In 1923 we had an invitation to visit Australia, and we decided to accept. There was not much attraction in After-the-War London. The Theatre had lost its flourishing condition and had been hit very hard by the general slump. Things were pretty bad, both financially and artistically. The loss of the Actor-Managers was now being felt and people were realizing what they had done for the Theatre. But all the same, there were some bright spots. Sir Barry Jackson rose to devote so much time, energy and money to the Drama, to encourage youth and set a standard; Alec Rea, who loved the Theatre and who died recently [in 1953], Basil Dean did much fine work at the St. Martin’s—in many ways theirs was the best chapter of Theatre history at this time. Cochran was on top of the wave, Noel Coward and Ivor Novello were both over the horizon and Sir Nigel Playfair did yeoman work at the Lyric, Hammersmith.
Personally, I had begun to think seriously of retiring. But at any rate Seymour and I went to Australia with no qualms that we might be missing anything or getting out of the running in this country. We had never been to that land of sunshine and we were anxious to see it. Australia had been a stronghold for the Theatre and had attracted the best of London talent to its shores—and sent many wonderful Australians to London.
There was another reason too. Whilst we were considering whether to take this trip, ill fortune swooped on us again. Almost without any warning at all I became very ill. An operation was necessary. I under-went it. It was, in itself, quite successful, but then complications arose which put my life in real danger. But Sir Alfred Fripp and Sir Maurice Abbott-Anderson managed to pull me through. They saved my life.
This made Seymour decide that a trip to Australia was just the thing for my convalescence and to put me on my feet again. So off we went. I had to be carried on board the Orient liner Ormuz at Tilbury in the cold December of 1923. The voyage was wonderful, the conditions were perfect and six weeks later I was, if not quite recovered, at least able to do without a nurse and enjoy life. The plays we took with us were Sleeping Partners, Broadway Jones, The Man in Dress Clothes, Old Bill M.P. and Scrooge. Seymour had made an enormous success in The Man in Dress Clothes at the Garrick Theatre. [1]
In our company were Barbara Hoffe, Joan Kingdon, Frederick Lloyd—and my darling Betty came with us too. As far as Marseilles we had the company of our old friend Philip Page, a brilliant musician, journalist and dramatic critic of the Daily Mail—also a great wit.
We called at Ceylon on the way out and found it an enchanted island. We did not have much time, but we slept ashore, at Mount Lavinia—and we had to get up at four in the morning to catch the boat again. Betty and I shared a room and were tucked in behind mosquito nets. We were awakened by a Sinhalese waiter who brought some refreshment for us. “Here,” he said. “Coconut juice. Drink. Good for body.” We drank it—and perhaps it was. To me Ceylon seemed to be the loveliest place I had ever seen. It was a sort of scented fairyland in which every prospect pleased; and I have always wanted to visit it again. But, by a vagary of Fate, it would have been better for us had we not landed there at all. . . .
The Sun News-Pictorial (Melbourne), Thursday, 14 February 1924, p.10
We received a great welcome on our arrival at Melbourne. [2] We had had a happy trip and the prospects were splendid. Seymour and the company were to appear under the management of Sir Benjamin and Mr. John Fuller—the kings of the Australian Theatre. We were almost overwhelmed by that hospitality for which the Australians are so well known; the sun shone, the skies were blue, everything around us was of the greatest interest—and the advance booking was enormous.
Then, the bomb exploded. Barbara Hoffe, beautiful woman and equally beautiful actress, was suddenly stricken down with typhoid fever—and was rushed to a nursing home. To make the magnitude of this disaster fully appreciated, I must tell you that Miss Hoffe’s collapse took place on the very day before we were to open at the Palace, Melbourne, in The Man in Dress Clothes.
The position was desperate. There was no understudy ready and to get an actress in Melbourne who was suitable and rehearse her in the part would have taken at least a fortnight. We were to open the next night—and it looked like the wreck of the whole enterprise.
I did a bit of quick thinking. You know the old theatrical slogan —the Show Must Go On? Well, it happens to be true—it has to be true. I was by no means myself and far from recovered. I had, of course, seen the play several times, but I had never played in it and did not know a line of it. But—I decided I would do my best. I would try to close the breach. We simply could not postpone—that would mean ruin. Actually we did not know the exact situation as regards Barbara Hoffe until midday on the day before we were to open. I had therefore something like thirty hours in which to prepare. We had a hasty consultation. Seymour and I decided that the best thing was for me to try and get word perfect in the first scene and fight through the rest as best we could. But there was not even time for that.
I shall never forget that evening. The theatre was packed from ceiling to floor. Everyone who was anyone in Melbourne and for miles around was there. The house was filled with the exciting buzz which always goes on before the curtain rises on an 'Occasion’—and this was indeed a Melbourne 'Occasion’. Then, before that audience, appeared Hugh J. Ward, a partner in the firm of Fuller. This was not expected and the audience hushed to hear what was the matter. There was, of course, a great deal the matter. Mr. Ward told them the sad news about Miss Hoffe, and a very loud and disappointed “Oh!” came over the footlights from an audience which felt, with good reason, that its expected treat was going to be spoiled. It was a very trying moment for me, and I felt again all that I had felt when I was a young understudy —what every understudy, in fact, feels when she knows the people in front are disappointed at the absence of a principal and have to put up with her.
Mr. Ward told them I had volunteered to play the part, rather than have the theatre closed and cause them all such trouble. That drew such a huge shout from those kind Australians that I plucked up heart and courage. He told them the conditions under which the part had been learnt (not learnt, he should have said) and the curtain rose before a crowd which was now doubly excited. The ovation they gave me when I made my entrance nearly overwhelmed me. They all knew I had been ill and I still had a slight limp. I think this made them over-generous to me—and as I had already met many of those people 'in front' I felt I was amongst friends.
I had concentrated on learning the positions I should occupy on the stage, rather than the lines I had to speak, and those positions I knew. There were two reasons for this—correct positions mean so much to the rest of the cast and the smooth running of the show—and, at each of those positions, hidden from the audience, were slips of paper on which my lines were written. I read my whole part from those slips, which were stuck on to every conceivable bit of furniture, or piece of scenery. Luckily, my eyesight has always been very good. I must admit that this curious way of playing a part demanded all my coolness, confidence and resource. I had indeed to be that Rock of Gibraltar which Lionel Monckton had called me to get through that nerve-racking evening.
The real cause of this was Seymour. He inspired me with the certainty that I would succeed. He had enough on his own mind, heaven knows. On that evening's success hung the entire fate of the season and his own as well, for he was facing a new audience who knew him as little as he knew them. His arrangements for the crisis were made with the most meticulous care. He altered his own positions to suit me. He played his love scenes from behind me, so that he could whisper my replies to his speeches into my ear—and by these means, which only a master of stagecraft could have achieved, he turned what looked like certain defeat into complete victory.
Program cover
Elisabeth Kumm collection
Seymour Hicks as “The Man in Dress Clothes” – a portrait by Maurice Codner, R.A., which hangs in the London Garrick Club
At the end, there was an ovation indeed. Up and down went the curtain to applause which sounded like machine-gun fire, to shouts which were like a victory celebration—and so indeed, to us, it was. In all, we took twenty-seven curtain calls. As to my part in this, I feel I must quote a letter which my dear husband pushed under my bedroom door—it was so like Seymour to do that—and which I read on awaken-ing the next morning:
“How can I thank you enough for what you did last night? We are all, and I most of all, grateful to you beyond words. Your reception should prove to you what a ridiculous thing it has been to ever dream of your retirement as long as we can act together. There is no such thing as Age in Art. You looked lovely, you gave a most remarkable exhibition of experience and really beautiful technique, and there is no one to touch you at your own job. We must always work together as we used to do, and let us hear no more of retiring and younger leading ladies. They aren't a patch on you… ”
There was a lot more but that was between Seymour and me, between husband and wife who were always lovers, so I don't quote it. I must explain that I had very seriously considered retiring. I was then fifty-three, and I really felt that it would be better for Seymour to play opposite somebody else, younger than I was, for we had played together for so long, and I had an idea that the public might want a change. Obviously I did not believe all that I read in Seymour’s letter, but I knew how much love and sincerity had gone into what he said. It made me very, very happy indeed, and made me give up the idea of retiring to continue in double harness on the stage—as well as off.
