Sunday, December 3, 2017

Thomas Mooney, Part Two

Mr. Thomas Mooney had commisioned to be built, the National Hotel, just around the corner from Astley’s Amphitheatre, and also had a tunnel built to direct thirsty theatre patrons migrating from performance's end straight to his hotel rather than have them leave by the front and naturally gravitate toward the White Hart. It all seemed rather dramatic, but it was effective.

One has to wonder, whence came the money for such a venture? The usual explanation is that a person had made their fortune on the goldfields, but such was not Mooney’s case, for he had quite the adventure—both physical and literary—before his arrival here in Melbourne.

Mooney was Dublin born between 1809-1815 (dates vary) and went to America in 1841 on a speaking tour, taking in all the towns that he could, and Canada, to boot; and all of it for the purpose of addressing Irishmen about independence. Just how effective he was at lecturing it is not reported, but he had made a good deal of gingerbread (the door takings) and wrote a popular book, ‘Nine Years in America’ being a compendium of letters sent to his brother Patrick back in Ireland, published in newspaper columns and then set to press as a volume in 1850.

He also wrote a significant two-volume work entitled the ‘History of Ireland from its First Settlement to the Present Time’ even before he came to Australia. I found a version printed in Boston of 1853 though it was likely first printed long before that (and took great liberties with the truth, and made a few wild conjectures). It sold very well and it is upon its renumeration that I think he emigrated to Australia and built the National Hotel.

The ‘Ovens and Murray Advertiser’ the paper of record for Beechworth and surrounds, made much sport of keeping up with Thomas Mooney’s shennanigans; his ever increasingly calls for Fenian belligerency; his self-serving and Yankee style oratory; odd financial schemes; and the general escalation of silly anecdotes—and some of those gems I will post next. For now though, let us hear from the Age, of 10 Oct 1859:—

“Mr Thomas Mooney, better known as ‘Mooney,’ the whilom agitator of Melbourne
and the Ovens [Beechworth area] has started a paper in America under the title of ‘Mooney's Falsern and Placerville Express.’ The Golden Era noticed the event in a paragraph which was republished in the Express as follows: — ‘Mr Thomas Mooney, who possesses the varied talents peculiar to the cultivated Irishman, with all his dashing and go-a-head ways, announces that he has shut down the curtain for ever on the story of his matrimonial troubles, (as befits a genuine disciple of Caudle), and in the same breath offers himself as a candidate for the office of General Controller. Mooney compels our admiration and disarms our wit.

In the brief space of three or four months he has established a newspaper, published a volume of history, enacted a romance by carrying off from the custody of her watchful relatives a blooming bride, and entered the field of politics as an applicant for one of the first offices in the gift of the people. What brilliant coup will this young reprobate of fifty (born therefore, 1809) next be up to? (Forty only, 'pon honor. — En. Express.) By the way, anent the history of Ireland, now republishing in the columns of the Express, we perceive that Mr Mooney has gone backward to the days of the Egyptians, and is new floundering among the gods and goddesses of the heathen mythology. Does he intend eventually to prove that Venus was an Irishman?’”

Monday, November 27, 2017

Thomas Mooney (1809— ca.1887) Part One

Thomas Mooney ("bird of passage") is one of those footnote creatures, and in his case, he built the "National Hotel" and later had a brief fling with the Royal Hotel connected to the Theatre Royal. He was a man who made a decent bag of money on American speaking tours as a "Fenian" platform speaker, and I suspect, ran off with money that he should not have.

His story is long and interesting, so here is part one:—

Entry, Truth, 24 feb, 1912, EARLY MELBOURNE No. 126 by “Old Chum” (J. William Forde”)

“The Mr. Thomas Mooney who built the Amphitheatre for Mr. G.B.W.Lewis in the latter part of 1854 was merely a bird of passage, and disappeared whence he came when the roaring fifties begand to get quiet, about the year 1857. He was typical of many other agitators who have ventured on Australian soil in the last 60 years: an immense amount of ‘blow’ with little or no lasting merit. A successor to Mooney in the ‘gas line’ was one Osborne, but of him more anon. Mr. Mooney’s stock phrase was that every Australian should ‘have a rifle, a farm and a vote.’ There was no land open to the public at that time, so that Mooney had a ‘peg’ on which he could hang his hat. When he opened the National Hotel—or rather, when he became its tennant—Mr F. A. Harris having had the liscence before him, did a good business, as the gold fields attracted men from California where Mooney had graduated in stump oratory. When he built—largely, if not entirely, on credit— the Amphitheatre, he had wisdom enough to make an underground passage from the circus to his hotel, and thereby scooped in much of the coin that might have gone elsewhere. It will be seen that, if Mr. Mooney had not secured the underground passage to his drinkery, the circus patrons, on coming into Spring Street would have simply walked accross to the ‘Old White Hart’ and there, slaked their thirst. The ‘National’ and the ‘Old White Hart’ were the only public houses in the locality in 1854. When the circus, or Astley’s Amphitheatre was done away with, the underground passage was closed up, and all public entrances to the building being from Spring Street. Mr. Mooney returned to California early in 1857, I think, and I have heard rumours against his commercial credit, which went down after he gained the Pacific Slope."


And until next time, let us leave him. There is much more to come, and the Australian Press continued to have fun with him long after he left Australia.

Cafe de Paris

As coming posts will feature comments on the Café de Paris, Bourke Street, I present here for your preparation (from my own collection of Illustrated London News Prints) the Theatre Royal, Royal Hotel, "Vestibule" and the Café de Paris.

The whole building and its parts have a fully fanned-out history — from tainted to aspirational— some of which has been touched upon in earlier entries on Mr. Gregory and Mr. Henelle.

Click to enlarge, s'il vous plaît.


Miss Findlay, Canada

I interrupt the historical flow of late, to bring a tinted image of a Miss Findlay, by Notman of Canada. The 1870s included the First Bustle period, the evolution of which is fascinating for the cascade of necessities that followed incidents of utility.

Prior to the bustle springing into being dresses where thrown over a crinoline cage covered in an underskirt. The underskirt was a thing a simple utility: it provided support and  a barrier between the cage and the expensive outer fabric. Princess Alexandra, when crossing a brook — so the story goes — pinned the hem of the outer fabric (difficult to clean when soiled) several inches above her hem line, exposing some of the underskirt (no shame there as she had a quite expensive underskirt) and the pinning up brought into being an aesthetic of two complimentary skirts.

It slowly became imitated, then elaborated, and finally evolved beyond its parent event; material was hiked up, slowing over the fashion seasons, moving to the back where tie mutated into bows and other rear furniture was added. The aesthetic required a visual balance so ladies hair became braided and raise, and increased in visual mass, and in turn hats became smaller, higher and more concentrated with bird, bows and flowers enough to balance out the silhouette.

All because the Princess of Wales protected her hem from a little walk out in the grounds.

Colour too moved. The heaviness of colours of the 1860s with the heavy, dark shades (a simple lack of chemical innovations and limited dyes, and of course the dark mourning promoted by Victoria) made everyone so throughly sick of the sombre that the 1870s saw a hunger for light fabrics, with muted day tints: fadé as the Fashion Journals of Paris called them. The 1870s also saw the manufacture of machine made trimmings sold by the yard enabling women with home machines to decorate their dresses as insanely as they wished.

It was a very pretty period, as Miss Findlay, below, will attest.


