Chapter IV: Part 4

The conduct of debates is as follows: The names of four members, generally speakers who are known to have some ability, are printed on the bills that are posted throughout the 'Varsity. It is etiquette for these four and also for the officers of the Society to wear evening dress. Only these four have a certainty of a place in the debate. The first two may speak for twenty-five minutes, and the other two for twenty minutes apiece. Those who follow have only fifteen minutes, and have to jump to their feet to catch the President's eye. Some who have prepared speeches never get a chance of firing them off.

_From a Photo, by Gillman, Oxford._]

Before the true work of the evening begins, private business is discussed. This is the recognised hour of amusement, and members can achieve no small reputation by excellence in the asking of ridiculous questions. Many of these are personal. A young earl, who occupies the President's throne, is chaffed about a certain celebrated pill because the maker's name resembles his own. The Treasurer is worried about new billiard balls, accommodation for dogs, and his portrait in the _Lady's Pictorial_ when he came of age; the Librarian about the contents of some strange book; the Secretary about his handwriting. Lately the World's Fair at Chicago asked the Union to send two of its members to the Show, but stipulated that they must be of the "highest moral and social standing." The discussion lasted several evenings as to who was fit, what the delegates would be required to do, and what they would be paid. It was finally decided that no one person could combine the two qualities. Such discussions as these occupy the lighter moments of the Society.

Then the debate of the evening begins: sometimes it is good, sometimes bad--more often indifferent. Occasionally there is an orator of unusual brilliance and power, and then the hall is crowded; but as the evening wears on members drop out one by one, and someone moves that the question be now put.

Occasionally distinguished visitors are asked to speak, and then more than ordinary interest is shown. Last year, Lord Winchilsea joined in a debate on the state of agriculture, and spoke for over an hour. He met with hearty support, but also candid criticism, and he defended his scheme with great good humour and ability. Thus the undergraduates have all the advantage of discussing leading questions with recognised authorities on the subject, and the speaker has the opportunity of influencing an audience that is larger than it looks, and which is certainly one of more than average intellect. It is, moreover, considered to be no small honour to be invited to speak at the Oxford Union. And politicians find it a profitable way of spreading their views. The undergraduates disperse and influence many districts, and many, in a few years, will be themselves members of Parliament. We are able to give a reduced facsimile of two pages of signatures of old members who met for the 50th Anniversary Dinner, among which we find many of the most famous men now living.

Almost every subject under the sun has been dissected in this Society. The Home Rule Bill met with the fate it was afterwards destined to receive at the hands of the Lords. In some ways the result of the voting in the Union is not entirely without importance. It shows the current of thought among the future politicians of England.

The style of oratory has been condemned by outsiders as unsound. Great importance is attached to brilliant epigrams and incisive phraseology. Mere solidity and strength of argument produce more yawns than applause. So it is said that the real object of debate is lost sight of, and that flashy oratory takes the place of sound reasoning. There is some truth in this, and probably the most popular speakers at the Union will not become the leaders of Parliament. But, after all, it is in speaking and not in thinking that young men need practice. When they are older they will think more and speak less.

The Presidency is one of the most highly-prized distinctions at the 'Varsity, and one which a man may well be proud of in after life. And this is not to be wondered at when we find among the list of those who have held the office the names of Mr. Gladstone, Cardinal Manning, Archbishop Tait, Lord Selborne, the Marquis of Dufferin and Ava, the late Dukes of Cleveland and Newcastle, the late Earl Beauchamp, Viscount Sherbrooke, Lord Coleridge, Mr. Goschen, the Right Hon. H. Asquith, Samuel Wilberforce, the late Bishop of Durham, the Bishops of Peterborough and Chichester, and a host of lesser celebrities, such as deans, Under Secretaries of State, heads of colleges and public schools, judges, etc. Such a list of ex-Presidents could hardly be found in any debating society in the world. The Oxford Union Society is justly proud of them.

The preceding page from the minute-book kept by Mr. Gladstone when Secretary is extremely interesting. It will be noted that the motion was introduced by Mr. Gladstone himself and carried by a majority of one vote, Mr. Gladstone being careful to note that the circumstance was greeted with "tremendous cheering" and "repeated cheers."

II.--CAMBRIDGE.

BY ST. J. BASIL WYNNE WILLSON, M.A.

In 1886, in a speech made at the opening of the new buildings, the late Duke of Clarence said: "The Union affords, not only opportunities for social intercourse, but it is of great service for reading and study, and in many cases has given the first lessons to men who have afterwards ranked among our greatest orators." It is largely a comfortable club, but primarily it is a debating society, and it is as such that its history is of interest.

To discover the origin of the institution we must go far back to the year 1815, when, in the big room of the Lion Hotel in Petty Cury, three earlier societies combined in one Union. The large, bare room, with its tables dinted by the "firing" of glasses at many a Masonic dinner, forms a striking contrast to the fine buildings with handsome apartments and club-land luxuries in which the present generation revels. Founded by men known afterwards as Lord Langdale, the Hon. Sir E. Hall Alderson, the Right Hon. Sir F. Pollock, and the Hon. and Very Rev. H. Pakenham, the Society was happy in its early auspices, and often since in the Presidential chair have sat men who shed on it such lustre that they now draw some light therefrom.

_From a Photo by Messrs. Stearn, Cambridge._]

After a short sojourn at the Lion, the Society moved to the present A. D. C. Theatre, and in 1850 migrated again to a disused Wesleyan chapel in Green Street, where now is heard the click of billiard balls instead of the voice of preacher or orator. In thrifty years a Building Fund was amassed, and in 1866, Charles W. Dilke being President, the bulk of the present buildings was erected at a cost of £10,700. Since that time there have been added the laboratory block in 1882, and the north wing, containing the library, in 1885. The illustrations must be left to describe the appearance and size of the chief rooms, of which successive Vice-Presidents have increased the comfort and splendour, electric light and a luncheon-room being amongst the latest additions.

