R Tolano

Coming back to Joseph Jefferson for a while. The American comedian sailed from San Francisco for Sydney on September 10, 1861. In those days there were no fine steamers to make the voyage a pleasure trip, but Mr. Jefferson possessed the happy knack of making himself comfortable anywhere; and though the good ship Nimrod took 64 days to do the trip between the Golden Gate and Port Jackson Heads, the comedian had a very fine time of it. His chief occupation, besides reading and sketching, was a humorous attempt, he tells us, to divert a cheerful, pleasant Roman Catholic priest Father O'Grady, from celibacy: "I told him he was altogether too good a fellow for a single man, and assured that he would never know what true happiness was until he had a wife by his side and half a dozen children by his knee. Our theological arguments on the quarter-deck were a source of great amusement to ourselves and the passengers. Father O'Grady, when he got excited, would walk up and down the deck, tossing his long arms wildly about, as if he were making signals of distress." Nothing in their theological arguments, however, disturbed the friendship of the pair. Jefferson was (and is still, I hope) too mild and gentle to disturb the peace of anyone. I verily believe that the American comedian is "pigeon-livered and lacks gall." (This is meant to be complimentary.)

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Mr. Jefferson gives an amusing description, in an article published some years ago in the 'Century Magazine,' of his first encounter with Australian theatrical managers. Old Sydneyites will remember the individual, whose portrait is not drawn in colors too flattering: “He was an undersized, round-shouldered little Cockney Rolamo. Where he got that remarkably Italian appellation I cannot say; but if his ancestors belonged to the 'land of song' they must have strayed into the very heart of Whitechapel just previous to the birth of their son and heir, as his dialect was strongly impregnated with the drawling twang of that locality. It was recorded of him that he was never known to put an 'h' in the right place, and his talent for reversing the 'w' and 'v' amounted almost to genius. He had originally been lamplighter in the theatre, but by his industry and intelligence he rose to be its manager, and he was in the zenith of his fame when I arrived in Australia. After my introduction by my agent to Mr. Rolamo as the coming man, who was to make his (the manager's) fortune, that worthy cast a patronising eye over me, but did not seem at all overwhelmed, taking my arrival with provoking coolness. This chilling atmosphere pervaded the office until my agent unrolled some highly inflammable printed matter, the novel character of which seemed to attract the great man's attention, and condescending to address me, he said: 'You see, Mr. Jeffries - oh, I beg pardon, Jimmison I mean— with all due respect to you, there 'as been so many blawsted Yankee comics over 'ere that we are kind o' sick on 'em. You may a hextra good lot for all I know, but lately the queerest mummers we've 'ad 'ave come from Amerikee. This printed stuff you've got looks spicy— in fact I don't know as I ever see spicier - but it don't prove nothink, does it?' " Jefferson's agent broke in with the assurance that the comedian was quite legitimate and not a mummer. “ 'Legitimate!' exclaimed the manager. 'Well, that's the worst rot of all. The legitimate would wentilate my theatre on the first night; and as for that dismal old guy, 'Amlet, I wouldn't 'ave 'im at no price.' “

Jefferson assured the big man that Hamlet was not in his list of characters, and that as far as he was concerned the reputation of Mr. Rolamo's 'theatre' would not suffer through his productions of Shakespeare's plays). “I admitted his perfect right to protect himself against fraud, and that as I was a stranger, I proposed first to show him what my material consisted of, and wound up by offering to rent his theatre and company, paying him a good bonus to relinquish the management into our hands for a month, and that if we could agree upon terms his money should be paid in advance. At this proposal the hard features of Mr. Rolamo softened into an oily sweetness that was lovely to behold. He gently put out both hands to grasp mine; his eyes fairly beamed on me with affection, and his heart seemed so touched that it quite choked his utterance. 'My dear lad' said he, 'that's the way I like to hear a cove talk, for I always believes in a cove wot believes in hisself.' ”

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Mr. Jefferson explains that he found the acting much better than he expected, “in fact, throughout the colonies, I was invariably impressed by this dramatic excellence.” Mr. Jefferson's explanation of this is that actors who had originally come from England to 'star,' remained to make their homes in the colonies, and settled down into the different stock companies. He, however, had no cause to complain of the support given him; on the contrary, he felt that he had his work cut out for him if he were to stand out prominently amidst such surroundings.