Achilles King (1830-1873)

Achilles King is a minor figure in Melbourne; a man good with money but unlucky with litigation and ingrates. He is a mysterious figure, a native of Milano, Italy, whose name probably was not King; or perhaps it was. He was a great Italian patriot and is remembered for exuberant celebration upon Garibaldi's success. Who was he really? We have no idea.

I post here in thanks for his finance of the early Melbourne Theatrical world. We tend to pay attention to the creatures before the limelight and seldom to the generous financiers backstage leafing through receipts and calculating the coming debt or delight.

“Gentleman, charge you glasses
raise them high, and let them sing
let the claret lament and the crystal praise
the glorious Achilles King”


The following is from the “Weekly Times” 25 Jan 1873 p9:—

“Death of Achilles King:—We regret to have to record the death [22 Jan] of Mr. Achilles King, and the more so that it occurred under melancholy circumstances. Mr. King having died an inmate of the Yarra Bend Lunatic Asylum. The deceased gentleman was well known in Melbourne for the excellent manner in which he conducted the old Cafe de Paris at the Theatre Royal, and more recently the Athenaeum Club in Collins street. He came to this colony in the year 1853, and for about twelve years carried on the business of a commission agent.

Being an active and shrewd man, and possessing, as he did, a thorough knowledge of mercantile pursuits, he was in the early days frequently dispatched to the other colonies to execute commissions, and he made some money. When Messrs. Spiers and Pond, in 1863, expressed their desire to go to England, he entered into partnership with Mr. Mallam, their manager, and purchased the good will of the Cafe de Paris from them, and also that of the refreshment rooms on the Victorian and suburban lines of the railway, for £6,000. After the lapse of about eighteen months the firm of Mallam and King was dissolved, and Mr King carried on the cafe himself, while Mr. Mallam took the railway refreshment rooms.

Subsequently Mr. King obtained a lease of the Princess's Theatre for six years, and expended about £3,500 in improving it, and shortly afterwards the well-known disagreement between him, Mr. Barry Sullivan, and Mr. Ambrose Kyte, with reference to the use of the Vestibule of the Theatre Royal, took place. Many of our readers will remember that time when the building was for several days in a state of siege, and injunctions upon injunctions were obtained in the Supreme Court by either of the disputants to restrain the others from doing something or other. The end of it was that Mr. King gave the Cafe up in disgust, and from that time henceforward he was never the same man. The persons who took the business from him were unable when the time came to pay the amount they had stipulated for it, and he had to re-take possession. But by the time there had been a large falling-off in the business, and though he fought a hard up-hill battle for twelve months, he had finally to succumb. In the meantime he could not let the Princess's Theatre, and he was compelled to effect a compromise with his creditors. He was naturally of an excitable temperament, but after this he frequently lost all control over himself, and everybody noticed the alteration in his looks.

He went to New Zealand shortly after the compromise, and was absent about eighteen months. In the beginning of the year 1868 he returned to Melbourne, apparently much better in health, and carried on the commission business again for twelve months, when, in January, 1869, he entered into partnership with Mr. J. G. Knight, in connection with the Atheneum Club, and in conjunction with him conducted the club until June, 1871, when the furniture and everything in the place was seized under a bill of sale, and the club was closed for awhile. Mr. King then devoted the whole of his attention to the hotel, 82 Collins street, which he had opened in April, 1870, but his failure deranged his mind, and he had to retire from business altogether.

He became more and more disordered in his intellect, and had taken passage on board a vessel for England, but on the day for the departure he conducted himself so peculiarly on board the ship as it lay alongside the Sandridge pier, that it was deemed advisable for his own safety to confine him, and he was taken to the Yarra Bend Asylum, where he has remained ever since — a period of about eighteen months, and he died from acute disease of the brain. The deceased was a native of Italy, and was well connected, He was highly educated, and spoke several languages. His friends will regret his death under such distressing circumstances.”

Sunday, November 26, 2017

Edmund Howard Gregory (1825-1910)

Recently, in Melbourne, we have had the re-opening of a Melbourne institution: “Brunettis” a cafe that has produced, for decades, good coffee, great pastries and suitably splendid cakes (I buy my Birthday cake from them each year), and it put me to reflecting of an earlier time in Melbourne’s history when European restaurantation had a representative in this city. His name was Edmund Howard Gregory, confectioner and pastry cook, who struggled in his career here, to make for himself a good reputation from the moment he and his small family stepped off the boat.

Edmund was born on the 28th of January 1825 to George Benjamin Gregory and wife Mary. George was a confectioner and baker who had come to London from Shropshire to bring the family trade to the city. The earliest address I have is Everett Street, Brunswick Square near the Foundling Hospital in Bloomsbury—fashionable at the time they lived there. He must have done fairly well, as Edmund, having learned the rudiments of the trade under his father, was sent to the continent sometime before 1841, as Edmund is not in the 1841 census of London: had gone to Paris.


In Edmund Gregory’s newspaper ads in Melbourne papers some years later he referenced of three palces in which he worked in Paris: Chez Tortoni, Au Rocher du Cancale, and the Café de Paris (on the Boulevard des Italiens). Given that the average age for an indenturing was about 14 years old, it would have been 1839 when Edmund began his ‘apprenticeship’ and however he managed it, he worked in Paris, first with Urbain Dubois at Café Tortoni (Urbain was only in Paris from 1840-1845); and secondly under Pierre Fréderic Borrel. Chronologically I cannot fit his time at the Café de Paris in sequence, but I believe it was his earliest placement, being at that unoticeable and inditiguishabe stage.


Urbain Francois Dubois (1818-1901) was a supposedly a former Chef to the Rothschild family, and is famous for the invention of “Veal Orloff.” An article references Dubois as a teacher of Gregory only many years later, when Dubois had become famous.


P. F. Borrel (1788-186?) was a showman of food and dining—called by one journalist the “Rothschild of Gastronomy”—who had taken over “Au Rocher du Cancale” at 58 Rue Montorgeuil in 1816 when the founder, Alexis Balaine, an ex-oyster salesman at Les Halles, who had made a great and glorious small fortune of 10,000 from 1806-1816. He had amassed this by setting up late night, post-theatre oyster “rooms” where gathered, society’s wide-awakes, dandies, fops, gastronomic high-collars and well-connecteds; and often there was singing. Borrell, when he took it over, decorated it in splendid style, as Alexis had never done, and turned the entire late night dining requirement into an experience. Borrell too, made a small fortune, spending much of it on an estate that he had to let go when he went bankrupt in 1846. The “Rocher” closed (it reopened in another place later, but by that time it was wholly disassociated from Gregory and Borrel).


Edmund, his place of work closed, returned to England, aged 22 and with a wealth of experience, and even an resonant claim to the Borrel connection whose book had been selling well in England since 1832 when Borrel published it. On the 9th of Septmeber 1847, at St George’s Bloosbury, Edmund married Emma Brooks, daughter of William Brooks and Sarah Bugg, fruiters of Marchmont place. By the end of their life they were to have 13 children.


In 1853, Edmund emigrated to Melbourne and set himself up as a confectioner and cook (catering to Dinners, Balls, Suppers, Déjeuners, Wedding Breakfasts etc) at 54 Collins Street where he made enough money to sell the business to Messers. Wollcott and Mansfield (“Successors to E.H.Gregory”) and acquired a liscence that same year for the “Royal Hotel in Bourke Street” opening in 1855, advertising “Wines, Viands, and Delicacies.” He next stretched himself a little too far (taking after Borrel, I think) and opened the “Hall of Commerce” resaturant, advertising himself as the coolest “endroit” and the only place in Melbourne to eat and drink where the “hot wind is not felt.” He took on as his cook-mate, a Mr. F. Chambers, ex-chef of the Albion Tavern, and Simpson’s Divan in London. They offerred cold collation daily and “true” grilled chops or steak. 