Then came the all-important Press notices and the Press were as kind to me as Seymour had been. Indeed, they were all ‘for’ me, and for once Seymour got much less space and praise than I did! I am sure this caused him some chagrin—and rightly so; but then, of course, the event was what the Press calls ‘A Story’—and with them a ‘Story’ always comes first. Many of the papers said that I should stay in Australia and teach diction. And so we started on a wonderful year’s work in a blaze of Australian sunshine and that of our success. [3]
At first, it appeared that we had only gained a respite. For when we went down to the theatre that evening it was to find that Fate had dealt us another blow. Poor Joan Kingdon had just been taken to hospital with typhoid fever also. What were we to do now? No amount of that optimism which is so natural to actors and actresses, no amount of that certainty that ‘it will be all right on the night’ could overcome this second disaster. We stared at each other, aghast. But Luck was on our side. Out of the blue came real help. Mr. John Fuller’s daughter had watched every rehearsal since we had arrived. Very bravely she volunteered to play and we accepted with almost tearful gratitude. She dressed for the part and she went on and gave a most satisfactory performance. We were saved again. Twice we had been saved—what would happen if there should be a third victim?
Tom Glover for The Bulletin
Caricature by Sam Wells of the Melbourne Herald
But by a miracle Seymour and I—and the rest of the company— escaped the dreaded fever. In my weakened state I might have fallen a ready victim and probably met my death. Later we heard that two of the passengers on the Ormuz had died of typhoid almost as soon as they landed and that several others were seriously ill. Nobody could explain the cause. I am quite certain in my own mind that the whole thing was contracted during that short stay in Ceylon, and that we were lucky not to get it—perhaps that coconut juice saved us, who knows? All the same I still long to see Ceylon again. Fortunately Miss Kingdon and Miss Hoffe made a complete recovery.
I retained that part in The Man in Dress Clothes right through the tour—at the request of the management—and became Seymour's permanent partner for the entire time we were there—playing in Sleeping Partners too, which I knew. Barbara Hoffe was still not well enough to play when we got round to its production. But when sufficiently recovered we gave her two starring performances for her-self, as was only right and proper, and then she returned to England. [4]
Australian hospitality is a wonderful thing. Almost as soon as we landed, we were welcomed by the Societies formed by the men who had fought so gallantly and fiercely in the First World War. Hundreds of them had been at the Sunday Concerts which we had given for the Forces at the Princes Theatre in London, and I found that I remembered many of them. As a proof of their gratitude for our services (although we wanted no reward), they had presented me with a tablecloth; all of them had signed it with their names worked in red thread. It made me feel quite ashamed. Many of them had been present at the Princes Theatre on Anzac Day in 1917 when they had given me a silver box over two feet long, eighteen inches high and a foot wide. They also gave me the Anzac flag that they had carried in France, and I had brought that flag, to their joy, on this Australian journey as a mascot. It did indeed bring us luck. It was wonderful to meet so many of these splendid men again. They had only one fault: they were all far too generous to me. [5]
I shall always be grateful for that Australian tour. It prevented me from retiring—for if I had not played as I did I am almost certain I should have given up acting—it restored my health and confidence.
Something else of great importance to me happened in Melbourne. My dear Betty made her stage debut, playing small parts. She always said she did not want to act, but in Australia she changed her mind, and when we did Old Bill M.P. she played a leading part and played it well. She never really took to the stage, but after playing in London for a year in Edgar Wallace's success The Ringer, made it a happy memory and said good-bye to the footlights.
Often when I saw this tall, attractive girl coming on the stage to play a scene with me, I could scarcely believe it was my little Betty whom I had pushed with such pride in that white pram given by The Catch of the Season company.
The Governor-General and his Lady—Lord and Lady Foster—were very kind to us. Seymour was given some splendid fishing and we had glorious picnics. Shall I ever forget the beauty of those vivid and divine sunsets as we returned late in the evening through the bush?
Just a Little Bit of String—Ellaline Terris, pp.232–237 [Hutchinson & Co. Ltd.: London, 1955]
Endnotes
Compiled by Robert Morrison
[1] Seymour Hicks’ adaptation of the French farce Un homme en habit by André Picard and Yves Mirande, The Man in Dress Clothes premiered at the Garrick Theatre, London on 22 March 1922, where it ran for 232 performances. In addition to Hicks in the title role, the cast also included Barbara Hoffe as his wife, Germaine.
[2]
MR. SEYMOUR HICKS.
MANY HANDSHAKES
Seymour Hicks’s Welcome
HAPPY GREETING
“If this is the sort of welcome you’ll give me when the curtain rises in a day or so, I’ll be tempted to stay in Australia for ever!”
Thus the whimsical, debonair actor–author–manager, Seymour Hicks expressed his appreciation of the happy greeting that awaited him on the wharf yesterday as he stepped ashore from the Orient liner Ormuz.
A cordial deputation of diggers “cobbered” him. Dame Melba insisted that, henceforth, she should be nothing else to him but “plain Nellie," Hugh J. Ward pumped his hand hard as the two called one another “old man.” There was no lack of warmth about it all.
Mr. Hicks arrived with his wife (known better in the Thespian world as Miss Ellaline Terriss), his daughter, Miss Betty Hicks, and Miss Barbara Hoffe, Miss Joan Kingdon, Mr. Frederick Lloyd, Mr. Harry Hardy, Mr. D. Garde, and Captain Oakshott. The company will open at the New Palace Theatre on Saturday week in “The Man in Dress Clothes.”
Other plays in the company’s repertoire are Scrooge, Sleeping Partners, The Love Habit, David Garrick, and Broadway Jones.
The Sun News-Pictorial (Melbourne), Thursday, 14 February 1924, p.5
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The Sun News-Pictorial (Melbourne), Thursday, 14 February 1924, p.1
A DISTINGUISHED ACTOR.
MR. SEYMOUR HICKS.
A MAYORAL RECEPTION
A civic reception was extended to the noted English actor-manager Mr. Seymour Hicks by the Lord Mayor (Cr. Brunton) at the Town Hall at noon yesterday.
The Lord Mayor said Mr. Hicks was not only conspicuous in his profession, but was the author of 56 plays. He had adapted several French plays to the English stage. It was incumbent upon Australians to recognise his kindness and generosity in entertaining Australian soldiers during the war. He expressed the hope that Mrs. Hicks, who accompanies her husband, would soon recover her health. He trusted that Mr. Hicks’s sojourn in Australia would be both pleasurable and successful.
Senator Pearce, who was controlling demobilisation in England in 1919, stated that he bore witness to the inestimable efforts of Mr. Hicks to entertain the Australians and New Zealanders. The tedium of long periods of waiting was relieved. Every night in the week theatre seats were reserved for soldiers. That not one disturbance occurred in A.I.F. camps in England was wonderful testimony to our men's discipline, engendered, to a great extent, by the amenities and sympathy bestowed upon them by people like Mr. Hicks.
Mr. Hugh J. Ward, representing the theatrical profession, said he was a very intimate friend of Mr. Hicks. It was surprising that such a renowned artist should make the trip owing to the distance and the many delays. He hoped that our climate would restore Mrs. Hicks to perfect health.
Mr. Cohen, M.L.C., endorsed the remarks of the Lord Mayor. Although Australian audiences were critical, they were not hypercritical. He felt sure a man of Mr. Hicks’s mental calibre and attainments would quickly endear himself to all Australians.
Mr. Hicks, in responding, said he was an extraordinarily bad speaker, and so many compliments were overwhelming. He was deeply moved by this wonderful reception. As for his plays—well, he thought they were mostly alike, though they had different titles. (Laughter.) It was unprecedented as far as his experience went for an actor to receive a civic welcome. He wished to thank them for the feeling references to Mrs. Hicks and for the very great honor that had been conferred upon him. A very representative gathering of leading citizens was present.
Great Welcome by Soldiers.
Mr. and Mrs. Seymour Hicks and their daughter were welcomed yesterday afternoon by the returned soldiers and by the members of the Soldiers' and Sailors’ Mothers’ Association at Anzac House. Among those present were some of the tubercular soldiers, who were motored in from the Austin Hospital for the occasion.
