William Norris
In the James E. Murdoch Papers at the Harvard Theatre Collection, Harvard College Library, the author of this article has discovered details of Murdoch's visit to Halifax in 1830. As well as providing a valuable commentary on Halifax theatre at the time, the Murdoch Papers offer us an informative account of the young actor's humorous experience on an early Canadian stage.
C'est en fouillant dans les papiers de James E. Murdoch, conservés à la Bibliothèque de Harvard College (Harvard Theatre Collection) que l'auteur a retrouvé des détails intéressants sur la visite que fit Murdoch à Halifax en 1830. Les papiers de Murdoch, tout en nous offrant un commentaire utile sur le théâtre de son époque, fournissent aussi le récit instructif de la carrière mouvementée de ce jeune comédien, aux débuts de la scène canadienne-anglaise.
Previously unpublished materials among the James E. Murdoch papers in the Harvard Theatre Collection provide an engaging and informative account of Halifax's Theatre Royal in 1830. The son of a Philadelphia bookbinder, Murdoch is now a largely-forgotten figure. On the mid-19th Century American stage, however, he was probably second only to his good friend Edwin Forrest in both critical acclaim and popularity. His Nova Scotia tour provided valuable experience for young Murdoch. He learned to improvise costume, toilet, and even lines. He gained significant experience in a much wider range of roles than might be expected for a newcomer to the stage. While such professional matters alone would have made his 1830 season memorable, other events associated with his appearance in the rough and ready Theatre Royal made it especially so.
Scholars have unearthed considerable information in recent years about early theatrical activities in Nova Scotia.1 Two newspaper clippings and a firsthand account by Murdoch add a rich variety of specific details about the acting company and personnel, its management, and plays performed during the 1830 season, as well as providing quite a valuable picture (if a miniature) of the early Halifax theatre and its audience.
Murdoch made his stage debut in Kotzebue's Lovers' Vows on 13 October 1829 at Philadelphia's Arch Street Theatre. Both critics and public liked him, and he appeared successfully in several other plays that season. However, it was not until the following Spring that he was able to secure a regular engagement with an acting company. At that time, he was hired as Walking Gentleman for a troupe recruited to play the Theatre Royal in Halifax. As we will see, it proved quite an experience for the aspiring young actor; in fact, I sometimes wonder why, after surviving it, Murdoch did not join his father in the bookbinding trade.
Murdoch was hired at two pounds a week, without travel expenses. He and other members of the company sailed from Delaware Bay in the brig Nigra, Captain Crowell. Storms and fog in the Bay of Fundy forced Captain Crowell to beach his ship. Local fishermen took in the bedraggled passengers and crew, with the Captain swapping a barrel of flour from the ship's stores to pay for their keep. When the weather moderated, the fishermen helped refloat the Nigra and she made her way to Halifax, where the troupe was greeted with shouts of 'Hi! there go the Yankee actors!'
The information in the preceding paragraph is taken from an unpublished biography of Murdoch written by Edmund H. Russell. Russell was an old family friend, and sometime between Murdoch's death in 1893 and 1913, Murdoch's daughters enlisted him to write an account of their father's life. Russell had access to all the family papers: playbills, newspaper clippings, letters - and Murdoch's own autobiographical memoranda. (In 1880 Murdoch himself had published many reminiscences in The Stage; or, Recollections of Actors and Acting from an Experience of Fifty Years; an internal clue in the account which follows suggests that he recorded his memories of Nova Scotia about that same time.) The holograph biography remained in family hands until 1954, when Murdoch's great-great-grandson, Hibbard James, gave Russell's work, three scrapbooks of newspaper clippings, and a cache of miscellaneous memorabilia to Harvard.
Unfortunately for literary history, much of the original material with which Russell worked is no longer extant. Even more unfortunately, Russell took his charge as author seriously and paraphrased most of Murdoch's own memoranda. Yet even Russell apparently could not resist the charm of the following little narrative treasure, and after explaining Murdoch's hiring in Philadelphia and the details of the trip to Halifax, he simply says, 'Murdoch writes' and begins an extended quotation from Murdoch's own account:
I found the City of Halifax very interesting, and the harbor imposing and picturesque, while the red-coated soldiers were splendid in appearance and marvels of discipline. We soon became familiar with our surroundings and made ready to assume our professional duties.