In 1854, the was a Newspaper column trumpeting:—
“Grand Promenade Concerts” at the Concert Hall and Saloons in connection with the New Theatre Royal, Bourke Street.

“It will be open to the public on this and every evening, with a series of Grand Operatic and Classic Concerts, supported by the finest vocal talent in the colony, when the whole premises will be open as a Promenade Concert Room. 

And brilliantly illuminated with gas. The proprietor, Mr. E. H. Gregory, has the honor to announce to the public, that he has obtained from the Officers of the 12th Regiment their kind permission for the use of The Military Band on this evening, which will be ably conductcd by Mr. Callen. 


The following artistes will appear tills evening: Mons. Emile Coulon. ‘ Mrs. Hancock. Miss Octavia Hamilton [an old favourite of this blog]. Miss. Stewart. Miss Minnie Clifford. Mr. George Clifford. Mr. Peck, Violinist. Mons. Bial, Pianist. Doors open at half-past seven. Concert to commence at eight.” 


Edmund’s Hall of Commerce didn’t go as well as hoped, and in 1856 he was to sell the liscence to F. W. Spiers but the grant was denied as the premises did not provide close “coveniences” for his patrons in whom he wished to include ladies. The Hall did not pass to Spiers — pas que je sache. Regardless, Gregory and Chambers moved to establish a restaurant at Cremorne Gardens, that desparate lifeboat of city-park culture that was a kind of antipodean, laudable, but poor-man’s Vauxhall Gardens. There he offered “Dinner, Teas and Suppers at Melbourne Prices” and curiously he was still dealing out of the Hall of Commerce, which he perhaps was still maintaining.


Then in 1857 he landed what was to secure a life-time apoointment to Parliament House as the official provisioner and purveyor.


In that same year, 1857, he heavily advertisied, “E. H. GREGORY’ Restauranteur, COOK, AND CONFECTIONER. Pupil of Borrel of ‘Rocher de Cancale, and of the Cafe de Paris, Paris. Purveyor, by appointment, to the Parliament Houses, Contracts to supply BALLS, DINNERS. &c., Entire or in part, in Town and Country. Fruit Ices a la crème, and a l’eau, daily from ten o'clock, at Gregory's Hall of Commerce Restaurant. The Ices at Gregory's are made precisely as he for has prepared them at Chez Tortoni, Café de Paris, and at the Rocher de Cancale, Paris.” He was flying his flag fully unfurled. Interestingly, Felix W. Spiers and George Hennelle’s advertisement is often above his, simply advertising themselves as wine sellers catering to businesses, boarding houses and trade—they were trading next to the Theatre Royal. The difference in press-pizzazz is apparent, and I have no doubt it was representative of Gregory’s attitude and the reason why he eventually established a “Café de Paris” of his own, though not entirely on his own.


Having overextended himself, Gregory declared insolvency, and the follwoing year the Café de Paris at the Theatre Royal opened under Spiers and Hennelle; Gregory was not involved in the partnership, but was engaged, it looks, to run the place. Spiers must have known a good thing when he saw it, and perhaps, Spiers’ wisdom in money matter reined in Gregory’s Borrel like drift that may have been fine in Paris but could not work here in Melbourne. Spiers was familiar with Gregroy’s chops, both metaphorical and actual. Hennelle, of whom we know little didn’t last too long with Spiers at the Café de Paris and his partnership with Spiers was quickly dissloved in 1858, to be replaced, with equal speed with William Pond. Hennelle quickly become insolvent, then soon after suffered terrible injuries when some masonry fell on him as he was walking past the new building site of the Post Office. 


In 1859, Edmund, safe from commercial risk, set up a “Cooks, Pastry cooks and Confectioners Provident Society” out of the Hall of Commerce—classic Victorian social gravity.


In 1865 he reclaimed the liscence for the Royal Hotel from Achilles King, who had purchased it earlier—perhaps Edmund was trying to find extra income for the failing Café de Paris which folded in 1865. He had been in partnership with George Hennelle (who was lame, and may not have been a great business man; Gregory had advertised only once that he had secured a “glacier” from Café Richelieu in Paris, and I wonder if that was Hennelle—I suspect the claim was dropped simply because readers would have wondered what the heck a glazier was doing at the Café) and so in 1866 he wrapped up his time at the Café de Paris, and the assignee sold the liscence to Achilles King. 


Gregory concentrated on his Parliament House work which saw him in good stead, and in 1873 was noted in one paper giving a testimonal for a gas cooker (among many other testifying persons about town), and in the 1881 International Exhibition in Melbourne he served as Judge on the Preserved Meats and Fish Jury.


In 1889, aged 64 he retired, with Parliament voting him a gratuity of 1,500 pounds for 32 years of service. There was also a suggestion too of a 350 pound pension per annum but in the light of the generous gratuity and the past bonus of 650 pounds, which had been going on for quiet some time, a pension was turned down. 

His wife, Emma died at their home in Clara Street, South Yarra on the 9th of may 1901 and he, nine years later on the 15th of February 1910, in Ballarat at his daughter’s home—“A good kindly man…an old colonist, and first caterer to the Parliamentary Refreshment Rooms.”

Sunday, November 19, 2017

William O'Neill (1841-1868)


(Courtesy of Eril Wangarek)

In the early days of Melbourne, with its large Irish population, and often with a generation among them that were illiterate, there was a deep need (as with the English and Scots portion of our population) for those things that soften the grief of immigration. Indeed, my own great great grandfather's family held a wake when he emigrated to Australia, as they knew they would never see him again, and would probably never hear from him unless he paid a letter-writer (many time, a Priest, if willing) to send word home, which in turn, would have to put into the hands of the village letter-reader, for a fee.

The need in Melbourne therefore, for Irish songs and performances, with medicinal sentimentality accompanied by all the Hibernian ephemera and 'craic' was vital to the relationship of audience to performer. This phenomenon is nothing new, of course, but it was ritually observed here in Melbourne by people such a William O'Neill, a native New South Welshman (so history recalls). I will leave some of his details courtesy of 'Autolycus' of 1905:

“A correspondent desires information concerning William O’Neil, one of the notable Irish comedians of the ‘sixties.’ His first performance in Melbourne was at the Haymarket Theatre on February 13, 1865, when he played Barney in the comic drama ‘Barney the Baron’, and ‘Paddy Murphy’ in the farce of ‘The Happy Man.’ Hoskins was then the lessee and manager of the Haymarket.  Barry Sullivan, being advised of O’Neill's coming to the rival house, had engaged Shiel Barry for the Royal, so that for a time Hibernian plays filled the nightly bill at both houses.

Barry was a native of New South Wales. His experience was limited to Australia. He was youthful, and there was a strong flavour of that amateur crudity in his work. O’Neill, as an Irish low comedian was a very clever and entertaining actor. Excepting his predecessor John Drew, he was probably the best type ever seen in Australia. His brogue was smooth, mellow, and genuine. His face – lit up with bright, genial eyes – was radiantly humorous  He sang Irish songs, comic and sentimental, with great art and much expression. He danced the Irish jig with wondrous grace and agility. It was impossible to be dull when O’Neill sang the patter song ‘Paddy's Wedding’ an excruciatingly droll story, told with infinite humour. His rendering of ‘When Johnny Comes Marching Home,’ with his own drum compliment, was a brilliant effort, and the 'Birth of Saint Patrick' invariably drew many encores. Equally successful work ‘I Was Born a Janius,’ ‘Finnegans Wake,’ and the always welcome “Cruiskeen Lawn.”