Mr. E. Turnbull, on behalf of the soldiers of Australia, warmly welcomed the guests of honor, and recalled the pleasure that so many of the soldiers had had at the Sunday night entertainments which Mr. Hicks had arranged during the war for their benefit. They remembered with pleasure the fact that on the first Anzac day Mr. Hicks gave his theatre for the afternoon and evening especially for the Australian soldiers, and after that there were always seats reserved for the Australians. Everything that he did for the soldiers was done unostentatiously, and was deeply appreciated by all the soldiers. He trusted that the health of Mrs. Hicks would improve considerably, and that their stay in Australia would be a very happy one.
Senator Drake-Brockman and Brigadier General Sir J. McCay also welcomed the guests.
Dr. Springthorpe said that Mr. Noall did in Egypt what Mr. Hicks did in England, and his name had gone down on the crime sheet for entertaining soldiers in Egypt after 10 o'clock at night. When in England the soldiers were received as honored guests from the King downwards. He remembered one day when there was a party at Windsor Castle the King sent his regrets that he could not be present, but the Princess Mary would show the men around instead. One man was determined to get a teaspoon as a souvenir, and when the Princess came he pretended he did not know who she was. He went to her, and, addressing her as “Miss,” asked whether he could have one of the teaspoons as a souvenir, as his relatives in Australia would appreciate it so much. She immediately said he could have one, and it was promptly handed over. The non-fighting people had to be thanked just as much as the others, and among those who had entertained them was our own Oscar Asche.
Mr. Green, whose amputated leg showed what he had lost for his country, added his welcome, and said he had motored over 406 miles since the previous morning in order to he present.
Mr. Hicks, who received a great ovation as he rose to respond to the speeches of welcome, said that being back among the soldiers was even more wonderful than the warm reception that the civic authorities had accorded him earlier in the day. He did not think there was any need to thank him for “doing a few rotten concerts for a couple of years.” Like a million other fellows, he appreciated deeply what the Australians had done, and their kindness to them on their visit to Australia would never be forgotten.
Mrs. Powell, president of the Mothers’ Association, also welcomed the guests on behalf of the mothers, and she presented a beautiful bouquet of cactus dahlias and fern tied with vieux rose ribbon to Mrs. Hicks, and one of pink roses tied with pink ribbons to Miss Hicks.
Reception Dance at Theatre.
There was a large gathering in the New Princess Theatre last night, when, at the conclusion of the programme of Little Neilie Kelly, a reception dance in honor of Mr. and Mrs. Seymour Hicks was given by Sir Benjamin Fuller, Mr. Hugh J. Ward and Mr. John Fuller. In addition to the chief guests there were also present Miss Barbara Hoffe (Mrs. T. Oakshott), Miss Joan Kingdon, Miss Hicks, the Lord Mayor, Cr. W. Brunton, arid Mrs. Brunton, and leading members of the theatrical profession. The hosts received in the lounge, and dancing was on the stage, which was artistically arranged as an al fresco ballroom. Colored lights were played on the dancers, adding a picturesque touch. Supper was served in the wings at daintily arranged tables.
The Age (Melbourne), Thursday, 14 February 1924, p.10, http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article204083823
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[3]
ELLALINE TERRISS’S TRIUMPH
How She Won Through
Melbourne is talking today of the great feat of Miss Ellaline Terriss on Saturday night, when at a few hours notice she came to her husband’s rescue, stepped into a most exacting leading part, and saved a postponement of “The Man in Dress Clothes.” It was her first introduction to a Melbourne audience, and she gathered it up in the hollow of her hand.
She smiled on being asked, to tell of her feelings.
“I felt it to be an impossible task,” she said, “and it is certain I could never have got through without the wonderful help of the people. They reached out to me with sympathy that helped me over the rocky places. Who could help putting forth one’s strength to meet such kindness?”
Nearly five years ago Miss Terriss played her last piece in London. It was “Wild Thyme.” Her real farewell was a little later at Birmingham in “Sleeping Partners,” in which play, curiously enough, her husband concluded his English provincial tour, and in the same city, before sailing for Australia.
"I thought I had said good-bye to acting,” smiled Miss Terriss, “but the gods have willed otherwise. I wonder if you noticed the ruses we were forced to use to get through,” she said. “I could only learn the first ten lines after each entrance. More was impossible. Menu cards, a newspaper, a muff, were all pressed into service, and my position on the stage in the restaurant was cleverly contrived, so that I should have the benefit of sotto voce prompting from my husband.”
When it is realised that from the time she left England until she reached Australia, Miss Terriss has been the object of the most unremitting care, and has never been allowed to walk as far as she did on the stage of the Palace Theatre, something of her wonderful feat may be understood. When the curtain, fell on a stage of flowers, most of which went to the English actress in hospital (Miss Barbara Hoffe), whose place Miss Terriss took, she was just about at the end of her endurance.
“But it has done me good,” she insisted. “The excitement and the wondrous friendship that has been given me have been splendid medicine. I feel better now than I have felt for a very long time. Australia will be the renewal of my health. I love it.”
The Herald (Melbourne, Vic.) Monday, 25 February 1924, p.1, http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article243746215
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[4] Following her recovery from typhoid fever, Barbara Hoffe finally made her Australian stage debut at the Palace Theatre, Melbourne for Hugh J. Ward Theatres Pty. Ltd. in Somerset Maugham’s Rain on Saturday, 7 June 1924, which proved to be controversial with its story of the fanatical South Seas missionary, the Reverend Alfred Davidson, who professes that it is his mission to reform the prostitute, Sadie Thompson on the island of Pago Pago, but secretly lusts after her and ultimately commits suicide, whereupon Sadie leaves for Sydney. Although it had been a smash-hit on Broadway, local critical and audience opinions on the play’s merits were divided, especially amongst the city’s conservative wowser element. Rain ran until 11 July and was followed by The Wheel by James Bernard Fagan at the Palace from Saturday, 12 July, until Wednesday, 23 July, after which Hoffe returned to London with her husband on the Sophocles departing on 26 August.
[5]
ANZAC DAY
SERVICE IN LONDON
KING AND QUEEN TO ATTEND
(From Our Special Representative)
LONDON, Thursday Night.
The King and Queen have notified Mr. Fisher, High Commissioner, of their intention to attend the Anzac Day service.
The War Contingents’ Association has appealed to Mr. Budden, representative of the War Chest Fund, for a subsidy for the Anzac Day dinner. Mr. Budden agreed to provide £100 if necessary.
The following artists will appear at the War Contingents’ Anzac Day Celebration – Harry Tate, Gertie Millar, Seymour Hicks and Ellaline Terrlss, Adeline Genee, Florence Smithson, George Robey, Fred Lindsay, and Nelson Keys.
Members of the Royal Family will attend the entertainment.
The Anzac service at Westminster Abbey will last 30 minutes.
* * * * *
The Anzacs and those in sympathy with the fund will have a programme presented to them such as even London seldom sees. Harry Tate is, perhaps, the most famous humorous sketch artist on the vaudeville stage. Gertie Millar is one of the leaders of Gaiety musical comedy, and wife of Lionel Monckton, the well-known composer of musical comedy; Seymour Hicks and his wife, Ellaline Terriss, are prominent in musical comedy, too, Adeline Genee is the great dancer, Florence Smithson was here at the Tivoli, and is a delightful singer, while George Robey is England’s leading music hall comedian.
The Sun (Sydney), Friday, 14 April 1916, p.1
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- The entertainment was staged at His Majesty’s Theatre, London where 1,500 soldiers were in attendance.
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Mr. Seymour Hicks’ Matinee.
In celebration of Anzac Day, Australian troops, comprising men from the front and convalescents from hospitals and from camp in England, were entertained at the Prince’s Theatre, Shaftesbury Avenue, to a Special matinee of “The Catch of the Season,” on April 25th. The theatre and the performance were given free through the kind generosity of Mr. Seymour Hicks and Miss Ellaline Terriss. The theatre was packed in every part, and the performance, which was carried out by an all-star cast, was thoroughly appreciated from rise to fall of the curtain. The audience, apart from the invited troops, was a representative one, and included the High Commissioners and Agents-General of the various Dominions.