The library contains 25,000 volumes, covering a large range of literature, but omitting three of Zola's works. However, "to provide a library and reading-room" is only the secondary object of the Union: its chief design always has been and is "to hold debates," and it is for oratorical merit that the President, Vice-President, Secretary, and Committee of six are terminally elected. It is as a debating society that it has a claim to fame. That the elect of the Union are often also the elect of the outer world, the following account will, I think, show.

_From a Photo, by Messrs. Stearn, Cambridge._]

In 1816 W. Whewell, a late Master of Trinity, was President. His was a stirring reign on account of the strained relations between the Union and the University authorities, who seem to have maintained a paternal government in those days, looking with suspicious eyes on the young innovators who met once a week to discuss men and manners. During a debate, on March 24th, 1817, on the condition of the Army, a dramatic and almost tragic event took place. Enter on a sudden the Proctors, attended by bull-dogs: dim light, slow music and many excursions and alarums, whilst the President in a stern voice bids strangers withdraw. The intruders demand the dispersion of the meeting and the termination of discussions. The result was that a deputation was sent to the Vice-Chancellor to bear him a remonstrance, "consistently with perfect obedience to University discipline." The deputation "believed that the Vice-Chancellor interfered, owing to the circumstance of having received a letter from one of the members, stating that the studies of himself and of his friends had been checked and their prospects blighted by attention to the Society." The Vice-Chancellor curtly replied: "I do not think it necessary or, perhaps, proper to return any answer to this statement. I had considered the matter fully in my own mind."

Thus the Society was crushed for a time, but in 1821 re-asserted itself, on the understanding that no questions of theology or of politics except of a date previous to 1800 should be discussed. The result was that contemporary politics were debated under a thin disguise of similar circumstances in the past.

Macaulay and Praed were frequent speakers. The former upheld Hampden, Burke, and the study of fiction; whilst the latter opposed him on the subject of Burke, but showed admiration for the conduct of Napoleon--of course, "previous to 1800." They both declared against armed interference in France in 1792, Charles Austin and Alex. Cockburn being on the other side. On this occasion Macaulay made a speech, of which the late Lord Lytton wrote:--

"The greatest display of eloquence that I ever witnessed at that club was made by a man some years our senior, the now renowned Lord Macaulay, and it still lingers in my recollection as the most heart-stirring effort of that true oratory that it has ever been my lot to hear, saving perhaps a speech delivered by Mr. O'Connell to an immense crowd in the open air. Macaulay, in point of power, passion, and effect, never equalled that speech in his best days in the House of Commons."

E. Strutt (Lord Belper), Macaulay, and Cockburn all supported the reform of the Commons at the end of the last century. Cockburn and Lytton prevailed on the House to carry a motion "that a systematic opposition to the measures of an administration is beneficial to the country." A great debate of this period had for its subject "that the Constitution of America is more favourable to the liberties of the people than that of England." Macaulay, Praed, and Cockburn approved, and were carrying the House with them, when up rose Lytton so eloquent and persuasive that he won his case for England by 109 votes to 37. In Mr. Skipper's pamphlet may be found the following interesting description of the Society in "an unpublished squib," written at this time by Praed:--

The Union Club, of rhetorical fame,
Was held at the Red Lion Inn;
And there never was lion so perfectly tame,
Or who made such a musical din.
'Tis pleasant to snore, at a quarter before,
When the Chairman does nothing in state;
But 'tis Heaven, 'tis Heaven, to waken at seven,
And pray for a noisy debate.

The question is Reform, and after the opener has addressed the House, Lytton's rising is thus described:--

Then the Church shakes her rattle and sends forth to battle
The terror of Papist and sinner,
Who loves to be seen as the modern Mæcenas,
And asks all the poets to dinner.

After one speaker has intervened, Macaulay rises:--

But the favourite comes with his trumpet and drums
And his arms and his metaphors crossed,
And the audience, O dear! vociferate Hear!
Till they're half of them deaf as a post.

Macaulay's speech is thus summarized:--

Oratoric,
Metaphoric
Similes of wondrous length.
Illustration--conflagration,
Ancient Romans, House of Commons,
Clever Uriel and Ithuriel,
Good old king, everything.

And Charles Austin rises:--

Then up gets the glory of us and our story,
Who does all by logic and rule,
Who can tell the true difference 'twixt twopence and threepence,
And prove Adam Smith quite a fool.

_From a Photo by Messrs. Stearn, Cambridge._]

Passing on, we come to the era of Trench, Sunderland, Monckton Milnes (late Lord Houghton), S. Walpole, and Arthur Hallam. This is mainly a literary period. Although Tennyson was a member of the club, he does not seem to have taken part with his friend in any debates.

Milnes and Hallam both spoke in contention of Wordsworth's superiority to Byron, but a majority of twenty-seven gave the palm to "Childe Harold's" author. Trench (Archbishop) propounded the original question: "Will Mr. Coleridge's Poem of the 'Ancient Mariner' or Mr. Martin's Act tend most to prevent cruelty to animals?"

There is an episode of this time that has a peculiar interest. It was, as the late Cardinal Manning described it, "a passage of arms got up by the Eton men of the two Unions."

On March 26th, 1829, Cambridge sent to Oxford a deputation consisting of Monckton Milnes, Arthur Hallam, and Sunderland, whom Milnes, when Lord Houghton, once declared to be "the greatest orator I think I ever heard, who only lives in the memory of his University." The relative merits of Byron and Shelley were the subject of discussion.