O’Neill was not merely a comic vocalist. He sang ‘Will Thou be my Bride, Kathleen?’ (in ‘Rory O’More’) with much sweetness and tenderness. As Miles-na-Coppaleen, in ‘The Colleen Bawn,’ he made the ballad ‘Eily Dear’ a delightfully melodious item. His comic songs ended, or were blended with step dancing, and this feature in the performance was very popular. O’Neill’s Irish jig was a work of art, in grace and rhythm of movement. It was one of those intoxicating thins that put an audience in a frenzy of delight. Hundreds of feet kept eager time to the lively music, and, when the dance ended, hundreds of excited spectators stood up and wildly clamoured for more. The jig was often repeated, for it was only when O’Neill was visibly exhausted that his admirers were satisfied.

In dramatic work he equally good, his enactment of a drunken scene was realistically natural as to be almost an example of genius. During his first engagement, which terminated on March 23, O’Neill appeared in a variety of parts. Besides those already indicated, he played Tim More, in ‘The Irish Lion,’ ‘Handy Andy, paddy Miles in ‘The Limerick Boy.’ O’Bryan in ‘The Irish Emigrant,’ and Barney O’Toole in ‘The Peep o’ Day.’ A notable event of the O’Neill season was the final farewell benefit of that illustrious actor, Joseph Jefferson, on the 17th March, 1865. Jefferson appeared as the immortal ‘Rip Van Winkle’ and as Tobias Shortcut in that amazingly ludicrous farce, ‘The Spitfire.’ Between the piece O’Neill gave ‘Paddy’s Wedding’ and the irresistible jig performance. When the curtain dropped, Australians had seen their last of one who, in his own line, was the greatest actor of the century, and great was their loss in his departure.” [THE ARGUS, SAT 11 FEB 1905]
____

NEIL.-On the 24th ult, at No. 2 Farie-street, Fitzroy, Mr. William O'Neill, Irish comedian, aged thirty-one years. Requiescat in pace. 3 Oct 1868. We have to record tho death of Mr William O'Neil, the Irish comedian, once well known on the Melbourne stage Mr O Neil had for some eighteen months been in a very low state of health, and had not for the last twelve month been able to follow his profession His last appearance on the stage was in New Zealand, whence he returned to Melbourne about nine months ago. Since that he has been gradually failing in health, and died at an early hour this morning, at his residence in Farie Street, Fitzroy His age was about thirty one ears - Argus, September 24 1868.
_____

“The troubles which had befallen Mrs. O’Neill [Ann Maria Quinn who had just had  a protracted and farcical court case in which she was charged with theft] followed her husband, in a measure. In February, 1868, Mr. William O’Neill, in very poor health, appeared before the Fitzroy Police Court, in the custody of Detective Blair, on a charge of deserting his child. More surprise could not have been expressed if good Queen Bess, the Virgin Queen, centuries in her grave, had been so charged, and most surprised of all was poor Billy O’Neill. 

The ruse stood thus — a woman named Sarah Prentice had brought to her, some five months before, a child to be wet-nursed, on a payment of so much per month. A month’s pay was duly handed over, and Mrs. Prentice was given to understand that the child was the offspring of Mr and Mrs. William O’Neill now in question. Time passed, as it always did, and always will; no more money was forthcoming, and at last, acting on what she thought good information, Mrs. Prentice laid an information and obtained Mr. O’Neill’s arrest. An ‘eclaircissement’ followed, and at last it became plain that Mrs. Prentice had been the victim of false representation—that the child was not Mr. O’Neill’s, and that he knew nothing about it. Of course, then everybody was desirous of bringing the matter to an end. Mr. O’Neill would be put to no further inconvenience. Consequently he was brought — somewhat informally—before the Fitzroy Bench. The case was not even gone into but at once dismissed. Mr. John Edwards—‘Jack’ Edward of the Old Theatrical days—who appeared for Mrs. Prentice, making Mr. O’Neill an ample apology. In the private room of Snadden’s Buck’s Head, opposite the court house, the apology took a liquid form, and Billy O’Neill’s quick restoration to health duly restored.

The toasting of his health, however, did not improve it. On September 24 1868, he died at his lodgings at 2 Farie Street, a little street off Brunswick Street, Fitzroy, aged 31 years. He had been unable to follow his profession for twelve months before, his last appearance being, I belive, at Hokitika (NZ). He lived within two doors of the writer, yet, so modest was the man that none knew, excepting his landlady (Mrs. Quinn, his mother in law), who the sick man was. Mrs. O’Neill, being away on a professional trip. The funeral would have delighted the heart of a funeral reformer—a plain coffin, plain hearse, and a cab! It was proposed soon after to raise a memorial over his grave, but I am afraid nothing was done.

O’Neill us said to have fought in the American Civil War, and to have been present at the Battle of the Bull Run. When asked whether he was one of those who ran on that occasion, Billy answered. ‘Be gob, those that didn’t run are there yet.’ After O’Neill’s death Mrs. Anna Maria Quinn O’Neill disappeared from public — at least I have no recollections of having seen notices of her playing anywhere.” [Sydney Sportsman, 31 May 1905]

Saturday, November 18, 2017

Tommy Peel (1841-1868) Jig Dancer

(Frank Converse and Tommy Peel, standing)

Tommy Peel died young, and, upon a lesser rung of the theatrical ladder—minstrelsy. I give space here, as I have a soft spot for those souls, who having developed, by discipline-to-craft and arduous years of performance, still found the energy to have adventures, only to die in some part of the world whose soil was not their own.

I have merged two articles, one from New Zealand’s “West Coast Times” (reprinted from Bell’s in Melbourne) and the New York Clipper, and the following affectionate obituary will suffice:—


“The late Thomas Peel: The Champion Jig Dancer of America.  Thomas Jefferson O’Reilly [elsewhere named as Riley] or (as he was better known) ‘Tommy Peel’ was born in Albany, New York in September of 1841. At a very early age he had a local reputation as a jig dancer, and while he was engaged at Rose’s Ten Pin Saloon, in Washington street, Albany, near Congress Hall, he was often sought by the getters-up of impromptu negro minstrel companies, and to dance at various benefits. Master Tommy made his debut with the Sable Brothers in September of 1850 in his native town, the company having halted there to give two or three performances and it was at this time that he first had the pleasure of appearing in public in proper uniform; viz. pink shirt, blue velvet breeches and brace-heeled shoes. The applause he received was tremendous, and Tommy's appearance added largely to the receipts of that company. The success, no doubt, determined him to pay more attention to heel-and-toeology, and he made every effort to add to his repertoire of steps. Even at this age, what he knew of jig dancing, was pronounced by his immediate friends as truly wonderful, and what he did not know they thought was not worth knowing. 


In 1851 he joined a troupe called Schook's Minstrels, and travelled through America, with indifferent success, until 1852, when he joined the Campbell’s Minstrels and was taken in charge by Matt Peel, a noted Ethiopian comedian, from whom he took the name of Peel. Mr. Peel took him in foster care, and Tommy Riley was soon well known to the minstrel profession and the public as Master Tommy Peel with the company being renamed ‘Murphy, West, and Peel's Campbell Minstrels’. He could hardly have commenced his career under more favorable circumstances, for Matt, doted on his adopted boy, we are told, and did his best to educate him for his chosen profession. Being a modest youth and an apt student  he made rapid strides in his knowledge of jig, break-down and fancy dancing, as well as in his ability to execute. He remained with Matt Peel except at short intervals, we believe, until the latter s death in Buffalo, N.Y., 1859. 


