THE ABSENT MANAGER.

BY DRINKWATER MEADOWS.

"All the world's a stage."

MR. THORNTON was for many years the manager of several theatres in the west of England. He was a most eccentric, absent, and forgetful person; and for an actor to be absent or forgetful " is most intolerable, and not to be endured." Mr. Thornton's lack of memory was most extraordinary, particularly so for an actor, and above all for a

manager.

In a country theatre, "no more cats are kept than catch mice," as the saying is, and "each man in his time plays many parts," frequently two in the same piece, which is professionally called "doubling." Actors have been known, for lack of numbers, to double Las Casas with the Sentinel, and Orozembo with the Blind Man (Pizarro), Tressel with the Earl of Richmond, and the Lieutenant of the Tower with the Duke of Buckingham (Richard the Third) and Juliet has been known to sing at her own funeral, with her back to the audience.

The variety of characters performed by most actors in small country companies is also very great" to wit," Young Norval and Lubin Log. I have seen Doctor Panglos, Sir Charles Rackett, and Peter Fidget played, on the same night, by the same actor, in his own hair, so "wonderfully transform'd," as to answer for these very opposite characters; and on another occasion the same gentleman acted, on the same night, Hamlet and the Clown in a pantomime.

By such means only, in those days, could country managers keep their theatres open, every actor being engaged to make himself " generally useful;" in a few instances, "menial business excepted" was inserted in the engagement. There was this advantage in performers thus acting everything, - they discovered at length what they were best adapted for. Leading tragedians have, in many instances, commenced their theatrical career as comedians, and several first-rate comedians have started as tragedians. "We know what we are, but know not what we may be."

Mr. Thornton was a manager who always had an eye to economy, and the lowest "peace establishment." He was always foremost himself in taking parts at "a short notice,"—I cannot say studying them; for he either had not the application or the memory requisite for study. He was always ready to double or treble; "for his own good all causes did give way." He never paused to consider what he could or could not do, when there was any difficulty in obtaining a representative for any particular character, but instantly undertook it.

On one occasion he undertook to " go on" for Baron Wildenheim, in Lovers' Vows, the actor who usually played that part being too ill to appear. An apology was made, and the usual "kind indulgence" of the audience claimed for Mr. Thornton, "who had undertaken the character at a very short notice."

He went through his first scene tolerably correctly for him; but, alas! when he was called for his second, he had lost all recollection of

the subject, and was under the necessity of applying to his old friend the prompter for assistance.

Lovers' Vows being then very popular, and having been acted by the company several times, the prompter naturally imagined the manager, above all, must be thoroughly acquainted with the plot, and be aware that neither the Baron nor Frederick are supposed to know they are father and son until late in the play, when the discovery forms one of the most interesting scenes,-the prompter therefore merely said,

"In this scene, sir, you are supposed to be hunting with Count Cassel-you meet your son, who is in great distress, in consequence of the destitute situation of his mother, and his inability to relieve her he solicits you to bestow a trifle for her assistance-you give him a piece of money he asks for more-you refuse-he draws his sword-you call for assistance-your servants enter-they secure him, and you commit him to prison."

"Oh! very well; I understand it. You may begin the act. Ring up-I am ready."

Up went the drop-scene, and the act commenced.

"Enter FREDERICK.

To return with this trifle, for which I have stooped to beg!-return to see my mother dying!-What can I buy with this? Ha! what do I see?—a nobleman, I suppose, or a man of fortune-yes, I will once more beg for my mother.

[Enter COUNT CASSEL, to whom he appeals in vain ; then enters BARON WILDENHEIM.

FREDERICK. Have pity, noble sir, and relieve the distress of an unfortunate son, who supplicates for his dying mother.

BARON. I think, young soldier, it would be better if you were with your regiment on duty, instead of begging.

FREDERICK. I Would with all my heart; but at this moment my sorrows are too great. [BARON gives him a piece of money.] I entreat your pardon-what you have been so good as to give me is not enough.

BARON. Not enough!

FREDERICK. No, it is not enough. If you have a charitable heart, give me one dollar.

BARON. This is the first time I was ever dictated to by a beggar what to give him.

FREDERICK. With one dollar you will save a distracted man.
BARON. I do not choose to give any more.

FREDERICK (drawing his sword, and seizing him by the breast). purse or your life.

Your

BARON (calling his attendants). Seize and secure him."

