, the
actors submitted. We contrived to go on for about
another month. The only people who received full
salaries were the musicians. From a working point of
view there is no better Union than the orchestral
players'. In a theatre the orchestral player is always
the first artist to kick, when the hard-up, but ingenious
manager suggests summer salaries — half salaries — or
any remuneration not in accordance with the rules, and
regulations, of the Union. There is no talking over
the orchestra. The actor gives two or three, and
sometimes more, weeks' rehearsals. So precarious is
the theatrical profession that — I am speaking from
personal experience — he will sometimes give six
weeks when his engagement is only for the run of
the piece. I gave eight weeks once, and the play ran
six nights. Comparatively speaking, the orchestral
player in a theatre gives very few rehearsals. At
Queen's Hall an extra band rehearsal costs Robert
Newman something like ^60. It is unreasonable not
to pay actors for rehearsals. The work is really
much harder than the actual performance at night.
Rehearsing is the most tedious work. I remember
years ago in London attending rehearsals for three
days in succession, hanging about the theatre from
ten till four, during which time the stage- manager,
and the leading lady, discussed whether a chair or a
stool should be used in a certain scene. On the
fourth day some inspired person suggested that a

225 Q

Before I Forget

couch might meet the case ; and we proceeded to
make some progress. I can't help thinking that this
waste of time would not have occurred if the time so
wasted had been paid for.

In the theatre, and out of it, actors and members
of the orchestra see very little of one another. The,
band-room, and the green-room are quite distinct. I
have been in a theatre for months, and it has only-
been quite by chance that I have met one of the
orchestra. Almost the same condition of things may
be said to exist between the actor, and the music-hall
artist. I cannot call to mind the name of a music-
hall performer who belongs to any representative
Theatrical Club. The lists of members contain the
names of many actors who have migrated to the
halls, but they were actors first. When I was in
the music-halls there was no Music Hall Club. The
*' turns " driving home had their regular houses of call,
and even to-day it is no uncommon thing to find a
string of broughams, late at night, outside these
favourite resorts where the " Boys " drop in for a
*' final." The Bohemian element is very strong in
Music Hall Land. There is no ** Society " music-
hall artist as the term *' Society " applies to the actor.
It is only within the last eight or ten years that
Variety agents have ventured to establish offices
in the West End ; and Waterloo Road is still the
great market. The York Hotel, is to the music-hall
artist, what the Gaiety Bar, and the Occidental, were to
the actor some fifteen or twenty years ago — viz., a
meeting-place, a club, where performers drop in to
learn the latest professional news, and perhaps to hear

226

Before I Forget

of "turns wanted." There is a spot in Waterloo
Road — '' Poverty Corner " as it is pathetically known
to the unsuccessful — which would have afforded
Dickens a great opportunity. It is a wonderful place
— an object-lesson in the ups and downs of life. It
truly represents ** variety." The comic singer who
yesterday was earning a more than precarious living,
by singing at smoking, and other occasional concerts
for a fee of half a crown, or five shillings, suddenly
bursts upon the town with a chorus song, and is billed
as the ''Great." He seldom loses his head to the
extent of cutting his old pals. He still drops into
the *' York." He may drive up in his own trap
or brougham — but he is hail-fellow-well-met with
the boys. He stands drinks — a severe test of his
sterling qualities ! — and he seldom refuses a loan. His
Bohemianism may be rough, it is decidedly not
" Upper " as the Johnnie knows it, but it is very
genuine — it has heart — it is not anaemic. Much of
the so-called improvidence with which the music-
hall pro. is so frequently charged springs from no
worse source than a delight in being able to help the
less fortunate. The ** Great " may be a trifle con-
spicuous in the matter of attire. He may develop a
weakness for diamond rings, elaborate scarf-pins
designed as an advertisement, and massive cable
watch-chains, but he has seen too much of the seamy
side not to know that these articles have a value, apart
from emphasising the " security " of his position as a
popular favourite. I once met, at the seaside, a
prosperous comic singer "got up regardless." He
wore a frock-coat, white vest with gilt buttons, flannel

227

Before I Forget

trousers, patent leather boots, a red tie, and a straw
hat. Strange to say everybody looked round — and,
stranger still, he did not seem to mind. He knew his
business ! Oh ! I forgot to mention, that for a scarf-
pin, he had his initials worked in diamonds ; and i
was almost large enough to conceal his necktie.

If music-hall artists are not great club men, they
have their Benevolent Societies — the " Rats," the
*' Terriers," and others too numerous to mention ; and
many an unfortunate " brother " has reason to be
grateful for the existence of these societies. There is
of course the Music Hall Benevolent Fund, but the
work done by the societies I have named is perhaps
more the spontaneous outcome of a fellow-feeling for
those in distress. I do not say that the M.H.B.F. is
not actuated by similar motives, but societies like the
two first mentioned are, generally speaking, controlled
by artists only — and after all their knowledge is more
valuable, and more likely to lead to practical resultsJB
than that of the best-intentioned non-professional
philanthropist. In the ranks of the music-hall
profession, charity is better understood, and appre-
ciated, than is often the case in other, and more
"serious" walks in life. ''Help a lame dog over
the stile " is included in every music-hall artist's
repertoire, and it is worth more than the proverbial
" song."

There are many comic singers earning very good
livings who have never appeared In a West End
music-hall. These confine their attention to smoking
concerts held during the winter season in hotels,
public-houses, clubs, and institutes in every part of

228

Before I Forget

London and the suburbs. I knew one of these
performers who could earn as much as ten or fifteen
pounds weekly during the season, and whose annual
benefit, which took place at Cannon Street Hotel,
realised nearly ;^ioo. This class of vocalist as a rule
makes it his business to study the method, and
mannerisms, of some popular favourite — sings all his
songs — and to the uninitiated is also *' Great." For
the benefit of would-be '' histrions " let me relate an
incident which came under my notice some years ago.
Those who think the theatrical profession is ** such
good fun " can turn this over in their minds — it is
absolutely true. In a certain London theatre where
I was engaged, the manager was at his wits' end to
find somebody to play a tiny but most important
part — the part of a very feeble old dame. She only
appeared in one scene, but that scene, so far as she
was concerned, required the most delicate handling.
Some one recommended an old provincial actress for
the part. She was quite unknown to the younger
generation, even in the country, and we were told
that she had never before played in London. Nobody
in the theatre had ever heard of her. In extreme old
age she made her dSdu^ before a West End audience.
Her performance was one of the hits in the piece. At
nearly eighty, old and decrepit, she succeeded, not
because she could act, but because she was herself
in the part, a human wreck.

229

CHAPTER XXVII

SHORTLY after my return from America
received the following characteristic letter
from Miss Ellen Terry : —

"The National Society for the
"Prevention of Cruelty to Children.
" Dear Mr. Chevalier, — I wonder whether you
will, if y oil CAN, do something to help me in a per-
formance I am giving in aid of the above Society at
the Lyceum Theatre in June — date not quite setded
yet — possibly the 15th or thereabouts.