He then joined the Bryants, Broadway, New York; left the Bryants, and joined a company known as Anderson's Minstrels in Boston, in the spring of 1860; joined Hooley and Campbell's Minstrels, travelled through the western country, and then rejoined Bryant’s Minstrels, and there remained until 1862, when he made an engagement with Maguire of San Francisco, where he opened, on October 6, at Maguire's Opera House. 


About this time considerable discussion was indulged in, in regard to who was the best dancer in the United States, and several put in their names forward as the great 'I AM.' A large quantity of chin music [talk] resulted in a match being made between the subject of our sketch and R.M. Caroll ( then at the Canterbury, N.Y., but then with the famous Morris Brothers of Boston), for $250 a side and the Championship. The trial took place at Wallack’s Old Theatre, now Broadway Amphitheatre, in the presence of a house full, on April 16th 1862, at about 4 PM. Tommy drew as first to perform with Frank Converse furnishing the music on his old Cremona. Carroll followed with Ross as his ‘musicianner.’ Both men danced well, but the result was a triumph for Peel.  After this, sundry challenges and counter challenges were issued , but no more matches were made, and Tommy was fully recognised as the Champion Jig Dancer of America. 


He remained with Bryants for one year, then went to Virginia City, Nevada. Returning to California, he played a short engagement, then started with a company for the New Boise Silver Mines. He returned to San Francisco after an unsuccessful trip of six months, and then joined Frank Hussey's Minstrels at the Academy of Music, remaining until October of 1865, when he, in company with Frank Weston and J. H. Taylor, &c, sailed with Wilson's World Circus for Australia, playing, en route, at the Sandwich Islands, Society Islands, and New Zealand.


He then sailed for Sydney, where he opened with the Christy Ministrels, at the School of Arts, September, 1866; came overland to Melbourne, and opened with Nish's Christy Minstrels. He sailed again for New Zealand in January, 1867, where he remained till March, 1869, when Weston sent for him to come to Melbourne. He joined Weston, Kelly, Holly, and Hussey, and strolled through the upper country; opened with Weston and Hussey’s Minstrels, but owing to his health falling, he performed only nine nights, after which he continued to fail until his death, which occurred on Saturday, July 31, 1869, beloved by all that knew him. 


He was buried on Monday, August 2, and laid by the side of the Irish comedian, William O'Neil, which was his request in life, if he should die in this country. The funeral was in the American manner, the mourning coaches being empty, and the mourners on foot. The pall bearers were Frank Hussey, Frank Weston, Frank Drew, John Washington Smith, Harry Kelly, Charles Woodruff, Thomas Rainford and Henry Peachman. Weston and Hussey's brass brand, assisted by other brother professionals, played the Dead March from ‘Saul.’ He was buried under the Roman Catholic faith with Father Barry reading the services. The professional brethren of the deceased singing the ‘Dying Christian’ over his grave.”


According to a Clipper letter he'd been aware of his coming demise at the hand of tuberculosis very early on, and was resigned to it. We have one image of him from Monarchs of Minstrelsy (above) and one from the State Library of Victoria in which he looks exhausted and not well. It is sad to say that no anecdotes, or quips have come to light regarding Tommy: orphaned early, cared for luckily, respected widely, esteemed highly, and who died long before any just or fair hour.

Friday, November 17, 2017

Clarance Holt (1826 - 1903) "That Weird Creature"

(State Library of Victoria)

Clarence Holt was an tragedian, born Joseph Frederick Holt in London, the son of a Military tailor of some stability of wealth. Making his debut in 1842, he became a seasoned professional, used to all kinds of audiences, every kind of play, and, as was required of the period through which he lived, was impassioned in his performance, a quality for which all lesser defects of person were overlooked: Victorian audiences abhorred the declamation of a dead fish.

My interest in him starts when he arrives in Australia in September of 1854, having been prompted by George Coppin, and no doubt delighted with the notion that the gold-rush was still flooding the colony with ready money to be soaked up on tours where gold was plentiful but entertainment — upon which to spend it — was not. He was a pioneer actor (in the sense that he was one of many who brought it to the colonies; not as a breaker of new dramatic ground), and is remembered as such, but in many later recollections, committed to print in nostalgic columns of national newspaper and magazines, the strange character of the man — not without amusement—comes to light.

Here are some favourites:—

On audience restlessness:— “Any sign of inattention while he was reciting irritated him exceedingly, and while he was appearing as the Danish Prince the sight of a couple of pittites engaged in an animated conversation caused him to stop and glare at them in a vengeful manner.” 

Of personal additions to Shakespeare:— “One of Clarence's peculiarities was the giving of selections composed of one line of Shakespeare's and one of his own alternately, something after this fashion:

’Ah, the world's a stage
That saying has held good in every age
And all the men and women merely players
Perchance as kings or queens, anon as maids or mayors

and so on right through the piece. The effect of this hotch-potch was rather curious, but it won applause from the groundlings."

Of breaking character:— “One evening while playing Cardinal Richelieu, he espied a man in the gallery smoking a pipe; he immediately drew himself up to his full height and, pointing at the man, exclaimed, ‘Put out the pipe, Sir; I don't allow smoking in my theatre!’ then he resumed the bent form and voice of the old Frenchman.”

On the colour of language:— “Holt was the foulest-mouthed man, and in his first production, Black Eyed Susan, would exhort, the Susan in his arms to more pathos, in sotto voce oaths and horrible epithets…”

On assisting child actors:— “He once undertook to appeal to the imagination of a child actress who did not pick up her words. Kneeling beside here, he gave her the sentences with proper emphasis, alternating with mumbled obscenities and blasphemy. The child’s memory was quickened by terror— and what she said on the stage that night shall not be set down, even with discreets stars.” [nb. stars=*****]

On what history may bequeath: “That wierd creature, Clarence Holt” (H.G.Hibbert)

And while I do not wish to belittle his great contribution to the theatrical needs of the day, I do wish it had been recorded, he sounds like a riot.

Thursday, November 16, 2017

Mozart Lives Here

One of favourite stories about Robert Sparrow Smythe occured in 1878 and centers around a young musical prodigy named Ernest Hutcheson. This child was only seven years old and yet could sing, play the piano, violin and organ; compose his own music, and could play — according to his father, eight hundred compositions (one has to wonder where such an immense library of sheet music that could function as an engine for such a repertoire was housed). It was quite a boast. 

Young Ernest’s father was a blacksmith by trade, but also taught his child not only rudiments of music but the methods of two instruments, and instructed him in reading music and also, schooled him hin musical theory. It seemed mad, but the child could do all these things and the father was a Scot, whose own father was still in 1878 a leading Bandsman in Scotland who had taught all his children musicianship (“In my youth I was apprenticed as a blacksmith and fitter, but now I am a musician and pianoforte tuner; I teach piano-playing”).  The child’s mother was named Rosina in the press but was plain Rose Ann Brown, who had —as newpaper report later attested — never married the father, David Hutcheson, although Mr. Hutcheson had bought her a suitable ring and lived with her as if she were a married woman. It turned out that Hutcheson had a wife back in Scotland from whom was not divorced.