The Cambridge men were entertained by Sir Francis Doyle and "a young student named Gladstone." S. Wilberforce was in the chair. Our champions spoke for the claims of Shelley, and so telling was their oratory that Oxford sat silent and awestruck, until a young man with a slight, boyish figure arose and turned the whole tide of discussion by a speech of much grace and eloquence. His name was Manning. He has himself described the occasion: "I can, however, well remember the irruption of the three Cambridge orators. We Oxford men were precise, orderly, and morbidly afraid of excess in word or manner. The Cambridge oratory came in like a flood into a mill-pond. Both Monckton Milnes and Arthur Hallam took us aback by the boldness and freedom of their manner. But I remember the effect of Sunderland's declamation and action to this day. It had never been seen or heard before among us--we cowered like birds and ran like sheep. I acknowledge that we were utterly routed." "The Oxford men didn't seem to know who Shelley was; they thought he was Shenstone," was a remark that Lord Houghton once made to Mr. Oscar Browning, my informant.

In an interesting little book, called "Conversations in Cambridge," published in 1836, there are preserved some criticisms of the Union of the period.

"The Union--a word requiring no explanation to any member of the University--reached an elevation in those days which it is not likely soon to recover. Macaulay with his flashes of vigorous imagination; Praed with his graceful irony and poetical fancy; and many others whose names live in the memory of their companions, imparted an unusual charm to its meetings."

But, better still, there are some fragments of speeches made by Macaulay, in debates on Cromwell, Strafford, and Milton. The following is an extract from the speech on the Protector:--

"I stand not here, sir, to-night, as the advocate or panegyrist of that melancholy domestic tragedy, which was presented before this afflicted nation in that tempestuous season. But, sir, I would ask: was there no provocation, no exaction, no insult to the dignity of man; no invasion of the sanctity of a Briton's fireside? Sir, the grave of Hampden has a voice: let it answer for me! Tyranny had dashed its mailed hand upon the mouth of every freeman; the lifeblood of the laws was drained out by unnumbered wounds."

About 1848, Mr. Childers, Sir W. V. Harcourt, and Sir Fitzjames Stephen were contemporaries. The present Chancellor of the Exchequer spoke against the ballot, and with Sir Fitzjames Stephen opposed a motion that asked the House to declare that "Mr. Cobden and his party represent the rising good sense of the people." In 1855, H. Montague Butler and J. E. Gorst were respectively President and Treasurer. Gorst gained the chair in 1857. The next most interesting group of Union "lights" is that which includes George O. Trevelyan, H. C. Raikes, Oscar Browning, and H. and A. Sidgwick.

Mr. O. Browning says: "I remember in '56 sitting in the room in Green Street ('cavernous tavernous' as Lord Houghton called it), thinking of nothing in particular, when I suddenly awoke and heard a pleasing voice saying some of the cleverest things I ever heard. It was G. O. Trevelyan. When his speeches were prepared they were brilliant. He was the hero of the great 'smoking-room question,' and headed the opposition to the scheme. In an excited peroration he produced a black clay pipe in one hand and some red tape in the other, declaring them to be the symbols of the parties, and then proceeded dramatically to snip the red tape to pieces. It was Trevelyan who was compelled to move the suggestion-book temporarily, for at that time it was the receptacle of homeless jokes, doggerel verses, and scurrilous remarks, of which 'You rib-nosed baboon,' and 'Why not make Raikes Lord Mayor?' are examples."

In that brilliant periodical of one number, the _Bear_, Trevelyan has burlesqued one of his own speeches amongst others. The motion is to repair the Society's clock.

"This is no measure for the purpose of pampering an over-fed clerk, or stuffing our shelves with Puseyite novels. But let them not think they have gained the confidence of the House. _Timeo Danaos et dona ferentes_. (Loud cheers from a Freshman, who seems to recognise the quotation.) Shall we trust our clock to a committee reeking with Ruskin? To an embryo architectural society?... Whom shall we dare trust? There they will sit, grinning at their new clock--(a cry of 'Question'). Question?--(and the speaker turned to the Treasurer, who was lolling alone on the opposite sofa). There you sit compact, united--mouthing and blustering about Tennyson and Carlyle, and nobody cries 'Question'; and if he does, he is snubbed by a partial President. (Great confusion, and cries of 'Sit down,' 'Chair.')"

_From a Photo by the London Stereoscopic Co._]

Passing reluctantly over Lord E. Fitzmaurice, A. S. Wilkins, A. W. Verrall, J. E. C. Welldon, R. C. Lehmann, we come, in 1880, to an interesting figure--J. K. Stephen, who re-appeared in Union life in recent years, and scribbled off some of his Calverleian lines whilst sitting on the Committee bench. On one occasion in his later years he came into the House when one of many brilliant sons of a brilliant ex-President had proposed nationalization of land. At the first opportunity he rose, exclaiming:--

"I have not heard the speech of the honourable proposer, and I am very glad I have not heard it. All I am come down here to do is to deny that there can be any connection between his premisses and his conclusions: conclusions which can only be reached by a total want of knowledge, based upon an absolute ignorance of facts."

J. K. Stephen made many great speeches shortly before his death, and an eminent M.P., Q.C., remarked, when he heard him, that after Gladstone he was the greatest orator in the country.

Another incident of late years is worth recording as evidence of the dangers of debate. During a big debate on the opium question, a prominent anti-opiumist was speaking against the traffic to a crowded House. Whilst discussing the treaties with China, he noticed a man opposite vehemently dissenting, and at last remarked, "I don't know who the hon. member is, but I can quote the authority of Sir Thomas Wade, who made the treaties." After him the "gentleman opposite" arose, and, revealing himself as Sir Thomas Wade, proceeded to make much mincemeat.

Owing to pressure of space, many well-known ex-Presidents and officers have been passed by unnoticed: C. Rann Kennedy (Pr. 1832), Lord Henniker (Pr. 1834), Sir W. F. Pollock (Pr. 1836), Bishop Ellicott (Pr. 1839), Prof. C. Babington (Pr. 1845), Lord R. A. Cross (Pr. 1845), Rev. Ll. Davies (Pr. 1847), Hon. A. Gordon (Lord Stanmore) (Pr. 1849), Henry Fawcett (Pr. 1855), Dr. Henry Jackson (Pr. 1864), and a long list of others, statesmen, clergy, scholars, lawyers, whose early development it would be interesting to trace.