There were two pleasing little incidents during the performance. Miss Isobel Elsom, who has captured the hearts of the Australians in. London, being presented with a handsome bouquet on behalf of “the Australian boys,” and Mr. Seymour Hicks being presented with a massive silver casket in appreciation of his kindness in lending the theatre and giving the entertainment. The casket bore the inscription, “From the Anzac boys to Mr. and Mrs. Seymour Hicks, in affectionate remembrance, Anzac Day, 1917.”
Mr. Seymour Hicks has written to Mrs. Argia Samuel, hostess of the War Chest Club (to whose good offices in this and many other undertakings for their benefit Australian soldiers owe a great debt), a letter expressing gratitude for the presentation, in supplement of his speech to the same effect, which he felt was inadequate, owing to his being caught unawares and so moved at the moment as not to be master of himself. Mr. Seymour Hicks says he will always welcome “the boys he loves,” wherever he is playing.
“Anzac Day—At Home and Abroad” published in THE ANZAC BULLETIN (London), 2 May 1917, p.10
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The Man in Dress Clothes reviewed in the Melbourne Press
NEW PALACE THEATRE.
HICKS A HIT
Bit English for a Frenchman, But Nobody Cared
LEADING LADY ILL
So full of Incident and finished acting was the first production in Australia of The Man in Dress Clothes, at the New Palace Theatre on Saturday night, that it must be added to memorable first nights known to Melbourne theatre-goers.
With remarkably well finished and highly polished acting Seymour Hicks lived up to the reputation that preceded him to Australia. Simmering excitement and expectancy were apparent in the packed house in a gradual and ever-increasing crescendo of sound. But this stopped when, instead of the curtain’s rise, Mr. Hugh J. Ward appeared behind the footlights and poised his hands for silence.
“I regret to announce,” said he, “Miss Barbara Hoffe is ill, and cannot appear. But another lady, ill before she left England, yet who arrived quite well—Miss Ellaline Terriss—at the eleventh hour has consented to play an exacting part with but few rehearsals.
“I make no excuses, but should anything happen—you will know.” The rest was drowned in sympathetic applause that followed.
COMPELLED TO YAWN
Adapted from the French by Seymour Hicks, the Man in Dress Clothes dealt with French customs and ideas about marriage relations.
Its surface wit and sentimentalities at times may have appeared startling, but these were cleverly worked out and never crude.
The part of the French country nobleman, Comte Luclen d’Artois, was interpreted by Seymour Hicks as a well-bred Englishman, and there were also other incongruities. But who cared?
When the audience became aware of the actor's presence in the luxuriously furnished bedroom scene upon which the curtain rose, Hicks was compelled to yawn and yawn for many minutes before the applause had subsided sufficiently for him to proceed.
As the whimsical comedy unfolded, it became apparent that the cynical devil-may-care-but-he-did not attitude adopted by the Comte was due to his groping towards a shattered but still lingering romance.
With a hundred little touches of humanity that only he, it would appear, could give it, the story was built up from the written script. How wonderfully the part was handled!
WITH ONLY DRESS CLOTHES
Humor and pathos became entangled when the “army of occupation,” under the direction of a broker (Frank Hawthorne) took over the flat’s rich furnishings in part payment for the debt, and left only the dress clothes the Comte stood up in still bravely.
The first act ended by the too generously-dowered, but unimpressionable wife asking for her freedom that she might marry another. When the hungry Lucien and an equally hungry friend (Frederick Lloyd) endeavor to manoeuvre a meal at the Cafe des Plantes, the comedy of Seymour Hicks and his great art of gesture were at their best. In the concluding scene it was his pathos, that was outstanding.
The ending was happy, but it left spectators with a lump in the throat.
GREAT AND CHARMING
A tremendous ovation by the audience followed the final curtain, especially to Miss Ellaline Terriss. Floral tributes filled the stage. And she deserved them.
Handicapped as she had been by the absence of rehearsals, her excellent interpretation of a heavy part, depicting a wife who had not understood, stands as a memento to her great and charming talents.
She said: “I do thank you so much, hope I haven’t bothered you much to-night!”
Emma Temple was also held up by applause when she appeared in the last act to give another of her delightful characterisations as Lucien’s housekeeper.
THE MOST FRENCH
Joan Kingdon cleverly and rather realistically presented a French woman called Foxtrot, but otherwise described as a bird of passage. Hers was a shrewd and sharp wisdom of the world and man, only it was given in unnecessary East End Cockney dialect.
Another artiste new to Australia, was Frederick Lloyd. He typified a Frenchman who lived by his wits and by fighting duels. It was the most consistent French study of the evening.
The Sun News-Pictorial (Melbourne), Monday, 25 February 1924, p.18
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AMUSEMENTS.
“The Man in Dress Clothes.”
MR. SEYMOUR HICKS AT PALACE THEATRE
In things theatrical Australians like to think with London if it be found possible to do so. They are not always allowed that luxury but when a London success or an artist with a London reputation comes to these shores, it or he does so in circumstance which could hardly be more auspicious. Mr. Seymour Hicks has come to us from London where he has been holding audiences for many years. He opened his season at the Palace Theatre on Saturday night with “The Man in Dress Clothes”, and the curtain had not been up more than a few minutes before the audience decided that Mr. Hicks is an artist of high calibre and that his London reputation is amply justified. Here was a man whose knowledge of the arts of the theatre was immense, and whose ability to use them was just as great. There is not a trick of comedy which Mr. Hicks does not know. He could get laughter out of a plague and if a statue would not smile at him—well, it ought to. He is the finished comedian. No man knows as he the mechanism of laughter produced by the gesture, the expression, the employment of pathos to mitigate mirth, as he knows them all, and uses them all.
When Mr. Ward came before the curtain prior to the performance and announced that Miss Barbara Hoffe, the leading lady, was ill and could not possibly appear, there was a huge “Oh!” of disappointment from all over the house. Everybody expected an understudy. When, therefore, it was announced that Miss Ellaline Terriss would step into the gap and do her best with a strange part, after only one or two rehearsals, the reaction from the disappointment was a furore. The public had been wondering if it would get a chance of seeing Miss Terriss, and here she was to be in all reality. No artist could have appeared in circumstances more favorable. The audience, while sympathising with Miss Hoffe, was ready to accept anything from Miss Terriss. Like her husband, however, Miss Terriss did credit to her London reputation. Few people could detect that she had to read her lines in places. Not one person ignorant of the circumstances could have said she was not word perfect, and had not rehearsed the part for weeks. The audience took her to their hearts, and well they might, for she revealed a charming personality. The part she played is not exacting, but as a medium for introducing Miss Terriss to an audience it could hardly be excelled. The public will hope to see more of her.
As to the play itself that really does not matter very much. It is there merely as a medium for these two great artistes to express their art. The Man in Dress Clothes is an adaptation from the French of A. Picard and Y. Mirande by Mr. Hicks. It is a very gay play. It is very French, and not too much risqué as frank. It opens slowly, so that one wishes one could kick it along a bit, and in the sentimental passages it becomes tiresome. It is here that one is inclined to find fault. Mr. Hicks as the devil-may-care Comte d'Artois is delightful. As the love-sick comte his sentimentalisms sometimes bring him down from the pedestal of a great artist to the floor of mediocrity. It may be that the play is French in origin, and therefore emotional, but we are inclined to think that, like all true comedians, Mr. Hicks has a longing for tragedy, and therefore makes the most of any opportunity to be serious. On Saturday it seemed that much of the serious stuff was converted comedy.
There is a large cast in The Man in Dress Clothes. Among the lesser parts those of Miss Joan Kingdon and Mr. Frederick Lloyd are the most important. The former handles the very artificial part of a morally frail French girl with much ability. Mr. Lloyd as the gentleman who lives by fighting duels is admirable.
The Age (Melbourne), Monday, 25 February 1924, p.10, http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article204087787
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MUSIC AND DRAMA.
ARTISTS IN COMEDY.
DELIGHTFUL ACTING AT PALACE.
Seymour Hicks and Ellaline Terris.
The stage, like the turf and the law, has its uncertainties, and its interesting variations. Instead of the one celebrated London player expected by most people, there were two in the first Australian performance of “The Man in Dress Clothes.”