"■ One little song ! or let me play a coster girl with
you!! _ II

" Will you send me a line in reply as soon as possible,
even if you have to say no ; do it firmly and quickly
and put me out of my misery quickly ! !

'* Pray forgive me asking you this favour. I couldnt
do it if it were for my own benefit.

'* Yours sincerely,

'' Ellen Terry."

I replied, saying that I should be delighted to assist
her ; but preferably as Cockney Romeo to her Juliet !
She immediately wrote back : —

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Before I Forget

** Dear Mr. Chevalier, — My best-est thanks. I
didn't mean it when I suggested playing Doner — Dona
— Donah (.> which ?) DONA with you — but it is a
splendid idea, a coster ''Romeo and Juliet" — (or
Faust and Margaret ? Their first meeting ! !) — and
if YOU think I could act it I should love to try — but I
fear — I fear ! —

*' Anyhow on this particular occasion I will ask you
to sing one of your own delightful songs ** all alone," as
the children say — and after, on some future fine day,
I will {if you think after rehearsing I can do it well), I
will act a coster girl with you with much pleasure.

'* Yours gratefully,

** Ellen Terry."

As no suitable idea occurred to me at the time, the
matter fell through. I have recently, however, written
a duologue (the outcome of the suggestion contained
in Miss Terry's letter) which, some day, I hope to
produce as an item in my Recitals ; but, alas ! I fear,
not with Miss Terry in the cast ! It is entitled —

THE GOD AND THE STAR.
Duologue by Albert Chevalier.

CHARACTERS.

Nell Perry {a popular actress).

'Enery 'Awkins {a costermonger).

Scene. — Covent Garden^ 4 a.m.

{Enter 'Enery 'Awkins.)

'Awkins. — Lor lumme ! Wot a lot of toifs there is abaht ! One
o' them fancy dress balls at the Garding last night. Ain't the boys
been a-chivvyin' some on 'em ! — Them as can't git cabs to take
'em 'ome ! I've just left King Charles an' Oliver Cromwell 'avin' a

231

Before I Forget

cup o' thick an' a doorstep at the corfee stall. King Charles was oft
'is peck, but 'adn't 'e got a thirst on 'im ! Lor ! couldn't he shift
the corfee ! 'Ere ! this won't do ! I can't afford ter do the eavy an'
lounge abaht ! my time's valuable. If I buys cheap an' sells dear,
I'm a-goin' to take the doner to the theatre to-night to see Nell
Perry act — an' she can act ! Lor ! when I see 'er play Desdemoner,
I wanted to git dahn an' prop Otheller, an' I would too if Lizer
'adn't clawed 'old of me. Lizer finks I'm stuck on Nell Perry ! but
as I sez, I admires 'er as a hartist, but it don't foller 'cos I blews a
bob for a front seat in the Gawds of a Saturday night as I'm goin' ter
hoffer 'er marriage. Not me ! Lizer's my form. On a Bank 'oliday
she looks a treat ! Nell Perry's ore right in 'er business, varry good ;
but for Eppin' or 'Ampstead, or for a 'op rahnd in front of a barril
orgin, give me Lizer !

{Enter Nell Perry ^ dressed as a coster girl on Bank Holiday — hat^
feathers^ 6^^., handkerchief round neck ^ earrings^ 6^^.)

Nell (frightened). Oh ! what shall I do ? Some one has gone off"
with my brougham ! I suppose it must have been the other coster
girl ! There were two of us at the ball last night. She left first.
I stopped behind to claim my prize — she took her revenge, and my
brougham ! Dear, dear ! Not a cab to be seen. I shall have to
walk {cryifig) to Bedford Park !

'AwK. {turning round). 'Ullo ! a female in distress ! {sees costume).
Lor lumme ! If Lizer could only see that 'at !

Nell {seeing him staring). I beg your pardon ? .fli

'AwK. {aside). Jumpin' Moses ! if it ain't Nell Perry ! 'Ere's a
lark!

Nell. Sir !

'AwK. Wot Oh !

Nell {astonished^ then vooking at her dress^ smiles). {Aside) He
takes me for a coster girl. {Aloud^ pretending to talk as a cockney)
Wot Oh ! Cully !

'AwK. {laughing to himself). Oh ! that's yer little game, is it ?
You're goin' to hact to me, are yer ? A special performance for Bill
'Awkins ! Ore right ! I'm hon ! {To Nell) Well, Ria ! 'ow are yer
comin' hup ?

Nell. G'arn ! Git away !

'AwK. Not me ! 'Tain't hev'ry day as I comes acrost hanyfink
quite so tasty ! Wouldn't you knock *em at the 'Arp !

Nell. The

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Before I Forget-

'AwK. The 'Arp ! The " Welsh 'Arp " !

Nell [innocently). Which is Hendon way ?

'AwK. Yuss, of course. Where do yer fink it is? I've 'arf a
mind to chuck my day's work an' treat yer to a run dahn in
the shay.

Nell {alarmed). Oh ! I shouldn't — {assuming cockney accent) —
Wotcher torkin' abaht ? If my bloke came along you'd 'ave a 'igh
old time, I can tell yer.

'AwK. Oh, I'd take my chance in a up an' a dahner for your
sake, Ria ! Yer name is Ria, ain't it ? — Ria ! {sidling up to her).

Nell {swinging her hat shyly). Yuss.

AwK. I fought it was ! Sumfink told me as it wasn't Hemmer !

Nell. I'm so glad it isn't Hemmer !

'AwK. My name's 'Arry.

Nell. Is it, though ? How romantic

'AwK. Yuss. 'Arry ; some calls me 'Enery.

Nell. May I call you 'Enery. {He looks at her^ then slouches
towards barrow ^ sits — whistles to her — she looks iiiquiringly . He slaps
the barrow as if to indicate that there is a vacant seat at his side. She
takes no notice.)

'AwK. Come 'ere.

Nell. What for ?

'AwK. Come 'ere an' set dahn.

Nell. Is it safe ?

'AwK. Safe ! Wot the barrer? Yuss, safe as 'ouses. {Nell gingerly
mounts — pause — tJuy dangle their legs over side of cart^ and sit grin-
ning at each other. He looks admiringly at her costume). You've got
'em all on, ain't yer ?

Nell {anxiously). I hope so !

'AwK. {mimicking her). Hi hope so ! Ain't we toney this mornin' !
'Ad yer breakfast ?

Nell. N — no ! — not yet !

'AwK. 'As it on yer way to business, I suppose ?

Nell. Yes — I mean {correcting herself) yuss !

'AwK. That's better ! Fought you was a-puttin' hon hedge agin.
Wot yer say to a peck ? You can 'ave 'art my rasher {shows rasher
of bacon). If you'll mind the barrer I'll run an' git yer some corfee at
the stall. You can come with me if you'll promise not ter make heyes
at the blokes.