So Mr. Thornton should have said, and "would have said;" but memory did not " hold a seat in his distracted globe;" therefore, when Frederick solicited relief, he replied,

"Oh! I see, I see-your mother 's not well off, eh ?-Ah! no wonder. It has been a severe winter-there is a great deal of distress an sickness in the country-the weather still keeps cold, and the potato crops have not been good. Well, there's something to help her ;"

and, on Frederick's asking for more, he complied, saying, "Quite right. I dare say I didn't give you as much as I ought, under existing circumstances; so there's a little more for you."

Frederick whispered to him, not to be heard by the audience, “No, no; you must not give me any more, sir;" on which Thornton burst into a passion, and loudly exclaimed, to the horror of Frederick, and the destruction of the plot,

“D—n it, sir, what do you mean by no more? How dare you dictate to me? Surely I have lived long enough to know what is right and proper for a father to give. You are my son, and I must not see you starve. How is your poor mother, and how many more children has she? Take that, and be a good boy to her. Good day." And exit the Baron.

Mrs.

Thornton had his peculiarities off the stage as well as on. Thornton would occasionally ask him what the performances were to be for the next evening, when he generally replied in a way so very explicit and clear, as to leave her quite as wise as she was before.

"The play, my dear," (pulling his nose,) "is to be that which we acted last winter."

"Which do you mean, my dear?”

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Why, my love, that comedy which we acted."

Well, but, my dear, as we acted several, I can't tell which you

mean."

"Dear, dear, dear, my dear, I mean that comedy in which our light comedian acts the part, you know, of a dashing young fellow." "Bless me, Mr. T., there is generally a dashing young fellow in every comedy. Now, what play do you mean ?"

"Good heavens! Mrs. T., you surely ought to know, it's that play in which the father gives his daughter to the young man, in the last

scene."

"Why, goodness-heart-alive! Mr. T., that is what is done in almost every comedy. Do,-pray try and recollect the title."

"Mrs. T., you are becoming stupid. You ought by this time to know the name of every play. It's that five-act comedy, written by the author who wrote the play we acted one night only for a benefit.' "There, there, that will do; for if you go on for a month I shall be no wiser, I suppose. I shall see what it is to be, when the printer brings the proof-bill."

"To be sure you will, my dear; though, as he received his orders from me what to print, I can't see how he can possibly tell you more than I can."

Mr. Thornton, having written a letter, would sometimes ring for a candle to seal it, go to the window to read it with the candle in his hand, though the sun was shining full in his face, fold the letter up, and give it to the servant to post, unsealed and undirected.

On Mr. Thornton's return once from Newbury to Reading, after an absence of two or three days, having been to the former town to obtain a licence for opening the theatre there, Mrs. Thornton, on their retiring to rest, inquired, as she unpacked his portmanteau, where his shirts were which she herself had packed up for him on his departure, and which now were not forthcoming.

"What shirts, my dear?" pulling his nose.

Why, my dear, the three I put up for you, I don't see one of

them."

VOL. XII.

C

"Bless me, my dear," a pull, "did I take any with me? I don't remember it."

"Yes, yes, yes-you did; three of your new set, making, with the one you had on, four."

go

"Bless me, my dear Mrs. T.," another pull, "how you do on ! it is as plain as the nose on my face that I took none with me whatever; for, if I had, they must have been in the portmanteau, and I never saw them, so don't bother. You'll find them in the morning, when you look over the drawers. Really you are getting very forgetful, Mrs. T., my dear."

"Well, I'm sure! What next, I wonder! You go away for a few days, lose your shirts as well as your memory, and then accuse me of having lost my memory. Memory, indeed! A nice thing you made of Baron Wildenheim the other night. Ruin'd the play! What you would, or could do without me, I can't think (three new shirts lost, well!)—and what some women would do with you, I can't imagine. I only wonder, (no shirts can I find,) you don't forget to pay your salaries on a Saturday."

"No fear of that, my dear,”- a pull, "for the actors take great care to be at the theatre then in excellent time, and always contrive, somehow or other, to remind me of the day of the week."

"There there, don't stand talking, pulling your nose, and shivering in the cold, till you get into bed like an animated icicle; but do make haste, do now, I beg. Why, dear me, Mr. T., you are forgetting to put on your night-shirt! What will you forget next? I am obliged, positively, to remind you of everything you have to do."