Miss Ellaline Terrisa, whose name was not in the printed cast, took the part of Germaine to the Lucien of her husband. Mr. Seymour Hicks. Before the play began at the New Palace Theatre on Saturday night Mr. Hugh Ward appeared before the curtain and expressed regret that Miss Barbara Hoffe, who had been billed to play Germaine, was ill. He added that Miss Terriss, with little opportunity for rehearsal, had agreed to take the part. Miss Terriss had left England an invalid, but the voyage had done much towards restoring her health. While the audience sympathised with Miss Hoffe, it showed enthusiasm at the prospect of seeing Miss Terriss, and on her first entrance she was given a great welcome. There was continued enthusiasm for the work of Mr. Hicks and Miss Terriss throughout a most enjoyable performance. Both gave finely artistic comedy work, with high talent and long experience showing in everything they said or did.
The theatregoer learns that Lucien, the wealthy Comte d’Artois, preferred a country life; but when he married Germaine, whom he had presented with a large share of his estate, she seemed to compare him unfavourably with dashing Parisians, So, leaving her, he became even more Parisian than these Parisians in the matter of reckless living. Some time afterwards (the play begins here) the broker’s men arrived, and under French law Lucien’s well-furnished flat was left with nothing but one bed, one chair, and one table–the poorest the men could find. He was also informed that legally he could keep only one suit, so he became “the man in dress clothes.” In his pockets he had not enough to pay for a meal. Twenty million francs remained in the possession of Germaine (and this was before the value of the franc had begun to fall), but how could a high-minded husband like Lucien ask for a share in some of the money that used to be his? Besides, when he was beginning to hope, for no sordid reasons, that his beloved Germaine would ask him to return, she indicated more or less truthfully that she desired a divorce so that she might wed another.
But that was not the end, for the plot had to give the leading players sufficient opportunity for emotion and sentiment. How deftly they treated both. There was no need to wonder whether the plot was probable, whether the sentimental portion was not rather familiar in essence to readers of romance, or whether the touches of farce-comedy, especially in the second act, were appropriate in association with the comedy of sentiment in other parts of the play. Everything was so skilfully “put over” that no one would have wished it otherwise. Even the soliloquy, which seemed to have disappeared from modern drama, was revived by Mr. Hicks with good effect in a serious scene. This was one of several illustrations of the fact that nice customs curtsey to able actors, and that rules are for those who have not the skill to rise above them. A pleasant, ingenious comedian is Mr. Hicks, and in this play be showed just the right degree of expression in voice, face, and by-play. Nothing was overdone, even in the emphasised comedy of the hungry but penniless man among tempting food and steadily-eating diners, disappointed by acquaintance after acquaintance who had seemed likely to be his host. At the opening of the first act some of the words were not clearly heard, but soon Mr. Hicks adapted his voice to the theatre, and obtained full value from many good jests, and from Lucien’s assumption of cheerfulness while keenly feeling misfortune.
Germaine enters the comedy when she is in lenient mood, after the implied disagreements and misunderstandings of earlier days. Miss Terriss, sweet and gentle in voice and manner, made her a woman of great charm. Only in a French play could Lucien have left such a wife with the quixotic view that he would attract her by his assumption of “wildness”. Emotions were subtly indicated by Miss Terriss, always with the self-control of the gentlewoman. All she said gave beautiful illustration of the musical possibilities of the spoken word, and all she did was well done.
In contract with Germaine, Miss Joan Kingdon cleverly played a slangy and harsh-voiced young “bird of passage,” calling herself “Foxtrot.” Mr. Frederick Lloyd did neat work as Henri de la Tour, who made a living from the cinema rights of his duels. Both these players were from England. Miss Emma Temple's experience was ably used in the presentation of an old concierge. Character parts and miscellaneous roles were generally well taken by Mr. Frank Dunn, Mr. Frank Hawthorne, Mr. Austen Milroy, Miss Marion Willis, Mr. Frank Neil, Miss Mione Stewart, and others.
Flowers were showered from the vice-regal boxes as the play ended, and many others were carried on to the stage. In response to great applause, Miss Terriss and Mr. Hicks made speeches of thanks.
The Argus (Melbourne), Monday, 25 February 1924, p.10, http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article1934922
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HICKS A HIT
UNDER DIFFICULTIES: A Hicks-Terriss Triumph
“THE MAN IN DRESS CLOTHES,” a comedy in three acts, adapted from the French by Seymour Hicks (Palace Theatre).
If ever there were a case of courage and talent rising above difficulties, and even turning them to account, it was to be found at the Palace Theatre on Saturday night, when Mr. Seymour Hicks, the famous English actor, opened his Melbourne season with “The Man In Dress Clothes.”
Even in the best of circumstances a debut In a strange country can hardly be very pleasant. (“I go positively clammy, when I think of it,” Mr. Hicks told me a few days ago.) Your play may not suit Australian taste, and even if it does your audience may harbor an unpleasant suspicion that you have butchered it to spoil a Melbourne holiday. And when, on top of all this, your leading lady becomes ill, and stays ill, and another lady, however talented, has to be substituted at the eleventh hour, you might well be forgiven if you played your comedy with the right hand thrust in the left breast pocket and bestrode the stage in the spirit of “Oedipus Rex.”
Such were the difficulties that confronted Mr. Hicks. And over all of them he and Miss Ellallne Terries, triumphed so unmistakably that the first night of “The Man in Dress Clothes” called forth one of the most enthusiastic demonstrations that Melbourne has known for years. Mr. Hicks “got over” from the moment he raised his head from the bedclothes, while Miss Terriss, though she had to read her lines in places, did it so skilfully and displayed so much of that indefinable quality summed up in the over-worked word “charm,” that she had the audience at her feet before she had been on the stage five minutes.
From start to finish it was essentially a triumph of personality, for “The Man in Dress Clothes” is by no means a great play. Not that it lacks merit, of course. It has plenty of piquancy, some wit, a liberal measure of broad humor, and through It all a thread of very tastefully handled sentiment. But the plot is of the kind that you would expect to find associated with music, and the humor of the restaurant scene suggests that at any moment the hero and his comic friend will break into song and dance, supported by the usual robot-like guests and a team of low-comedy waiters.
It is all very deftly done, however, and it all makes very delightful entertainment, so in a world where shows are many but entertainment scarce, it is enough to welcome two great artists without pausing to consider very closely whether the play conforms to all the rules of the higher dramatic criticism.
Apart from Mr. Hicks and Miss Terriss—which is like excluding the Moor and Desdemona from “Othello”—none of the large cast has a part of much importance, but quite a number do sound work within the limits imposed upon them. Mr. Frederick Lloyd Is quite amusing as Henri de la Tour, an amiable but impoverished gentleman who lives on the motion picture rights of his duels; Miss Joan Kingdon, another newcomer from England, makes a quaint and bright demi-mondaine; Miss Emma Temple, who couldn’t do bad work if she tried, is very natural as an old housekeeper; and minor parts are well played by Miss Marion Willis, Miss Mione Stewart, Mr. Frank Dunn, Mr. Frank Hawthorne, Mr. Frank Neil, and Mr. Austen Milroy.
G.C. DIXON.
The Herald (Melbourne), Monday, 25 February 1924, p.4
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NEW PALACE THEATRE.
“The Man in Dress Clothes.”
A Memorable Occasion.
Although, the public regarded the opening night of the Seymour Hicks company in Australia at the New Palace Theatre as a notable event, they had no premonition how exceptionally notable and historical in the annals of this theatre it would really be. When Mr. Ward stepped between the curtains and announced that Miss Barbara Hoffe was too seriously ill to appear, and that, as there was no understudy ready, Mrs. Seymour Hicks (Ellaline Terriss) had pluckily undertaken to fill the role, with only a scratch rehearsal or two, so that the public should not be disappointed, there were cheers led by hearty masculine voices in the “gods.” It was very evident that many of the soldiers whom Mr. and Mrs. Seymour Hicks had entertained in England were present that night to welcome them, and were delighted at the prospect of seeing her act again. When Mrs. Hicks left England she was very ill, and it was feared she would not be able to appear in Australia. Happily the voyage benefited her greatly. Therefore she was enabled to undertake this order, and carry it through triumphantly.