Nell. I think I'll stay here,

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Before I Forget

'AwK. Can't trust yerself, eh ? Well, I'd sooner keep my hoptic
hon yer, so we'll have the rasher neat {showing rasher). Ain't
it a beauty?

Nell. It's a darling !

'AwK. 'Ere, 'old 'ard ! If there's any darlin's a-knockin' abaht,
don't forgit yer 'umble. i

Nell. I shall never forget you !

'AwK. Wish I'd a concertiner 'ere {sings ''The Maid oj the
Mill").

"You'll not forgit me,
You'll not forgit me !
Fink sometimes of me still.
When the moon breaks.
An' the thistle awakes
Remember the maid hof the mill !
Ta-ra-ra-ra-ra-ra-ra
Do not "

Nell {hand to her ears). Don't ! fll

'AwK. You ain't fond of 'armony ! Say Ria, wot's yer uvver
name?

Nell (aside). Oh dear ! What is generally a coster girl's other
name ? {Brilliant idea strikes her — aloud) Hawkins.

'AwK. Git away ! You know sumfink, you do ! Want ter change i
it already, do yer ? Well, of all the artful cats. . . . Jjl

Nell. Sir ! "■

'AwK. 'Ere, 'old 'ard ; keep yer maulers off ! Don't you start
clumpin'. That's the wust of you gals ; you're so 'andy with yer
dooks !

Nell. I — I'll — {as if suddenly remembering slang) I'll dot you on
the cnimpit !

'AwK. You do, that's all ! You do, an' I'll pinch yer 'at !

Nell {alarmed). What does he mean ? {Aloud) You brute !
You'd pinch an unprotected female —

'AwK. No, not you I Yer '«// Yer cadie ! Yer tile ! Yer tosh I

Nell {relieved). Oh, I beg your pardon ! Now I understand.

'AwK. That's better. Nah you're torkin'. 'Ow did yer
git 'ere?

Nell {aside). How did I get here ? {Aloud) Walker ! Shanks's
pony. {Shows boots) Pipe my trotter cases !

234

Before I Forget

'AwK {admiringly). They're Ha i. What did they stick yer
for 'em ?

Nell. Eh ?

'AwK. 'Ow much ? Not a stiver less than 'arf a finnuff.

Nell {in despair). Oh, dear no ! Much more than half a —
what you said.

'AwK. You must 'ave plenty of splosh ! You do chuck itabaht !
Business pretty flourishin'?

Nell. They — they've raised my salary.

'AwK. {disappointed). Oh, you've got a guv'nor! You ain't hon
yer own ?

Nell {aside). What does he mean ?

'AwK. Of course, there's less risk workin' that way. I suppose
you're very well known rahnd abaht Chiswick ?

Nell. Yuss, varry well !

'AwK. I ain't stuck on Chiswick ! I likes 'Oundsditch. Wot's
your favourite part ?

Nell {absent-mindedly). Desdemona !

'AwK. Is that far from 'ere ? You do git abaht, don't yer ?

Nell. No. That is, I mean {talking cockney) — Look 'ere, 'Arry,
when you've done with that there rasher, p'raps you won't mind
tellin' me 'ow I'm a-goin' ter git ter Chiswick.

'AwK. You're a nice beauty, you are ! You come 'ere from
Chiswick, an' yer don't know yer way back !

Nell. Yes I do— but I'm so tired !

'AwK. Wot ! ore ready ? An' you ain't done yer markitin' !

Nell. Nor have you.

'AwK. Me ? I ain't a-goin' ter do no markitin' ter day. I've got
sumfink better hon !

Nell. You're not going to leave me ! alone — in Covent Garden
dressed like this, Harry ? {He takes no notice^ 'Arry ! {He turns
arid puts his arm round her waist.)

'AwK. {sentimentally). Ria !

Nell. You'll find me a cab, won't you ?

'AwK. A cab? Wot? An' 'ansim ? Won't run to 'ansims !
Besides, there ain't a cab to be seen for miles rahnd ! No, not
heven a perishin' growler. There was a ball at the Carding last
night.

Nell {innocently). Was there ?

'AwK, Yuss, an' hevery bloomin' cab's hengaged! Besides, the

235

Before I Forget

likes of huss can't ride abaht in cabs. I'll give yer a lift in the
barrer

Nell {horrified). Oh ! I couldn't !

'AwK. Couldn't ! Wotcher torkin' abaht ? 'Tain't the fust time
you've ridden in a shaller, is it ?

Nell {at a loss). No, indeed, I prefer it to a Victoria.

'AwK. Oreright then. I've got the moke rahnd the corner.

Nell (startled). The moke !

'AwK. Yuss, the moke. My old pal Neddy, the Jerusalem
Cuckoo.

Nell. Drive to Chiswick in a donkey cart ?

'AwK. Yuss, an' we'll be there in less than no time. The road's
clear. It's hearly yet, only just a little arter four; and I'll tell yer
wot — when you gits 'ome I'll run over to the "Pack 'Orse," give the
moke a feed, 'ave 'arf pint an' a smoke, while you 'as a doss, call
back for yer abaht ten, an' we'll spend the day together at 'Ampstead
'Eath!

{Exits singing ^ Appy ^Ampstead)

Nell. Drive to Chiswick in a donkey cart with a costermonger !
Oh, what shall I do ? He thinks I'm a coster girl. He'll be calling
for me on Sundays to take me out ! {cries).

'AwK. {outside, as if addressing donkey). Ah ! Would yer? Steady

there ! Woa back !

{Re-enter.)

'E'U be ready in 'arf a tick. One of the boys is a-puttin' hon 'is
'arness {sees her crying). 'Ullo ! Wot's hup, old gal ? ,

Nell {tearfully). You — you'll drive carefully ?

'AwK. Don't yer worry abaht that. 'Ere, turn it hup ! There
ain't nufl&nk to cry abaht !

Nell. I'm not crying !

'AwK. Wotcher hup to then ? Givin' a himitation ? {Calls off.)
Ore right ! 'arf a jiff ! I'll fetch 'im.

{Exit)
{Talks outside) Woa back, there! Ah! Would yer? 'Ere
you are. . . .

{Enter with donkey in cart)

Shall I give you a leg up ?

Nell. Thank you very much, but I think I can manage
without. {Climbs into cart, taking 'Awk's hand.)

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Before I Forget-

'AwK {sitting by her and taking reins). Nobby turn aht, ain't it

Nell. Yuss.

'AwK. Beg parding ?

Nell. I said "Yuss."

'AwK. That's oreright ! Now then, Miss Perry, where to?

Nell {starting up). What ! you know me ?

'AwK. Know yer ? I should rather fink I do. Not a Saturday
night goes by, when it'll run to it, as I don' 'ave a bob's-worth in the
Gawds ! Nell, I ain't given to flattery, but your Desdemoner's a
knock aht !

Nell. Thank you so much. It's so kind of you to see me
home.

'AwK. Kind of me ? It's you as does me prahd ! It's a >^onour !