Thornton gave first a pull at his nose, and then at his Irish linen. Off it came, and discovered under it another similar garment, to Mrs. T.'s infinite delight; off it came also, and disclosed a third, which, on being removed, to make way in like manner for his "cotton sleeper," as he called it, showed a fourth. Good, easy man! he was perfectly unconscious of his Irish bearing and possession.

The weather during his few days' absence had been exceeding cold, and daily, either from absence of mind or laziness, he had drawn one shirt on over another, until his travelling stock was exhausted, and his portmanteau emptied.

On the close of the theatre at Reading the company removed to Newbury; and, as the lodgings engaged there for Mr. and Mrs. T. could not be ready fortheir reception on their arrival, they resolved to remain that evening at the inn.

They were very comfortably seated in a snug sitting-room, on the first-floor, enjoying their tea and toast, Mr. T. now and then forgetting where he was, but never forgetting to pull his nose, or remembering that he had done so. Mrs. Thornton was looking over the "proof-bill" for the first night's performance, in the copy of which she found Mr. Thornton had neglected to insert no less than three of the principal characters, which were to be performed by "first appearances upon that stage," and, on her naming it to him, he exclaimed, pulling his nose,

"Dear, dear, dear! Bless me, my dear, I hadn't the cast of the play by me when I made out the copy, and the omission cannot be of much consequence; besides, my dear, the audience will be agreeably surprised in seeing more characters on the stage than are mentioned in

the bills. It may have a good effect, and excite curiosity, my dear.” (A pull.)

Curiosity, my dear! It must be a curiosity, indeed, to leave out of the bill of Othello, Iago, Roderigo, and Desdemona. Why didn't you leave out Othello whilst you were about it? "

"Bless me, Mrs. Thornton," (a pull,) “don't make a mountain of a mole-hill. We can put in anything you wish. I see no objection to it whatever, and, I dare say it will please the people who are to act the parts to see their names in the bills."

Before the Thorntons retired for the night, the landlady, who was not in the way on their arrival, " did herself the pleasure of looking in upon them, to inquire whether everything was to their satisfaction?" She had scarcely uttered those words, when, on looking attentively at Mrs. Thornton, she appeared struck with amazement, and as suddenly bounced up to Mr. Thornton, who was toasting his toes by the fire and pulling his nose, and in a tone of violent anger exclaimed,

"Mr. Thornton, this conduct is infamous! I'm surprised that a person of your years and appearance should think of such a thing. In a house of such known respectability as mine! I a widow, too! You ought to blush! And, then, to behave so when this is the first time you ever have had our theatre, and everybody has heard so good a character of you. However, the Mayor shall know it; and I insist on your going to some other inn directly."

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Bless me, ma'am," (a pull,) "what is it you mean?

"

Ay, you may well say mean,- for it is mean indeed. Come, get ready to go, for, snowing as it is, here you don't stay,-if I can help it."

"Dear, dear, dear! good heavens! my dear Mrs.-Mrs.—I really forget your name,-you astonish me," pulling his nose, "and my poor dear wife looks quite confounded."

"Well she may-the creature! Yes, I mean you, madam. Your wife, indeed! You ought to be ashamed to say so.'

Why, dear, dear, dear! I say she is my wife." (A pull.) "I surely ought to know by this time, for we have been married-Í can't recollect how many years. I am not sure as to three or four; but I have every reason to believe she is my wife, and has been so ever since

we were married."

"Wife, and married indeed! I would not have it known you brought her to this house for any money you could offer me. A pretty thing for a widow to countenance, indeed!

"Bless me, Mrs. —what's your name?" (a pull,) "I assure you, upon my honour, she is my wife. I surely ought to know. I will show you our marriage-certificate in the morning. Her maiden name was" (a pull,) 66 was- was (another pull,) "what was your maiden-name, Mrs. Thornton, my dear?"

"Oh, I care nothing about her name. All I know is, this is not the Mrs. Thornton you had with you here when you came to obtain your licence for the theatre,-for, though I did not see you, sir, then, I did see her. However, you shall show me your certificate at once, or no bed do you have here. You don't sleep in The King's Arms,' madam, you may take my word. You had better move off to 'The Angel,' Mr. Thornton,-quite good enough for you,"-and out of the room she flounced, loudly calling "Waiter!-John, -boots!-'Liza, -chambermaid!”