When Ellaline Terriss made her entrance on the stage the cheers broke out again, and the whole action of the play was held up. Cries of order were heard, for many feared the prolonged reception would prove too much of an ordeal under the circumstances, but it only caused a renewed outburst of applause and cheering, however. It was a brilliant audience, with the Governor-General and Lady Forster and party, Dame Nellie Melba and party, the Lord Mayor and Lady Mayoress, Mr. and Mrs. Hugh Ward and Miss Betty Hicks occupying the boxes, and a gala spirit prevailed from the moment it was announced that Ellaline Terries was to appear. This was sustained to the end by the fact not only that they had a delightful all-round performance to watch, but also a clever, bright play as a medium which recalled the best of the Brough-Boucicault traditions with its crisp comedy, its fresh, clean atmosphere, and the finish of the whole thing.
The Play.
“The Man in Dress Clothes,” although described in the programme as a “comedy furore,” from the French of A. Picard and Y. Mirande by Seymour Hicks, is a delightful little play which has far more of pathos than comedy, and some dramatic moments. There is no intrigue, yet the interest is always sustained. It is just a leaf out of the life story of Lucien, Comte D’Artois, a good fellow, who, to drown a private sorrow, leads a gay life in Paris until his means are exhausted. Lucien is discovered asleep under the bedclothes at nine o'clock in the morning, after what has evidently been a hectic night out, and is unconventionally awakened by Foxtrot, a gay young lady of passage, who also happens to be there, though Lucien has no memory of her coming.
The brokers are in possession and proceed to strip his flat, but under law are compelled to leave him, one bed, one chair and one suit of clothes. He chooses his dress suit, because he can not go out to dine without it. Henri de la Tour, his friend, asks him why he does not go for help to his wife, upon whom he has made a large marriage settlement. Lucien, in this moment of depression, tells that he loves his wife so much that as she does not care for him, he has never forced himself upon her, but has come to Paris to live a life he hates.
The manner in which Seymour Hicks handles this lengthy, recital marks him as a consummate artist. His is “the art that conceals art,” and he never appears to be acting at all, but just to be living the part. He outrages many of the conventional canons of the stage, and the result is all to the good for, as a result, his work gains in realism, in individuality, and in characterisation. He fidgets about as areal man would, fiddles with the blind cord, especially in moments of stress; in fact; is actually natural, it seems, instead of acting natural.
And in this story of his married life, he first blurts out as the reason why he will not apply to his wife because he loves her. Stops in confusion, adds a few more words of explanation, halts again, and shuffles about on his seat, then goes on with a rush, only to halt again. Bit by bit it all comes out, and the whole of the sympathy of the audience, as well as that of La Tour, is with Lucien.
Again, in the scene with his wife, when for a moment the hope arises that she has come to tell him she cares for him, only to be dashed to the ground by her confession that she wants her freedom because she loves de Landal, his acting is remarkably fine and convincing, yet so quiet and restrained in tone and gesture that it is amazing how every lightest inflection is caught by the whole audience. His Lucien is British rather than Gallic, perhaps, but he is entirely convincing and satisfying.
The work of Ellaline Terriss cannot be truly judged by Saturday night's performance; yet she captivated her audience from the moment she appeared upon the stage by her charm, certain quiet, almost wistful, appeal and her graceful daintiness, and the sweet, silvery tones of her speaking voice. It was quickly realised how she has been enshrined as the darling of the London public for many years. Her great art and her knowledge of stagecraft carried her through triumphantly, although she was fairly handicapped by unfamiliarity with the part. The manner in which she camouflaged the fact that she was reading much of it from the script was clever indeed. She will be described as “sweet” by the majority of the public, and her portrayal of Germaine was certainly of this type. That is, she made her a sweet, caring type of woman, just the sort to give her heart to the man who was in trouble and needs her sorely. The gentle manner of Germaine is in stark contrast to the bluff heartiness of Foxtrot, who has the boldness often assumed by the outcast as an armour against the world, a role which Miss Kingdon handles adroitly.
Frederick Lloyd is admirable as the devil-may-care Henri de la Tour, Frank Hawthorne succeeds as Piere Lazarre, a broker by day, a man of pleasure by night. Harry Bambrick gives a well-limned character study as Perdu, the broker's clerk, and Frank Dunn makes the role of the valet, Louis, stand out.
There are a number of others in the cast, each role, however small, being endowed with personality, and well handled. Among those that stand out are Andre de Landal (Normal Lee), the lover Germaine favors; Odderitto (Austen Milroy), proprietor of the Café des Plantes; Gustave, the head waiter (Reginald Collins), and delightful little character sketches by Emma Temple as Jeannette, a concierge; and Marion Willis as Marie, an aged cloak room attendant at the cafe.
The mounting and all the details of the production is as nearly perfect as is possible. The programme of incidental music given by the orchestra under the direction of Norman Lindsaye, is unusually good, and includes not only the Hungarian Rhapsody (Liszt), a suite by Eric Coates, “Ballet Egyptienne” (Luigini), but also a foxtrot, “The Man in Dress Clothes”, especially composed by Ellaline Terriss.
Table Talk (Melbourne), Thursday, 28 February 1924, p.30, http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article146468606
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Plays and Players
SEYMOUR HICKS SEASON
“The Man in Dress Clothes”
By G.K.M.
Seldom has a first night performance taken place under more unusual circumstances than attended the production of “The Man in Dress Clothes” at the Palace Theatre on Saturday last. At the eleventh hour Miss Barbara Hoffe, the English actress, who was to play leading lady, became ill, and could not appear. There being no understudy, the management was in an awkward fix. Fortunately, Miss Ellaline Terriss (Mrs. Seymour Hicks), who had come to Australia on a health trip, felt sufficiently recovered to essay the part. Though she had had no time to study it, she said she would do her best. And a wonderful best it was! Despite the fact that she had to read a large portion of her lines, Miss Terriss scored the hit of the evening. Her beautiful speaking voice and charm of manner made an instant appeal, and, of course, there was never any doubt as to her skill as an actress. And so what might have been a disaster was turned into a triumphant premiere. The audience was delighted with the play, and at the final curtain Mr. Hicks and his plucky wife were cheered again and again.
Adapted by Mr Hicks from a French play by A. Picard and Y. Mirande, “The Man in Dress Clothes” is a light comedy with an underlying romantic theme. The dialogue is bright, and many of the situations broadly humorous. Not by any means a remarkable play, but decidedly entertaining. The story is based on the experiences of a French nobleman, who, having run himself heavily into debt, is “sold up” and left with only his dress suit. He has not even the price of a dinner, and his efforts to find a friend who will provide him with one are highly amusing. Just when the unfortunate gentleman is about to seek a position as a ticket-checker at a theatre his wife, who intended to obtain a divorce, realises that she has misunderstood him. And. as she is possessed of plenty of money, the reconciliation is most opportune for Lucien.
From the moment he sleepily rises from his bed in the first scene, Mr. Hicks compels attention. It is easy to realise that he is one of London's most popular actors. In everything he says and does, even to the smallest gesture, he is a thorough artist. The only fault— and it was scarcely a fault — that could be found with his work on Saturday night was that now and then it was difficult to hear him, even from the dress circle. Probably he has been accustomed to acting in a smaller theatre than the Palace, and when he has found the pitch of the auditorium the trouble will disappear. As already indicated. Miss Terriss came through her ordeal with flying colors. She made Germaine such a charming personality that one could hardly understand how Lucien came to leave his home. The other characters in the play, though of minor importance, were all well sustained. Mr. Frederick Lloyd, who was also making his first appearance, did well as Henri de la Tour, Lucien's duelling and gambling friend. Miss Emma Temple gave a finished representation of the kind-hearted old landlady; and Miss Joan Kingdom, a newcomer, was effective as Foxtrot, a demi-mondaine acquaintance of Lucien. Others who gave useful support were Mr. Frank Dunn, as Lucien's valet, Mr. Frank Hawthorn (Lazarre. a broker), Mr. Harry Bambrick (the broker's clerk), Miss Mione Stewart (Celeste, of the Follies), and Mr. Norman Lee (Andre de Landel, an admirer of Germaine).