Nell. I shall never be able to repay you.

'AwK. Yuss you will. Miss. Two pit orders for to-night will
square the job.

Nell (gratefully). I'll see that you are put on the free list from
this day.

'AwK. You will ? D'ye 'ear that, Neddy ? We're hon the free
list ! Horf you go, my beauty !

{Drives off shouting and singing.)

{Curtain.)

237

CHAPTER XXVIII

SOME years ago, in one of the outlying districts,
not more than six or seven miles from Hyde
Park Corner, there was a booth dignified by the name
of theatre, which catered for a particularly rough class
of playgoers. This Temple of the Drama served a
double purpose. In the daytime it was a jam factory.
I happened to pass the place one night — a real old-
fashioned *'gag" bill written, or rather painted by
hand, occupied a conspicuous position immediately i

under a placard, setting forth the merits of 'a|l

*' whole fruit Strawberry." The performance, accord- *
ing to the bill, was to consist of a thrilling domestic
drama entitled, ** The Lowly Cottage Girl." I paid
my money and went in. The stalls, which cost six-
pence each, turned out to be wooden benches covered
with strips of old carpet. I wanted a programme, but
only oranges were sold in the auditorium. Following
the example of certain fashionable West End theatres,
the orchestra was concealed — presumably stored away
with the jam. Under any circumstances this hiding
of the orchestra is an ingenious arrangement, but
particularly so when the band consists of one fiddle,
played by the conductor, a cornet, a piano, and a
drum. Speculation as to numerical strength can only

238

Before I Forget

then be based on the volume of sound produced.
On this occasion it would have baffled a combination
of brass bands to have produced more noise. When
the overture finished, there was a wait, during which
I had a short chat with the conductor. He sat on a
chair, pushed through a trap, in front of the footlights.
I explained to him that I had been unable to procure
a programme, and he very kindly " ducked " his head
through the trap, shouted to somebody under the
stage, and came up with a piece of paper and a
pencil. In a few seconds he scribbled down, and
handed me some details. Somebody in the prompt
entrance whistled, the conductor lunged underneath
the stage with his bow, and to slow music the curtain
rose. Two rustics were discovered knocking one
another about with stuffed sticks. This, to the
intense delight of the audience, lasted some five or
ten minutes. Suddenly the conductor, bow in hand,
dived fiercely under the stage ; once more the
orchestra responded with a sustained tremolo chord,
and the hero appeared. Having cuffed both yokels,
he proceeded to take the audience into his confi-
dence. He was a man of about fifty-five. Naturally,
he was bald, but to simulate youth he had painted his
own scalp, which, thus decorated, looked like a
bladder of lard, streaked by a curry-comb dipped in
ink. He wore a very seedy frock-coat, the lappels
of which were crimped with age, his trousers, baggy
at the knees, were too short to conceal odd socks,
his boots were down at heel, and turned up at the
toes. When he threw himself into a chair, and with
an assumption of lordly languor crossed his legs, the

239

Before I Forget

soles of his boots, thus exposed to view, were
deplorable condition. It was some time before he
spoke, so that I rashly summed him up as a tramp
impersonator. Judge, then, of my surprise when
rising suddenly, he walked straight down to the foot
lights, saying, " I am Clitheroe, Lord of Casdedane.
mix in the best society, and have earls at my table.
love the lowly cottage girl. I fain would pluck the rose
that blossoms in this dainty nook." He did not know
a single line! In theatrical parlance he *' ponged."
He had a good memory — for other plays ; and the
way he contrived to get through with a bit from this
drama — a speech from that — lengths from Shakespeare
— and yards from the old comedies, was something to
see and marvel at. The wonderful part of the busi-
ness was that, to the audience, it didn't matter what
he said so long as he shouted it. He talked of things
which had nothing whatever to do with the play he
was performing in. He was supposed to be the
virtuous hero, but had to fill out so much time, and
if he couldn't do it virtuously, he did not hesitate to
become vicious. He told of ships he'd scuttled, of
children he'd kidnapped, and when he suddenly
remembered that such conduct was hardly what one
might expect from a virtuous hero, he would pause,
smile and exclaim, "All this and more I might have
done, but for the love of Kate, the lowly cottage girl."
That put matters right ! He didn't care. He'd filled
up the time somehow, and the audience cheered.
Needless to say, no one had the faintest idea as to
what the play was all about. The youthful heroine
was played by the leading lady. In the matter of

240

Before I Forget

age she might have given Clitheroe, Lord of Castle-
dane, five years. At the conclusion of Act I. I
gathered that CHtheroe and the lowly Kate had
gone off to be married. I arrived at this conclusion
because of the sudden appearance of one of the stuffed
stick combatants, arrayed in clerical clothing, who
shouted, '' Hail ! the bride and bridegroom." In
Act II. we were introduced to ''East Lynne," or
sufficient of it to enable the lowly Kate to become
suspicious of her lord and master, and to elope with
the villain. This was rattled through in fine style by
the leading lady, and the other First Act yokel, now
disguised as a black-moustached gentleman, whose
overtures, for a time, so stirred Kate's sense of
honour that, horror-stricken, she exclaimed, '* Go, sir !
Though I was but a lowly cottage girl, I now am wife
to Clitheroe, Lord of Castledane. You forget your-
self ! Leave me, sir ! You are very rude, and most
ungentlemanly ! " He did not, however, leave her,
but pressed his suit (which, like Clitheroe s, needed
it) so successfully that she swooned away and was
carried off the stage by the villain. Once again,
prodded by the conductor, the orchestra struck up
some very mysterious music, and Clitheroe appeared.
Although he entered immediately after the guilty
couple went off, and by the same door, he expressed
surprise at not finding Kate. He favoured us in this
scene with scraps from ** Hamlet " and the "School
for Scandal," winding up with an expression of horror,
when somebody in the wings shouted out, ''Your
wife is nowhere to be found." Then he raved, and
stormed, and told of mighty deeds — the courage of

241 R

Before I Forget

his ancestors. How at Agincourt and Waterloo
(his dates were a trifle mixed, but as he shouted, this
was overlooked) his grandsire had fought with Marl-
borough, and General Monk. With such blood
coursing through his veins, was he the one to sill
down tamely under the sting of injury? No! — a
thousand times no! The desire for a weapon, with
which to slay his rival, carried him back to the classic
drama, whereupon he reeled off the dagger scene
from Macbeth. Having worked up to an effective
climax, he winked at the conductor who, taking the
tip, lunged again under the stage, and the orchestra
played fortissimo as the curtain fell on Act H.