It may not be out of place here to publish some reminiscences most kindly sent by a distinguished ex-President, Sir Charles Dilke:--

"If somebody of the time were to talk to me about it (the Union), I have no doubt my reminiscences would flow. At the present moment, with the exception of my own disrespectful allusions in Prince Florestan of Monaco.... I remember nothing except the terrible noises that my friends used to make over my head when I was President in the old room in Green Street. I often threatened to have the gallery cleared, but as I had not the physical force at my command to sweep them out, they used to sit on the ends of the tables with disastrous effect. The first speech in the Union which I remember was one when I was a Freshman, by Mr. George Trevelyan. He declared amid a tremendous storm of cheers, in reference to the Government of the United States: 'That Union, Mr. President--that Union has no Building Fund.' The Cambridge Union in those days possessed a handsome Building Fund, which I forthwith spent, and the result of the spending of which, and the borrowing of much more, is visible in the present building."

Another old President (who wishes to be anonymous) says:--

"In '57 or '58 Trevelyan began to make a reputation, and perhaps still more the American, Everett, with a really remarkable force which he has still.... Fawcett spoke often; harshly and loud, but very ably. Vernon Lushington was forcible, but not suave enough. Gorst (now Sir J.) spoke well, but without much power. Ernest Noel (late member for Dumfries) once or twice delighted us with a clear and cultured fluency that we were not accustomed to. It shows the alteration of the times that a sort of thrill of horror ran round the House when in one debate he actually mentioned that he was not a member of the Church of England.... We used _not_ to imitate the ways of the House of Commons very closely, with the idea that it might be bad taste, and that we had traditions of our own to be proud of."

_From a Photo by Branfort, Birmingham._]

Forty-five members of the Society are in the House of Lords, including the Prince of Wales and the two Archbishops, and 58 in the Commons. Our present-day debates, held once a week, are dignified and orderly. They last for about two and a half hours, the proposer and opposer occupying usually an hour between them. The private-business meetings are generally more scenic, especially when we discuss Zola or finance. A noticeable feature is the number of Orientals who take part, and a very able, eloquent part too, in our debates. One has risen to the Chair. The future historian will be at little trouble for material, for the _Cambridge Review_ and the _Granta_, in different styles, record each debate and change. Out of 237 Presidents, Trinity has provided 132 and St. John's 29.

The members of the Society are increasing, and between 400 and 500 new members are enrolled annually. There is no exclusiveness and all types of University life are represented.

Our relations with our younger Oxford sister are excellent. From term to term there is an interchange of speakers between the two clubs.

In conclusion it may be said that, great as the past has been, the future should be none the less brilliant. The usefulness of such an institution is obvious. In 1994 it may be that the names that will be honoured in an article in a flourishing _Strand_ will be those of men whose promise is now so great, and whose friendship so many of us value now so highly.

[In compiling this Article I have drawn much information from
"A Short History of the Union," by J. F. Skipper, Esq., B.A.,
ex-President. I would here acknowledge the great courtesy
of those distinguished old members who have contributed
reminiscences. Owing to the kind permission of the President,
Vice-President, and Librarian, I have had access to all the
documents of the Society. The Chief Clerk has also given me
much valuable assistance.--St. J. B. W. W.]

_Illustrated Interviews._

No. XXXIII.--MR. CHARLES WYNDHAM.

_From a Photo by Elliott & Fry._]

AT ST. JOHN'S WOOD. TIME--PRESENT DAY.

CHARACTERS:

The Modern Mathews MR. CHARLES WYNDHAM.
Interviewer HARRY HOW.

Coachman, Parrot, Dogs, etc.

SCENE I.--_Entrance-hall leading to corridor. Stained glass windows. Grandfather's clock ticking away in the corner. Autographed portrait of Prince of Wales. Pictures of Corney Grain and George Grossmith. Millais' "Widow's Mite." Liston as "Moll Flannagan" and "Mawworm." Numerous fine oils, including a sea piece by Weber. David Garrick by Vandergucht. Fred Barnard's "Garrick." Old armour picturesquely arranged. Bronzes in cosy niches, etc._

THE MODERN MATHEWS _enters by rushing downstairs. He is tall and strongly built, character is written on every feature of his face, his curly hair has not a single silver streak in it, his appearance suggests all that is genial, good-natured, frank, and thorough. Speaks deliberately and very rapidly, says much in as few words as possible--in short, a man who trips through life with a light step, a happy disposition, and a pleasant way of doing and saying all things._

THE MODERN MATHEWS (_taking last three steps at a bound and "discovering"_ INTERVIEWER): Ah! there you are! What a foolish remark. Of course you're there. Have a cigarette? Now, where's my case? M.C.--my case! Capital way of remembering anything that, eh? See? M.C.--my case, my cigar, my canary, Master of Ceremonies! I find it infallible. I've got a shocking memory, so must have some system to go upon. Where is that cigarette case? Bad memory for simple little things like that, but I never forget my parts. Now, that's curious. Can remember a long part, but can't remember where I put that confounded cigarette case. Will find it yet. Come into the dining-room.

_From a Photo by Elliott & Fry._]

_By a special journalistic contrivance--a contrivance which for rapidity of change of scene has never been approached on the stage_--

_From the Photo by Elliott & Fry._]

SCENE II.--_Dining-room. Massive and substantial oak furniture. Birch's statuette of_ THE MODERN MATHEWS _as David Garrick near the window. The walls are covered with exquisite examples of Reamore, Toulmonche, Ethoper, &c., views of Spain, Venice, and all places suggestive of sunshine and dark-eyed maidens, having for companion canvases pictures of English rural life, Scotch cattle, Welsh valleys, and Irish lakes._

THE MODERN MATHEWS (_aside_): M.C.! M.C.! M.C.!

INTERVIEWER: And you never forget your parts?