As an omen of future evil our first visit to the Manager was made in the Halifax jail for Debtors, to which he had been consigned on account of certain existing deficiences, which in spite of the previous season's 'immense success' (as the Bills often say) had not been provided for. Amid the doleful dumps of such surroundings I received my first 'cast.' Our opening piece was the Comedy of 'The Soldier's Daughter.' Mr. Hardy the Manager (having been granted permission by his creditors) was to act the part of Frank Heartall. He (Hardy) was one of those men of all work who are to be found in all occupations of life, who think they can do anything to which they take a liking. In the profession he was a very 'Nick Bottom': for he thought he could play everything from a ranting tyrant to a sighing lover. In Comedy he had a kind of spasmodic laugh on which he rang the changes of 'Ha! ha! ha! my boy! Huh! huh! huh! my lad! - That's the sort of thing you know! He! he! he!' As he was not noted for knowing the words of his part he found frequent occasion to interlard his speeches with his favorite interjections, no matter whether they were consonant with the letter or spirit of the scene or not. He was a coarse man and boisterous in his manners. At rehearsal I found he did not know the language of his part. And when I expressed my inability to go on unless I got my 'cue,' he replied, 'Oh! that's all right, my boy! You'll find I'll give you the sense of the matter, so that you'll have no difficulty in getting your speeches in, and if you don't, my boy, I'll get you off, all right.' Here was a new school for a tyro to make his first appearance in. The one thing to do I observed in this strange style of acting was to talk on as long as you could, and then stop and let somebody else reply, - and when they were 'gravelled for lack of matter,' cut it short by a hasty exit. The maxim of my new manager was to keep up the spirit of the acting, but as for the letter of the language, why, let that take care of itself.
The night of our first appearance came and I made my bow to the playgoers of Halifax. I was well received and felt all the confidence necessary to take me through a part of little import, save to speak a number of words in a natural, unaffected manner. All went on well until Mr. Hardy as Frank Heartall dashed on the scene in all the exuberance of a good natured and free and easy manner. His reception was hearty. Then turning to me he gave me some familiar slaps on the shoulder and went on with a perfect avalanche of words to which when he paused for a moment I found myself unable to reply as far as any sense was concerned. Finding me silent he poked me in the ribs two or three times, ran about the stage for a while, laughing in the most obstreperous manner, and finally asked me 'what I thought of things in general?' By this time I concluded that I was in a bad box, and while thinking how I should get out of it, I heard the prompter giving the word loudly, but whether it was meant for me or for Mr. Hardy, such was the state of confusion I was in I could not tell. The audience began to hiss, and Frank Heartall coolly walked up the stage and left me to bear the brunt of the storm. Without a moment's reflection, in the most matter of fact manner I went to the prompter and asked him to give the words of the last speech omitted by Mr. Hardy. Then standing at the wing, as the words were read aloud, I replied to them without hesitation. This convinced the audience I was not lacking in the words of my part though I evidently knew but little of the gift of 'gagging,' for which my manager had quite a well known reputation. Therefore they gave me a good round of applause, mixed with hearty laughter, in which Mr. Hardy joined and then made an attempt to take up his part of the dialogue again; and after a most extraordinary jumble of haphazard speeches on his part and painful attempts on mine to get in my lines, by hook or by crook, and the help of the prompter, the scene was brought to a close. And that was my first appearance before a Theatre Royal audience. I was charged with non-professional conduct by the actors, but I observed that those who were engaged in any dialogue with me thereafter contrived to give me my cues although they might not in a general sense keep over close to the text.
The management collapsed shortly after the first week, and the creditors, forming a Committee appointed one of the company Stage Manager, with power to conduct the business in their interests. Our company was looked upon as a very respectable one, being only deficient in Tragedy men. The young man who had been engaged for the leading business had fallen sick in New York and there died. The juvenile man broke his engagement and was among the missing. On looking around for recruits the new manager had found himself restricted to two aspirants: myself and a young man named Gilmore (or Gilmer) whose father was a Dry Goods Merchant of Philadelphia. Young Gilmore having distinguished himself in an amateur performance of Cato, considered himself cut out for an actor, and throwing away the yard-stick and skipping over the counter of his father's Store, enlisted in the Corps Dramatique. Finding like myself that home talent in Philadelphia was at a discount, he had trusted to luck, and drifted to Halifax. He was quite young, good looking, and had unbounded ambition. Here was an opportunity not to be neglected by the business managers. Cato settled the matter. Gilmore became the Tragedian of the company, while I fell into line as the juvenile man; though both were held to service in the utility business when not required for higher parts.
