CHAPTER XXII.

STAGE BANQUETS.

A veteran actor of inferior fame once expressed his extreme dislike to what he was pleased to term “the sham wine-parties” of Macbeth and others.  He was aweary of the Barmecide banquets of the stage, of affecting to quaff with gusto imaginary wine out of empty pasteboard goblets, and of making believe to have an appetite for wooden apples and “property” comestibles.  He was in every sense a poor player, and had often been a very hungry one.  He took especial pleasure in remembering the entertainments of the theatre in which the necessities of performance, or regard for rooted tradition, involved the setting of real edible food before the actors.  At the same time he greatly lamented the limited number of dramas in which these precious opportunities occurred.

He had grateful memories of the rather obsolete Scottish melodrama of “Cramond Brig;” for in this work old custom demanded the introduction of a real sheep’s head with accompanying “trotters.”  He told of a North British manager who was wont—­especially when the salaries he was supposed to pay were somewhat in arrear, and he desired to keep his company in good humour and, may be, alive—­to produce this play on Saturday nights.  For some days before the performance the dainties that were destined to grace it underwent exhibition in the green-room.  A label bore the inscription:  “This sheep’s head will appear in the play of ‘Cramond Brig’ on next Saturday night.  God save the King!” “It afforded us all two famous dinners,” reveals our veteran.  “We had a large pot of broth made with the head and feet; these we ate on Saturday night; the broth we had on Sunday.”  So in another Scottish play, “The Gentle Shepherd” of Allan Ramsay, it was long the custom on stages north of the Tweed to present a real haggis, although niggard managers were often tempted to substitute for the genuine dish a far less savoury if more wholesome mess of oatmeal.  But a play more famous still for the reality of its victuals, and better known to modern times, was Prince Hoare’s musical farce, “No Song no Supper.”  A steaming-hot boiled leg of lamb and turnips may be described as quite the leading character in this entertainment.  Without this appetising addition the play has never been represented.  There is a story, however, which one can only hope is incorrect, of an impresario of oriental origin, who supplying the necessary meal, yet subsequently fined his company all round, on the ground that they had “combined to destroy certain of the properties of the theatre.”