WILLIAM HUE 2 NO VISCOUNT LEVERHULME " H.B." and Laurence Irving "H. B." "H.B." and Laurence Irving By Austin Brereton With Eight Illustrations London Grant Richards Ltd. mdccccxxii ?N Ttbt PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN BV THE RIVERSIDE PRESS LIMITED EDINBURGH Contents PART I. "H.B." CHAPTER I. CHILDHOOD . .15 II. OXFORD . ?6 III. THE STAGE OR THE BAR . .40 " " IV. YOUNG HAMLET . -53 V. MARRIAGE AND LONDON . .62 VI. CRICHTON AND JEFFREYS . .68 VII. IN AMERICA . .81 VIII. His OWN MANAGER . .92 IX. MATHIAS IN LONDON . 101 X. HAMLET . .120 XI. AUSTRALIA AND HOME . 139 XII. AUTHOR AND CRIMINOLOGIST . -149 PART II. LAURENCE XIII. MARLBOROUGH TO RUSSIA . 165 XIV. ACTOR AND AUTHOR .... 172 XV. SUCCESS IN SHAKESPEARE . .177 XVI. BRIEUX AND DOSTOIEVSKY . 183 XVII. HAMLET AND SKULE .... 189 XVIII. TYPHOON AND CANADA . 199 XIX. A TRAGIC END . .216 APPENDIX . .227 INDEX . .235 5 Illustrations " H.B." . Frontispiece PAGE " " HARRY . .... 48 THE BROTHERS . .96 HARRY AS HAMLET . .128 " H.B." AND LAURENCE . .144 With the Bust of their Father LAURENCE IRVING ..... 163 LAURENCE AS CHARLES SURFACE . 176 LAURENCE AS RICHARD LOVELACE . 192 " The portrait of" Harry is from a photograph by Elliott and Fry, that of The Brothers by Window and Grove, of Laurence Irving by J. Beagles and Co., of Laurence as Charles Surface by W. and D. Downey, of Laurence as Richard Lovelace by Norman May and Co., Cheltenham. 6 Introduction the afternoon of a summer day, nearly thirty-nine years ago, a lonely man sat in ONhis study awaiting the arrival of his two sons. He was at the zenith of his career. He had surmounted vast difficulties, he had conquered where thousands of other men would have been discouraged and failed. The old world was at his feet. He was on the eve of winning triumph after triumph in the new. But his thoughts just then had a tinge of sadness in them. His great victory in the world, his pride of place for he was at the head of his calling had been purchased at a price that cannot be estimated. Despite his achieve- ments, although the adulation which he constantly received would have turned the brain of one of lesser calibre, he was then, as ever, a lonely man. Even his very rooms, his abode for over a quarter of a century, situated as they were in the heart of the most fashionable street in the world, were dull, though artistic. The sun hardly ever touched them, and what daylight there was had to find its way in through windows either heavily curtained or of stained glass. Suitable though they were to the occupant, they would now be considered ex- tremely uncomfortable and somewhat depressing. Their unstudied richness, their artistic profusion, 7 8 Introduction typical of those Bohemian days, were wanting in something which struck the visitor strangely- that is, the visitor who came in the morning or afternoon. At night, when the curtains were drawn, the gas and candles lit, the host was at his best in his element, so to speak. The feeling that then permeated him and communicated itself to his guests was eminently one of cheerfulness, of brilliancy, of satisfaction. In the daytime, the dominant manner of the inhabitant of these Bond Street rooms kept off, to some extent, the feeling that would creep in upon the friendly and sensitive visitor. It was the absence of a woman's hand. The rooms were distinctly a man's rooms. There was no sign or token that a loving woman ever crossed the portal. There was no feminine touch about them. On that afternoon in 1883, Henry Irving was in the hey-day of his career. He had just ter- minated a season of marvellous success at the Lyceum Theatre. Much Ado About Nothing had enjoyed a run of eight months, over two hundred performances, and farewell weeks at the Lyceum, devoted to repertoire, in preparation for the first tour of America, had drawn admiring crowds to Wellington Street. The actor had entertained the Prince of Wales (afterwards Edward VII.) to supper on the stage of the Lyceum. The Lord Chief Justice of England had presided at a banquet which was attended by over five hundred of the distinguished men of the day. Yet was Henry Introduction 9 Irving a lonely man. As he waited for the coming of his boys, his mind went back to his struggling days, when he married the brown-haired girl, with the Irish grey eyes, who became the mother of Henry and Laurence, his only children. When Henry and Laurence came to their father's rooms on that June afternoon, although they were welcomed and made much of what curious feelings, what sad memories, must have surged through the breast of the