To pass over the many startling and marvellous effects we jointly produced as Othello and Iago, Damon and Pythias, etc., I will confine myself to my own maiden efforts in the way of acquiring the proper degrees of dramatic experience. The first part in which I was to appear as a shining light was the Stranger. The leading lady of the company was Miss Hamilton, who desired to play Mrs. Haller. She had seen me as an amateur in Philadelphia, and reported well of me from that standpoint. She preferred me to Gilmore, and as he considered the time of notice too short for the study, the part was offered to me and I accepted it, though there were but forty-eight hours in which to commit the words. It was a golden opportunity, and I set about my task in dead earnest, determined to master at least the lines of the part. Never had I read the play nor seen it acted, and had to trust entirely, of course, to information gained from the manager regarding the business of the play and the general bearing of the characters. Costumes, in the comprehensive sense of the word, I had none. The wardrobe of the theatre was about as well off as myself in that respect. But Gilmore was the lucky owner of a fine blue cloth mantle or circular cloak which he suggested as a fitting garment for the mysterious Stranger. In this did I determine to envelope myself, although the time of action indicated midsummer. Thus was I equipped to strut my brief hour as Kotzebue's moody recluse and hater of mankind.
I am reminded, just here, of an incident that came very near making a 'stranger' of me indeed to the contemplated scene of action. In mastering the words of my part I was in the habit of giving them in study audible expression, and that, too, in very determined tones. This habit had made it necessary for me to select some secluded spot, where I would be free from curious observation. The place I had selected for my study was an unfrequented wood some few miles outside the city limits, and there I was wont to walk and run over the lines of my part until I had them by heart. After rehearsal on the morning of the night on which the play was to be enacted (Wednesday, May 12, 1830) I was busily employed in the study of my part in the usual place, near the sea, and before I was aware of the fact a dense fog had arisen, and so completely did it obscure the surrounding country that I lost my way. The fogs in and about Halifax are of that consistency that, as people say, they might be cut with a knife. To make my situation the more alarming the afternoon drew to a close before I was able to retrace my steps, so that I reached the theatre just in time to begin the play. As all things mortal have an ending we performed the play and the curtain fell. But as to my acting of the hero, it must have been strange enough, when it is taken into consideration that I was only a short time past my nineteenth birthday and slight of build, while as to the theatrical 'make up' I knew nothing of its art. As to wigs, having none, I was compelled to fall back on my own hair, which though ample enough in quantity, was in the matter of quality of that peculiar nature which required considerable effort to reduce it to a state of smoothness which might be considered fitting or becoming to a melancholy man. Altogether, I must have appeared a fitter representative for the youthful servant Francis than of his master the Stranger, -save and except the effect of the borrowed cloak, for that, most assuredly, had been the gloomiest, as it was the most conspicuous feature of that remarkable performance. Upon reflection I am inclined to say that the one thing that gave effective coloring to my impersonation must have been my previous Elocutionary training, which enabled me to give to the language at least the semblance of natural emotion and some of the dignity appertaining to a character somewhat morose in temper and of a depressed condition both in mind and body. Such was my juvenile experience in the acting of a character with which in a career extending over nearly half a century I may affirm I became identified in all the leading theatres of the county.
Halifax being a garrison city, with a fortified harbor, a large military force was always stationed there, besides many ships of war. The Officers in both arms of the Service were much interested in theatricals, and indeed made acting, in many cases, quite a study. They held a lease of the theatre for a specified number of nights in every month, performing a series of Tragedies and Comedies in a manner that made some of our professional performances appear at a disadvantage. Col. Fox of the Royal Artillery was a most excellent amateur actor, and a gentleman of high literary culture. His wife, Lady Mary ['Adelaide' is scratched out and 'Mary' written above] Fox, was one of the daughters of the Duke of Clarence by Mrs. Jordan, the great English actress. The Duke was afterward King William IV, - the 'Sailor King,' as he was styled in Halifax. Lady Fox became, on the accession of her father to the British throne, one of the leading titled ladies of the realm. Early one morning on the main promenade I observed a lady walking, attended by a female companion. Though she was plainly attired I was so much struck with her appearance that I said to myself 'if I were seeking a model for one of Shakespeare's historic majesties, I should choose that lady to present the character.' In her plain dress she stepped and looked every inch a Queen. I inquired of a gentleman who was passing who the lady was. He replied, -'the most distinguished woman in Halifax, the Lady Mary [again 'Adelaide' has been crossed out] Fox.'