A dispute over the golden child arose, centered around the best way to make money from him. Hutcheson the father wanted to take him to America and put him under the business ‘acumen’ of P.T.Barnum, a scheme to which the mother was not partial. Discinclined to be left in Melbourne, separated from her child, and no doubt to be eventually, and conveniently forgotten, or included in any renumeration, she sought help.


James Smith, the local, and celebrated music critic was entranced with the talent of the child who had performed publicly, and had made a success of it. When it came time to consider the child’s future musical fate, Rosina Brown (aka. “Mrs Hutcheson”) made appeals to James Smith, no doubt airing her conern about her child being fobbed off to a “Yankee Speculator” as the next novelty. Smith, devoted to music as an artistic calling, sent for R.S.Smythe whose had heard the American “Bind Tom” and many others, and who was also greatly impressed at the great gift that the child possessed, and Smythe in turn brought along Mary Ellen Christian, a local contralto known to all, and of such sweet disposition that she might take in the child and mother under her care (which was, by proxy, Smythe’s care, as Miss Christian was his mistress). 


When Miss Christian relayed to Smythe that Rosina, in confidence, told her that Rosina wasn’t actually married to Hutcheson, Smythe suggested Rosina apply for a habeas corpus, resulting in the appearance of the boy before a Judge. Smythe had earlier “strongly, advised that he should be kept from performing in public for at least twelve months” in order to vouchsafe his development and to propely educate him, not just in music, but performance: two different skills. The parents had momentarily agreed before Mr. Hutcheson decided that taking him to America was a more prosperous idea. 


Once before the Judge, Mr. Hutcheson’s argument that the time, effort and financial care put into the boy was not enough to guarantee his blacksmith’s regency. Before the Judge, other details came out, such as when Rosina went to fetch the child from Mr. Godrey’s house (Mr. Hutcheson’s brother-in-law) Mr. Hutcheson said, “Rather than you shall have them, I'll put a knife through you!” He denied such threats of course, so one cannot tell if he was truly a greedy father or just hapless on how best to advance the coming career of the clever young child. Of certainty, is that touting him as a novelty was not going to give him a proper musical education that his talent required, nor protect him in his formative years — and his family was essentially destitute.


Sir William Stawell granted custody to Rosina Brown, as the child was illegitimate, and under the law she was automatically guardian unless her character had been of wicked, which it was not. Furthermore, Miss Christian, a graduate of the Royal Academy of Music, London, undertook to use her contacts to gain him access to the right people, if not outright entry. So the child was handed over to Robert Sparrow Smythe and his wife Amelia Bailey when they arrived in a carriage at Mr. Godfrey’s (what an odd arrangement), in addition to his siblings, and there I lose track of the family as a whole, except for Mr. Hutcheson, who, twenty years later was declaring bankruptcy in South Melbourne, as he had in 1878 (it turns out he was banking on the money that would come from his son’s American concerts).


Miss Christian, and the Smythes kept their promise; although they could not personally attend to the care, they saw to it that some good people were engaged, and that several fund raising concerts were held to help the famil and evenutaully to send young Ernest to the Leipzig Conservatory, where history records that he entered aged fourteen, studying under Carl Reinecke, Bernhard Stavenhagen, and Bruno Zwintscher. His career centered around London and Berlin until the shadows of World War One cast its panic over Europe and he emigrated, ironically, to America where he ended up at Julliard in the faculty, and as Dean in 1926. I couldn’t find his father’s death in Melbourne and I hope they reconciled; the newpaper article from 1878 noted that the boy was devoted to his father and much broken up, and seemed not to be so attached to the mother.


But my favourite party of this story was a consquence of James’s Smith belief in spiritualism, and his entrenched conviction that Ernest Hutcheson was the reincarnation of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart. When the boy went to live with the Smythe family at “Highgate” — their house and land in Deepdene —some local ruffians painted on Smythe’s large brick wall:—


“MOZART LIVES HERE”


A fitting end to a crazy little drama.

Sunday, November 12, 2017

Henry Dolan Wilton (1843-1872)

Henry Dolan Wilton is even less known than his 'Uncle" J.Hall Wilton had had made him his legally heir a year before the old warhorse died, and they had been travelling together for six years. He was a theatrical manager of sorts, who learned what he had from Wilton, though he did not have Wilton's 'smarts.'

"Poor Henry Dolan Wilton has at last paid the debt of nature. He died in his 29th year, at Church Street, South Shore, Blackpool, Lancashire. Since his return from Australia as agent with Lady Don, his health has gradually succumbed, and young and volatile as he always was, he did not take that care of himself which a man of mature years would have done. It is to his credit that he stood by Lady Don in all her troubles incidental on the management of the Newcastle Theatre, and his death is most acutely felt, not only by her Ladyship, and by a large circle of friends." — The Australasian, Sat 20 Jan 1872 


I wish I had more to say on him, and indeed upon his uncle, both of whom seemed to have left little trace of their early lives, though we do know Dolan was the young mans last name and that he testified at the inquest that he was not a real nephew but had been made 'heir in law.'


Lady Don seems to have been very fond of him, for which I shall ever hold her in high esteem.


Addendum, March 2020: Fred Brewer noted in the Bulletin of the 1920s that Henry was a son of Wilton's and that he had married the Widow Don.

John Hall Wilton, Manager (1820—1862)