Act HI. was supposed to take place in California.
The scene, however, was identical with Kate's
lowly cottage in Act I. The furniture had been
rearranged, and chair-covers added. Between
Acts H. and HI. ten years had elapsed, so Clitheroe
informed the audience. As the curtain went up th^l
Lord of Castledane was discovered reading his letters.
He played most of this scene holding a letter in his
hand ; and as I gathered more of the story from this
scene than from any other, I think I am entitled to
conclude that the letter contained more than '' mere
news from the old country." Clitheroe told us that
he had found peace and rest in the love of another
woman ; but that from his heart of hearts, '* nothing
could ever tear the image of Kate, the lowly cottage
girl." (Big round of applause.) He still treasured
his only link with the past — the child of his former
marriage — a delicate child, for whom he had engaged
a new nurse. All these details he gave off, casually,

242

Before I Forget

as he conned his letter '' from the old country."
Suddenly he rose, walked to the wings, and snapped
his fingers. Returning to his chair, he gazed
anxiously in the direction of the prompt entrance,
and a little boy walked, or rather skipped, on, trying
to look oh ! so happy. Overcome by paternal affec-
tion, Clitheroe clasped the child in his arms, at the
same time whispering something in an undertone.
What the question was, thus privately asked, I do
not know. The child, however, gasped out, ''What
ring ? " Whereupon Clitheroe somewhat roughly
escorted his offspring to the door, and as if by way of
apology to the audience exclaimed, '* You should
have brought me on a ring — but you have forgotten
it. Go to your mother, child ! " Clitheroe junior
started howling, and I could hear him, after he had
made his exit, gulping out between his sobs, to some
one in the wings, "'E never told me to take on no
ring!" Clitheroe, Lord of Castledane, glared ''off,"
and the sobbing stopped. Then Kate, the lowly
cottage girl, entered, disguised as a governess. Blue
spectacles were all that she considered necessary, to
conceal her identity from her former husband. A
long, and " touching," scene followed, in which
Clitheroe, for no apparent reason, repeated the state-
ment that, " though wedded to another, his heart still
pined for Kate." Wiping her eyes, or rather the
outside of her blue spectacles, the lowly cottage girl
tottered towards the door, and made a pathetic exit,
to slow music, blowing farewell kisses at Clitheroe's
back. Left alone, Clitheroe once more tried to fill
out time with a soliloquy. His memory for other

243

Before I Forget

plays failing him, he snapped his fingers, and
small boy once more appeared exclaiming, ''Daddy!
daddy ! the new governess has gone out on the lake
for a row." Suddenly the old fire came into
Clitheroe's eye as it fell upon the letter from "thelB
old country," which he had dropped on the table.
Seizing it feverishly, he gave the audience an
elaborate description of Castledane, the home of his
ancestors — a description which led me to believe that
Claude Melnothe must have stolen the original design
for his ** Palace by the Lake of Como." Clitheroe
had exhausted the entire premises, and was falling
back on the '' beautiful grounds," when the child again
entered, announcing, *' Daddy ! daddy ! the new
governess is drowned." Following immediately on
this announcement came a procession, consisting of
the black-moustached villain, and the clergyman, back
In their yokel garments of Act I. (regardless of Cali-
fornia) carrying the supposed governess on a stretcher.
Slowly approaching the body, and saying *'Hush ! " to
the awful child, who was now giggling, Clitheroe tore
away the blue spectacles — they hadn't been washed
off — started back, gasped, and proceeding to the exact
centre of the stage, exclaimed, ** My heart told me
so. Yes ! It Is Kate, the lowly cottage girl ! " and the
curtain fell.

244

CHAPTER XXIX

AFTER a delightful month in my favourite Devon-
shire I have just resumed business on tour.
I am writing this in Deal, where, in spite of the
tropical heat, I have played a most successful two
nights' engagement. My tour, which started last
Monday, July 29th, will continue till October 19th.
I return to Queen's Hall, October 21st, when I hope
to bring back several additions to my repertoire.
Here is my latest burlesque lecture, to be delivered
as the Curate : — -

BAA! BAA! BLACK SHEEP.

Baa ! baa ! black sheep, have you any wool ?

Yes, sir ! yes, sir ! three bags full.

One for the master, one for the dame,

And one for the little boy who lives in the lane.

I will acknowledge that, examined superficially,
these lines call neither for special nor serious con-
sideration. The underlying sentiment is delicate and
elusive, and must be diligently sought for. Presum-
ably *' Baa ! baa ! " (the first words of the poem) were
spoken by the sheep. In those two monosyllables the
animal may be said to have exhausted its known
vocabulary. That the sheep uttered any articulate

245

Before I Forget-
sound is, after all, but a surmise. Many learnedl
writers advance the theory that the animal did not
speak, others that ** Baa ! baa ! " is equivalent to
* Pooh ! pooh ! " Let us, however, soar above the
quagmire of scepticism, and place ourselves in thdll
position of one, whose perfervid temperament leans
ever towards the apparently impossible, rather than
to the obviously probable. I must own, that I myself
am not too clear as to the actual intention — the
esoteric meaning of these remarkable lines. When
reason joins issue with the imaginative faculty, the
chance of enlightenment trembles in the balance.
Unscrupulous commentators speak of this animal as
the Pariah of the Fold, simply because it was a black
sheep ; but we will not take advantage of the mere
accident of colour. Let us, in no carping spirit,
analyse the effusion calmly, charitably, and without
prejudice. **Baa! baa! black sheep, have you any
wool ? " Here is a query, an indisputable inter-lB
rogative. *' Yes, sir ! yes, sir ! three bags full."
Surely this is a reply, an intelligent reply, beyond the
power of any sheep, black, blue, pink, or magenta.
Then, as if to emphasise the fact, the verse continues :
" One for the master, one for the dame, and one for
the little boy who lives in the lane."

Now, why does the brain reel before this appalling
assertion ? Simply because it is an assertion — a blind,
my dear friends ! a mere blind, a blind to pull down —
or rather, I should say, to conceal the identity of the
youth, whose testimony alone could have been of any
real, or lasting value — that youth, for whom the
thoughtful sheep had, in reserve, one bag full.

246

♦■OOO « •

.•«S

•*,**

Before I Forget

But obstacles were made to be surmounted, and the
fact that he did not live, according to the poet, in
a lane, but in the lane, is a straw to grasp at and
cleave to with the tenacity of forlorn hope. 'Twas
not a case of great cry, and little wool. Oh, no ! The
cry may have been little, but there was much wool,
even three bags, which we are told *' Baa! Baa! black
sheep," rising superior to mere commercial considera-
tions, elected to distribute as follows : —

"One for the master, one for the dame,
And one for the little boy who lives in the lane."