THE MODERN MATHEWS: Oh! I beg your pardon. Now, if you hadn't spoken I should have found that case in another minute! No, I've never forgotten a part since I was dismissed by Mrs. John Wood in New York in 1864. It was the first time I ever played an important part, and I had a very long speech to make. This speech always frightened me--it was a perpetual nightmare. I used to dream about it, breakfast with it, lunch, tea, dine, and sup with it. When the eventful night came I found myself only thinking of the words instead of their meaning. I had to give a glowing description of a young girl's beauty, crying out: "Drunk with enthusiasm, I exclaimed," etc., etc., etc. I had reached the word "Drunk," when all became a blank. I repeated the word two or three times, and finally went for it with "_Drunk_--I exclaimed--happy the being," etc.! I was dismissed.

(_Barking heard off. Dogs rush on._)

THE MODERN MATHEWS: My dogs! Call them after the characters I play. Come here Davy--that's Garrick. I adopt the same plan with my horses. I've got a parrot upstairs--Cockie. You should see Davy and Cockie fight. Cockie's got a prize-fighter's nose--Davy broke it for him. Come upstairs.

_From a Photo by Elliott & Fry._]

_Again by the same arrangement we are transported to_--

SCENE III.--_Sitting-room. Full of pictures of friends, presents, and pleasant memories._ COCKIE _is in cage on table. Here a most scientific onslaught between parrot and dog takes place--of course, only playfully and purely in innocent fun--and owing to the favour with which it is received, the proper action of a little life-drama is delayed for a quarter of an hour._

THE MODERN MATHEWS (_suddenly jumping up_): Ha! there it is! there it is!

INTERVIEWER: Good gracious! Anything wrong?

THE MODERN MATHEWS: Wrong, no--everything's right. My cigarette case (_holds it up gleefully_). Now, then--have a cigarette?

(_Lights up!_)

INTERVIEWER (_suggestively_): M.L.! M.L.! M.L.!

THE MODERN MATHEWS: No, I've nothing as I can remember associated with M.L.

INTERVIEWER: M.L.--my life!

THE MODERN MATHEWS: All right, tell us all about it!

(INTERVIEWER _is not prepared to "gag" back_.)

INTERVIEWER: You were born----

THE MODERN MATHEWS: Oh! I see. Certainly, certainly--but--it's a long speech--a speech, however, I don't think I shall ever forget. We always remember ourselves, eh? and forget O.P., which means other people, or opposite prompter. (_Sits in armchair_ L. _of fireplace_.) I was born in Liverpool on the 23rd of March, 1841. My father was a doctor--he only died a year or two ago. My mother gave me my first lessons, until at ten years of age I was sent to school at Sandgate. There I took a great liking for drawing--particularly for building castles in the air! I imbibed a love for the stage before I knew the value of words, and used to revel in acting to myself before a looking-glass. I left Sandgate when I was about twelve and went to St. Andrews, and there I was the cause of public censure, as it was said I was demoralizing all the boys on account of my strong theatrical tastes. Major Playfair--the grandfather of Arthur Playfair, the actor--had a private theatre near my school, and I need hardly say how I used to revel in being permitted to attend there. But it came to an end at last. I used to write very bloodthirsty dramas, and myself and companions used to play them in our bedrooms by candle-light. We were, however, discovered, and the curtain fell with a thud. I was at St. Andrews for two years. I took a prize for Latin, and always those for elocution. I ran away from St. Andrews once, but having no money in my pocket I went back the next day. I remained there until I was fifteen, when I was sent to Germany--to Neuwied first, and Bonn afterwards. You would scarcely credit it, but there I became a very dreamy fellow.

INTERVIEWER: Dreamy?

THE MODERN MATHEWS: Yes, I became quite a religious enthusiast, and founded a Church.

(INTERVIEWER _surprised--but he must save his energies to be more so later_.)

THE MODERN MATHEWS (_solemnly_): Whilst I used to play with my companions, I was always much impressed by a long-legged, lanky-looking fellow, who used to walk up and down the playground with his eyes on his boots. I got in with him, found he belonged to a well-known Wesleyan family, and we founded a Church to reform the boys. The masters lent us a room, and starting with half-a-dozen we ultimately got twenty-five lads. When my Wesleyan friend left I became head of the Church. In the college was the son of a celebrated divine in London--whom we will call B. He was a very bad lot, using very bad language. One day he asked me to let him join the Church. I hesitated. Told him I'd take a fortnight to decide. I did. It came to my turn to preach. B. was present. My sermon was directed to him. After it was all over he came to me and assured me he was a changed man. I was delighted. He grasped me by the hand and said he should like to preach on the following Sunday! I assured him that it was the rule for only four or five of us to preach. He thought an exception ought to be made in his case. I would not hear of it. "Look here," he said, "won't you let me preach?" "No, I could not." "Do you mean it?" he asked. "I do." "Without a doubt, Wyndham?" "I am immovable." "Then," he said, "go to ----!"

(_Quick Curtain!_)

_From a Photo by Elliot & Fry._]

SCENE IV.--_Drawing-room. A beautiful set. By the door is a fine bear's skin, the animal having been shot by the actor's son on his ranch in Colorado. The china and articles of vertu are as rare as they are valuable. The pictures tell of the artistic discrimination of their possessor. The mementos are many--a harp of roses and forget-me-nots, with a gold plate inscribed: "Au grand Comédien Charles Wyndham, Hommage d'Admiration un Parisian, 1889," is given a prominent place. An exquisite silver sledge was from friends in St. Petersburg, and a massive silver cup bears the inscription: "To Charles Wyndham, from Albert Edward Prince of Wales, in remembrance of 'David Garrick,' at Sandringham, 7th January, 1887."_

THE MODERN MATHEWS (_handling cup_): The Prince is one of the most perfect stage managers conceivable. He made all the arrangements for the production of "Davy" at Sandringham. (_Takes up an inkstand in the shape of horse's hoof._) One of my mares--poor thing! I always kill my horses when it has come to their last trot, and never sell them when they are past all work.

