CHAPTER VIII.

ROMANCE THE SECOND.-MRS. JORDAN.

Her Parentage-A Scoundrel-Tate Wilkinson's Description of her First Introduction to him-Dawning Fame-Overtures for London-Lessons in Acting-Jealous Rivals-Last Appearance at York-Her London Début-Imitators and Originals-Her Viola-The Secret of her Success-The Triumph of ComedyProvincial Successes-The Duke of Clarence-OpprobiumLady Teazle-A Terrible Blow-A Letter-The Terms of Separation-A Mystery-Last Scene of all-The Strange Account of her Death-A Supernatural Story-Three Peeresses: Miss Farren-Miss Brunton-Miss Mellon.

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FTER the great Siddons herself, the most famous actress of the Kemble period was MRS. JORDAN. The story of her life is as sad and romantic as even that of "Perdita."

She was born in Waterford, in the year 1762. Her mother, Miss Grace Philips, was the daughter of a poor Welsh clergyman, and, together with her two sisters, took to the stage. Of the father, Bland, little is known; his family objected to the marriage, and obtained its nullification, on the grounds of his being a minor. But he did not desert his wife, at least for a time, for we hear of him occupying the

menial office of scene-shifter in the same theatre with

her;

but he early disappears out of the history, and is heard of no more. Dorothy-so was our heroine christened, although she afterwards changed it to Dora--made her first appearance upon the Dublin stage, under the name of Miss Francis, as Phoebe in "As You Like It," when little more than a child. The slight glimpses we obtain of her early years are sadly suggestive. "From my first starting in life at the age of fourteen, I have always had a large family to support. My mother was a duty. But on brothers and sisters I have lavished more than can be supposed." Poor child! Provincial salaries were then but miserable pittances, and we can imagine the struggles and privations she must have undergone. The mother was evidently a listless lymphatic personage with little moral strength, weakly dependent upon her daughter for support, loving her doubtless, in that maudlin maternal fashion, which is but a variety of selfishness, and regarding her interests only through the medium of her own; weakly yielding to circumstances, however evil or dishonourable might be their results, with no other resistance than whimpers and sighs over her hard fate, rather than risk the wretched pittance that stood between her and absolute privation. Such are too frequently actresses' mothers, mere harridans, who fatten on their children's industryand disgrace. Daly, the manager of one of the

Dublin theatres at this time, was a most notorious scoundrel, who had defended his libertinism in sixteen duels; he would insidiously force loans upon the poor necessitous actresses, and then suddenly demand the payment with threats of arrest and discharge; if this did not suffice, if the proposed victim had the courage to face starvation, he did not scruple to resort to such acts of violence as would now condemn him to penal servitude, but which in the Ireland of that day seem to have gone unpunished. Miss Francis, it would appear from the hints of her biographer, Boaden, resisted his advances and met the usual fate.

At sixteen, she had already made a hit in one of her future great parts, Priscilla Tomboy, in "The Romp." A poor lieutenant in a marching regiment fell desperately in love with her, and offered to make her his wife. But the mother, foreseeing the future harvest her talents would bring forth, stepped between, and fearing to have the goose with the golden eggs snatched from her, carried it off to England.

Tate Wilkinson was an old friend of Mrs. Bland's, and to Leeds, where the company was then performing, she and her family wended their way. Faint and weary, their appearance denoting the penury of their circumstances, they arrived at the manager's house. The mother expatiated with all the eagerness of their desperate condition upon her

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daughter's talents. "What is her line-tragedy, comedy, or opera ?" he inquired. "ALL!" The reply was startling, and far from reassuring in its apparent exaggeration. Wilkinson describes the scene in his "Wandering Patentee." "Upon my suddenly seeing the family I withdrew for half-anhour to reflect on what I should do, fearing a scrape from such a loaded connection, and not the least trait of comic power in the features or manners of the young lady, indeed, quite the reversedejected, melancholy, tears in her eyes, and a languor that, without the help of words, pleaded wonderfully for assistance." He asked her to recite a speech, but she was too tired and worn to comply. Upon which the old manager brought out a bottle of Madeira, and began to talk over old times with Mrs. Bland. The wine and cheerful conversation soon revived her spirits, and again he made a request for "a taste of her quality." She no longer refused, and gave a speech of Calista's, from "The Fair Penitent." The exquisite and plaintive melody of her voice, the distinctiveness of her articulation, the truth and nature that looked through her eyes, affected the old actor deeply, and overcame all his fears concerning her "loaded connection." The engagement was concluded, and her opening part was to be Calista: after which she requested to be allowed to sing "The Greenwood Laddie," a song in which she had made a great hit in Dublin.

"I was

Her success exceeded all expectation. not only charmed," says Tate, "but the public also, and still more at what I feared would spoil the whole the absurdity of Calista after her death jumping forth and singing a ballad; but on she came, in a frock and a little mob cap, and sung the

song with such effect that I was fascinated."

From Leeds she proceeded with the company to York, and there changed her name from Miss Francis to Mrs. Jordan. The "Mrs." was substituted for the Miss at the dying request of an aunt, jealous of the family honour, and who left the young actress her wardrobe, a very valuable bequest to one in Dora's circumstances, on that condition. The name was selected by the manager-there had been a council upon the subject. "You have crossed the water, so I'll call you Jordan," he cried. The appropriateness is not exactly clear, but so runs the story.

Her success in the old cathedral city was as great as it had been at Leeds. Smith, of Drury Lane, was there at the time, it being the race week, and was so charmed by her performances that he attended the theatre every night. He even made overtures to her for London; but Tate had prudently bound her by articles for three years, at one guinea and a half a week, and nothing could be done until that term expired. In his "Wandering Patentee" he gives some amusing anecdotes of her at this period.