Londoners who have been renewing their acquaintance with the Tivoli at the Cathay Theatre here have been reminded that the present glamour of the cinema now standing gorgeously in the Strand actually occupies the spot on which one of the famous music-halls of the Victorian age used to give delight to the genjeration of the days of hansom cabs and picture hats.
In its heyday the old Tivoli was the meeting place of Victorian bohemianism. It was close to the famous houses of call for actors Jand close to those streets off the Strand where blue-chinned magni ficent in fur coats, which all too Joften covered nothing but vest /and pants haunted the place in the hope of getting another shop. Of the Tivoli audience Mr. J. B.
Booth, a pious recorder of the habits of that day, writes:
Apart from amusement-seekers Like ourselves, there are a num~ ber of regular frequenters, for the management is generous in its distribution of the entree to out-of-work and passe professionals, who gather on Saturdays to discuss old Himes, and an apparently hopeless future, Sitting alone at a little table in the foyer—there ant little fables in the foyer, and on the stalls there are trays for glasses which the waiters felch and carry is & once-famous comedian Who made a fortune across the road at the Vaudeville in "Our Boys", and is now a pensioner—triends' are trying to got him a vacancy in the Charterhouse, one hears;—an elderly relic of the stock company days is willing to pour his experi-fences into any sympathetic ear, and a descendant of the great Cruickshank has, in brown paper, beneath his arm a dainty "litre water-colour drawing he is perfectly willing to dispose of for a few needed shillings. went up the audience invariably Indicated its approval by a round of applause kept up til the empty stage was filed by the hero or heroine of the mom:
The type of song in the programme was very stereotyped to modern audience, but those who do not appreciate the subtlety the crooner will be quite prepared to contend that the 19th century had a distinct advantage over the 20th. Certainly the crooner on the film to-day is luckier than his prototype of the musie-hall stage that he has not to run the gauntlet of the forcible disapproval a restive gallery.
But the music-hall had its process of development. Tt was essentially inthe beginning the féescendant of the Cave of Har-many which Thackeray castigated in "The Neweomes." It also was the house of amusement to which for a very long time the respect-fable Victorian female never went. The performers, the poets and the management were frankly of the people, but they all reflected the ational characteristics and the: rational outlook ina marked degree and they were not afraid fof polities, although it must confessed that their polities were usually aggressively Tory and dis~ Uinetiy favourable to the principles Jor' prejudices of the "Licensed In the beginning programmes were unknown: Invited. "As the music hall proper evolved, 30 did the importance of ihe chairman wax, ut progress
te of bur bleting aictnonda, falling. periods, his Baechanallan Feqallty, the cold, printed word Gefeated him; programmes were printed, tables removed, and, like E'ifery' exhalation, the chairman And it was at the Tivoli bar that actors and artists generally discussed the important question of contracts, But to me the most amusing types were always those which had suddenly sprung into fame owing to some whim of public taste, and whose notions of the fruits of suc cess exhausted themselves in the purchase of diamond rings, a dia. mond pin, a fur coat and' endless gigantic cigars. A memory of one such I came across in the little Tivoli in the early days of the wreat "sketch" question sticks in mind, "(In those days musie-hall sketches were novelties, after being for long illegal.) Unlike his jewellery, the principal actor was a very rough diamond.
little sketch had been "tried out" with great success, and before he sent his manager" round to draw the salaries, he gave him a few words of counsel, at the Tivoli bar.
"Now, look ere, me lad." said he. "If they want to rebook, mind you ask for "igher salaries."
In due course the manager Te-turned and handed over. the cash, "And " ow. about rebooking?"
"Oh, T spoke about it, sir, and told him you wanted more."
'An' what did 'e say?"
The chairman was the link be~ tween.the tavern sing-song and the variety palaces which came afterwards. The king of all the chairmen was a gentleman called Fox who presided in Drury Lane at what was known as "The Old Mo," even after its name had been changed from the Mogul to the Middlesex. Fox was a plump good-natured individual, well bedecked with diamonds, and with countenance betokening considerable expenditure in the upkeep of its complexion. His manner was magnificent and young men beginning to find their feet in London stood in great awe of him. It was recorded of him that on one occasion when a very nervous young blood ventured to ask him to have 'a drink, Fox took up the "list of beverages", waved his diamond studded fist across the entire contents, "That's my drink, my boy!" he replied. But he had to be impressive for the gallery at the Old Mo" was often rough. Yet with a glare of his eye and a roll of his voice he could reduce to order even the most lawless ruffians from the neighbourhood. of the Lane.
But in the course of time these Ok, did '0?" exclaimed the great wrathfully. "Well, lest Before it had to give way to the cinema, the Tivoli, although un~ able to claim the reputation of the Alhambra or the Empire, nevertheless commoded the services of such favourites as Arthur Roberts, Marie Lloyd, Wilkie Bard, Harry 'Lauder, Dan Leno, Little Rich, Will Evans,' and Cissie Loftus.' The relations between the per former and the audience at this musie-hall were of the most intimate character and the popularity of a favourite was easily discernible owing to the way in which the programme was arranged. The sheet in the hands of the audience merely gave the list of the performers in an apparently arbitrary order. The actual arrangement of the programme depended. entirely on the number shown to the audi-
Jence in electric ight or on a card the side of the proscenium. When the number of 2 favourite managers disappeared, and the regular programmes announced by means of the card or light on the side of the stage came into exist-fence, the manager being promoted. or demoted into the position of friend of the house, exquisite with a waxed moustache, a red handerkerchief in his shirt tront— and that often was not entirely innocent of being a dicky.
Advertising is supposed to be a modern art, but the old music hall managers were pretty good. at the game, though it was often. the actor or the music-hall artist who dictate his own posters. In 1885 a great autocrat was George Belmont who was a firm believer {in alliteration. These are extracts from his programmes:
"That Uncommon Commodity, the Comical Comic Singer, A Short, Safe, and Sure Cut Across Stream of Sorrow." "Jolly John Nash figures as "A Descent of Democritus, "A Rib-Tickling old Rollicker in a Cacchinatory Carnival," while another comedian,
Text read from the printed page and cleaned; old type leaves the occasional error.