Mr. J.Hall Wilton was a mysterious figure, little known but regularly mentioned, here and there. He was an adventurous spirit and his 'nephew' —well, who wasn't his nephew, was something else entirely, but that is another story, but here is a reminiscence from "Hayseed" of 1909 about the long since passed Mr. Hall:—
"Apropos Mr. G. V. Brooke and Mr. Barry Sullivan, the agent for the former, Mr. J. Hall Wilton, was also agent for the latter. I believe it was was under Mr. Wilton's auspices - that Mr. Barry Sullivan came to us. Mr. Wilton had been a soldier, and had seen service in India. He was not a ‘'carpet warrior," nor one that had "never sent a squadron in the field." 
He was a participator in most of the disastrous events occured in Scinde, Baloochistan, and Afghanistan during 1838-1839 and 1840—1843 and during the whole of that time he kept a daily journal, which detailed many thrilling circumstances, considered, perhaps, by many as too trivial for the public mind, but being connected wiih the murders, assassinations, treacheries, etc., of individuals whose near; and dear friends, no doubt, are to this day unacquainted with the particulars of them, and as there may be many thousands of such friends, they will, perhaps, prove doubly interesting to them, as also to the reader generally; and if the brief and simple statements of these facts:—
"…from personal observation, will thus tend to aid the same, and at the same time give any satisfaction to my friends, I am willing to do my utmost trusting never to be considered unworthy of their kindness. 
I shall in a few chapters arrange so as to give a plain, narrative of tbs principal and most interesting events, and give in them some incidents that will, no doubt, induce the memory to reflect on their miseries and results—not forgetting the murder of Captain Hand, the burning to death of three British officers, description of the Indus, Dadur, Hydrebad. Sukher, the much talked-of passes, the Bolun, Gundavie, Mysore. Kojuk, Tezeen, Jugdulluk. Gundamuck, Jellalabad, Khiva, Rohawa, the Punjab; also the battles at Dadur, Kunda, Candahar, Baba Walla, Killa Seuk, I Cilzie, Gownie, Ghurze, Mindan, Cabool, Istaliff, Jellalabad, Aii Mesjid, Meeanee and Hyderabad; the principal operations of Generals Brookes, Keane, Wiltshire, Sale, Nott, Pollock,McCaskill, England and Charles Napier: the army under Lord Ellensborough; the massacre of the Cabool army, Sir W. Macnaughton, Sir A. Burns; the prisoners under Shoomsood Dien Khan, and his cousin Akhbar Khan. Lady Sale and Lady McNaughton; the Bing of Cabool and the Amire of Scinde.” as detailed in his introductory chapter in his book “Scenes in a Soldier's Life, being a connected narrative of the principal military events in Scinde, Ballochistan, and Afghanistan during the years 1839, 1840 1841,11842. 1843, and 1843. under Generals Lord Keane, Brooks. Sir Robert Sale, Wiltshire, Pollock, Nott. England. McGaskill and Sir Ciiarles Napier!" Mr. Wilton was also the author of many other works “Ethaldi”— “The Ouesii” — “The Deserters”— “The First Cause” —The First Crime” —“True Friendship,”— “The Darling Wife” etc. To this gentleman we are indebted for the introduction of Sir William and Lady Don, Sir. Barry Sullivan,  and other notable personages  
He died wider melancholy circumstances at Tattersalls Hotel, Pitt-Street, Sydney. December 18, 1862, but is kept in kindly memory by those who had the pleasure of his acquaintance  A nephew, in no way a reflex of the uncle was agent for Lady Don on her second visit to Australia, and he was agent, if I mistake not, for G. V. Brooke, just prior to his leaving England in the ili-fated London. 
Weybert Reeve, in his little hook, “From Life'' (1831), gives an insight into the nephew's style. In a reference to G. V. Brooke, Mr. Reeve says:—'Years then passed over: he had been to Australia, and had made a name there, and at one time, as he told me, had a great deal of money, £50,000, and lost it in the Theatre Royal, Melbourne, and Cremorne Gardens. He came hack to England, and we met in the same theatre again, the Royal at Sheffield, of which I was then manager for Mr. Charles Pitt. He brought with him Miss Avonia Jones and Mr. Richard Younge, but he was far from being the Brooke of the. Olympic, and the engagement was not a Successful one. We decided, however, to play him at the Theatre, Newcastle-on-Tyne two or three months later on. I took the company over. Miss Jones was there, when to my horror I received a telegram on the morning he was to have appeared, from his agent, Mr. Wilton, 'Brooke arrested: send money to release him, or cannot play.' I sent the money, but he did not arrive until Wednesday. It was then too late; the engagement was ruined, and a considerable loss was the result. His share for the nine nights was nothing like enough to pay his expenses, and I had to provide the deficiency. Generous to a fault, others reaped whatever harvest his engagements, produced." Miss Jones and Mr. Younge had left for Manchester; he had to pay the hotel bill, and whilst asking me to let him have the money to do so, I could not help noticing his agent’s wife, sitting an the room elegantly dressed, with diamond rings on her lingers, nursing a pet Italian greyhound. There would be his journey to Manchester. I would gladly have paid this, too, but I would not pay for his hangers-on, so I arranged with the stationmaster that they should go through on the security of their luggage. Miss Jones to release it on their arrival' I am under the impression that the nephew died in indigence, or under peculiar circumstances."

Brooke versus Keene

"While in Australia Mr. G. V. Brooke added to his long list of impersonations two of importance—Louis XI, and Sir Bernard Harleigh in J. Palgrave Simpson's one-act drama "Dreams of Delusion," a piece adapted from the French drama, "Eile Est Folle.” 
The piece was originally produced by amateurs at Thurloe Place, West Brampton, in 1853, Palgrave Simpson sustaining the leading part—a mad baronet. Later on it was played at Laura Keene's Theatre, New York (1856) when Laura played the leading female part —Lady Viola Harleigh. The play was again produced at the Howard Atheneum in 1858. 
Brooke produced it in 1860 or 1861 at the Theatre Royal, Melbourne, and made a huge success of the character—one it may be said, entirely new to him, it being that of a man who is under the delusion that he has murdered a friend. In Louis XL the study was also original (1853). He produced it while Charles Kean was running the play at the Princess, London. I saw Charles Kean in it on the occasion of his appearance at the Haymarket Theatre, Melbourne — in 1863. 
Nothing could be more distinct than the two impersonations. 
Charles was active, cunning, alert in everything;  Brooke made the monarch old, decrepit, superstitious, at times in terror. In the scene with Nemours, when they are alone, Brooke grovelled, Kean trembled. Each might have been on the stage at the end at the same and the spectator would not have known that each was playing Louis XI. 
Charles Dillon, on April 6, 1863, made his first appearance in Sydney as Louis XI., its first performance in the city; but I was not there to see. We will talk about Charles Dillon later on. I saw him In my native Dublin. as a boy, and have pleasing memories of him as an actor." — by "Hayseed" Nov 1909.

Wednesday, November 8, 2017

Charles Dillion (7) A Critic's Reflection

I thought an decent retrospective analysis of Dillion from a Melbourne Critic of 1914 might be if interest. The following is from a regular column entitled "Dramatic Memories" by “Proteus” published in Freeman’s Journal, Sydney, of date 20 August 1914 (p.12). It is long but worth the attention, as much for its content, but also for what is between the lines.

"If these memories were to follow exact chronological order—which they do not pretend to—Montgomery would have not been mentioned imediately after Sullivan. In the same year that witnessed Sullivan’s arrival (1862), a ‘wandering star’ of no little importance was visible in Australia. That was Charles Dillon. He came quite unannounced. Not even the tiniest newspaper paragraph had heralded his approach. As a matter of fact , he had crossed over the pacific rom San Francisco under the impulse, it would seem, of a sudden whim, for Charles Dillon was an actor who at that time was in little danger of soon wearing out his welcome in any English-speaking community where the stage was an institution. He was really a very fine performer. But along with groat talent he had a streak, and no very light one, of Bohemianism. He would often act on the spur of the moment, and in direct opposition to his own interests.

George Coppin, who had recently opened the Haymarket Theatre in Bourke-street, Melbourne, at once entered, into an engagement with Dillon, and put him up for Macbeth. There was earnestness and power in his representation of the ambitious Thane. He was especially effective in the dagger scene, and also where Macbeth is confronted with the apparition of the murdered Banquo. Dillon, in these two scenes, showed a certain imaginative perception which had its influence on his audience. It is a quality in the absence of which tragedy, however engrossing, and words, to whatever extent they may be weighted with great thoughts— become mere “sound and fury signifying, nothing.” Yet, on the whole, the Macbeth of Charles Dillon did not very much impress the first Australian audience that was privileged to witness it. It is no reflection on Dillon’s memory to say that the Melbourneites had seen at least one tragedian who rose more imposingly to what has been called “the wild and supernatural glory” of the wonderful Scottish tragedy. They had seen Brooke. Dillon did not reveal his real strength till he was seen in romantic drama or an that distinctive variety labelled as “domestic.” His Belphegor in the play of that name was a very natural and a very pathetic piece of acting. The late Mr. Alfred Dampier, long subsequent to Dillon's time, in Australia, made a good deal out of the same character. Before Dillon came, it had been played by Clarence Holt (father of Bland), who was wont to remind his friends that he was the only Belphegor on the stage. The statement was usually emphasised with a highly coloured adjective which need not be quoted here. But Clarence Holt was very far from being equal to Dillon in Belphegor. The piece was an adaptation from the French, the leading character in which was originally sustained by the celebrated Frederic Lemaitre. It was considered one of Lemaitre's best parts. His best was not deemed a bit better than that of the English actor who took up the same character.