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Of his first appearance in Sydney, Mr. Jefferson says: - “I found the company obliging, and, as I expected, thoroughly competent. Matters progressed favorably, the pieces for the first week were rehearsed, and all things were duly prepared for the opening. The house was quite good on that night, and the audience generous and sympathetic. They seemed to appreciate what a thorough stranger I was, and as a stranger, gave me welcome.” When the curtain fell, Jefferson was congratulated by the company and Mr. Rolamo, who, the comedian fancied, was a little annoyed that he had not made better terms with the star, as he said, " ‘I say, do you know I took you for a green 'un when I first meet you, as you had a kind of innocent look about you that took me in; but you're sharp, do you know that ?’ “

Jefferson didn't think that he was particularly sharp, but thanked the manager for the delicacy of the compliment, and hoped that he might live to deserve it. From Jefferson's own story, he does not consider himself to have been "a frost" in Sydney, though many old memories amongst us say that he was. Perhaps Mr. Jefferson does not care to admit it right off. I personally know that he was not a frost in Melbourne, where he “ran” for 164 consecutive nights at the old Princess.

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At the expiration of the Sydney engagement Mr. Jefferson voyaged to Melbourne — no rail then. George Faucett who afterwards added Rowe to his name, had the old Princess Theatre all to himself and a ''shocking bad hat" sort of concern it was. If I am not mistaken George Faucett got the 'old barn' on a long lease at a low rent, but he pegged away at it, and eventually won. Jefferson made the same terms with Faucett as he had with the gentleman whom he names Rolamo. He admits that his success in Melbourne was more flattering than it had been in Sydney. "The audiences were numerous and fashionable, and the articles in the daily papers referring to our plays and acting were of the highest literary character." A just tribute to the critics' acumen and literary ability of Messrs. James Smith, James Edward Neild, and William M. Akhurst, the two former being still with us.

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At the conclusion of his Melbourne engagement Jefferson went into the mining and provincial towns, where his success was as genuine as it had been in the metropolis. He tells an amusing story of his experiences in one of the mining townships, where the bill-poster and bell-ringer were generally one and the same individual. On the way from his hotel to the theatre Jefferson came across a knot of people, in the midst being a little fat man in a seedy suit of black, swinging and ringing a big brass bell, gesticulating violently, pausing in his swings and calling out in stentorian tones : "Oh, yes! Oh, yes! Ladies and gentlemen, now or never is your only chance to see the greatest living wonder of the age— Joseph Jefferson, the great hactor from America. His powers of producing tears and smiles at vun and the same time is so great that he caused the Hemperer of Roushia to weep on his weddin' night, and made her Gracious Majesty the Queen bust out laughin' at the funeral of Prince Albert. He is the bosom friend of the President of Amerikee, and the hidol of 'is 'Ighness the Prince of

Wales. "

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Jefferson said that he always had a horror of orators, but the orator on the barrel top in the mining township added horror to his previous experience. The actor rushed to the theatre and demanded of the manager, the meaning of the exhibition. The manager explained that it was the usual thing in mining towns, that G. V. Brooke and other great men had been so 'belled' and 'tolled,' and that he, the said manager, thought that Mr. Jefferson would have liked it. “Like it!” said Jeff, “If it is not stopped at once I will not act to-night.” So the little fat man was ordered to cease his harangue and come down from the barrel. But the bellringer wouldn't budge; he wasn't half through, and it would injure his business and ruin his reputation to be cut off “in the heye of the public,” and "he'd be blowed" if he'd stir until he had finished. The manager appealed to Jefferson to let him go on. “Now, mark me,” said Jeff, “If he rings that bell again or opens his mouth, I don't act.” That settled it. The little fat man stood with his arms folded, a la Napoleon, glaring defiance at the manager and his satellites; but they seized him, and a desperate struggle ensued. The tall white hat of the ''town bell" was completely smashed over his eyes, and in stamping violently in his rage the head of the barrel burst in, letting him through until only the fat head appeared at the top. They tipped the barrel over and rolled him off inside, to the great amusement of the bystanders, who had been roaring with laughter all the time.

In Tasmania Jefferson tells of a singular incident. He acted the 'Ticket of Leave Man' for the first time in Hobart Town, and there was much excitement in the city when it was announced. "At least 100 ticket of leave men were in the pit on the first night of its production. Before the curtain rose I looked through at this terrible audience; the faces in the pit were a study. Men with low foreheads and small, peering, ferret-looking eyes, some with flat noses, and square, cruel jaws and sinister expressions — leering, low and cunning — all wearing a sullen, dogged look, as though they would tear the benches from the pit and gut the theatre of its scenery if one of their kind was hold up to public scorn upon the stage. This shows the power of the drama. An author might write an article abusing them, or an artist paint a picture showing up the hideous deformity of their features — all this they could bear and even laugh at. But put one of their ilk on the stage in human form, surrounded by the sympathetic story of a play, and they would no more submit to an ill-usage of him than they would to a personal attack upon themselves.”