INTERVIEWER _inwardly--on behalf of the public--votes_ THE MODERN MATHEWS _a thoughtful man in all things_.

INTERVIEWER (_insinuatingly_): And you----

THE MODERN MATHEWS: Oh! yes. Germany fifteen months; then to Paris. Occasional theatre. Had to be home by eight! Locked out one night--one sou left. Put it on a gingerbread board gamble. My sou on biggest piece. Round went the spinner--stopped at my piece. Won! Only gamble I ever won in my life. Walked that night till six in the morning; managed to get into the school. Met head master whilst creeping upstairs. He commended me for my early rising! From Paris to King's College as a medical student. Ha! no sooner there, than able to go to theatre. Got to Cabinet Theatre, King's Cross, in amateur performances. There I first met William Blakeley, an admirable comedian, who in those days was a slim, thin, dashing young fellow. I was not long in making up my mind. I would go in for tragedy, I was so impressed with Barry Sullivan; though I fancy on looking back that Charles Mathews attracted me most, although I never dreamed of becoming a light comedian. What a voice Charley had, how perfect his every movement! The marvellous charm of that man was his extreme naturalness. How well I remember waiting for him at the stage door to watch him come out! No one who ever saw Charley could forget him. Dear old Mathews!

INTERVIEWER (_noting down the great similarity between the actor's description of Mathews and himself_): And your first _real_ appearance?

_From a Photograph._

"CHARLEY GARNER" (Mr. Chas. Wyndham).

"MRS. GARNER" (Mrs. Dyas).

"MR. KEDGELY" (Mr. John Clayton).

"LUCY" (Miss H. Hodson, Mrs. Labouchere).

"MRS. PELLET" (Miss Everard).

"MICHAEL GARNER" (Mr. J. L. Toole).

"UNCLE BEN" (Mr. Lionel Brough).

"BOB GASSITT" (Mr. Henry Irving).]

THE MODERN MATHEWS: At one of the Ash Wednesday performances by Cole at the Haymarket Theatre. I played _Captain Murphy Macguire_ in "The Serious Family," and John Clayton was the _Charles Tarcus_. I often played with Clayton. He and I were in the cast of "Dearer Than Life," at the Queen's Theatre, in 1868, together with Toole, Irving, Lionel Brough, and Henrietta Hodson (Mrs. Labouchere). I paid a guinea to play Macguire, and it was worth more to me, for I was soon after playing with Buckstone, and then made my first dash on at the Royalty at £1 a week, when Ellen Terry and I used to play lovers. But one of my great desires was to play _Rover_ in "Wild Oats." I made up my mind to do it as soon as I saw Phelps in the part at Sadler's Wells. I had £30, and meeting another young fellow with a similar sum, we began to negotiate for the Strand Theatre, then under the management of Mr. Payne. But our hopes were crushed, as a slight barrier cropped up in the way of rent. Payne wanted £60 a week rent, and three months in advance. By this time I was ashamed of myself, although I had an offer of twelve shillings a week at the Theatre Royal, Preston--which, probably, I never should have got! I wrote to my father. He was somewhat wroth when I told him my theatrical desires. He said: "Well, take your diploma, and I won't interfere." I accepted the bargain, finished my medical studentship, went to Dublin--took my diploma. I had almost abandoned the idea of going on to the stage, and 1863 found me on my way to America to the war. I left with £9 in my pocket! It was the dad's suggestion I should go, but I believe he did it with a breaking heart. Look at that! (_Takes a massive gold ring set with a single diamond, and passes it to_ INTERVIEWER.) Why, the old fellow came over to America whilst I was there. When he was leaving the docks, he threw this, wrapped up in a piece of paper, on to the quay. My eyes were fixed on my father. There was he, making frantic gesticulations and pointing. I thought the piece of paper a greenback, and refused to pick it up. At last he became almost frantic in his anxiety. I picked up the paper, and there was that ring in it. The old fellow went away happy. This diamond and sapphire ring was given to me by the Czar. Not a bad ring, eh? Look at it. (INTERVIEWER _does so, and unconsciously puts it on finger_!)

(Wild Oats.)

_From a Photo by the London Stereoscopic Co._]

(INTERVIEWER _is busy for the next ten minutes in noting small "asides," thrown in between whiffs of cigarette: "£250 a year as medical officer." "In several engagements." "Did fairly well." "Have a cigarette?" "Appeared with Mrs. John Wood in New York." "Six weeks." "£4 12s. a week." "Dismissed for incompetency." "Came home." "Met amateur friends again." "Engaged at Royalty." "£4 a week." "Leading light comedy and stage management." "Offer from Miss Herbert to go to St. James's. Went. Miss Herbert, Irving, Mr. and Mrs. Frank Mathews, Stoyle, Ada Cavendish there, and--Oh! that first night."_)

THE MODERN MATHEWS _crosses to table_ L., _and taking up an edition de luxe of a commemorative volume of the Clover Club, reads the story which he told ten years ago of that first night. His back is to the fireplace_ (CENTRE), _the book in one hand leaves the other free for action. He reads and remembers._