The Weekly Times (Melbourne), Saturday 1 March 1924, p.16
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SUNDRY SHOWS
In “The Man in Dress Clothes,” which introduced Seymour Hicks to Australia at Melbourne Palace, freshness in the style of the comedy goes for much. It is a Hicks adaptation of a very French story, the dialogue so bright as to be sometimes brilliant, the mingling of humor with sentimentality Parisianly adroit. Subtleties of characterisation will be more deeply appreciated when the company has suited its tones to a larger theatre than seemingly housed the comedy in London, and Hicks himself has slowed down his utterance. Lucien’s financial crash accounts for the title of the piece. Astonished to find himself in the broker’s hands, stripped of practically everything save the clothes he stands in, he elects to stand in his dress suit, for dining-out purposes. Meanwhile the beautiful wife he dotes upon supposes that he’s a profligate waster, with still a lot of money to burn on trumpery altars, and she seriously asks him for her liberty (to marry again) when she supposes him to be once more changing his bachelor diggings. The relations between the silently adoring husband and the misunderstanding wife to whom he has given 20 million francs for a wedding dot are theatrically false. Their tardy arrival at a reconciliation is a matter of course. Strained sentimentality has to do duty for pathos. Nevertheless the art of the actor makes the artificiality of the story as convincing as need be. The hero, who is but a witty spendthrift, endears himself to his audience. Besides, he has a capitally humorous pal to make the best of him, and the combination of hard-ups, engaged in trying to raise a dinner at a restaurant, is as funny as the farce is long.
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As a light comedian who can put tears into his voice and force into his persuasiveness, Seymour Hicks is top of his class. In fact, he seems to occupy a class by himself. His first appearance must have been marred in a measure by the sudden illness of Miss Barbara Hoffe, who was to have played the wife. All in a hurry Mrs. Hicks (Ellaline Terriss) took the sick lady’s place; and, although Miss Terriss has a pretty face and a sweet voice, she was not able to realise the character at short notice. Her manner was scholastic and her appearance much too matronly. Her goodness was as glaring as the virtue of a church district-visitor. She exuded a gentleness utterly at variance with her supposed desire to chuck Lucien and marry another fellow. Frederick Lloyd, a newcomer, is a cheery partner of Lucien’s impecuniosity, and Joan Kingdon, also a new arrival, will soon identify her young self with the part of a giddy girl, called Foxtrot, who, having attached herself to the squanderer in his last hours of seeming wealth, on learning that he is “broke to the wide” proposes to refund some of the gold she never earned. Foxtrot is a lamentably naughty girl with a heart that can feel for the nice gentleman who kisses the back of her hand whilst paying her solid compliments in cash. Frank Dunn plays valet, and Frank Hawthorn is chief among a number of valuable character sketchers. The restaurant scene of the second act is the livest thing of its type that Melbourne has experienced, and the general furnishings, fixings and dressing of the show are a further aid to this country’s civilisation.
[Edmund Fisher]
The Bulletin. Vol. 45, No. 2298 (28 February 1924) p.34
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Tom Glover caricatures for The Bulletin
Diary of a Man About Town
By THE IDLER.
Delightful Seymour Hicks—A Notable First Night
IF there is a more likeable actor anywhere than Seymour Hicks I haven't had the privilege of meeting him. He puts on no side, is entirely free from affectation, is as modest as the least talented man could be, and is a most delightful companion, full of good stories and happy repartee.
All of which is prompted by a little talk I had with him a few days after he arrived. Though frantically busy rehearsing and, doubtless, worried about the illness of Barbara Hoffe, he showed not the slightest sign of irritation with anyone in particular or with things in general: The only thought that seemed to be perturbing him was that Australian audiences mightn't think him any good.
“When I think of what’s coming,” he said, “I go cold and clammy.”
And nothing that one could say could induce him to take a more optimistic view.
All that is over and done with now, of course—“labor ended, sorrow vanquished, Jordan passed,” and all that sort of thing (I’m not sure of the exact quotation, but you get the idea, don’t you?). The first night of “The Man in Dress Clothes” was a real triumph both for himself and his wife—better known as Miss Ellaline Terriss—who stepped at the last minute into the shoes of the sick damsel, Barbara Hoffe. The theatre was packed as full as the law would allow—perhaps a shade fuller—and the audience was as distinguished as it well could be. Lord Forster and a large Government House party, including his daughter, Mrs. Pitt-Rivers, and Lady Patricia Blackwood, were spread around the house—they had overflowed the usual box. One of the other boxes contained Dame Nellie Melba and a number of unofficial A.D.C.’s, including, of course, Tommy Cochran, also her personal representative, Mr. Beverley Nichols; and I noticed scores of other well-known people scattered around the boxes, stalls, and circle. Altogether, the gathering was a remarkable testimony not only to the popularity and prestige of Mr. and Mrs. Hicks, but to the “pull” and organising capacity of that accomplished diplomat, Hugh J. Ward.
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Looking in at Bibron’s after the Seymour Hicks’ show on Saturday I found that a number of the first-nighters had tripped along for half an hour’s dancing and supper. Dame Nellie turned up and joined a party given by Mrs. Fred Payne; and I noticed Mrs. Pitt-Rivers dancing with Captain Symons and others. Melba, who is quite keen on dance music, was dancing with Vivian Wilshire and Beverley Nichols with every appearance of enjoyment, and had a long and serious conversation with Les Ross, the conductor, about the programme for her ball at “Coombe Cottage.”
By special request, the orchestra played a fox-trot composed by Mr. Nichols, called either “The Melba Rag” or “The Melba Blues”—the latter, let’s hope, for the word “rag” is about as irritating these days as people who think it is the height of wit to disclaim the possession of bananas.
Table Talk (Melbourne), Thursday, 28 February 1924, p.9 [extract]
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Beverly Nichols had travelled to Australia on the Ormuz at the sames time as the Hickes, whom he had befriended on the voyage. Nichols later included profiles of Seymour Hicks in his books Twenty-Five [Jonathan Cape Ltd., London: 1926] and Are They The Same At Home? [Jonathan Cape Ltd., London: 1927] and wrote the Foreword to Ellaline Terriss's memoirs Just A Little Bit of String (1955)—titled after the popular hit song by Lionel Monckton, Harry Greenbank and Adrian Ross that she had introduced in the London Gaiety Theatre musical comedy The Circus Girl in 1896.
Audio and Film
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Postscript
Awkward Moments on the Stage
By Seymour Hicks
Scarcely had Mr. Seymour Hicks found his land legs than he was prevailed on to write this special article for "The Herald."
Mr. Hicks, as actor and writer, needs no introduction to Australia. As a raconteur, his fame is celebrated in more than one country. It is even said that the next best story-tellers remain ominously silent when he appears, lest their stories be better told when next they hear them. In this article Mr. Hicks tells of a few contretemps that have happened to him and others on the stage, digressing at times to point a moral or two.
FOR pure and unadulterated enjoyment give me another man of like mind to myself, of ripe experience, of ample mood, of nimble speech, capable of sudden Homeric laughter, and the night before us. Then, were it only over a glass of barley-water, comes pleasure which cannnot be excelled; for we two old stagers will delve back into the past, throwing up spadefuls of remlnlscences, with here and there the dull gleam of gold among the mere earthy debris of memory.
"D'ye remember old So-and-so in ‘Whatislt?' " I will say, and my fellow-sinner will stretch hls neck in a sudden cackle of delight, whereupon we will straightaway fall into merriment, and between the two of us, with much patch and mending, we will stitch together humorous, or it may be sad, fragments of the past.
The stage is compact of the appropriate. Let but a grain of the sand of the incongruous get into the machinery, and you are in trouble. The real world may abound in instances of this treading on the heels of the orderly march of events; nobody minds. But in the mimic world of the theatre things must fit like the pieces of a jig-saw puzzle.
As a consequence, actors of any experience are full of stories of contretemps on the stage— occurrences that have "stopped the show," or less drastic in effect, have "dried up" actors or otherwise interrupted the even course of events.
