he
provinces," he continued. "I have many friends in them. The Scotch are a
splendid people to play to, but then English people, by which I mean
English and Scotch alike, are very clannish, and very tender to an old
friend. I always feel when I appear upon the stage that I am in the
presence of friends. I don't think that French actors are so much
regarded as English actors. We feel the affection of our people so much.
But, then, we go in and out as private friends amongst the people, more
than the Frenchmen do. Their best actors go out to a party, and they act
for money, just as they would in the theatre. I think that is very
_infra dig._ myself. It seems to me that as soon as the curtain is down
the actor's work is over for the night, and when you go out to a man's
party you are his guest, but you cease to be so if you take his money.
With singers, however, the case is quite different. Some say I am over
fastidious, but, mind you," went on Mr. Toole, very earnestly, "I think
it would be very snobbish not to join in the fun that is going on as a
friend, and help to make everything go pleasantly. As a rule, however, I
consider that on this account the English actor's social position is
higher than that of a French actor. You ask me about criticism," said
Mr. Toole a little later, as we wandered on through different fields of
thought, over our wine and cigars. "Well," he continued, "it is very
difficult to say whether it has improved or not during late years. In
the old days, you know, we had some very good men; there was Oxenford,
there was Bayle Bernard, there was Laman Blanchard, all very good men
indeed. In the present day, Clement Scott is exceedingly clever, of
course; but some of the young men are too much up in the clouds for
me--they are very smart, I daresay, but I don't know what they're
driving at, you know; all the same, I don't think criticism has any more
influence than it had of old, in some cases not so much." And then,
branching off on another line, Mr. Toole said--"Did you notice those
remarks in the paper the other day about Fanny Kemble's father, and how
he came to grief as a theatrical manager? I smiled when I read them. I
knew well enough how it was; it was that infamous 'order' system. Kemble
actually gave 11,000 orders in one season. It's altogether a rotten, bad
system. Hundreds apply to me every week for orders who haven't the
slightest claim upon me, and especially wealthy people, who are
invar