"The piece was an adaptation of Ouida's 'Idalia.' I was playing the hero, _Hugh Stoneleigh_; a young actor named Charles was _Victor Vane_; Miss Herbert (long since retired) was _Idalia_; and Henry Irving was the villain of the play, _Count Falcon_. In those days, by-the-bye, managers would insist upon casting me for the virtuous heroes, and Irving for the vicious ones, although our proclivities in no way justified the selection. But what a charming villain Irving was: the only actor I have ever seen who has been able to make villainy on the stage appear as it should appear--lovable. But to resume: The opening scene was a rocky defile, in which I was suddenly attacked by Irving, and left for dead. The stage-manager had outshone himself in the production of a grandly impressive scene, in which the demands of realism were observed by the introduction of a natural waterfall: descending from the flies at the side, passing under a massive bridge, and rushing wildly and obliquely across the stage. It was certainly a gorgeous scene; an inspiring one, bound to elicit uproarious approval. Well, on the first night it did, and during the rest of the evening that waterfall was never forgotten. I told you it was supposed to dash under a massive bridge (which, by-the-bye, sloped down towards the footlights, in full view of the audience); but stage-managers propose, and waterfalls dispose. It was its first appearance on any stage, and, like most beginners, it wanted to do too much: it not only dashed under the bridge, but it trickled over the bridge; and, on its passage across the stage, it oozed from its proper channel, in several independent little rivulets, down towards the footlights. Wherever that inexperienced water went, it left the stage slippery. Thunders of applause greeted the enthusiastic débutant, and all the time the traitor was preparing for the annihilation of his brother artists. Gracefully down the bridge came F. Charles. He touched the slippery part of the bridge, threw his arms out wildly, away went his cloak into the torrent, and--well, he sat down. With dramatic instinct in every nerve of his body, firmly entered, half a minute afterwards, Henry Irving; looked about him warily; then strode down the bridge--you know the stride--till he also reached the fatal spot, threw his arms wildly round, and--well, he sat down. Need I tell you that the awe of the situation was fading? Now came my turn. Standing on a platform behind the scene from the commencement, I had seen what had happened to my two friends; so, stepping gingerly down the bridge, I arrived on the stage without sitting down, had my encounter with the two ruffians, escaped from them, had run wildly up the bridge again to receive the shot from _Falcon's_ pistol, and had fallen, according to stage-manager's instructions, a foot or so below the treacherous spot. On came _Idalia_--she had heard the shot. 'Ah! a body on the bridge!' She runs down, recognises me--'Great heavens, 'tis he!'--rushes further down, reaches the fatal place, away go her arms, and--well, she sat down: the folds of her dress falling over me and completely hiding me from the view of the audience. That was the end of the act--it was a powerful one. We had all done our level best, but the waterfall had scored the most.

_From a Photograph._]

"The next scene was a simple drawing-room. The waterfall was gone, thank Heaven, and we could rely upon ourselves. The act began. It was interesting and dramatic: a powerful scene between Miss Herbert and Irving--accusation of murder, defiance, vengeance for my death--all very startling; sufficiently so to drive for the time the slippery knave from everybody's mind. A great scene, well acted and well received; everything going splendidly, and an effect in store bound to please the audience.

"The hero is not dead, for he suddenly appears; appears, as a hero always does, at the back of the stage; great applause at his resuscitation; Miss Herbert backs with joy and surprise right to the footlights, and I prepare to rush towards her; success is in our grasp; the audience are in splendid humour; spite of all difficulties, we have triumphed. Alas, the vanity of human hopes! The waterfall was lying in wait for me. I told you the scene was a drawing-room; but I did not tell you that it was an Italian one--consequently, that the carpet covered only the centre of the stage. Across it I madly rushed towards my faithful love. '_Idalia_,' I exclaimed, 'I never expected to see you again!'--reached one of those rivulets, that had trickled in exactly the same direction I was going--reached it unknowingly--slipped, and--well, _I_ sat down.

MR. WYNDHAM AS "BOB SACKETT." (Brighton.)]

"Never in the whole course of my life have I heard such a roar as went up from that auditorium.

"Need I go on? Need I tell you how, in the next scene, when she and I were supposed to be escaping from the Austrian soldiery, those brave heroes came on, and, as the first slipped over our general enemy, the others came tumbling after? How massive rocks were knocked over by the falling bodies, and how the second act terminated in convulsions on the part of the audience? Need I tell you that, in the last act, the actors had become through sheer helplessness as demoralized as the audience--that I assured my love, in a voice smothered by laughter, that nothing would shake my firmness of belief in her--that she chuckled out she believed me--or that Irving came on to die in a white shirt, a blood-red spot on his breast, and his face all grins, dying the most facetious death actor ever died? Oh, that night--that night of horrors!"

(_Curtain._)

SCENE V.--_The street. A very, very desirable residence, with well-laid-out grounds in rear. Brougham waiting. (It is not intended to attempt to describe the extraordinary mechanical methods employed to bring about this sensational change of scene, seeing that a journey is about to be made from St. John's Wood to the Criterion Theatre, Piccadilly. It is unnecessary and useless, for no theatrical manager, be he professional or amateur, would attempt it.)_

THE MODERN MATHEWS _leads the way down steps followed by_ INTERVIEWER.

THE MODERN MATHEWS (_aside to_ INTERVIEWER): Have a good look at the coachman on the quiet. (INTERVIEWER _does so. Both enter brougham._)

_From a Photo by Falk, New York._

"MR. PILKIE"
(Mr. William Blakeley).

"GEOFFREY GORDON"
(Mr. Chas. Wyndham).]

THE MODERN MATHEWS: Whom do you think he was coachman to?--(_whispers_)--_Byron_!

INTERVIEWER: What--Henry--Henry J.?

THE MODERN MATHEWS: Yes, dear old "Our Boys" Byron. He was with him for seven years. I've had him since. Poor old Byron! What a wit he was. He joked to the last--almost his last breath was a joke. He wrote "Fourteen Days" for me. He was very bad--had a consumptive cough when the play was finished. He would persist in reading it to me. It was heartbreaking. When he was dying we used to drop in and sit with him, and take him little delicacies. Just before he had been doing work for Hare and Kendal at the St. James's. I went in one day, and there was a fine hare by his side. "Hare sent it to me," he said. "It's so big that I thought Kendal was inside!" Dear old Byron!

(_A pause._)

_From a Photo by Falk, New York._

"PARKER"
(Miss Kate Rorke).

"G. GORDON"
(Mr. Wyndham).]