In a little place like the Small Queen's Hall we
must depend more or less on a following. The box-
office can prove that the same people come several
times during each season. We have had to get this
following together. Advertising, as it is understood
by theatrical and music-hall managers, would be out
of the question, because the holding capacity of our
hall would not justify anything like such expenditure.
It is all the more gratifying to think that we have
been able to do what we have done, as the result
is mainly due to what theatrical managers call *'lip
advertisement." This kind of advertisement is really
the best in the long run, and to ensure a long run.
Not being in a main thoroughfare, we get little chance
custom, but, as I said before, we are nearing the one-
thousandth performance, and our following, I am glad
to say, increases with each season. In Robert
Newman I have found one of the kindest, and most

247

Before I Forget

considerate of managers. That our association in
business has been a pleasant one may be gathered
from the following extract from a letter which he
wrote to me concerning the renewal of our contract :
** . . . In all my experience I have never had a more
pleasant working arrangement with any one, and I trust
that it will long remain so" — a sentiment which I, in ,_
all sincerity, echo. I have received many offers to W
return to America, and also to visit Australia and the
Colonies. I don't quite know when I shall be able to
arrange for these trips. I have long contemplated
an Australian, and Colonial tour. When the Trans-
vaal war first broke out, I received an offer from
a South African manager, who begged me "not to be
scared by rumours of w^ar, as hostilities would cease in
a few weeks." Not being quite of his opinion, I
declined — fortunately for me — to visit the Cape *' just
yet." When I go I shall probably include India in
my bookings. At present my home is in Langham
Place, where I hope for some time to come I may be
able to entertain the public, whose encouragement has
made it possible for me to work under delightfully
congenial conditions.

248

PART IV

APPENDIX

"FROM MY SCRAP-BOOK"

Made in Germany.

THE following excerpts are taken from some printed directions
given away with a box of conjuring tricks, which bore the
superfluous legend, " Made in Germany " : —

T?ie Magic Grains which produce suddenly Fine Flowers during
every Season of the Year. — Place a vase filled with garden mould
upon which are grains, on a table, telling that this magic field only
with some warmness will produce very fine flowers ; with a sem-
blance of producing warmness cover the vase with the cylindre, after
removing of which beautiful flowers will appear.

Explication : Place the small vase with garden mould on the table
and strew some grains on it, whilst the vase with the flowers is
hidden under the cylindre, place the latter over the small vase,
apparently to make warm, when removing with precaution the
cylindre the flower-vase will appear.

The Captive. — The performance of this trik which will turn out to
a very comical effect, is the following. Open the box, thow to your
friend the captive and promise to remove him from the prison, if he
will show you one of his 4 companions who is to occupy the place
of the former prisoner. This matter being arranged, fold the paper,
close the box, and whilst you pronounce some magic words turn
cleverly and without being seen from anybody the whole box. On
opening again the first prisoner will be disappeared and the other
one will be on his place.

The Magnetical Stick.— In order to prepare your audience you
must narrate that you are possessed of magnetical qualities declaring

251

Before I Forget

at some time that you feel inclined, to show them a proof there of,
though your doing so is accompanied by considerable pains for you.

Now rubbing over your left hand in a mysterious manner, stretch
it out whit opene fingers over the staff lying at the table, and
embrace the wrist with your right hand, with the supposed view of
alleviating pains, but in fact it serves merely to seize secretly the
stick with the index of the right hand, and to press it against the
palm of the left one. Seen from top side the stick seems to be
affixed by mysterious magnetism.

TAe Dangerous Hollow Pipe. — You are to presente to anyone the
hollow pipe for sticking in each opening a finger, and allow to get
rid of himself, that is possible in no other manner than by shoving
together the hollow pipe.

The Pocket Book. — Some piece of money not too big is placed
inside the paper compartment, then the pocket book closed, after
the magic formula being spoken, you tourn the pocket book quickly,
and when it is reopened the money is gone. In order to make it
reappear, pone the pocket book again from side to side.
* * j:<

The Orator's Lament.

There are moments when an orator is conscious of his strength,
When some interesting subject he is arguing at length.
When, it may be that by accident, he solves a knotty point
And he puts his fierce opponent's nasal organ out of joint.
There are moments when an orator feels singularly weak.
When in spite of mental effort, he is powerless to speak,
When his erudition fails him, and the words he would have sai(
Irresponsibly, chaotically, wander from his head.

Ah ! the things he might have said,

Quoting authors long since dead.

Some epigram appropriate — in rhyme.

Ah ! the hit he might have made

And the scores he could have paid

If he'd only said the right thing at the time !

There are moments when an ordinary mortal feels the same,
When his courage oozes from him and his repartee is tame.
When his dignity deserts him and he makes it an excuse
To let fly at his opponent with a shower of abuse.

252

Before I Forget

Had he only kept his temper and been merely moved to mirth,
He would possibly have witheringly wiped him off the earth.
But he foolishly allows his opportunity to slip
As he sacrifices satire for the sake of giving "jip."

Ah ! the things he might have said

If he hadn't lost his head.

To throw away such chances is a crime, &c.

A. C.

{The above ivas originally written for the ^^ Land of Nod")

Acrostic.

By Edgar Bateman. (Reprinted from To-Day.)

An earnest actor with his art in touch,
Long may he give us genre quite old Dutch.
B egone sore throats ! ye fogs and vapours flee !
E ast winds to him but little nippers be !
Retail us Mile End maxims, morals, modes,
T hou quaint Colossus of the Old Kent Rhodes !

Charm us with melodies which seem to say,

H ark ! 'tis an harp from up Olympus way ;

Eschew aught "shallow," teach both gods and "stalls,

V ivacious lion, Chingford bred, of halls !

Adored of 'Arriet, loved by 'Liza true,

L ong may both think him such a nice man, too ;

I n wondrous garb sing 'Appy 'Ampstead praise,

Entwine the paper wreath with poet's bays.

Reaching Parnassus by the "pearly" ways!

The accompanying sonnet, written by M. A. Raffalovitch,
appeared in a London paper: —

Albert Chevalier.

Rags, relics, love's old clothes, dead people's dreams,

Art ready-made, and artificial flowers.

We are not worthy of this world of ours,

253

Before I Forget-

We are not worthy of our matchless London ;
Our snobbishness of soul, our lack of training,
Our fears of being sneered at, have half undone
The beauty we should all behold disclaiming
What we are told of, for what is : come, then,
And learn of him to love and understand
Mirth, laughter, passion, love of modern men.
And more than third-rate Romeo's third-hand
Juliets, his coster pals, his coster girls —
His pearlies more than Cleopatra's pearls.

From the Pall Mall Gazette^ May 26, 1900 : —

Proud Mother.

Small wonder that thy children love thee well,

For time has added magic to thy spell.

Thy name a watchword where the fight is worst.

Crowned woman — Queen ! — but good, true woman first.

Thou art the type-ideal for whose sake

In common clay heroic souls awake,

Who proudly feel their deeds have helped to start

The mighty throbbing of an Empire's heart !

Albert Chevalier.
Queen! s Birthday^ 1900.

The following was printed in the programme of Mr. Newman's
Testimonial Concert at Queen's Hall, December 13, 1899 : —

Queen's Hall,

Lang HAM Place, W.