In the British Provinces there existed at the time I refer to an old English custom termed 'Bespeaking a Play,' which meant that some distinguished persons being desirous of entertaining their friends and acquaintances paid the manager for the entire box circle and issued their own cards of invitation to the performance. One day the stage manager informed me that that Col. Fox had asked if I had any favorite character in which I should like to appear, as Lady Fox was about to make her bespeak, and wished me to take the principal part. I named 'Lovers' Vows,' which was accepted, and performed Frederick, the part in which I first appeared. I was afterward told that both Col. Fox and his wife had said, among other complimentary things, that I resembled Mr. Charles Kemble when he was a young man, in style and person.2
At this point, Murdoch quotes an 1856
London review which made much the same point about his resemblance to Kemble,
and then Russell ceases to rely on Murdoch's own account and resumes the
narrative himself. He explains that the company eventually failed and that
Murdoch's father sent money to bring the wanderer back to Philadelphia.
Fortunately, two newspaper clippings among the Murdoch papers shed additional light on the ill-fated company, though in neither case is the newspaper identified.3 Almost certainly at one time Murdoch had many more clippings relating to his Canadian experience, for he tended carefully to keep track of his performances. Alas, most of his early papers and theatrical souvenirs were lost during a change of residence in the 1840s, and the three volumes of clippings at Harvard deal primarily with his career after 1845. Nevertheless, combined with his narrative, these two clippings provide a considerable body of facts.
One clipping announces that on 19 May 1830, a 'Melodramatic Romance,' Knights of the Cross, will be performed for the second night (Murdoch played Richard Coeur-de-Lion). Between Acts 1 and 2, the public would also see 'Mr. W. Coyle's "Splendid Classical Drop,"' and the evening's entertainment would conclude with a farce, 'Honest Thieves.' The other clipping gives notice that on 23 May 1830, the tragedy Damon and Pythias (with Murdoch as Pythias) would be performed. The farce at the end was to be 'Simpson & Company.' The price was two shillings to the gallery. Finally, although there is some confusion about the spelling of a few names, between the two clippings a total of thirteen other members of Murdoch's company can be identified:
Mr. Eberle, Mr. Herbert, Mr. J. (or I.) A. Fisher, Mrs. Herbert, Mrs. J. (or I.) A. Fisher, Master Herbert, Mr. Frithey, Mr. Jones, Mr. Gilmer (or Gillmer), Mr. Kent, Miss Hamilton, Mr. Reed, Mr. Hardy
What became of these other souls after
the company's demise is unknown. Murdoch himself never returned to Canada,
nor have I found any trace of subsequent contacts with Canadian theatrical
figures.
The vicissitudes of Murdoch's first real stint in his profession did not deter him. In the Summer after his return to Philadelphia he bravely signed for a tour of the Southern states, once more in the line of Walking Gentleman, for $15 per week. This company also went bankrupt (early in 1831), but Murdoch again acquired valuable experience, and all in all, the profession had a considerable edge (for a young man) over bookbinding in Philadelphia. He soon found another company, and his reputation grew as he worked himself up through the lines of acting. By 1842 he had come to be regarded as the leading juvenile in the American theatre.
In that year he 'retired' from the stage, in part for reasons of health, in part to have a more dependable income to support his growing family, in part to study more seriously his profession, especially delivery and pronunciation. For several years he operated the Boylston Hall School of Practical Rhetoric and Oratory in Boston, in partnership with Professor William Russell (Edmund Russell's father). He returned to acting in 1845 and scored immediate success in tragedy, his Hamlet being particularly well received. Within the next decade his star rose so that he rivaled his friend Forrest in critical acclaim and popularity in America, and he even did a highly successful 110 nights at London's Haymarket in 1856.
When the American Civil War began, Murdoch's sons enlisted in the Union Army and he left the stage once more, deeming it unconscionable to 'play while others fought.' For the next four years he devoted himself to raising funds and patriotic spirits for the Union cause through lectures, speeches, and poetry readings, visiting hundreds of Northern cities and several battlefronts. He returned to the theatre for a few years after 1865, but he was getting old and the stage was changing. Although he intermittently appeared in his best-known roles well into the 1880s, most of his time was spent as a highly successful reader and lecturer. He gave his last stage performance in Philadelphia in 1889, four years before his death.
Notes
FORUM - AN UNRECORDED GLIMPSE OF HALIFAX'S THEATRE ROYAL IN 1830>
William Norris
1 P.B. O'Neill, Yashdip
Bains, Alan Andrews, Mary E. Smith and Mark Blagrave, among others, have
made significant contributions in the Atlantic area, including Halifax
(eds. note)>
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2 Quoted in 'JAMES EDWARD
MURDOCH,' a ms. biography in the Harvard Theatre Collection, Harvard College
Library, pp 148-162
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3 Clippings scrapbook among
the Murdoch papers in the Harvard Theatre Collection, p 2. Materials from
the Murdoch papers are quoted by permission of Harvard Theatre Collection,
Harvard College Library>
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