THE MODERN MATHEWS (_with gaiety a trifle forced_): Let me see--where were we when we left the house? Paradoxical that, eh? Oh! yes--I remember--of course. Well, after playing about for some years, at last came a moment when I seemed to be on the horns of a dilemma. I had just advanced beyond the position of a stock actor, and hadn't achieved any particular individual reputation--that is, I felt unless I adopted some special line managers wouldn't offer me engagements. One morning--I was playing at Brighton--at breakfast I had three telegrams in succession. One read: "Would you accept an engagement at a West-end theatre to manage it yourself?" A second--from T. E. Smale: "Would you like a theatre in London? I can find money for it." And a third from Alexander Henderson: "Could you open at Criterion in 'Brighton' next Monday?" This seemed direct. I rushed to town. Henderson said: "Rare chance. If open next Monday--can have theatre rent free!"

INTERVIEWER: Of course----?

THE MODERN MATHEWS: Yes--I went! Played a month. Went to Paris. Returned at Easter. Opened in "The Great Divorce Case," and I started with the principle of making it a farcical comedy theatre. Made a contract with Henderson for seven years. This was in 1--8--7--6. Always a good memory for dates of that kind. "Pink Dominos!" Forced on me--absolutely forced on me. "The Great Divorce Case" was free to anybody to use, and when I produced it I wrote to the authors in Paris telling them I was prepared to pay them. A week or two after they sent their agent to me, saying that the same authors had just produced a piece in Paris and would like me to have it. It very much resembled "The Great Divorce Case," you know; and, on this basis, I refused it. They sent three or four times. At last I bought it for a mere song--I didn't want it--£40 down and £1 a night for a hundred nights!

_From a painting by John Pettie, R. A._

(_By kind permission of Mr. T. McLean, 7, Haymarket, S. W._)]

(INTERVIEWER _excited. More so when_ THE MODERN MATHEWS _encourages him to take to playwriting as a profession by remarking, with a glorious twinkle in both eyes_: My half share of the profits was £15,000! INTERVIEWER _accepts another much-needed cigarette_!)

INTERVIEWER (_breaking the silence_): "Where's the Cat"?

THE MODERN MATHEWS: Very decent spec. Gave £25 for it!

INTERVIEWER: Why, it's all profit!

THE MODERN MATHEWS (_wisely_): But, I have given thousands for plays, and all turned out no good!

INTERVIEWER: And "David Garrick"?

THE MODERN MATHEWS (_merrily, for he revels in talking about his favourite character_): Ah! "Davy"! I produced "Davy" in '86. I was about to produce a farcical comedy, and, as a matter of fact, had got within two days of the advertised first night--indeed, it came to within forty-eight hours of the time--when I became convinced that it was no use. On the Friday I frankly issued an announcement stating that I had no confidence in the piece. It was a toss-up between "Brighton" and "Wild Oats." Eventual decision--"Wild Oats." A great success--Miss Mary Moore and David James secured a big triumph.

INTERVIEWER: And yourself?

THE MODERN MATHEWS: Well, I played _Rover_. Up to this moment I had made up my mind never to play any part of Sotheran's or Charles Mathews', and when Mr. Calmour suggested my playing "David Garrick," I told him this. Others suggested "Davy," too, and finally Clement Scott, one night at supper, talked me into it. I was very nervous of "D.G." on the first night, because I had altered the intention of the dramatist in the second act by taking it more seriously. At one time I began to rehearse it with all the nonsense out of it, but finally decided to curtail the original "business" so as not to disappoint lovers of the old version. It ran from November, 1886, to August, 1887. I have revived it every year since, and so far as paying business goes, "Pink Dominos" is not in it. Ah! here we are. Come into my cabin.

_From a Photo by Barraud, London._]

_Brougham stops at theatre._ THE MODERN MATHEWS _and_ INTERVIEWER _ascend a somewhat steep flight of stairs leading to_--

SCENE VI.--_A cabin. It is really an apartment fitted up exactly like a cabin on a wealthy man's yacht. Not a detail is missing. Even the portholes are there, and you peep out on to a sea of carriages, cabs, vans, and pedestrians. Luxuriously furnished. Table centre: papers scattered about, designs and estimates for scenes--one at a trifle above £1,000--huge pile of letters._

THE MODERN MATHEWS (_very busy--here, there, and everywhere_): Excuse me--M.L.! No, no--not my life--finished with that; my letters! (_Opens one--reads._) Look at that. (_Hands letter._) Fellow wants two for the dress circle. Has no claim on the theatre save his "great love for the drama!" (_Opens another letter._) Ah! nicely scented envelope. (_Reads_): "Dear sir, will you send us two seats for the matinée on Saturday? A gentleman friend told us you _always_ give seats away. We want to come to the afternoon performance, because ma hates theatres, and won't let us go if she can help it!"

INTERVIEWER: Encouraging!

THE MODERN MATHEWS: D.C., my boy, D.C.!

INTERVIEWER: So you're going to send them?

THE MODERN MATHEWS: Send what?

INTERVIEWER: The seats--D.C.--dress circle?

THE MODERN MATHEWS: D.C.--D.C. in this instance is to remind me that it's deuced cheek! Oh! I give them occasionally. I remember once a couple of seats I gave to a policeman. When I am studying a part I like to take long walks in the country--down the lanes. On one occasion I was learning up my character in Gilbert's play of "Foggerty's Fairy." In the last act I am supposed to be mad. On the other hand, I maintain that the keepers appointed over me are mad and not I. I have to describe a murder I am supposed to have committed, and to go through all the details of the crime. This I did once in a secluded nook in the Hampstead Woods--giving it forth at the top of my voice, thoroughly entering into the spirit of the business. A policeman caught sight of me. He had evidently been watching me for some time. Suddenly he made for me, seized me by the collar, and said he should charge me at the station on my own confession! It took a long time to explain--but I succeeded eventually in putting matters straight with the aid of a sovereign and a couple of seats for the first night of "Foggerty"!

MISS MARY MOORE. MR. WYNDHAM. MR. GIDDENS.