December 9, 1899.
My dear Mr. Newman, — Circumstances over which I have no
control compel me to decline your kind offer to appear as principal
tenor on the occasion of your Benefit next Wednesday ! I recently
attempted a top C in the presence of a County Councillor, who
(with that watchful interest over Public welfare so characteristic of

254

Before I Forget-

the body he represents) threatened to close the church where I am
engaged as chorister — urging, as an excuse, that if I remained, it
might drive the congregation to your Sunday Concerts. He sent
me this testimonial free of charge. True, it places me hors de
combat^ as a vocalist ; but the pen is mightier than any C — tenor
or L.C.C. — and so — I send you an Acrostic.

Every good wish,

Yours sincerely,

Albert Chevalier.

To Robert Newman.

(An Acrostic, by Albert Chevalier.)

Rare business tact with love of art combined

O nly amongst the very few we find ;

But I can place my finger on a man

E xactly built on this ideal plan.

R esourceful when unlawfully attacked ;

To bear the brunt he's luckily broad-backed.

No feeble fighter, pandering to "cranks";

E xpecting favours, and returning thanks !

Whene'er the "Chadbands" and the " Pecksniffs " meet,

M ay he be there to witness their defeat !

Art must be free — all fettered art is bad;

N one fear the issue — Music versus Fad !

Last season I received a very interesting letter from a son of the
late Sam Cowell (of " Lord Lovell " and " Billy Barlow " fame.)
Speaking of my song " E Can't Take a Roise Out of Oi," he said :

" In a collection of Humour, Wit, and Satire of the Seventeenth
Century (which I have from Mudie's) on p. 246, there is a song
headed —

" ' Come buy this new Ballad before you doe goe,
If you raile at the Author, I know what I know,'

which last is the refrain of nineteen verses of quaint semi-political
turn. The first goes —

255

Before I Forget-

*It is an old saying

That few words are best,
And he that says little

Shall live more at rest !
And I by experience

Doe finde it right so
Therefore I'll spare speech,

But I know what I know.

— Verses on ambitious people, Foxes and Sheepes, the Church, ,
Wealthy folk. Upstarts, Officers, etc. —

Last Verse.

"I know there be many

Will carpe at this Ballet
Because it is like

Sowre sauce to their Pallet;
But he, she, or they,

Let me tell ere I goe.
If they speak against this song

I know what I know.

Printed by the assignees of Thomas Symcocke, Published in 1620.

List of songs, with which my name is associated either as singer,
author, or part author : —

Our 'Armonic Club.
The Coster's Courtship.
'Ave a Glass Along o' Me.
He Knew It !
Glad to get Back.
What Price That?
A Dream of Yesterday.
Two Pathways.
The Coster's Serenade.
The Future Mrs. 'Awkins.
Sich a Nice Man Too.
The Nasty Way 'e Sez It

The Goody Goody Times.

The Everflowing Brook.

A Mistake.

Oh ! the Langwidge !

'Is Mind's a Puffick Blank.

He J. Hann.

Our Little Nipper.

An Old Bachelor.

A Fallen Star.

'E Can't Take a Roise Out of Oi.

The Yankee in London.

The Poet.

256

Before I Forget

The Lag's Lament.

I've Got 'Er 'At !

We Did 'Ave a Time !

Come Back to Me.

Pierrot Coster.

Love is a Mystery.

Tink a Tin.

Alice.

Blue Ribbon Jane.

Dat Moon's Mighty High.

My Old Dutch.

'Appy 'Ampstead.

Our Bazaar.

Our Court Ball.

Funny without Being Vulgar.

Peculiar.

The Birdcatcher.

The Candid Man.

The Coster's 'Oneymoon.

The Coster's Lullaby.

The Dotty Poet.

The Johnnie's Serenade.

The Rose of Our Alley.

Our Ugly Boy.

The Villains at the Vic.

The Waxwork Show.

Tick-Tock.

Who'll Buy?

Wot Cher ! or, Knocked 'Em in

the Old Kent Road.
Wot's the Good of Hanyfink?

Why, Nuffink!
Yer Never Arsked 'Im for it.
Yours, Etc.
Volume of Parodies.
'Anky Panky.
M. Armand Thibault.
Six Burlesque Lectures.
In the Good Old Days.
Ave Sumfink ?

It Gits Me Talked Abaht.

'E Ain't Got the Shadder of a

Notion.
Laces.

Burlesque French Song.
My Sunday Out.
How Soon We All Forget These

Little Things !
A Tasty Lot.
Our Restorong.
Mafekin' Night.
My Country Cousin.
The Cockney Tragedian.
Suit the Action to the Word.
The Late Lamented.
Nellie Mine.
The Occult King.
God Guard Victoria.
A Peri's Love.
With Me.
Not Me ! 'Tain't Likely ! Would

You?
Not a Bit of Good.
Black's de Colour.
The Toymaker's Tragedy.

Plays, &c. :—

Peebles. (Produced in Glasgow.)

Called Back Again. (Produced
in Plymouth.)

Shattered 'Un. (Produced at a
Vaudeville matinee.^

Shylock & Co. (Produced at
a Criterion matinee^

Cycling. (Produced at the
Strand.)

When Widow's Wooed. (Pro-
duced at Queen's Hall.)

Her Reappearance. (Produced
in Northampton. First played,

257

in private, byMiss Kate Phillips
and Mr. John Beauchamp.)

Begging the Question. (Pro-
duced at the Athenaeum,
Shepherd's Bush, 1882.)

A Christmas Night's Dream.
(Produced at Queen's Hall.)

The Wings of Memory. (Pro-
duced at Queen's Hall.)

The Land of Nod. (Produced

Before I Forget

the Provinces at Lincoln,

and in London at the Royalty

Theatre.)
A Caught Card. (Produced in

Darlington.)
The Favourite. (Produced in

Ryde.)
The Scapegrace. (Produced at

German Exhibition, Earl's

Court, 1 89 1.)

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The "Century" Scott

In 25 Volumes. Foolscap 8vo (6 by 4), each with
collotype Frontispiece, and with book-plate, title pages,
binding and devices in two colours by James Allen
Duncan. Decorative cloth. Is. Green leather, 2s. 6d.

LIST OF VOLUMES.

Ivanhoe.

Waverley.

Guy Mannering".

Old Mortality.

Rob Roy.

The Antiquary.

The Heart of Midlothian.

The Monastery.

The Abbot.

Kenilworth.

The Pirate,

Peverel of the Peak.

The Bride of Lammer-
moor.

The Legend of Montrose
and Black Dwarf.

The Fortunes of Nigel.
Quentin Durward.
St. Ronan's Well.
Redgauntlet.

The Betrothed and High-
land Widow, &c.
The Talisman.
Woodstock.

The Fair Maid of Perth.
Anne of Qeierstein.

The Surgeon's Daughter
and Castle Dangerous.

Count Robert of Paris.

II, Paternoster Buildings, London, E.C.

T. FISHER UNVTIN, Publisher,

MRS. KEITH'S CRIME

MRS. W. K. CLIFFORD

With a Portrait of Mrs. Keith by the
Hon. John Collier.

Sixth Edition. Crown 8fw., cioth, 6s.