father ! they were somewhat constrained in their manner, a little, perhaps, disdainful. So it seemed to one who, by a curious chance, was a spectator at this strange meeting between the father and his children. The manner of the boys is not to be wondered at, for they only knew of their father by name and by the echo of his fame which reached them in their schoolroom. This glimpse of him could have given little into his real for it them but insight nature ; was only a glimpse, a brief visit of formality to a parent who was far removed from their own lives. The reason for this unhappy state of affairs is to be found in a story which, unfortunately, is a com- mon one an ill-assorted marriage. Henry Irving ried, on isth July 1869, Florence O'Callaghan, daughter of Surgeon-General O'Callaghan. For reasons which need not be entered upon, and " may be put down to incompatibility of temper/' Uuskunl 1 ft his domicile shortly after the it of his younger son and lived for a while io Introduction with his manager, the father of the Bateman family, first of all at Kensington Gore and then at Rutland Gate. He subsequently, for a little while, occupied chambers in Bruton Street, Bond Street. He then took the rooms in Grafton Street, Bond Street, which he occupied for many years, until 1899, when he was advised by his doctors to remove to sunnier quarters, in Stratton Street, Piccadilly. It was not until 1879, when a deed of separation was entered into between the actor and his wife, that the final parting came. The mother had the care of the children until they went to college. Harry resided in her house, whenever he was in London, until his marriage. Her house was also the home of Laurence whenever he was in England. The boys grew up without intimate knowledge of their father, but, happily, they came in due season to recognise his worth. At the time of my meeting them in their father's rooms, I was just finishing the first biography of Henry Irving, a volume which, with all the ardour and courage of youth, I had conceived and written with a view to publication simultaneously with his first appear- ance in the United States. Strangely enough, after the lapse of twenty-five years, a much more ambitious undertaking, my Life of my great friend, was published. Still more strangely, it has fallen to my lot to write the lives of his sons, who were also friends of mine. I knew Harry Irving, Introduction 1 1 " the public's beloved II. B. ," better than Laurence, for, by a chain of curious circumstances, I became his guide, philosopher, and friend for three years, during his management of the Queen's Theatre, seeing him daily and nightly during almost all that time. Again, during the last year or so before his death, we had many long meetings, when we discussed the subjects in which he was most interested. Although I was not brought into such continuous contact with Laurence, he was a simple character and was easy to know and understand. It was my good fortune to be able to do him a signal service in connection with Typhoon, and in that way I was brought closely into his life. I had no personal acquaintance with Lady Irving until after the death oi Harry. It then became necessary for me to consult her about his childhood. Later on, when I decided to tell the story of Harry and Laurence, in lieu (as originally intended) of the memoir of the elder brother only, it again was necessary for me to see the mother of the boys. It would be extremely ungracious if I did not acknowledge the willingness with which Lady Irving acceded to my request. On two occasions, when she placed at my service all the treasured souvenirs of her children, I spent many hours in her house at Folkestone. And her memory, wonderfully keen and correct, helped in many ways. For sh was the only person who 12 Introduction could enlighten me about the early years of Harry and Laurence. Putting all else aside, she con- sidered that I was the friend of her sons, and, in that spirit, she received me with frank courtesy and an open mind. I am grateful. Lady Irving was present in Westminster Abbey when the incinerated remains of Henry Irving were interred in Poets' Corner. Had she been there two days later, she would have heard Canon " Duckworth say of her husband : We can thank God from our hearts when a man of noble nature attains the summit of the actor's calling, and from that summit to which rare natural gifts and un- ceasing toil have raised him invited the world to share his enlightened aims, to give its patronage only to what is intellectually good and morally sound in the art he loves.