I have a little habit, harmless enough in itself, of making sotto-voce remarks on the stage, if anything goes wrong. Now and again, under stress, I have even been known to get beyond the sotto-voce point. I recollect on olio occasion, during the run of "Tho Shop Girl," I got a Roland for my Oliver that I will not soon forget. It was a Monday night, and the girls had come back from their week-end full of news, which they proceeded to impart to each other on the stage.
Half-way through a song I was irritated to hear a girl telling a story behind me. Leaning over lo the conductor, I paralysed him by saying, "Just a moment, Mr Caryll." Then I turned to the girl, and asked her blandly, "Miss Henshaw, would you prefer to go on with, your story, or would you like me to finish my song first?" I can hear her reply now—concentrated distilled ice her voice, clear and bored:
"It Is a matter of tlie most perfect indifference to me, Mr Hicks, what you do." A nice girl!
That dreadful "Voice from tlie Gallery" has caught me once or twice. When I made a hit with the old song, "Her Golden Hair was Hanging down her Back," it was suggested that success might be scored with a similar ditty, "She Never Did the Same Thing Twice." It was a mistake, as it proved. I was almost through this dud song on one occasion when a clear voice from tho "gods" called pleasantly, "Seymour!" I stopped singing and looked up. "Yes?" I asked; "what is it?" Sadly came the reply. “Granted, old man," it said, graciously. "Perhaps you're right," I admltted. That man had judgment.
Talking of that old classic "Her Golden Hair" reminds me of an embarrassing moment with Queen Alexandra. I was told that the Queen had expressed a wish to hear me sing the song that all London wns humming. Of course, you remember that she was very deaf, so that It was necessary for me to go very close to her ear, and speak, rather than sing, the awful words to her. I began the thing, the Queen bending forward to me, with a vague smile on her face. As I progressed, she interpolated encouraging remarks, as if the thing had been a charming lyric of Shelley. This is what happened:—
Me (reciting): "Oh, Flo, such a change, you know."
The Queen (smiling): "Lovely! "
Me (gallant, but wilting): “When she left the village she was shy."
The Queen: "How charming!"
Me (sweating): "But, alas and alack, she came back— "
The Queen (smiling): "Yes?" (expectantly).
Me (half dead): “'With a naughty little twinkle in her eye."
The Queen (touched): "How beautiful!".
Well, I ask you!
The late King Edward knew what he liked, and he wanted it just when be wanted it, if you know, what I mean. My wife was singing a little song that London loved— "A Little Bit of String," On one occasion King Edward said to her:
"Come, Miss Terrlss, sing for me 'A Little Bit of String'; you do it so charmingly." My wife rose and allowed the King to lead her lo the piano. He seated himself a foot away, and waited expectantly.
And he waited a long time, for the song my wife knew as well as her own name had left her completely. She had "dried up" with nervousness, wllh her Sovereign waiting for her to obey his Royal command. Thank God it wasn't Henry the Eighth or someone llke that who made commands with an axe.
When my wife was playing in a matinee wllh Tree she was responsible for a bon mot which really saved an awkward situation. In the excitement of acting, Tree made a strenuous movement which upset a stage portico. It fell, bringing with it the whole of the flats on that side of the stage. There was consternation. Tree lost his head. Out of the storm came my wife's calm voice:
"It's all right, Mr Tree; don't worry. You've brought down the house." The remark did, at all events.
How many time a scene has been ruined by a slip of the tongue! One such occurs to me that absolutely ruined the seriousness of "The Ticket of Leave Man." Willard was playing in it, and at a crucial moment in the play he entered to the man playing the banker, who cried tensely, "What is the matter?" With intense seriousness and utter unconsciousness Willard replied:
"The cash-box is open, and the safe is gone." That settled that piece.
I treasure in my memory many witty comments made by well-known men. Among these I remember a note of congratulation sent to me by Pinero, when I was danclng at the Gaiety. It was a hot night, and my work was strenuous. I perspired very freely, a fact which was not lost on the observant dramatist in the front stalls. His note said: "My dear boy, after seeing you perspire so much, your playbills ought to be altered to ‘Pores open, at 9 o'clock.' "
F.C. Burnand, the witty editor of "Punch," delighted in these verbal jests. At that time a pun was not the crime it has since become. After seeing my wife and me in "Quality Street," Burnand wrote to me: "Your wife's performance was the most delightful thing of its kind I have ever seen. We wouldn't have 'Mister' at any price."
I wonder if you would mind if I digressed for a few moments. You would? Well, I'm going to, in any case.
You hear a great deal about reforming the theatre nowadays. Rubblsh! The theatre is all right.. Every now and again it gets congested with ideas, that clutter it up and stop the free circulation of intelligence. The theatre works out Its own salvation. There is a cIeansing tide that is as useful as that of the sea. It sweeps up periodically and bears off to sea the debris and rubbish that the last incoming tide has brought.. This ebbing and flowing of ideas does no great harm. The theatre is left functioning after each period.
Just now there is a great movement towards naturalism in the play-house. Actors have come upon the scene with a passion for holding the mirror so close up to Nature that she breathes on the glass and blurs the reflection. Let me say, as an old stager, that the trick is to appear natural, rather than to he natural. An actor who screws up his face into his hand and mutters under his breath, with his back to the audience, "Good God, I'm ruined; what will the children do?" and "Besides! I've left the tap running In the bathroom!" may be supremely natural to the man in the wings, the conductor, and row A in the stalls, but he means nothing in the young lives of the rest of the audience.
No, you must still use the tricks of the theatre; you must give an Illusion of naturalness. Lacking temperament, that proud possession of the artist that enables him to give a great performance and worry the life out of his manager, your actor is just so much dead timber. Hugh Ward once said to me, with that facility for a phrase that distinguishes him, "Temperament is abnormal sensitiveness which glows." He was right. An actor must be incandescent. All the naturalness in the world won't help him over the footlights, unless he lights up inside and attracts tlie audience.
All this was leading me somewhere, but I'll be shot if I remember — . Yes, I do, though. It was to Barrie's sarcastic advice to the young actor with a small part, who was bitten with this mania for naturalness. He thought that anything in the world could be expressed by the art of the actor. To Barrle, thinking to impress that dramatist, in whose play he was performing, he addressed a question:
"Mr Barrle," he said, "what's your idea of this part?"
Barrle fixed him with a look, and made reply, "He's a very ordinary man, but I would like you to convey the fact that he has a brother who drinks port in Shropshire."
It is dangerous to ask great men for their opinion, as I once found to my cost. I forget what I was playing – some farce. The great Irving came to see it.
"You know, my boy," he sald, "you remind me of Charles Mathews." I was at once in full flight. Like the wonderful Mathews! Here was praise indeed, and from Sir Henry. I swelled like a frog, and tried not to look self-conscious.
Sir Henry let me .have a run, and then struck.
"Yes," he, said, "very like Mathews. You wear the same sort of collars." Bing!
The bladder of my conceit has been pricked more than once. In Dublin, at Horse Show time, the theatre was crowded, and thousands were disappointed: One night I sauntered up to the stage door through a surging Irish crowd. I hummed merrily, as one does when "House Full" notices are hung out.
"Is that him?" an old Irishwoman asked her neighbor.
"Saints preserve's," she said, when she was told it was; "now I've heard him sing, dlvll a care cares I that we cudden' git in."
The French are a bloodthirsty race. Sacha Guitry and I were talking one night of the sorrows of our profession, among which we reckoned chief the failure of the small-part actor to give us correctly the line which acts as the hands of the acrobat to toss us to the heights we have to reach.
"What you do to such a man, heln-?" asked Gultry, after some sin of omission on the part of an actor.
"Cut his throat," I said, savagely.
"You are right, mon ami— then 'is 'ead off, ring down ze curtain, an’ begin again," supplemented my French brother.
Which reminds me, apropos of your forthcoming opera season, of the trials nnd tribulations of those who have to cope with the temperament of opera singers. I remember one such, who came to his manager one night, when by some freak the house was full after a dreary, empty fortnight. "I nota sing tonight," he announced, with a face of despair. "No, I nota sing tonight. Pamfllio he says that hees fader has house In Mllano twice bigger as my fader's house. I upset. I nota sing to-night."
God bless Temperament!
The Herald (Melbourne), Saturday 16 February 1924, p.13 - https://trove.nla.gov.au/newspaper/article/243749148