" Is certainly the strongest book that Mrs. W. K.
Clifford has given to the public. It is probably too the
most popular." — World.

" It is charmingly told." — Literary World,

*' A novel of extraordinary dramatic force, and it w^ill
doubtless be widely read in its present very cheap and
attractive form." — Star,

" Mrs. Chfford's remarkable tale." — Athenaeum.

" Will prove a healthy tonic to readers who have
recently been taking a course of shilling shocker mental
medicine. . . . There are many beautiful womanly
touches throughout the pages of this interesting volume,
and it can be safely recommended to readers old and
young." — Aberdeen Free Press,

11, Paternoster Buildings, London, E.G.

T. FISHER UNW^IN, Publisher,

THE STICKIT MINISTER
AND SOME COMMON

MEN

S. R. CROCKETT

Eleventh Edition. Crown 8t/o., cloth, 6a.

•• Here is one of the books which are at present coming singly and at long
intervals, like early swallows, to herald, it is to be hoped, a larger flight
When the larger flight appears, the winter of our discontent will have passed,
and we shall be able to boast that the short story can make a home east as
well as west of the Atlantic. There is plenty of human nature — of the Scottish
variety, which is a very good variety — in ' The Stickit Minister ' and its com-
panion stories ; plenty of humour, too, of that dry, pawky kind which is a
monopoly of ' Caledonia, stern and wild ' ; and, most plentiful of all, a quiet
perception and reticent rendering of that underlying pathos of life which is to
be discovered, not in Scotland alone, but everywhere that a man is found who
can see with the heart and the imagination as well as the brain. Mr. Crockett
has given us a book that is not merely good, it is what his countrymen would
call ' by-ordinar' good,' which, being interpreted into a tongue understanded of
the southern herd, means that it is excellent, with a somewhat exceptional kind
of excellence." — Daily Chronicle.

THE LILAC SUN-
BONNET

S. R. CROCKETT

Sixth Edition. Crown Svo,. cloth, 6 s*

" Mr. Crockett's ' Lilac Sun-Bonnet ' ' needs no bush.' Here is a pretty love
taJc, and the landscape and rural descriptions carry the exile back into the
Kingdom of Galloway. Here, indeed, is the scent of bog-myrtle and peat.
After inquiries among the fair, I learn that of all romances, they best love,
not 'sociology,' not ' theology,' still less, open manslaughter, for a motive, but
Juit love's young dream, chapter after chapter. From Mr. Crockett they get
what they want, ' hot with,' as Thackeray admits that he liked it."

Mr. Andrew Lang in Longtnan's Magaziiu.

11, Paternoster Buildings, London, E.G. |

T. FISHER UNWIN, Publisher,

THE MERMAID SERIES

The Best Plays of the Old Dramatists.
Literal Reproductions of the Old Text

Post 8r»., each Volume containing about ^oo pages ^ and an ttched
Frontispiece, cloth, 3s. Gd. each.

I. The Best Plays of Christopher

Marlowe. Edited by Havei.ock
ELLI5?, and containing a General
Introduction to the Series by JoHN
Addington Symonds.

3. The Best Plays of Thomas Ot-

way. Introduction by the Hon.
RoDEN Noel.

3. The Best Plays of Johi Ford.—

Edited by Havelock Elus.

4 and 5. The Best Plays of Thomas

Massinger. Essay and Notes by
Arthur Symons.

6. The Best Plays of Thomas Hey-
vood. Edited by A. W. Verity.
Introduction by J. A. Syuonds.

7 The Complete Plays of William
Wycherley. Edited by W. C.
Ward.

8. Nero, and other Plays. Edited
by H. P. HoRNE, Arthur Symoms,
A. W. Verity, and H. Ellis.

9 and 10. The Best Plays of Beas*
mont and Fletcher, introduction
by J. St. Loe Strachky.

II. The Complete Plays of William
OongreYe. Edited by Aux. (X

EWALa

12. The Best Plays of Webster and

Tourneur. Introduction by JOHM
Addington Symonds.

13 and 14. The Best Plays of

Thomas Middleton. Introduction
by Algernon Charles Swinburnk,

15- The Best Plays of James Shir>
. ley. Introduction by Edmund

GOSSE.

16. The Best Plays of Thomai
Dekker. Notes by Ernest Rhys.

17. 19, and 20. The Best Plays of

Ben JottSOn. Vol. I. edited, with
Introduction and Notes, by Brinslky
N1CHOL8ON and C. H, Herford.

18. The Complete Plays of Richard

Steele. Edited, with Introduction
and Notes, by G. A. Aitken.

21. The Best Plays of George Chap-
man. Edited by William Lyon
Phelps, Instructor of English Litera-
ture at Yale College.

22. The Select Plays of Sir John

Vanbni^ Edited, with an Intro-
ducMon and Notes, by A. E. H.

SWAXM.

PRESS OP/N/0//S.

''Even the professed scholar with a ^ood library at his command will find lome
texts here not otherwise easily accessible ; while the humbler student of slender
resources, who knows the bitterness of aM. being able to possess himself of the treasure
stored in expensive folios or quartos long out of print, will acsurcdly rise up and thank
Mr. Unwin."— 5/. James's Gaxette,

" Resumed under good auspices." — Saturday Remew.

"The issue is as good as it could bt."—BHttsh Weekly.

*• At once scholarly and interesting." — L4*ds Merenry,

XL Patenuwter Buildings, I^ndon, E.C.

U The Literary Pen is the Best. U

" Mr. Fisher Unwin has beguiled his
leisure moments with experimenting in
pens, and now ' The Literary Pen ' is
issued in a nice little booklet box for
the benefit of authors. It is guaran-
teed to write anything from a sonnet
to an epic, and it certainly runs very
easily and quickly. ' U ' is the letter
it bears, and 'U' it will, doubtless,
remain to a grateful posterity."— Black
and White.

¥:

" Certainly the new nibs are excel-
lent — a great im-
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average 'J.'"— JOHN jji^
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"For writing easily,
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which is a saving
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Fisher Unwin has
brought out cannot
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very like that of a
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Leeds Mc rcury,

" We like the way
it writes. It is an improvement on the
best pen we have used, and will
speedily become popular with those
who appreciate an easy pen to write
vfith."— Sheffield Daily Independent.

"A new pen, the merits of which
are undoubted. We have been using
one of these ' U ' nibs for the past
week, and it still writes as well as
when we first inserted it in the holder.
There is certainly a successful future in
store for the ' Literary U.' " — Bookseller.

IT.FuherUflvin.
Paternoster 5q.

OneShillinsT.

" Proves to be an easy running but
not too soft pen, with which one may
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"Anyone who loves the smooth
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"We can recommend it for the
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"It is a good pen and justifies its
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" Literary workers will find the Lite-
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Publishers' Circular.

m a pen.

U Smooth Running, with a Qnill-like Action. U

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(El602slO)476B

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'6603

961099

THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY

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