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“The first act of the play produced but little excitement. These men seemed to enjoy the humorous and pathetic side of the story with great relish, but when I came upon the stage in the second act, revealing the emaciated features of a returned convict, with sunken eyes and closely shaved head, there was a painful stillness in the house. The whole pit seemed to lean forward and strain their eyes upon the scene; and as Bob Brierley revealed to his sweetheart 'the secrets of the prison house,' there were little murmurs of recognition and shakings of the head, as though they fully recognised the local allusions that they so well remembered; deep drawn sighs for the sufferings that Bob had gone through, and little smothered laughs at some of the old, well remembered inconveniences of prison life; but then, Bob was a hero, and their sympathies were caught by the nobleness of his character and innocence of crime, as though each of these villains recognised how persecuted he and Bob had been.”

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As the play proceeded their enthusiasm increased. Wherever Bob was hounded by a detective, or ill-treated by the old Jew, they would howl their indignation at the actors; and when he came out unscathed at the end of the play, a monument of persecuted innocence, they cheered to the echo. This performance rendered Jefferson very popular with a certain section of Hobart Town society 40 years ago, and he was often accosted in the streets by "old hands," who told him the woes and sufferings they had undergone. In fact, they looked upon him quite as an "old pal." Jefferson admits that these courtesies were very flattering, but the inconvenience of being poked in the ribs, and being told that they knew him, as much as to say, “Ohl pal, all right, we know — you've been there,” became somewhat frequent and irksome. The life that Jefferson retreated to on his retirement from the stage was that of a country gentleman, his favorite amusements being hunting, fishing, and sketching from nature.

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In the days when Jefferson was delighting Australian audiences with 'Bob Brierley,' when Mrs. Woolridge was the Mrs. Willoughby, when Julia Mathews was the Sam, H. R. Redwood or Lachlan M'Gowan the Melter Moss, Ned Holloway the Jim Dalton, Annie Lockhart the May, Marcus Clark had not produced his story of Van Demonian and Norfolk Island convictism— 'His Natural Life'— and the 'Ticket of Leave Man' was about the only item of the sort presented upon the stage. Yet I remember the late Mr. J. J. Welsh telling me that when a company with which he was connected, playing at Launceston, billed ''Margaret Catchpole," a lady, representing a certain family, waited upon the management, and, as a favour, asked that the play be withdrawn, and the manager obligingly complied with the request. To-day, of course, in Hobart the play-going public does not get its writers wrung by the performances of the 'Ticket of Leave Man' or 'His Natural Life,' or any personally objectionable play.

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Apropos “Ned” Holloway ("Jim Dalton"). This old identity goes back so far in theatrical annals that one wonders where and when he commenced. Fifty years ago he was a noteworthy actor, and with his wife travelled every inch of Australia where an actor or a company could show. As far back as 1862 Mr. “Ned” Holloway (no relative of the other Holloways) and his wife played in the Prince of Wales Theatre, Bathurst. Not many remember that little theatre. It stood close to the old Club House Hotel, and in it were given some excellent dramatic representations. In those days there was an excellent travelling population, which made Bathurst its head centre for a time. You had to “go round by Bathurst” to reach Hill End, Tambaroora, etc., and hotels and theatres flourished. There was another and a larger theatre round in Durham-street, which a few years ago stood as it did — stage, galleries, etc.— in the days of G. V. Brooke, though the building was used as a hay and corn store. The railway killed the glory of old Bathurst, though a brilliant effort was recently made to regild the city through the Federal Capital. As to Ned Holloway, he travelled to the Lachlan diggings, and had with him the late Shiel Barry, an Irish comedian of merit, who afterwards became famous in London and Dublin. Long before that, however, Mr. Holloway had come to the point in his profession, having performed in Victoria in the early fifties. Mr. Holloway is an ancient, but by no means played out. The old man's vitality is amazing, and that voice — well, I don't know another like it. The Holloways made money, and Ned's ambition, years ago, was a farm on the Hawkesbury (Mrs. Holloway was a native of that neighbourhood, I think), where he and his wife could settle down and end their days in peace after life's fitful fever. But the wife died, to Ned's great regret and loss, and the old man kept battling on. He formed for years one of Alfred Dampier's company, but I have lost sight of him for some time. Like the late Clarence Holt, Ned Holloway in his early days aspired to be the T. P. Cooke of the colonies, his favourite sailor character being William, in 'Black-eyed Susan.' There is a yarn in the profession that after Clarence Holt returned to Victoria in the early sixties he gave glowing accounts of his success at Drury Lane, accounts which fired the ambition of Ned Holloway, who expressed the intention of taking a trip to the "big smoke." "I would," gently insinuated Holt, ''and," he added kindly, "I'll give you a note to the management. Everything Australian goes down in London. You'll get a show! Open at Drury Lane in 'Black-eyed Susan.' It's a popular favourite. The house will be crammed. You speak outside; it's a good 'take.' Bound on the stage, the applause will be immense, and when you open your mouth you'll be so bally well hissed that you'll wish yourself back in Australia." But then Clarence Holt was not esteemed a generous man to brother professionals.

(To be continued.)