Dillon was for several years only known in England as a provincial actor. He was within a couple of years of forty when his first chance offered in London. That was in 1856. He appeared as Belphegor at Sadler's Wells Theatre, a house which, though far outside the bounds of fashionable London, had, under the spirited and intelligent management of Samuel Phelps, and through his own efforts as an exponent of the legitimate drama, won a high place in the estimation of critical audiences. After his success at Sadler’s Wells, however, Dillon soon shifted to the quarter where theatrical audiences of the better sort most did congregate. He opened at the Lyceum, and repeated his success as Belphegor. He assumed the management of the house, of which he remained for several months the main attraction, and with the part of the mount-bank as his surest card. He played it so long that the public began to wonder whether he was only a man of one part.

That notion was speedily banished when he produced a version of Dumas' 'Three Musketeers,' in which he represented D'Artagnan. He was generally admitted to have caught the very spirit which must have actuated the fiery young Gascon drawn by the novelist. Next to Belphegor, it remained his favourite part. The verdict of so excellent a judge of acting as Charles Dickens was not, wanting in his favour. Dickens went to see him one night in a piece specially written for him by Dr. Westland Marston, entitled ''The Hard Struggle.” The author asked the great novelist what he thought of the man who played the hero. His acting, Dickens answered, was what acting should be — ''Nature itself.” Dickens, who was himself an admirable actor, was not in the habit of indiscriminately lavishing his encomiums on new candidates for celebrity in that line. No man had a more profound contempt for false histrionic art. What he said as to Dillon's merits is tolerably conclusive on the subject.

Dillon did not confine himself too long to romantic and domestic drama. He bid boldly for distinction in “Legitimate.” He appeared as Othello, and had an encouraging reception. He followed it up with Macbeth, which he played to the Lady Macbeth of the celebrated Helen Faucit (Lady Martin). His next Shakespearian venture, was Hamlet. The writer saw him in all three characters when he visited Australia, but must confess not to have been much carried away by his performance in any of them. There were indeed scenes in his Hamlet, even as in his Macbeth, in which he was very striking. The closet scene in 'Hamlet' was rendered peculiarly effective by his “business” as it is technically termed, in connection with the apparition of the Ghost. It became visible as though it had glided through the picture of Hamlet's father, hanging on the wall. Hamlet followed it as it traversed the round of the chamber, and his exclamation to his mother, 'There, out at the portal!' as the ghost vanished, was really awesome in its tones. But fragmentary excellence in great Shakespearian parts is not enough. And Dillon was never more than fragmentary in such assumptions.

After finishing his season with Coppin in Melbourne, he came up to Sydney, and opened at the Victoria Theatre on April 6, 1863. He didn't try the Sydneyites with Shakespeare on this occasion. He contented himself with the version of the French play which Dion Boucicault had written tor Charles Kean, and in which Kean, as the central figure, Louis XL, had added so greatly to his reputation. The very next year a Sydney audience had an opportunity of judging for itself as to Kean's merits. He was no doubt a more haunting figure as the Valois King, than Dillon, but for all that Dillon’s impersonation was decidedly good. Those who had never seen Charles Kean in the same part were disposed to rate Dillon's Louis very high indeed. He gave his Sydney admirers Shakespeare too. On the evening when he took his benefit at the “Old Vic” as the close of a season of some four months he showed his versatility by playing Shylock in “The Merchant of Venice” and Willam in Douglas Jerrold’s “Black-Eyed Susan.”

Dillon wandered over Australia and New Zealand for three or four years—at least over such regions of both as could be considered theatrical ground. On quitting these shores he went to England by way of America. An interesting conjuncture of two actors of undoubted ability was when Dillon and Barry Sullivan played together at the Melbourne Royal, of which Sullivan was then the lessee. When “Othello” was produced, the Moor was represented by Dillon, Iago by Sullivan. It was thought by most of those who saw them thus contrasted with one another, that Sullivan's Iago was a far finer performance than Dillon's Othello. In setting down this the writer does not forget that Mr. Titheradge not long since declared that he thought Charles Dillon the best tragedian of his day. Mr. Titheradge spoke, with no ordinary authority on such a subject. Be that as it may, personal impressions, such as they were, must be recorded faithfully here.

Dillon, on his return to England, successfully toured the provinces for many years, and was occasionally to be seen in London . He was engaged to support the title part in a production of “Manfred" at Drury Lane, and was said to have given a very artistic impersonation of Byron's mysterious and much soliloquising hero.

As a Shakespearian actor Dillon as already intimated, could not be classed with Sullivan, much less with Brooke. In his human weaknesses, however, if by no means in his artistic strength, he had certain affinities with the gifted Dubliner. A certain careless temperament was common to both. They both failed to take advantage of fine opportunities. After Brooke's great success at the London Olympic, he was offered an engagement by Benjamin Webster at the Haymarket, and on terms which were then considered very liberal. He was, of course, to lead in tragedy. To take up such a position in the house where Macready had made his farewell appearance was, so to speak, to have his claim to stand at the head of the profession formally recognised. Macready himself, in an entry in his diary, grudgingly acknowledged Brooke's right to it— for Macready was not generous in his recognition of any of his contemporaries. Brooke meanwhile had, for some unaccountable reason, refused Webster's offer and betaken himself to the provinces. He was not seen in London again till he returned from America in 1852, but his welcome was as warm as ever when he appeared on the boards of “Old Drury.” Ten years later Drury was to see him, again, but under altered circumstances. He was badly supported, and the man himself was in partial eclipse.

Dillon forsook London as capriciously as Brooke had forsaken it. In neither case could it be said that audiences had forsaken the actors. It is only by taking into account the irresistible promptings of the Bohemian temperament and the constant desire for change that the thing can be explained at all. In his later days Dillon used to revert regretfully to the time when he had “the ball at his feet.” No doubt he had, so far as he was capable of kicking it. With a melancholy sense of declining power, shortly before his death, he is said to have made a sad forecast of what might yet await him. Pointing to an old actor with whom he had often played, and who was getting a wretched living as a ticket-taker, poor Dillon shook his head and muttered, “Perhaps I'll come to that…” He died early in the Eighties. Brooke and Dillon were born in the same year, 1818."

Charles Dillon (6) Portrait

A portrait of Charles Dillion from his American visit. The photo was formerly in the archive of "picturehistory.org" whose lamentable business practice and unholy price structure (and limits on the persons with whom they would deal) made their business unprofitable. The archive is now in the possession of a University: Yale, I think, who are a long way off digitising the thousands of images — if ever. God bless Yale for its acquisition, but meantime, here is a saved image (I have somewhat clumsily removed the picturehistory watermark).

If Yale wish this taken down, please drop me a line.

Various other sources:
(1) Victoria and Albert Museum have an agrarian of Dillon as "Belephegor' also, in engraved form, as Hamlet and in Othello (all available in good resolution with an excellent pop-up window with reasonable limits and conditions).
(2) The State Library of Victoria, Melbourne have a CDV in their H88 accession series.
(3) The Baillieu Library in Melbourne has a hand copied engraving in an oval cartouche (a copy of what looks to be an American engraving). (3a) An American engraving, upon which the Baillieu one is based, whose source I cannot find but which is included below.
(4) Harvard has him also in the ubiquitous engravings as Hamlet and Othello.
(5) Yale (see above)
(6) A painting of him as 'Belphegor' painted by Raeburn was mentioned in the book "Conquest: the story of a Theatrical family" but I have never seen the painting.

All in all, not a bad haul.